The Border Lord and the Lady (19 page)

“Then,” said the king, “I will accept your word he is not involved. But if I find out later to the contrary that he is somehow enmeshed in this situation I will punish him severely, and he will not have Lady Cicely as a bride.”

Lord Gordon of Huntley nodded. “I will stand by your side as you mete out your judgment, my lord, but I know Andrew is not so dim-witted as to bride steal.”

“It is possible that the shopkeeper may know something,” the king said slowly. “Do not send to your kinsman until I have had more time to straighten this out. I do not need an enraged suitor here muddying the waters of my inquiries.”

“Of course, my lord,” Huntley replied, and then he bowed himself from the king’s presence.

“I think he tells the truth,” the king said to Orva.

“Aye, but that does not mean the laird of Fairlea isn’t involved in this,” she noted.

“Let us see what the shopkeeper has to say for herself,” the king remarked. “You will wait here with me until she is brought for questioning.”

Orva said nothing more, for who was she to converse casually with a king? They waited. And then a knock upon the door of the king’s library came, and it opened to reveal two sturdy men-at-arms. Between them was Mistress Marjory. They half dragged her before James Stewart. The woman looked terrified out of her mind, and briefly the king felt sorry for her, but then he considered that if she had played any part in Ce-ce’s abduction, she should be frightened of him. He was her king, and his pregnant wife was distressed by her best friend’s absence and possible fate. He did not invite the woman to sit. Instead he stood, and Mistress Marjory quailed as he towered over her.

“Well, madam, and what have you to say to me? Are you involved in this chicanery? The truth now!”

“I . . . I was attacked,” Mistress Marjory said. Her legs began to shake.

“That we know,” the king said sternly. “What I have asked you is if you were involved in Lady Cicely’s abduction, madam. Orva thinks you were, and I believe her instincts are correct. Tell me the truth! If you do your punishment will be mild. But lie to me, madam—and I will know if you do—then my wrath will be most severe.” James Stewart looked the frightened shopkeeper directly in the eye and saw pure terror reflected back at him. It astounded him, for he did not think himself as someone so fearful. And then he realized it was his persona as king of Scotland that awed the woman before him. He would not get the truth if he alarmed her too greatly. He softened his tone. “I suspect you must have had a most excellent reason for doing what you did,” he said. “Could no one else have helped you?” he asked a bit more carefully.

She shook her head, and silent tears began to slide down her pale, plump cheeks. “I’ve done my best since my husband grew ill and died,” she began. “I had to take care of the shop, do all he had done if we weren’t to starve, and mother my bairns as well.”

“How many bairns do you have?” the king asked quietly.

“Two, a lass born less than a year after we were wed. But the lad was slow in coming, my lord. Lucy was eight before he was born.”

“Tell me what happened,” the king prodded gently.

“Lucy was to watch after her brother while I managed the shop and the apprentices. The shop will be Robbie’s one day, and I must tend it well until he can take on the responsibility for himself. I promised my husband on his deathbed that I would do so. But my daughter met a lad, and while my son played they engaged their time in . . .” Mistress Marjory ceased her narrative briefly, and flushed.

“Ahh,” said the king. “Aye, madam, you need not say it. I understand. Did he get the lass with child?”

Mistress Marjory nodded silently, hanging her head in shame for her daughter’s transgressions.

“And the lad would not accept the responsibility of his actions, eh?” the king said.

The shopkeeper nodded again, now saying, “And then
he
came. He wanted my help in what he said was a small matter. I said until I could help my daughter I could not aid him. He asked me to tell him my woes, and if it were possible he would help us. So I did. He listened, and said to show his good faith he would see done what needed to be done if I swore I would then do what he needed me to do.”

“You agreed,” the king said.

“I did, my lord. He found Torcull, and had him wed to my daughter. Her child will be born soon, but ’twill not be a bastard. It matters not that Torcull ran off afterwards. My grandchild will be honest-born. But then my deliverer put me further in his debt, for he paid school fees for Robbie so he could learn to read, write, and do his sums. He said the laddie couldn’t run the shop one day without certain knowledge.” Then Mistress Marjory began to cry again.

Orva had listened to the shopkeeper’s entire recitation quietly, but she could no longer remain silent. Jumping up from her seat in the corner, she placed herself directly before Mistress Marjory. “Who is
he
?” she demanded to know. “Who is this savior of yours? And why did he abduct my mistress?”

