The Border Lord's Bride (11 page)

"Ho! Now you have added insult to my wounded pride, mistress. You will have to pay the price for your impudence, I fear." And, swiftly yanking the chair between them away, he reached out and began to tickle her.

Ellen squirmed in his grasp, laughing until her eyes teared up. "Stop! Stop!" she cried. "Ohh, I can bear no more! Stop, Duncan!"

And suddenly he did. They stood staring at each other for a long moment. Ellen was flushed prettily. Her heart was beating too quickly, she thought. He wanted to kiss those cherry lips, the laird considered as he gazed down into her upturned little face. What would she think if he did?

he wondered.

"Well," Maggie‘s voice came breaking into the magic of the moment, "I think we have all had enough excitement for the night."

"Aye," Ellen agreed, lowering her eyes from his. For the briefest moment she had been lost in his gaze. It had enveloped her like a warm coverlet, leaving her feeling weak.

"Aye," the laird said. He wanted to protect her. To care for her. To cherish her. But Ellen MacArthur was the king‘s responsibility. Duncan had no rights to her.

The spring was coming. Work on the defensive walls surrounding Duffdour increased with urgent rapidity, for the milder weather and the melting snows would usher in a new season of border raids. The meadow nearest the keep was greening, and the laird‘s sheep and lambs were allowed from their pens. His small herd of cattle had been increased with the birth of several calves. And two of his mares had dropped foals, a filly and a colt. Large wooden gates banded and studded with iron were being built for the outer walls, which had been placed at the foot of the rise upon which the keep stood. Near the top of the rise the laird had decided to dig a moat.

"Will you enlarge the keep?" Maggie asked, curious.

Duncan shook his head. "Nay, but I shall erect a smaller inner wall about the house, which will allow us to withstand a siege should the outer walls be breached. The stream that cuts across the hill can be used to keep the moat filled. We will have a drawbridge with a portcullis, and smaller gates. We have a well already dug by the kitchens. My permission from the king says I may do all, whatever is necessary to secure Duffdour. The barn will sit in the larger outer courtyard, the stables within the smaller. If war comes—and it will certainly come again, given the current state of affairs between our King James and their King Henry—Duffdour will be safer than most. And the outer court is large enough for us to shelter my cattle, my sheep, and my cotters. I am tired of seeing them taken off by the English."

"You steal from them," Maggie noted.

"But I don‘t want to," the laird answered her. "I want to live in peace, with my wife and bairns about me."

"You have no wife," Maggie said pointedly.

"I will one day," he responded.

"Duncan," his older sister said patiently, "has it occurred to you that you are no longer a youth in your prime? You are well past thirty. Well past," she told him sharply. "You need to take a wife.

Now! You need an heir. Now! Not one day."

"I won‘t marry until I find a woman to love," Duncan Armstrong said. "I well recall how my half brother Conal Bruce struggled to keep from surrendering to that tender emotion. We could all see he loved his Adair, but he could not bring himself to admit it to her. He thought to love was a weakness, but it is not. Love is an incredible strength, sister, and I would have that wondrous power for my own."

"You surprise me, Duncan," the nun said.

"Do I?" He smiled at her. "I am glad I can surprise you, Maggie. But tell me where I am to find a lass to fall in love with, and I will do my best to comply."

"What of Ellen MacArthur?" the nun asked.

"Ellen?" He smiled. "Her fate is in the king‘s hands and not mine, Maggie. I know I have said it is unlikely she will ever return to Lochearn. But there is always the chance the king will come to an accommodation with the MacDonald and his MacArthur piper for the death of Balgair

MacArthur. He could choose one of his own strong supporters to wed with Ellen and hold Lochearn for him. I am the master of Duffdour. I cannot wed into the Highlands even for the king; nor would James Stewart ask it of me."

April came, and May. Then one day a royal messenger rode through Duffdour‘s newly hung gates and up to the keep. The parchment he handed to the laird, once unrolled, revealed a command to court. The laird of Duffdour was to come in the company of Ellen MacArthur of Lochearn, chaperoned by Sister Margaret Mary of St. Mary‘s convent, with all possible speed to Sterling, where the king was currently in residence.

