The Border Lord's Bride (2 page)

Then he grew serious again. "You will take in this lass from Lochearn, then, and watch over her?

When do you think she will arrive?"

"Sooner than later, unless I miss my guess," Margaret Stewart said tartly. "The old laird‘s cousin, having been refused, would have hurried home to Skye, gathered a raiding party, and returned with all due haste to take the girl. He will be mightily surprised to learn his quarry has eluded him. If she rode swiftly enough she would not be worth going after at this time. If these MacArthurs of Skye are determined enough, they will wait for their prey to eventually return home. I wonder if Ewan MacArthur‘s strategy is as clever as he believes it to be. I hope young MacNab is capable of defending himself, for he may have to fight for his betrothed bride."

Gavin MacArthur, being predictable, did indeed return to Lochearn several weeks after his first visit. His son Balgair rode with him. Ewan MacArthur was not surprised to see them. And the moment he set eyes on Balgair MacArthur he knew he was right in refusing his cousin‘s request.

The younger man was rough and coarse. Stocky and of medium height, he had dirty blond hair and light blue eyes. He could neither read nor write his name. Such skills, he told the laird, were a waste of time when all a man needed was a knowledge of how to fight well, hold his ale, and fuck a woman.

"Ye‘ve met my granddaughter," the laird said to his cousin Gavin. "Do ye really think this ignorant bear of a lad of yers is fit to be her husband?"

"He‘s strong enough to hold Lochearn, and lusty enough to put a bairn in her belly, cousin. What more could she want in a husband and protector? And ye would hae the protection of my lord, the MacDonald of the isles."

"I dinna need his protection, unless it would be from ye and yer kin," Ewan MacArthur snapped.

"Where is the lady Ellen?" Gavin MacArthur asked.

"On her way, two weeks now, to King James. I hae put her under his protection," the laird said.

"I told ye that she will wed Donald MacNab and nae other."

"Search the keep," Gavin MacArthur said to his son and his men.

"Go ahead." The laird chortled. "She‘s gone. Did ye think I dinna divine yer purpose when ye left here? But ye‘ll nae steal this bride!"

The MacArthurs of Skye departed Lochearn an hour later, Ewan MacArthur‘s laughter ringing in their ears.

"One day I‘ll kill that old man," Balgair told his father.

"Not until ye hae the lass in hand," Gavin replied.

"Could we nae send to the king and demand her return?" Balgair asked his father.

"‘Twould do us nae good, for my cousin hae got to Jamie first, and besides, we hae nae legal rights to Lochearn. The girl will come back in time, and we will be waiting. The priest, Father Birk, comes from the isles. I hae asked him to let me know when the young mistress returns. And I gae him a silver penny. He‘s old and a bit confused in his mind. We‘ll know when Ellen MacArthur is coming home to Lochearn, Balgair, for he will let me know. He thinks I am in the laird‘s favor, for I hae spoken most kindly of Ewan MacArthur. And you will be there awaiting her when she does return."

"But when will that be?" Balgair demanded to know.

"We hae time, my lad," Gavin MacArthur replied. "Now look about ye and see what ye‘ll inherit one day. Lochearn is a fair land to look upon."

"Why can we not simply slay the old man and take it then?" Balgair said. "I am a MacArthur born. Are MacArthurs not entitled to MacArthur lands?"

"Ye need the lass to make yer claim a legitimate one. If yer clansmen rebel ye hae no power, lad.

With Ellen MacArthur for a wife yer claim on Lochearn is a valid one."

"Then I‘ll wait for her to return, Da," Balgair said.

"When can we return home to Lochearn?" Anice asked for what surely was the hundredth time, Ellen thought.

"When Grandsire sends for us, and not before," she said.

"What if he doesn‘t send for us? What if he dies, and no one knows where we hae gone?" Anice whined. "I dinna like it here in the south. I dinna like that high and mighty Lady Margaret either.

She treats me like a servant."

"You are a servant," Ellen said. "A very spoiled one, it would seem."

"They say yer da fathered me before he wed yer mam. They say the old laird knew it. They say when I was found he recognized me, and that is why he took me in."

"They seem to say a great deal," Ellen responded. "But it means little."

"This chamber is a wee one. There is scarce room for the bed and my trundle," Anice remarked meanly.

