The Border Lord's Bride (5 page)

"Family is all-important," Duncan Armstrong agreed. "My brothers and I stayed together after our mam died, but it was Adair, Conal‘s wife, who brought back the true meaning of family for us. I miss Cleit yet, although I have lived several years at Duffdour. I visit them as often as I can.

They have several bairns: Jamie, Andrew, John, and Janet."

"Now you must find a lass to marry and have your own bairns, my lord. I am so happy to be coming home to wed with Donald," Ellen said.

"Do you love him?" the laird asked, curious.

"I am not certain what exactly love is," Ellen admitted. "The king, they say, is in love with Lord Drummond‘s daughter, Meg. He is not the same man when she is not with him, but when she is he seems happiest. I am not sure I would want someone else to be responsible for my moods, if that is what love does to one."

Duncan Armstrong smiled at this observation. "My brother Conal fell in love with Adair, but he could not say the words to her, and she would not wed him until he did. When I love a woman I shall tell her, so there is no misunderstanding between us."

They camped that night in a dry cave, and the next night on the edge of a wood. Ellen was restless. She could sense her home just over the horizon, but she could also sense that something was wrong. What, she was not certain, but she was overwhelmed with a feeling of foreboding.

Her grandfather always said that she had the sight, but she hoped it wasn‘t so. She had seemed to lose those odd feelings when she was at court, but now within a few hours‘ ride of her home she was experiencing them again.

She was eager to depart that last morning. They crossed the meadow where they had camped before first light. The horses moved through several copses of wood, up some low hills, and down again, finally coming to the shores of a small, very blue loch. On its far side was Lochearn Keep, two dark stone towers connected by a hall and surrounded by a high stone wall. The horses slowly picked their way around the barely discernible trail edging the loch, finally arriving at the keep‘s barred gates.

They stopped, and riding forward the laird called out, "I am Duncan Armstrong, and I have brought the lady Ellen MacArthur home to Lochearn. King James sends all here his greetings."

The heavy wooden gates slowly creaked open after a short span, and they rode into the courtyard before the keep. Looking about her Ellen did not recognize many familiar faces, and she was surprised that her grandfather was not there to greet her. He was obviously sicker than she had been told.

Then Father Birk came from the keep. "Welcome home, my lady," he said, but he was not

smiling, and she could see the concern in his rheumy eyes.

"What has happened?" Ellen wanted to know. "Where is Grandsire?"

"Come into the hall, my lady," the priest said, beckoning them. "You also, sir."

The laird moved next to Ellen. "What is wrong?" he murmured as they walked.

"I am not certain, but something is not right here," she answered him.

They followed the priest into one of the towers, and then turned toward the hall. It was a small, cozy chamber with a beamed ceiling and a large fireplace on one side of the room. The other side had tall windows that looked out into the court. At the far end from which they had entered was a high board, and at that board sat two men.

"Grandsire! Donald!" Ellen ran forward, but when she reached the foot of the high board she stopped short. She stared hard, and then she screamed a terrible scream.

It was at that moment that Balgair MacArthur stepped from behind her grandfather‘s chair, where he had hidden himself in the shadows. "Welcome home, Ellen MacArthur," he said, and he smiled at her.

"What have you done?" Ellen cried out. "What have you done, Balgair MacArthur?" Her legs began to shake.

Duncan Armstrong reached Ellen and put a firm hand beneath her elbow to steady her. He gazed briefly at the two seated men. They were newly dead, their blood still draining slowly, but already congealing from and about the wounds on their throats. "I am Duncan Armstrong, the laird of Duffdour, the king‘s representative," he said quietly. "What has happened here, my lord?"

"The old laird and Donald MacNab hae both met an unfortunate end," Balgair MacArthur said as he came down from the high board. "Before he died Ewan MacArthur changed his will. I am now the laird of Lochearn. And at yer grandsire‘s request, mistress, ye will be my wife."

"Never!" Ellen hissed at him. "You murdered them! And now you think to steal Lochearn and to wed with me to make your claim legitimate? Never!"

Balgair came and stood before her. "‘Twas yer grandsire‘s wish that I wed ye, Ellen, my hinny.

Ye canna deny me, or the old man‘s last wishes." He smiled a slow smile at her, reaching out to take her hand.

Ellen leaped back as if she had been scalded. "Get away from me, you murderer," she told him.

