The Border Lord's Bride (12 page)

Ellen had just regained consciousness and lay in Peigi‘s arms, terrified and listening as the king began to speak. She was verging on hysterics, which she fought down.

The king was silent a long moment, as if deciding with himself what to do. Then he spoke. "Is it that you share the same name that gave you cause to believe you were entitled to Lochearn, Balgair MacArthur?"

"Nay, my lord. My family is kin to old Ewan. His grandfather was the eldest son in his generation. He hae a younger brother who married a lass from Skye. That is how the MacArthurs came to live there and to serve the lord of the isles. We are their pipers. My ancestress‘s family hae nae sons, and they were the lord‘s pipers. They taught my ancestor, and the lord accepted him, and ever since that day MacArthurs hae piped for the MacDonald. But we came originally from Lochearn. Why would the laird make a MacNab his heir when he had male kin?"

"That I would have to ask old Ewan MacArthur, but alas, you have killed him," the king noted dryly. "However, while I condemn all that has happened, I have no wish to offend the

MacDonald. We have communicated about this matter and together come to this decision: You will have Lochearn, and you will be its laird, for you are kin to the former lord. But you will not have Ellen MacArthur. There is too much hate between you, and you burn for revenge on this maiden. I see it in your eyes. I sense it in your heart, which is hardened against the lass. She would not live a month in your care. I will not have the death of an innocent on my soul, Balgair MacArthur. Go home now."

"But I need her to impress my authority upon my clansmen," Balgair protested.

"Your strength and your leadership should impress your authority upon your clansmen," the king said. "And you have the MacNabs to worry about. They will want their revenge on you for killing their kinsman. Go home, my lord. You have all you will gain from me. Though the MacDonald is a great and proud lord, ‘tis I, James Stewart, who is the king of Scotland. You would do well to remember that."

Balgair cast a dangerous look at Ellen, who now stood, the older women surrounding her protectively. "I‘ll hae my revenge on ye one day, Ellen MacArthur. Ye‘ll ne‘er be safe from me wherever ye may go," he said bitterly. "Well, if I canna hae ye, then yer half sister, Anice, will hae to do."

"I have told you that Anice is no blood kin to the MacArthurs, Balgair." She turned away from him, unable to look at what she had obviously done to his formerly handsome visage. She hadn‘t realized when she was fighting him off that her dirk had touched his face. Ellen could remember only her weapon stabbing and stabbing and stabbing at him in her terrified efforts to escape him and the rape he was attempting.

"Escort the laird of Lochearn out," Margaret Stewart said to the king‘s page. And when Balgair was gone the king‘s aunt said, "Forgive me, nephew, but I have some questions as to this matter.

I cajoled that fool into admitting his responsibility for two murders, and yet you let him walk free. What kind of justice is that, Jamie Stewart? Ellen MacArthur has lost her home, her inheritance, and I suspect she would know your reasons too. What is to become of this poor lass now that she has been impoverished?"

"Come and sit by my side, my bonny," the king invited Ellen, motioning to a small stool by his chair. When she had seated herself he said, "I had no choice but to allow Balgair MacArthur to go free. The MacDonald seeks an excuse to start an uprising in the Highlands, and would have used his piper‘s boorish son to fuel that uprising. Eventually I will break that proud lord‘s hold on the north, but now is not the time. You could not have returned in safety to Lochearn, my bonny. I am sorry, but I think you already knew that."

Ellen nodded. "Aye," she said, and she sighed. "I did, my lord. But what is to become of me now?" She turned to the king‘s aunt. "Peigi and I would serve you, my lady, for but a place to sleep and our daily bread. Peigi is not young, I know, but I am, and I am strong. I would work hard for you, my lady. Anything. Anything you asked of me I would gladly do."

"Of course I will take you in, my child," Margaret Stewart said, and she felt tears behind her eyelids. The poor lass, she thought.

"There is no need, Aunt. Ellen needs to wed, and wed she will," James Stewart said. His blue eyes were twinkling as his aunt looked questioningly at him.

"My lord, I would gladly marry, but I have no dower, and who would have a lass with no dower?" Ellen replied.