"Dinna you realize how fortunate we are to hae this wee chamber?" Ellen asked her serving woman. "We might hae been put in wi‘ the other women of the princess‘s household. She was most gracious to us. Now stop complaining and unpack what ye can. I am going to join the lady Margaret in her little hall." Ellen hurried from the room. Anice had done nothing but fuss and wail since they had departed Lochearn. Ellen almost wished they had left her behind and brought Peigi instead. She made her way to the private hall where Lady Margaret spent her afternoons.

Seeing her enter, the princess waved the girl to her.

Ellen came forward and curtsied politely.

"You are settling yourself, lassie?" Margaret Stewart asked.

"I am, ma‘am. Yer kindness is appreciated. I dinna nae what to expect here at the king‘s court. I hae ne‘er seen such a grand place as this Sterling."

The girls sitting about the princess giggled at Ellen‘s Highland accent, and the girl flushed, knowing the reason for their hilarity.

The princess, however, addressed them all sharply. "Ellen is from the western Highlands, and of course she speaks differently than we do. What do you think the English would think of your accents, my lasses? They would consider you barbaric."

"Surely not, madam!" one girl, Katherine Gordon, cried.

"Indeed they would," Margaret Stewart said. "Now apologize to Ellen MacArthur, and offer her your friendship. She will, I expect, be with us for some time."

"We‘re sorry!" the girls surrounding the princess chorused.

Ellen smiled brightly at them. "Thank you," she said. "And ye must correct me when I speak so that my speech is as fine as yers."

"You, not ye," one girl answered. "And yours, not yers."

Ellen nodded. "I‘ll remember," she told them.

Margaret Stewart smiled to herself. The girl would fit in nicely with the other lasses in her charge. And she was certainly a pretty creature with her bright hair and pale skin. She was just the sort of lass the king would favor. Petite. Soft-spoken. Round. I shall have to keep her very close, the princess thought to herself. The laird of Lochearn would not be pleased to have his granddaughter returned to him carrying a bastard in her arms. Even a royal bastard. Damn! I should rather be back in my own house reading than overseeing all these women. Why do they bother to come to court?

The princess was surprised to find that Ellen MacArthur was not the ill-educated bumpkin she had thought she would be. The girl spoke French and English, as well as her Highland language.

She had a small knowledge of mathematics and history. She had been taught, she said, by an old scholar who had somehow ended up spending his last days at Lochearn.

"Grandsire was not certain I should waste my time in learning, but he liked the old wise man. He kept the hall well entertained in the evenings with his tales," Ellen explained. "It gae…gave Bothan pleasure to teach me, and as long as I dinna…did not neglect my duties my grandsire allowed it."

"How long was he with you?" the princess asked.

"Until he died last year," Ellen said.

"What of your parents?" Margaret Stewart wanted to know.

"They died in a winter epidemic when I was two," the girl answered. "I hae…have no memories of them at all. My grandsire is all the family I have ever known."

"And the lad you are to wed?" the king‘s aunt persisted.

"Donald? We are cousins. Grandsire and his grandmother are brother and sister. I‘ve met him several times in my life. He is a good man."

"Is he handsome?" Margaret Stewart asked with a small smile.

"Oh, aye, he is. He hae…has fiery hair like I do, and the loveliest blue eyes," Ellen replied with an audible sigh.

The other girls giggled at this.

"Has he ever kissed you?" one girl asked mischievously.

"Nay! I am no light-skirt!" Ellen answered indignantly.

"What harm would there be in a kiss?" the girl said. "You are going to be wed."

"But we are nae…not wed yet. My old nursemaid says a man will not buy the cow if he can have the cream for free."

A burst of giggles greeted this observation, but Margaret Stewart held up her hand to silence them all. "Ellen‘s nursemaid is correct, my lasses. If you expect to make good marriages you should be mindful of your reputations. A man will not wed a lass whose character is besmirched.

A road too well traveled holds no surprises."

It was, Ellen realized, an entirely different world at court from the one she was used to living in at Lochearn. A clever girl, she adapted quickly. Her speech grew less rough and countrified.

