The Border Lord and the Lady (48 page)

“Welcome home, my lord,” Cicely greeted Kier as he dismounted his horse.

The genuine warmth in her voice pleased him. “Thank you, madam,” he said with a smile. “All has been well while I have been gone?”

“Aye, my lord, all has been well.” She did not ask about the king. “Was all well at Ben Duff?” she inquired. “Will Maggie come with Lord Grey to our wedding?”

“Ben Duff’s lady told me to tell you she is looking forward to seeing both you and the queen,” Kier answered, surprised when she slipped her hand upon his arm while walking with him into the hall. He could not resist teasing her, saying, “You have missed me then, madam?” The blue eyes were twinkling as she looked up at him, startled by the query.

She paused, and then said, “Glengorm was quieter with your absence, my lord.”

He laughed aloud. “Indeed, madam, indeed.” He suddenly felt happier and more relaxed than he had in months. And she seemed less tense. His getting away with the king had obviously been good for both of them.

The following morning they walked together to Glengorm’s little church, where the clanfolk were already gathered. The queen came with them. Her presence would make up for the lack of the king this day. Father Ambrose said the Mass, and the homily he preached was as much an instruction to Kier and Cicely as it was a tribute to his two deceased nephews, for it dealt with the subject of duty to one’s king, clan, and self. Afterwards the queen praised Ambrose for his words, and the priest flushed with pride.

The king and his party arrived on the sixteenth. Cicely and the queen shrieked with surprise to see the big belly Maggie MacLeod was sporting. Maggie just grinned.

“Are you planning on having another bairn at Glengorm then?” Cicely teased her.

“Nay, nay.” Maggie laughed. “I’m not due until we are halfway through December, I promise. It’s another lad! I just know it!” Then she saw the look on Joan Beaufort’s pretty face. “Ohh, Highness, forgive me! I spoke thoughtlessly,” Maggie said, contrite. How could she have been so thoughtless? she asked herself.

“Nay, nay,” the queen reassured her. “It is all God’s will.” But as Maggie just
knew
the child she carried was a boy, so Joan Beaufort
knew
she was going to birth another girl. She had even decided to name this princess Mary. But she kept these thoughts to herself. Eventually she was certain she would birth a son for Scotland.

The men hunted grouse the next day, bringing home several braces of the birds, which were plucked, roasted, and served that very night. The mood in the hall that evening was very jovial, but they all retired early, for the wedding would be celebrated in the morning. The servants would be up early to sweep the hall and prepare for the day of festivities, when all the village would be invited into the house.

Cicely had asked to have her tub filled after the evening meal. Now she soaked contentedly in the warm water, washing her long auburn hair with soap she had made this past summer. It was scented with white heather. She rubbed the sliver of soap up and down a thick rope of hair, considering what she would wear on the morrow. It wasn’t that her wardrobe was so large, but she didn’t want to look completely out of fashion. Jo had told her little had changed in the years since she had been gone, which was a relief.

“Have you decided?” Orva asked her as she bustled about the bedchamber. “I need to know, if I am to see the gown is wrinkle free and brushed properly.”

Cicely sighed. She had worn lavender brocade when she had married Ian. She had not worn that gown since Ian’s death. Somehow the burnt orange didn’t seem right, nor the yellow, nor the green. Then she remembered a gown she had worn but once at court. It was cream-colored velvet with sleeves that were fitted to the elbow, then flared out wide. The edges of the gown were trimmed in dark brown marten. “The cream velvet,” she said to Orva. “Is it fit to wear?”

“I’ll have to alter the waist a wee bit,” Orva said. “You’ve thickened a bit in the waist since Johanna’s birth.”

“Blessed Mother, have I grown too plump for the gown? ’Tis barely worn, Orva.”

“It will need an extra inch if you are to feast and dance on the
morrow,” Cicely’s tiring woman said. “You are almost nineteen, my lady, and have had one child.”

Cicely finished bathing, wrapping her long hair in a piece of toweling, stepping from her tub to dry herself with another length of towel. Orva handed her a clean chemise to sleep in, and Cicely went to sit by the fire with her hairbrush. She sat by the warm hearth, brushing out her long tresses until they were soft and dry.

Orva, having fetched the chosen garment from the trunk, now sat opposite Cicely, pulling out stitches at the waistline, resetting the fabric so that the gown’s midsection was a little bit larger. “Are you happy, my child?” Orva asked as she sewed with neat little stitches. “He is not Lord Ian, but he seems a good man.”