"But you do have a dower, my bonny," the king told her. And he held up a black velvet bag. "In this bag are twelve pieces of gold, ten silver pennies, ten silver half-pennies, two dozen coppers.

You may be bereft of lands, my bonny, but you are a very well dowered woman this day. Now, will you accept my choice of a husband for you, Ellen MacArthur? I have chosen a good man, I promise you." He jingled the bag at her.

"But, my lord, where did you find a dower for me?" she asked.

"Surely, my bonny, you didn‘t expect me just to let Balgair MacArthur have Lochearn?" The king chuckled. "Nay, my bonny. The MacDonald, at my behest, purchased Lochearn from you, for you are Ewan MacArthur‘s rightful heir and closest kin, not the MacArthurs of Skye. On the old laird‘s death Lochearn became yours to do with as you would. Why do you think Balgair wanted you so desperately? The MacArthur clansmen would have given you their first loyalty.

Your grandsire was forced before he was so cruelly slain to make Balgair his heir. This sale is his punishment for the theft and the murders. The MacArthurs of Skye owe their loyalty to the lord of the isles. They will not betray that loyalty. When Balgair returns north to his lands he will learn they are not his at all. He will discover he but holds them for the MacDonald. And should he at any time betray his overlord, the lord of the isles will not hesitate to kill him, as would I any man who betrayed me. The monies in this purse are what was paid for your lands, Ellen MacArthur. You have a dower. Now, answer my question. Will you accept my choice of a

husband?"

"James, do not force the lass to make a decision this day," Margaret Stewart said.

"The man you have chosen," Ellen said slowly, "he is a good man?"

"The best, my bonny!"

"Your Majesty has always treated me with kindness," Ellen responded. "I must therefore trust your judgment, for I know you would not see me unhappy. I will accept the man you have chosen for me, and thank you for what you have done on my behalf."

"Are you not curious as to who your bridegroom is, my bonny?" The king‘s blue eyes were dancing merrily, and there was a smile on his face.

"I do not have to ask, for you will certainly tell me, my lord. I can see you are bursting to do so,"

she teased him back as sudden relief poured through her.

"I think you will be content, my bonny," the king answered. "And you, Aunt, will not be unhappy. I have chosen the gentleman who has kept you safe these past months. You are to marry Duncan Armstrong!" he crowed.

The nun gasped, surprised, and then she smiled broadly. Ellen did not think she had ever seen Maggie Armstrong really smile, but this was indeed a smile. And the princess nodded, smiling too. Ellen‘s gaze turned to the laird, and she caught the total surprise upon his handsome face, which he quickly masked with a neutral look. The king had obviously not consulted him

beforehand. Remembering her months at court, Ellen recalled that the young king loved

surprising those about him. Ellen remembered Maggie saying her brother had the fanciful notion of marrying for love, but few marriages were based upon that nebulous emotion so often sung about. Marriage was a practical matter for people of their station that usually involved land or gold or both.

"Are you not pleased, my bonny?" James Stewart chortled.

"Your Majesty has chosen well," Ellen said, slowly struggling for the right words. And she supposed that he had. If she had to be married—and a respectable woman really did have to wed, or join a religious order, for which Ellen admitted to herself that she had no leaning—then better she be wed to a man she knew and respected. A man, however, did not necessarily have to marry, although men of property usually did. She knew the laird liked her, but just how did he honestly feel about being leg-shackled to her for the rest of their lives?

"You‘ll be wed today," the king said enthusiastically.

"Today?" Both Ellen and the laird spoke in unison.

"There is no need to wait," James Stewart said. "Duncan must get back to Duffdour as soon as possible. The banns can be waived. I‘ll send to the archbishop at once. My own priest will perform the ceremony in my private chapel."

"Then," the king‘s aunt said, "we must go and make certain that Ellen and Peigi are ready to depart once the deed is done. Come, ladies!" And she shepherded Maggie, Peigi, and Ellen from the king‘s privy chamber.

When they had gone, James Stewart turned to Duncan Armstrong and said, "Say what you need to say, my lord, so we may be done with it."

"You might have warned me, my lord," the laird said.

"It‘s past time you were married, Duncan," the king told him.

"You are not wed," the laird pointed out sharply.