“Why he did what he did I do not know,” the woman answered honestly, “but I do know who he was, for he told me so that I might send to him when your mistress was to visit my shop. He is the Douglas of Glengorm, a border lord.”

“A borderer? A rough borderer? Sweet Jesu help my poor innocent mistress!” Orva cried. Then she rounded on the woman before her. “Oh, ’tis a wicked creature you are! My poor child stolen away to God only knows what kind of a fate!”

“I did what I had to do to protect my own family,” Mistress Marjory defended herself. “Was I to allow a poor innocent to be born with
the stain of bastardy upon it? Besides, he said your mistress would not be harmed. Lovesick he was, I can tell you. Like a green lad with his first lass.” She turned to the king. “What else could I have done, my lord, but what I did? My husband’s brother would take the shop from me if he could, and give it to his son. And what would happen to my Lucy and her bairn? What would happen to my son and to me? My difficulties did not arise from any mismanagement. They arose from a silly lass who has since learned her lesson, to her regret.”

“But you betrayed Lady Cicely, and in doing so you have distressed my queen, who will soon deliver Scotland’s heir. For that you must pay a price, Mistress Marjory,” the king said quietly. Jailing the poor woman would not help, the king realized.

“I but defended my family, my lord, as any man would have done,” she replied.

“You have probably cost my mistress a good marriage!” Orva snapped angrily. “Do you think the proud Gordons will have her now after this misadventure?”

“Your mistress, if the gossip is truth, is a wealthy young woman. And the Gordons of Huntley are not averse to adding to their wealth,” the shopkeeper said sharply. “They will wait to be certain she is not with another man’s child, and then they will have her happily. Her gold will buy her a husband.”

“If your wench had spent less time on her back—” Orva began, but the king raised his hand to silence the two women.

“Mistress Marjory, for the next twelve months, one-quarter of the profit from your shop will be forfeit to the queen,” James Stewart said.

“My lord! There is barely any profit to be had at all! How am I to feed my children, my grandchild?” the shopkeeper protested.

“But when it is known that your lace and ribbon is sought by the queen your business will increase,” the king said cannily. “If I punish you publicly for what you have done no one will patronize your shop, madam. You betrayed the queen’s friend. While my wife would
understand your dilemma, she would not forgive you what you have done without some form of punishment. I shall send my man for an accounting monthly. Do not attempt to cheat me, for if you do I will show you no mercy at all.” He turned to the two men-at-arms. “Return Mistress Marjory to her establishment, and you will say nothing of what you have heard this day. I will tolerate no gossip in this matter.”

The men-at-arms spoke in unison. “Aye, my lord!” They understood that this king was not be trifled with, for he did not make idle threats. They escorted the shopkeeper briskly from the king’s library.

“Fetch my secretary to me,” James Stewart instructed his page. Then he turned to Orva. “I will send to Sir William Douglas, who is Glengorm’s overlord. Your mistress is safe, Orva. If this impetuous young laird is as lovesick as the shopkeeper claims he is, he will not harm your lady. I seem to recall my wife mentioning him briefly. Come, let us go and speak with the queen and reassure her,” the king said as he led the way from his library and walked briskly to his wife’s chambers.

I wish I felt reassured,
Orva thought to herself as she followed him.

The queen’s ladies looked up anxiously as he entered, but the king said nothing, passing them by, Orva behind him, to enter his wife’s little privy chamber. Lady Grey was seated by the queen’s side on a stool, sorting colored threads. Both women looked up, and James Stewart smiled at them.

“Lady Grey, I will ask for your discretion, but I may need your help,” the king said. “And the old cats outside will want to know what was said here.”

“I know how to keep secrets, my lord,” Lady Grey said with a meaningful look at the king, for she had under duress aided him once before.

“Ce-ce?” the queen asked anxiously.

“Abducted by a lovesick border lord.” The king chuckled. “We will get her back. I must send to Sir William Douglas for his help.”

“The Douglas of Glengorm?” the queen exclaimed. “Oh, that poor man! To have done such a reckless thing when it is certain Cicely will wed the Gordon laird of Fairlea.”