“I must put the past behind me,” Cicely told the older woman, “but I chide myself that I did not fully appreciate Ian’s love for me.”

Orva nodded in understanding. “Sometimes, my lady, we do not see clearly just what is before our eyes. Your first husband lies in the cold ground. Try to appreciate Lord Kier for who he is, and do not scorn him for who he is not.”

“But just who is he?” Cicely said. “One minute he is cold and hard. But the next he is passionate. I do not understand him at all, Orva. I knew exactly where I stood with Ian, though I did not appreciate it at the time. I do not understand my lord Kier.”

“You will.” Orva chuckled. “In the end women always unravel the puzzle of their men. Now, my lady, you had best get into bed and get some sleep. You will not sleep a great deal tomorrow night, I’m thinking. That man of yours looks like a fierce one.” She bent her head again to the gown upon which she sewed.

Cicely blushed at Orva’s words, but she followed her advice, climbing into her bed. Sleep, however, did not come to her easily, even after Orva had finished the gown and left her chamber. She thought of that passionate encounter with Kier several weeks back, and grew restless with the memory of the heated hours they had spent
together.
Fierce,
Orva had said. ’Twas a good word for the man she would take as her husband on the morrow. She had been fortunate that that encounter had not resulted in her being impregnated. She had not wanted to be with child so soon after Johanna’s birth. But after tomorrow it would be expected that she have a child as quickly as possible. And not just any child: a son for Glengorm. Cicely finally drifted to sleep.

When she awoke she could just glimpse the gray light of predawn through a crack in her shutters. Her chamber was cold, as the fire in her hearth had been reduced to a bed of hot coals. Slipping from her bed, Cicely made her way across the icy floor and carefully added some wood to the coals. Within a few minutes the fire blazed up again. Relieving herself in the night jar, Cicely took the pitcher of lukewarm water from the coals, poured some into her ewer, and bathed her hands and face. Then, sitting down, she began to brush the tangles from her long hair.

Orva entered the bedchamber carrying a garment. “I am so sorry, my lady, but I overslept,” she apologized. “And on this day of all days, but the gown is ready.” She held it up. “You cannot tell I’ve altered it, and I’ve brushed it so that the velvet looks thick and luxuriant. The fur on the sleeves has kept well. Are you ready to be dressed?”

“Aye,” Cicely said. “Ambrose will oversee the signing of the marriage agreement in the hall, and then do the Mass, as he did before. He’ll bless our union at the last.”

“I heard an arrival a few moments ago. I imagine it is Sir William,” Orva said. She slipped the gown over Cicely’s head.

“Aye, he’ll have left Drumlanrig and ridden with the border moon to light his way,” Cicely said as the fabric of the garment fell to the floor. She shook her hips to settle it. “Where is my gold girdle?”

“Here, my lady,” Orva said, holding up the wide band before slipping it about her mistress to rest on Cicely’s hips, where she fastened it. “Now,” Orva said, “let me get your mother’s gold chain and her
rings for you to wear.” She sought for the pouch in which these valuables were stored and, finding it, gave the sack to Cicely.

The bride removed a few pieces of jewelry from the small bag: a gold chain and five rings, with which she now adorned herself. When she had wed Ian she had worn no jewelry, for the ceremony had been sudden and swift. There had been no true guests. But today Scotland’s king and queen would witness this new marriage. Cicely garbed herself not just for her bridegroom, but for their royal guests as well.

Sitting down, she gave her hair a final brush, then gathered it into her gold caul. No maiden now, she did not have to leave her hair unbound today. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of soft leather sollerets. Standing, she said to Orva, “I’m going to take the dogs out, for it is too early for the wedding, and no one will be in the hall but the servants and the men. I shan’t be long.”

“You’ll get your gown dirty,” Orva protested.

“No, I won’t,” Cicely promised, and then she was gone, the terriers at her heels. The hall was still quiet, although the servants bustled about. It would be another half an hour before the wedding began. Her last marriage had been in the winter—February, she thought as she went through the front door, the dogs racing ahead.

The day was beautiful. The sky was clear. Not a cloud marred its perfect color. The sun was just up, and it sparkled on the deep blue waters of the loch. The air was crisp, and the hillsides were bright with patches of color here and there. On the edge of the woodlands across the meadow was a small, fast-flowing stream. Cicely decided to walk to it. Ahead of her the dogs bounded along, yapping at anything that moved: a last butterfly, a fat bumblebee gathering what was left of a daisy’s pollen.