While she was not well-read—few girls her age were—she could speak passable French with the ambassador from that land, and her good manners distinguished her from many of the other young women in Margaret Stewart‘s household. She was cheerful, and others frankly enjoyed being in her company.

Anice, however, did not adjust to life at court. She was forever complaining; she grew lazy and neglectful in her duties. When Ellen caught her in a compromising situation with a serving man, she had no other choice but to go to the princess for advice. Anice would not listen to her mistress and was even openly rude.

"You will send her home immediately before she gets a big belly, if she does not already have one," Margaret Stewart said. "I‘ll send a messenger to your grandfather telling him that Anice is to be returned home, and asking him to send you another lass to serve you. You must have a serving woman, but this girl who came with you is sly and disobedient, Ellen. She causes strife among my servants. The man you caught her with is promised to another, and Anice flaunts her wickedness."

"I am sorry, madam, that my servant has caused dissent in your house," Ellen apologized, and her gray-blue eyes filled with tears. "Anice‘s life has not been easy."

"Nonsense!" Margaret Stewart said sharply. "Your grandfather took her in when she was found, you have told me, and she has been well treated."

The messenger was dispatched that same day, and several days later Anice, weeping copiously now because she was being sent home, was returned north. Ellen had assured the princess that she was perfectly capable of caring for herself until her grandfather sent another servant for her.

And when he did it was, to her delight, her old nursemaid, Peigi, which suited Ellen very well.

The king had decided to keep Christmas at Sterling. Walking into the magnificent great hall for the first time, Ellen was both astounded and awed. Its walls were painted in a rich lime-gold color known as King‘s Gold. She gazed openmouthed at the roof of the chamber, which had been built in the style called hammer-beamed. The tall windows lining the hall were of colored glass.

Stained glass, Princess Margaret explained to Ellen. There were five enormous fireplaces with huge metal andirons holding great logs that burned high and bright. Behind the high board hung the king‘s cloth of estate, a magnificent tapestry embroidered in gold and silver. The hall smelled of sweet herbs, and there were no rushes upon its floor.

"Wonderful, isn‘t it?" Margaret Stewart murmured to the obviously astonished young girl with her. She had already found Ellen more intelligent and observant than most of the lasses she chaperoned. "My brother built it. James had a flair for decor and other artistic pursuits that came from our mother. Alas, he was more like her, and less like a king of Scotland, and hence his sad end. That distinction was not lost upon his son, now our king. But come, Lady Ellen of Lochearn. It is time for you to meet your liege lord."

The crowd in the hall opened before Margaret Stewart as she moved across it, her maidens in her wake, to where her royal nephew sat upon the dais speaking with Lord Grey. Ellen had seen the king before, of course, but only from a distance. Now, up close, she could see he was a very handsome young man, with reddish gold hair and blue eyes. Near him on a stool sat a pretty young woman with dark hair. Ellen immediately recognized Marion Boyd, who was the king‘s current mistress. She was the niece of Archibald Douglas, the Earl of Angus, and the mother of the king‘s firstborn son, Alexander Stewart. Two rumors currently surrounded Marion Boyd. The first claimed she was again with child. The second suggested that the king was growing tired of her.

Overhearing her ladies gossiping about this possibility, Margaret Stewart had sharply put an end to their speculations. "Marion Boyd," she said, "disturbs the Church, which would prefer to see the king take a wife and get his children on her. But Marion will not suffer by her liaison with my nephew."

And Marion Boyd still sat in her place of honor near the handsome young king, Ellen noted as the princess brought her forward to meet James IV. He had concluded his conversation with Lord Grey, his head swiveling about, his eyes lighting up with pleasure upon seeing his aunt. She quickly kissed his hand as Ellen curtsied deeply.

"And who is this pretty lass, Aunt?" James Stewart asked.

"May I introduce to Your Majesty his ward, Ellen MacArthur of Lochearn," Margaret Stewart replied.

"Welcome to my court, Ellen MacArthur," the king said pleasantly. What a lovely lass, he thought to himself. He thought her green velvet gown flattering.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Ellen murmured softly.

"Do not look so awed, lass," the king addressed her in the Highland Celtic tongue. "And speak to me in this same language so we may converse freely."

"But I have been working so hard to smooth away my rough edges, my lord," Ellen told him.

"Your da did not speak our language. How is it you do?"