“My mistress had not yet made up her mind,” Orva reminded the queen. “She found him handsome and charming, ’tis true, but she disliked his attempting to push her into a marriage she was not certain she wanted. You know my mistress well, my lady. She can be brought to the trough, but not forced to drink.”

“Aye, ’tis a truth,” the queen said. Then she giggled. “I really do feel sorry for Glengorm, not just because he has been reckless, but because Ce-ce will not be easy to woo.” She turned to the king. “That is why he has stolen her, Jamie. He wants a fair chance with her, and the Gordons would let no man near Ce-ce once Andrew Gordon decided that he would have her. Still, he cannot be allowed this behavior.”

“I know,” the king agreed. “Do I not already have enough difficulty with the northern lords, my love?” He sighed.

“Orva must go with your messenger to Sir William,” the queen said suddenly. “Ce-ce will need her, and feel more reassured by her presence. And Lady Grey and her husband must travel with them. Maggie wanted to go home several weeks back, but remained when I asked her to. I was comforted having another woman by my side who is with her first child, but I know Andrew Grey would have his child born at Ben Duff.”

Lady Grey threw the queen a grateful look. Helping the king secretly some weeks back had put her in a difficult position. The secret was one she had been unable to share with anyone, even with her husband. Being at court, where everything reminded her of the part she had been forced to play in a betrayal, distressed her mightily. Aye, she had wanted to go home weeks ago, but then the queen had begged her to remain, and she could not deny her royal mistress. “Thank you,
Your Highness,” Lady Grey said softly. “I very much want to go home to Ben Duff.”

“Is it near Glengorm?” the king wondered.

“Aye, they are our nearest neighbors,” Lady Grey said.
God’s wounds!
What more did he want of her?

A brief smile touched the king’s lips, but was quickly gone. He knew exactly what Maggie MacLeod, Lady Grey, was thinking. However there would be time enough to enlist her aid if he decided he needed it. “I was simply curious,” James Stewart said. “There is so much of my country that I do not know yet.”

Outside the door of the queen’s privy chamber that led directly into the corridor, the Gordon of Huntley heard what he needed to hear. Stepping away from the little portal, he wondered if the king would tell him all he knew. Or if possibly he should send to the laird of Fairlea, and raise a troop of his clansmen to ride into the borders to fetch Lady Cicely back. Of course, by that time the girl’s virginity would have certainly been taken, but as long as she was not with Glengorm’s bairn, did it really matter? His kinsman was a proud man, but Cicely Bowen’s fortune could soothe his pride. Especially if she was a good wife to him both publicly and privately.

Wisdom, however, prevailed. The Gordon of Huntley decided to wait to see what the king would do. To his relief, the king took him aside that evening to tell him what Gordon already knew but dared not admit to, for how could he explain the knowledge he possessed? “My men and I can ride into the borders, my lord, and bring Lady Cicely back,” Gordon offered. “The Douglases are no friends of ours.”

“I need no clan warfare between you two,” the king said. “Keep your men in check, my lord. I will handle this situation.”

“I should advise Fairlea of the situation, my lord, for he is to wed the lass, and should know she may be sullied,” the Gordon of Huntley said.

“Advise Fairlea if you will, Huntley, but Lady Cicely had not
agreed on any match, and I cannot force her to one, for I gave her father my word,” the king replied.

“But surely her father would approve the fine match my kinsman can offer,” Lord Gordon said. The girl was to be given a choice of whom she would wed? Ridiculous!

“The Earl of Leighton dotes upon his daughter,” the king answered. “He gave her his word that she could marry the man she loved, and no other. And I gave my royal word that I would uphold the earl’s promise to his child. Tomorrow I will send to Sir William Douglas to aid me in this situation with his cousin. Diplomacy will prevail in this matter.” And with those words the Gordon of Huntley was dismissed.

He bowed, and backed from the king’s presence.

The king’s privy chamber was now quiet. James Stewart sat in one of the two chairs facing each other by the blazing hearth. Rising, he took a few steps and poured himself a goblet of wine from the carafe on the table which was set before the lead-paned windows. Outside those windows the night was black, a sliver of waning moon not yet risen. He turned back to sit again by the fireplace, which was flanked by stone greyhounds. The chamber was small, with paneled walls and a coffered ceiling, but it suited him well and was his refuge from the court. Only invited guests were allowed into the royal privy chamber.