The Border Lord's Bride (21 page)

The peace did not last. When did peace between the two lands ever last? Five years later Malcolm once again attempted to expand his territories, and lost more than he gained. King William‘s eldest son, Robert, built a castle on the Tyne. His younger son, and eventual successor, William Rufus, built another at Carlisle. Fourteen years later King Malcolm died during his fifth invasion of England, this one, however, justified by the provocation of William Rufus. His eldest son, Edward, died with him. Queen Margaret, a devout woman, died shortly thereafter, resigning herself to the will of God.

James IV considered what happened next as Scotland had fallen into near anarchy. He sighed.

Always the English throughout the centuries. Even in his father‘s reign they had attempted to destabilize the country with their constant plottings. It had been Edward IV and his brother, later King Richard III, who had encouraged King James III‘s younger brother in his attempt to overthrow Scotland‘s king. And now, James thought, here I am offering to shelter and sponsor the young man who claims to be the younger son and nephew of those two kings.

He recalled that his distant kinswoman, Adair Radcliffe, wife of Conal Bruce, the laird of Cleit, had said the two princes were murdered by Lancastrians after King Richard III was killed. But still he considered the delightful havoc he could cause the English king by championing this young man. He sought the quiet counsel of his aunt. "The Duchess of Burgundy says he is without a doubt her true nephew," James said when his aunt had finished reading the missive that had been sent to Scotland.

"Yet Adair Radcliffe says her half brothers were killed at Middlesham after Richard‘s death,"

Margaret Stewart said.

"But she wasn‘t there," the king argued. "A servant brought her word. How can we be certain he wasn‘t lying, hadn‘t been sent by King Henry to cover the princes‘ escape?"

"Margaret of Burgundy has always hated the Tudors," his aunt replied. "And King Henry is not yet entirely secure upon his throne. She seeks to help the Yorkists, Jamie. You say Adair wasn‘t at Middlesham when her brothers were killed. Neither was Margaret of Burgundy, my lad. Is it so important to you to irritate Henry Tudor?"

James smiled mischievously, but then he grew serious. "I‘m tired of the constant raiding along the border, and the attempts to subvert my border lords," he said. "Perhaps the English and I could come to an accommodation if I had something with which to bargain. Henry will have many a sleepless night if I take this son of Edward‘s into my keeping, and champion his just cause. What if he is the genuine article, Aunt?"

"There is one way to find out," Margaret Stewart said quietly. "Adair will know for certain, for she was raised with young Richard of York."

"She last saw him when he was ten," the king reminded his aunt. "She might not recognize the man he has become."

"That is true," the lady agreed, "but he would certainly recognize her, for Adair was grown when she left court, and she visited at Middlesham after the two princes arrived there from London.

You must arrange to have Adair see this Richard."

"Conal Bruce won‘t bring her to court, and there is no reason to invite them," the king noted.

And then a light came into his eyes. "But I could go into the borders to hunt grouse in the autumn, and visit with the Bruces. In the meantime I will invite the Duchess of Burgundy to send her nephew to Scotland so we may become better acquainted. I shall then take my guest with me when it is time to go hunting." He chuckled.

"Will you stay at Cleit?" Margaret Stewart asked.

"Aye, and I shall spend a night or two at Armstrong‘s holding to inspect the fortifications he has erected. That shall give me another excuse. I shall say I would like his brothers and Adair to join us there as well," the king decided.

But it was late autumn before the young man calling himself Richard of York arrived in Scotland. The king decided to invite the lairds of Cleit and Duffdour, along with their wives, to celebrate Christmas at his favorite castle of Linlithgow. There could be no refusing such an invitation, but at his aunt‘s suggestion James had invited Duncan Armstrong, because he knew Conal Bruce would be less apt to complain if his brother and Ellen were to come. He even saw that a small chamber was set aside to house the two women. Their husbands would have to find their own place to sleep, like most of the other guests. An invitation to join the king at Christmas was an honor no matter the difficulties of housing the guests.

"I won‘t go," Adair told her husband.

"You‘ll go," Conal Bruce said grimly. "He wants us both there for a reason, and we cannot refuse him. He‘s the king."