"I am much younger than you are, and besides, I would convince those whom I must that Meg Drummond should be my queen." His eyes grew soft when he said her name. "The Drummonds have already given Scotland two queens. Why not a third?"

"I will pray that Your Majesty gains his heart‘s desire," the laird told him, "but why did you choose me to wed with Ellen Armstrong?"

"You know her, and she you. It would appear there is no dislike between you. And she has a fine dower, Duncan. Besides, ‘tis you who returned her to my protection."

"I could have hardly allowed her to fall back into Balgair MacArthur‘s clutches," the laird said indignantly. "You yourself saw the kind of man he is. He would have killed Ellen in short order, or she him. She is a gentle lass."

"And you are a good man who will treat her well," the king responded. "She will make you a fine wife, Duncan."

"I know that," the laird said. "Almost immediately my steward, Sim, deferred to her. My household ran more smoothly with Ellen managing it than it has since I inherited Duffdour. She has intelligence and a kind heart. But I am not certain I am ready to wed, my lord."

"Few men are ever ready to wed," the king said with a wisdom far beyond his years. "But wed we must for our families, for our estates. If my memory serves me readily—and it usually does—

you are well into your thirties, Duncan Armstrong. When you were naught but a younger son with little to offer you were wise to eschew marriage, but that is no longer the case. You are the laird of Duffdour, and you have a duty to your people to gets bairns on a wife so your family may continue and prosper."

"But why choose me?" the laird persisted.

"Because I cannot marry her into the north. Any from that region would attempt to regain Lochearn and cause clan dissension. It is best she be as far from the western Highlands as possible, and so marrying her into a border family seems the proper course for me to take. And you need a wife, my old friend."

Duncan Armstrong laughed. "It is obvious I cannot convince you otherwise. I had always planned to wed for love, but Ellen is a good companion, so I will be satisfied."

"You diplomatically did not mention that you have no choice, as I have ordered you to do so,"

James Stewart murmured mischievously.

"Nay, my lord, I did not," Duncan replied.

The king handed the laird the velvet bag of coins. "Her dower," he said.

Duncan Armstrong took the bag and tucked it into his leather jerkin. "Thank you," he replied.

A young page was admitted to the king‘s privy chamber. "My lady the princess says the

marriage must take place on the morrow after prime, for then the couple will have the whole day to travel. There is no time left today. And you must speak with the bishop, my lady says." The lad bowed to the two men.

"Tell your mistress it will be as she wishes," the king said, and the boy, bowing again, hurried out. "We should celebrate your impending nuptials tonight, then," James Stewart said with a grin. "My aunt means for you to be out and gone tomorrow."

"With your permission, my lord, I would go and speak with Ellen first," the laird said. "I would reassure her that all will be well."

"Go," the king said with a wave of his hand.

Duncan hurried through the castle halls to Princess Margaret‘s apartments, and, after asking permission of the king‘s aunt, he led Ellen into the castle gardens, where they might have a modicum of privacy while they spoke. "I did not know what the king proposed," he began. "Nor of the dower he obtained for you from the MacDonald."

"I know," she told him. "The look of surprise on your face when he announced you were to be my intended bridegroom was wondrous to behold, my lord." Ellen giggled mischievously. "And then you hid it so quickly."

"Are you content with this?" he inquired of her.

"My lord, you are aware that we are not being given a choice, aren‘t you? We are commanded to marry, and so we must. I am content with the king‘s decision. I like you. I like your sister. I like Duffdour. But if there is another who has a place in your heart, my lord, I will ask the king to reconsider. I would not part you from a true love, Duncan Armstrong, especially when you have been so good to me," Ellen told him.

"I love no other," he admitted, and as he did he realized that if he had said he did she would have insisted the king free him from this obligation. But for some reason he did not want to lie to her.

If he did then what would happen to her? The thought of someone being unkind to Ellen

MacArthur disturbed him deeply. "We will wed on the morrow," he said. "And then we will leave immediately for Duffdour. Do you mind if we go quickly, Ellen? We need to get home."

"I agree," she said with a small smile. "The defenses need to be completed. It won‘t be long before the English come raiding again. And Laren needs to be replaced out by the signal fire.