Peigi packed up her mistress‘s few belongings, grumbling as she did that she was weary of being a nomad. That they had no more life than a tinker who traveled from place to place, with nothing to really call their own. Ellen restrained her amusement, reminding her servant that they had moved from castle to castle when they were with Princess Margaret‘s household. Peigi gave her a jaundiced look.

"Aye, tinkers," she said, sourly slamming the lid of the little wooden trunk shut. "Will we ever hae another place to really call our own, my bairn? I dinna see why we canna return to Lochearn.

Ye were but defending yerself when ye killed the fellow. And ye tell me he did murder the old laird and poor young Donald MacNab." She would not dignify Balgair MacArthur by even

speaking his name.

"All of that is truth," Ellen admitted, "but I suspect Balgair‘s father and the MacDonald might not see it that way. Lochearn is lost to me. The king said it himself."

They departed Duffdour several days later, arriving at the king‘s current residence several days after that. Ellen, Maggie, and Peigi were immediately brought to the king‘s aunt, where they would be sheltered. The laird sought out the king, who had just returned from hunting with his lords. James Stewart waved his companions aside and beckoned to Duncan Armstrong as a

servant ran to take his kill, and another put a goblet of wine into his gloved hand.

"Duncan! Are your defenses built yet?" the king asked.

"The outer walls are just about finished and the gates hung," the laird said. "Perhaps in the autumn you will come and stay, my lord. The grouse hunting is particularly good about

Duffdour. Mine isn‘t a large or great keep, but I think you will not find my hospitality lacking."

"I should like that," the king replied. Then he grew serious. "You have brought Mistress Ellen MacArthur with you, as I requested?"

"I have, my lord. She is chaperoned by her servant and my sister," the laird said.

"Give me an hour, and then bring them to my privy chamber," the king said.

"There is news from Lochearn?"

"There is news," came the reply. "One hour," the king repeated, quaffing the wine in his cup.

"The matter shall be ended today, Duncan." Then he waved the laird from his presence.

Duncan Armstrong immediately sought out Ellen and his sister in the princess‘s apartments. He did not see them, but Margaret Stewart‘s chief serving woman said, "I will tell young Ellen, my lord, and she will be ready when you come again to escort her."

Upon hearing she was to see the king in an hour, Ellen called to Peigi to help her dress. "I cannot go into the king‘s presence dressed for the road," she said. "Unpack my spring green gown, and fetch warm water for washing." She sat down on a settle by the fire and began to unbraid her hair so she might brush the dust from it.

Peigi hurried off to do her mistress‘s bidding.

"One of the advantages of my position in life," Maggie said with a small grin. "Having no wardrobe but that which I wear I have only to wash my face and hands and shake the road from my skirts."

Ellen laughed. "Not fair!" she said. "But if truth be known I should far rather have my pretty green gown. It won‘t be as fashionable as what you will see here at court, but I am content, and no peacock. Your mother‘s storage chamber was wonderful!"

"You should have made more than two gowns," Maggie scolded gently.

Ellen shook her head. "Where would I wear them? Two is more than enough for a lass like me.

And I was able to repair my other garments so they‘re no longer so shabby."

Peigi brought the warm water in a basin, and Ellen stepped behind a small wooden screen, washed herself, and put on her bright green gown. It was soft wool, and tight-fitting, with long sleeves that hugged her arms, a long waist, and a low vee neckline. Her girdle was leather, studded with rounds of green malachite. Her long red-gold hair was brushed and loose beneath a modest sheer veil of white lawn. She had no jewelry but a small silver clan badge that Grandsire had given her. She pinned it to her gown.

When they were ready to go she was surprised to find that the king‘s aunt was to accompany them. Ellen was not certain if she should be frightened by this or encouraged to have these three older women as her protectors. Did she need protection? She would soon find out. The princess led the way through the castle to her nephew‘s privy chamber, where James Stewart and Duncan Armstrong awaited.

Ellen curtsied low to the king and gave him a tremulous smile.

"We are pleased to see you looking so well, Ellen MacArthur," the king said, unable to keep his eyes from going to her breasts. Indeed, she was looking well, he thought to himself, and then, seeing his aunt‘s sharp look, he smiled at the girl. "Now, though I would not bring you pain, mistress, I would once again hear the story you told me last autumn when you begged my protection."