"I‘m not leaving my holding in the winter weather to prance about the court with a lot of idlers and hangers-on," Duncan Armstrong told his wife.

"Oh, yes, you will," Ellen responded. "If the king calls, it is our duty to answer him." She gave him a quick kiss. "Besides, I have not played chess in months, and I know the king will want to play. If you won‘t learn, Duncan, my lord, then I must feed my passion for the game at court."

She gave him another quick kiss.

"You‘re a bad lass," he grumbled.

"Aye, I am," she agreed, and slid into his arms. "Will you teach me better?" Her mouth was now practically brushing his.

"Nay, I like you bad," Duncan Armstrong said, his arms tightening about her. Her round, sweet breasts against his chest felt wonderful. He nibbled at her lower lip. "Remember I once told you that I meant to have you in many different places?"

Ellen reached down between them and caressed the length now hardening within his breeches.

"Is now one of those times, my lord?" she murmured softly, her fingers closing about him, encouraging him in his intent. Her little tongue snaked out to lick at his lips.

"Aye," he drawled slowly. "Here. Now. In the hall." He backed her over to the high board, gently forcing her up on the dais and turning her about. "Bend, wench, and put your hands on the table," he ordered her.

"Duncan!" Ellen squealed nervously. "What if the servants see us?"

"There are no servants in the hall, and should one enter he will quickly leave," he told her. "They want an heir to Duffdour as much as we do." He pushed her skirts up and ran his hand down her graceful back and over her bared buttocks. "Such a delicious little bottom," he said softly as he loosened his clothing, freeing his cock.

"This is very wicked," Ellen protested. And exciting. "Ohhh!" His fingers had found their way between her nether lips and were now encouraging her juices to release themselves. She squirmed and pressed against his hand.

Finally satisfied that she was ready to be penetrated, he took his cock in his hand and guided it to its destination. Then with a single smooth thrust he drove into her.

"Ahhhh," Ellen cried softly as he filled her full.

Reaching forward, he forced her back into an arch so he might fondle her breasts. His fingers squeezed gently as he stood quietly, his manhood filling her. She stirred beneath him and murmured a soft protest. The laird laughed low. "Do you want to be fucked, my precious?" he asked her.

She did not answer him.

"You must tell me," he teased her, "or I shall not know what to do."

Still she remained silent.

"Then I shall leave you to yourself," Duncan said, pretending to pull away from her. He grinned to himself, awaiting her protest.

"Fuck me, damn you!" his wife hissed at him.

Laughing, he began to move on her. Thrusting deeply. Withdrawing in a single smooth motion.

Thrusting again, and again and again until she was whimpering, straining beneath him, her rounded buttocks moving in time with him. His hand now held her hips in a firm grasp as he drove into Ellen, now eliciting little cries of pleasure from her throat. And then she cried out, and he released himself into her.

"I can‘t breathe," Ellen finally said, struggling to get out from beneath him. "Get off me, you great lump!"

Duncan sighed deeply as he lifted himself from her. "You have an absolute talent for passion, my little wife," he told her with an answering sigh. Then he stood and pulled her skirts down for her before turning her onto her back half on the table, pinioning her beneath him and kissing her soundly. "Next time on the high board," he told her with a wicked grin.

Rosy, her lips swollen with his kisses, Ellen pushed him away and stood. "Only in the middle of the night," she told him. "I don‘t want to get caught in such behavior."

"But that‘s half the fun of it," he teased back as her blush deepened.

"Only if you promise me you‘ll go to Linlithgow for Christmas, and not complain," Ellen said.

"I‘d rather spend our first Christmas as a newlywed couple here in our own home," the laird of Duffdour protested to his wife.

"So would I," Ellen agreed, "but he wants us there for a specific purpose, else he would not have asked an unimportant border lord and his equally unimportant wife to join him. I have a distinct feeling that he may have asked the laird of Cleit too."

Duncan took his wife‘s hand, and together they walked back to the hearth, seating themselves upon the settle. "Why do you think that?" he asked her.