"I shall return to King James and tell him what you have done! Do you think you will go unpunished? Even your father‘s master, the lord of the isles, will not condone these murders.

And you will bring Clan MacNab down on us, having murdered its lord‘s youngest brother, you great fool!"

Balgair MacArthur laughed. "Ye‘re a hot-blooded lass, I can see. I will enjoy bedding ye when we are wed. And wed me ye will this same day, wi‘ the king‘s own representative here to witness it." He turned to the laird. "Ye will stay?"

Before Duncan might answer Ellen shouted, "I‘ll not wed you or anyone until my grandsire and betrothed are properly buried, and then I will have my year‘s mourning, Balgair MacArthur. If afterward the king orders me to take you as my husband I will have no other choice, but I will beg him to give me to another. Any other man would be preferable to you! Could you not have allowed my grandsire the dignity of a natural death? He was old. He wrote that his end was near." Her eyes were now filled with tears, and her voice was raw with her emotion.

"The old man sent ye no message, my hinny. I sent it. He was going to live forever. It was time for me to take matters into my own hands, and I did. Ye‘ll be eighteen come spring, and ‘tis past time ye were wedded and bedded and wi‘ a bairn in yer belly. My bairn. The next heir to Lochearn. My father tried to reason wi‘ old Ewan MacArthur. The MacDonald even sent his own representative to treat wi‘ yer grandsire, but he was a stubborn old devil. He was determined to gie MacArthur lands to a MacNab. We decided nae to wait any longer. A messenger was sent to court to call ye back to Lochearn. And then I came wi‘ the documents the old man needed to sign, making me his heir and ye my wife. He wouldn‘t sign them, of course, but then Donald MacNab arrived, for it seems he too received a message from your grandsire telling him to come to Lochearn to wed ye, for ye were coming home at long last." Balgair MacArthur laughed.

"It seems yer grandsire actually believed me when I told him I would spare the young MacNab if he would sign my documents. He rattled on about the honor of the MacArthurs. He apologized to his great-nephew for what he must do to save his life, and then he put pen to parchment. It was nae more than an hour ago, my hinny. As I could nae hae the blood of my kin on my hands I had two of my men slit their throats. It was quick. Neither suffered."

Ellen had listened to this recitation with horror. "If I could kill you I would," she said softly. "No one could love a murderer such as you."

"Ye dinna hae to love me, Ellen MacArthur. As my wife ye legitimize my claim to these

MacArthur lands, and our children will carry the blood of Ewan MacArthur. What hae happened here today will eventually be forgotten. The MacArthur clansmen of Lochearn will be more content knowing a MacArthur still leads them, and nae a MacNab. But I am a fair man. We will postpone the wedding. First ye will bury old Ewan and Donald. Then ye will hae a month in which to grieve. But ye‘ll wed me before the solstice, my hinny, and by this time next year ye‘ll hae my son suckling at yer tit."

"I will never wed you," Ellen said implacably.

Balgair MacArthur laughed. "Aye, ye will," he said. Then he turned to Duncan Armstrong. "‘Tis nae yet noon, my lord. Ye and yer men are free to go."

"Will you give me your word before God, and in the presence of this priest," Duncan said, motioning to Father Birk, "that you will give the lady Ellen her month to mourn? And will you give me your word that my men and I may depart in peace, and not be followed with murder in mind? I have done what I was requested to do by my friend the king. I have returned Ellen MacArthur to Lochearn. I will inform him so when I return to court. I am expected to return." He smiled coldly.

"I hae no quarrel wi‘ ye, Armstrong, and I dinna want the king coming to look for a missing friend here. Are ye truly his friend?"

The laird nodded. "I was with him on many occasions before he took his throne, and I fought by his side at Sauchieburn."

Balgair MacArthur nodded. "The MacDonald told me to do what I must to gain Lochearn and the lady Ellen, but he would punish my family severely if I brought the king north and down on his head. Go! I gie ye my word no harm will befall ye."

"And your word regarding the lady Ellen too," the laird pressed.

Balgair laughed. "Aye, I swear before God that I shall nae harm ye or yers, and that I shall gie Ellen MacArthur a full month to mourn her family before I wed her."

"Father?" the laird said quietly.

"Aye, I have heard and accepted his oath," the priest replied.