Startled by the request, Ellen repeated the story she had told the king several months back. Why, she wondered, did he want to hear it again?

"You say you killed Balgair MacArthur when he attempted to assault you?"

"Aye, my lord," Ellen replied.

"You are certain you killed him?"

"My lord, the groan he gave when I stabbed him was terrible to hear. After he fell to the floor he did not move again; nor did I hear a sound from him. It took me several very long minutes to compose myself, dress, and flee my bedchamber. It took time for me to get to the stable, to saddle my horse, to get through the postern gate and escape. At no time was the alarm raised, because I killed him and no one yet knew it. I have, under the guidance of Sister Margaret Mary, prayed each day for the repose of his soul, and for God to forgive my taking the life of another."

A look of tender compassion crossed the young king‘s handsome face. Then he said, "God has spared you a great sin, Mistress Ellen. Balgair MacArthur is not dead."

Ellen‘s small hand flew to her mouth. "God help me," she half whispered, and then she felt the nun‘s hand slip into hers and squeeze it hard.

"He is here, my bonny." The king tried to comfort the pale girl by using the nickname he had christened her with when she had lived with the court. "You must face him before you can be free of him." He turned to his personal page. "Bring him in, lad."

Duncan Armstrong‘s hand went automatically to his blade.

"Be brave, child," the king‘s aunt whispered.

Ellen began to tremble as the door opened.

Balgair MacArthur stepped into the king‘s privy chamber. None of them was certain which of them gasped at the sight of his face. A long, raised reddish scar traversed it from his left eyebrow, across his cheek, and below his jawline. A small scar ran across his right cheek to the edge of his mouth. He bowed to the king, and then his eyes found Ellen. He attempted a smile, but the scar on his right cheek made the smile crooked.

"Wife," he said to her. His cruel gaze mocked her.

"I am not your wife, Balgair," Ellen said quietly. But her heart beat wildly.

"My lord, if I may speak," Balgair asked the king, and James nodded his consent. "Despite her assault upon me, an attack that almost cost me my life, I would hae her back. I will wed her this day before God and before ye, my liege. Send for yer priest, my lord!" His voice was rough and whispery to their ears. "She was promised to me by her grandfather, and I will hae her though she be a treacherous bitch. Lochearn will nae be fully mine wi‘out her. I will nae go back wi‘out her. She belongs to me!" He turned and stepped toward Ellen, his hand reaching for her. "Ye‘re mine, and I‘ll let nae another hae ye, Ellen MacArthur!"

Ellen shrank back as fear filled her. Then she crumpled to the floor with a small cry of horror.

Immediately Peigi and Maggie were kneeling to tend to the fallen girl.

Margaret Stewart looked sharply at her nephew, and then she turned to Balgair MacArthur. "The wench will be punished for her insolence, of course, my lord, will she not? Your wounds are fearful, and was your voice damaged by her knife? Your tones are low, rough and harsh."

"Aye, my voice was badly damaged, for when I regained consciousness I lay for many long hours crying out for help that did nae come," Balgair replied, thinking he had an ally in the king‘s stern-looking aunt. "As for my bride, I intend beating her every day until she ripens wi‘

my seed, madam. But after she gies me my son she will be beaten at least once a week to remind her I am her master. She will learn to obey me wi‘out question, I promise ye. Her grandsire doted upon her to her detriment."

Margaret Stewart nodded. "You killed the old man, then, and his heir?" she said.

"Nay, he was kin. I would nae hae his blood on my hands. I hae one of my men kill him. But I did do the MacNab myself, and it gie me great pleasure, I can tell ye," Balgair said. Then, suddenly suspecting he might have gone too far, he explained, "Old Ewan hae nae right to gie away MacArthur lands to a MacNab. When my da heard of it he was rightly angered. We came to Lochearn and attempted to make the old man see the wisdom of our way, but he would nae listen to us. When we came again to steal the lass, she was gone. It was some time before we learned where. We hae nae choice but to take Lochearn, but while the clansmen hae accepted me, for I am their kin, it will be better if Ellen is my wife and gies me my bairns."

"Indeed," Margaret Stewart said, and turned again to look straight at the king. "Well, nephew, what say you in this matter?"