"There were rumors at court before I left it last spring that the Duchess of Burgundy was claiming that the younger of her brother‘s sons had survived and was with her. She is looking for allies to help her revenge her family on the Tudors. What could be better than to claim she has the son—her nephew—of the last two kings before Henry Tudor? And King James is still young enough to enjoy an opportunity to strike a blow at England without having to raise an army to do it. What if he has invited the Duchess of Burgundy‘s protégé to Scotland, and would legitimize his status by having Adair recognize him and claim him as her half brother? She did tell me that she was raised at the court of her father, and knew the two princes well."

"If what you say is so, why invite us?" Duncan Armstrong wanted to know.

"Adair Bruce will not want to go to court at Christmas, Duncan. Like you, she will resist the invitation, but her husband will insist, being the king‘s loyal man. James is clever enough to know that if we must go too it will make it more palatable for her," Ellen explained. "He is not, cannot be certain this prince is the real one. He knows that Adair will be able to tell him. That is why he wants her at court."

"This business between kings is a damned waste of time," Duncan grumbled, "and ‘tis always the simple people who get caught in the troubles that follow."

"I know," Ellen agreed, "but is it not the way of the world, my husband?"

He put an arm about her, and Ellen laid her head against his shoulder. "You are proving to be a good wife, lass," he told her. "I believe that in these past months I have come to love you, and I always thought it a good thing that a man love his wife."

She was astounded to hear such a declaration from him. He had come to love her? But did she love him? She hadn‘t considered it, Ellen thought, surprised at herself. He was a good companion. A fair and just man. He treated her with kindness, and she had to admit in finding pleasure in their bed sport. "I am not certain what love is, or is not," she told him, for such a pronouncement deserved an honest reply. "I do not think I loved my cousin Donald MacNab. He was simply the man I was to marry one day, and we liked each other. Our fate was set from childhood. It was what was expected of us," Ellen explained. "I never knew anyone who loved another."

"Does the king not love his mistress?" the laird wanted to know.

"James Stewart lusts after his women," Ellen said with a chuckle. "I do not believe his heart has ever been engaged by any, although he must like them, but perhaps Meg Drummond is

different."

"Do you mind that I love you?" Duncan asked her.

"Mind? Why would I mind?" she replied. "I consider myself fortunate, my lord, that you love me. And I believe that once I come to understand love more fully I will come to love you as well.

I hope you are willing to wait."

"Forever," he declared softly. "Until the heather ceases to bloom upon the hills of Scotland!"

"You are extravagant in your promise, Duncan Armstrong," Ellen said. "I quite like it. You make me feel cherished, and never before have I felt that way."

"Then I need not fear some court dandy will lure you from my side when we go to Linlithgow,"

he remarked with a small chuckle.

"Nay, I am quite satisfied to be your border bride, Duncan Armstrong," Ellen told him, and she snuggled closer against him.

They sent to Cleit and learned that the Bruces had indeed been commanded to come to court for Christmas. They arranged to meet on the road to Linlithgow and arrive together, en famille. The December weather grew cold, and there was snow on the road when the Armstrongs of Duffdour set out for Linlithgow. The trip had been planned in brief stages, for the mid-December days were short, and they did not want to be caught upon the road by the early darkness. It took them twice as long as it would have in the summer months. They had a rider going ahead of them to arrange for their evening shelter at the homes of several acquaintances, at two convents, and a monastery. They finally met up with the Bruces of Cleit at an inn on the road to Edinburgh. It wasn‘t a particularly reputable establishment, but the food was good, and the number of men-at-arms with their Bruce and Armstrong badges guaranteed the two lairds and their wives a night of safety along with a hot meal.

The innkeeper fell over himself at their arrival, bowing and smiling as he ushered them into the building. "Welcoom, my lords, my ladies! Ye‘ll be staying the night, of course, as ‘tis almost dark. We‘re most crowded tonight with all the traffic to the king‘s court, but I can offer ye an apartment at the rear of the house on the main floor, my lords, my ladies." He bowed again.

"You‘ll offer us an apartment on the second floor," Duncan Armstrong said quietly. "I may be from the borders, but I know better than to stay on the main floor of a public house. I am the laird of Duffdour, and this is my half brother, the laird of Cleit. Both he and his lady are kin to the king, and personally invited to the Christmas revels. You will want to keep us safe, innkeeper."