The laird of Duffdour turned to Ellen. "Lady, I have done what scant little I could to protect you.

God comfort you in your mourning." He bowed politely. Then he turned again to face Balgair MacArthur, giving him a scant bow, but saying nothing more.

"With your permission," Ellen said, looking at the man she now considered her enemy, "I will escort our guest from the hall."

"Go," he said with a wave of his hand, pleased by what he considered her public show of respect toward him. Like all women, he decided, she could be brought around.

As they exited the hall the laird looked quickly around to see if there was anyone to hear him.

There was no one. "I will tell the king of what has happened here today," he said. "Try to hold your kinsman off as long as possible. I will attempt to convince the king to interfere in this matter. But if you cannot prevent this marriage, and there comes a time that you need my help, you have but to send to me, Ellen MacArthur. I am sorry there is naught I can do this day to aid you. My men and I will ride as quickly as we can, for I do not trust Balgair MacArthur‘s promise to let us go freely. Keep him with you as long as you can to prevent him from giving the order to follow after us. If he has not already done so." Duncan caught Ellen‘s hand up in his and kissed it. It was such a small hand, he thought. What could such a dainty lass do to prevent a man like Balgair MacArthur from having his way?

"I understand your position, Duncan Armstrong. Thank you for all you have done—have tried to do for me. God keep you safe, my lord," Ellen said, feeling the warmth in her cheeks when his lips touched the back of her hand.

"Be brave, lass," he replied, and then turned quickly away before he succumbed to the urge to carry her off with them before Balgair MacArthur could harm her. But he knew such a gesture would be a futile one under the current circumstances. He had done what he could for her.

Signaling to his men in the courtyard to mount up, he led them back though the wooden gates, which shut firmly behind them, and they rode away from Lochearn Keep as quickly as he could.

With a sigh Ellen returned to the hall, where her captor was waiting for her. "You have arranged for the gravediggers?" she asked him.

"Aye, but there is nae time for coffins. They‘ll hae to be interred in their shrouds, my hinny."

"Not before the women and I have washed the bodies properly, and redressed them," Ellen replied in a firm voice. "My grandsire was laird here. His passing will be treated with the honor and the dignity he was due, as will my cousin‘s, Donald MacNab."

Balgair did not argue the point. She was right, and he knew any misstep on his part could cost him the loyalty he needed from the clansmen of Lochearn. That point had been drilled very firmly into his head by his father. "I‘ll play the pipes for them myself," he suggested to her.

"Nay," Ellen said quietly. "‘Twould not be fitting, Balgair. You are now laird here. You have your own piper to play the lament for my grandsire, which is as it should be. You must remember your position here. Now I will find the women and attend to the bodies of the dead."

She curtsied politely to him, thinking as she did how very much she would enjoy plunging the dirk she always carried into his black heart. That would wipe the self-satisfied smirk he wore off his too-pretty face. Some, she suspected, would have thought him handsome. Ellen did not.

In the kitchens she found all the women servants hovering nervously, many of the them weeping.

She had no time to weep. "Lasses," she said in a quiet, gentle voice, "we must prepare my grandsire and poor Donald MacNab properly for their burial. We will save our sorrow for the graveside."

"‘Tis a poor welcome home for ye, mistress," the cook said. Her normally red face was pale.

"What is to happen to us all now?"

"Balgair MacArthur will be the new laird of Lochearn—" Ellen began.

"The murderer!" an unseen voice said bitterly. Ellen recognized it as the voice of the woman who personally cared for her grandsire in his old age.

"Aye," she answered calmly. "The murderer. But I must wed him, I fear."

A collective groan arose from the women.

"When did he come?" Ellen asked them, curious to know, trying to extract what information she might, although to what purpose she wasn‘t certain.

"They rode into the keep about two months ago," the cook said. "This foreign island-born MacArthur and his great troop of about fifty men."

"Yer grandsire knew then he hae been caught unawares," Sorcha, her grandfather‘s serving woman, said. "‗I hae been caught in my own trap, Sorcha,‘ he told me, ‗and I am too old to defend us all.‘ He knew then his end was certain. Then Father Birk was forced to write the letter to the king. At first he refused, but this foreign MacArthur said he had nae qualms about killing a recalcitrant priest. If he would nae write the letter someone else would. They sent a false message to poor young MacNab. From the moment he arrived he was used to threaten yer