Reaching the wood, Cicely couldn’t resist taking her slippers off, lifting her skirts, and wading in the water. She squealed, for it was icy, and quickly withdrew herself, slipping her footwear back on. It was so beautiful. So peaceful. Her two terriers sat in a blaze of golden sunshine. With a reluctant sigh Cicely turned from the stream and
the wood, calling to the dogs, and together they returned across the meadow to the house.

Orva was already in the hall. She looked her mistress over critically, noting a faint damp spot on the skirt’s hem. She shook her head at Cicely, but she was smiling.

“It will dry,” Cicely said. “I couldn’t resist the meadow or the stream. It’s the most perfect day, Orva. Do you think that bodes well for this marriage?”

“I think it does, my lady,” Orva answered her mistress.

Descending the stairs into the hall, Kier Douglas heard Cicely. For some reason he found her words encouraging. Was it possible she might just be learning to like him? He hoped it was so, for while he might say he didn’t like her, the truth was that he had come to like her very much. But as she always responded in kind to him, he would not tell her of this change of heart he was having. At least, not until she admitted to liking him. His father had always warned of giving a woman the upper hand. He walked into the hall where the king, the queen, and Lord and Lady Grey were now waiting.

“Good morrow, my liege, Your Highness.” He greeted the royal couple with a bow. Then he turned, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment. He had never seen Cicely look so beautiful. “Good morrow, madam. Are you ready to wed me without further ado?” He bowed to her.

He was handsome. There was simply no denying it. That coal black hair. The bright blue eyes. They would have beautiful children, she thought. “Good morrow, my lord,” she greeted him. “Aye, I am ready to wed you.” He was wearing dark wool breeks and a white shirt, and his gray-black-and-white Douglas plaid was slung across his chest, held by his silver clan badge—the family motto,
Jamais arrière,
meaning “Never behind” engraved about its circular shape. On his head was a black velvet cap with an eagle’s feather, which denoted his position as laird in this place.

Father Ambrose hurried in, carrying the marriage contracts. He
bowed to them all, and then spread the parchments on the high board, where an inkstand and quill had already been set. “This family will be honored if you and the queen will witness these documents, my liege,” the priest said. He looked about the hall. “Where is Sir William?”

“I am here, Ambrose,” the bridegroom’s father said, stepping from among his men.

The priest handed the inked quill to Kier Douglas. The laird signed and handed the quill back to Ambrose Douglas. Re-inking the quill, he handed it to Cicely. She signed with a delicate flourish. Then came the witnesses. King James. Queen Joan. Sir William and Lord Grey. “ ’Tis done,” the cleric said, sanding the signatures. “Now let us get to the Mass, and I will give this couple the Church’s blessing.”

The wedding party walked from the hall and out into the bright October day. The entire village had turned out to see them. As they reached Glengorm Church, Mary Douglas stepped forward to press a small bouquet of late pink roses mixed with white heather into Cicely’s hand. The bride smiled and thanked her clanswoman.

Everyone who could crowded into the church. Mab’s great-nephew Gabhan acted as Father Ambrose’s acolyte. The sun shone through the narrow windows of the church. They had no glass, and in the winter, even with the shutters closed tightly, the church was cold and drafty. Today, however, the last of midautumn’s warmth made the building habitable. The air was filled with incense today. Beeswax candles, not tallow, flickered on the small altar. Only the wedding party had rough seats. The rest of the congregation stood until the Mass was concluded. Then Father Ambrose blessed the newly married couple, who departed Glengorm Church, their clansmen and -women following behind them.

In the hall trestles and benches now covered the floor. The entire village crowded in, joining the king’s men at the tables. Casks of October ale were broached. Everyone had brought some sort of drinking vessel to use. There were fresh-baked cottage loaves on all the tables,
with crocks of sweet butter and small wheels of hard yellow cheese. Platters filled with rashers of bacon and slices of ham were brought for the guests, along with hard-boiled eggs. At the high board Mab had prepared a special breakfast of poached eggs in a cream sauce that was flavored with marsala wine. The was a platter of sliced salmon, another of ham, and trenchers filled with a vegetable potage, along with warm cottage loaves, butter, cheese, and plum jam. The wine cups were never allowed to be less than half-full.