The Border Lord's Bride (9 page)

"You‘ll find her in the great hall with the other lasses, my lord," he was told.

He went to the great hall of Falkland Palace, and stood watching for several minutes as Ellen played a game of tag with the other young lasses. She wore a green gown. They were all flushed, laughing, and he saw they had attracted the attention of some young men, who seemed to head directly for Ellen, whose red-gold hair was like a beacon. He felt a stab of irritation. He knew what the young men at court were about: a rowdy bunch of seducers, and nothing more despite their fine pedigrees.

He walked directly across the hall to her. "I am pleased to find you well after all our travails and travels," he said as he bowed politely to her. "Has the princess told you of the king‘s decision regarding your care?" He was pleased to see the young men who had been preparing to approach Ellen fade into the background again.

"Why, no, my lord. I have been told naught. Do you know what is to happen to me? I am certain the MacArthurs of Skye will not rest until they have found me." Her pretty face showed her worry, and her gray-blue eyes were sad.

"Which is precisely why the king has entrusted you to my care, mistress," he told her. "You and your servant are to come home with me to Duffdour. My sister, who is a nun, has been sent for to chaperone you while you are in my house." He looked closely at her, wondering just what her reaction would be to this news.

"I cannot remain with the princess‘s household?" Ellen asked him.

"Come and walk with me," the laird said to her, and he slipped her little hand through his sinewy arm. When he spoke again his voice was low and intimate, for her ears alone. "The king does not wish for your troubles to become a flash point among his lords. They are less apt to if you are not here, not seen. There may be gossip, but gossip dies, especially if there is nothing to be seen."

"But I killed a man," Ellen said in equally low tones.

"The king understands you were but defending yourself from your attacker," the laird told her.

Her face was like a small flower, and her lips looked sweet. He swallowed hard, and continued.

"The king will wait for word to come from the north, and it will. When it does you will be forced to forfeit Lochearn in payment for the life you took."

"What of the lives Balgair took?" Ellen asked spiritedly.

"That must be decided among the MacArthurs of Skye and the MacNabs," the laird told her.

"The MacDonald is a fair overlord. When the manner in which Balgair MacArthur obtained your grandfather‘s lands and his consent to marry you is made public, the MacDonald will do the right thing."

Her head drooped a moment, but then she looked up into his face. "When are we to leave?" she inquired of him.

"Is your Peigi here, and is she able to travel now?" he queried.

"She is here, and we can leave on the morrow if you wish it. You have been gone well over a month in the king‘s service on my behalf. You will want to get home as soon as possible and begin building up your defenses against your neighbors on the other side of the border," Ellen said with utmost seriousness. "We will need a cart, however, for my belongings. But we can be ready on the morrow, my lord."

He nodded. "If we ride hard I can be home in two days. The cart will be but a day behind us."

"Peigi is not good with horses. She must ride with the cart," Ellen said.

"I sent to Duffdour when we returned here. A goodly party of my men arrived this afternoon. We will be protected, and the cart will be protected," he told her.

"Poor man," she said to him with a small twinkle. "You came to court to gain a simple

permission from the king, and you have paid dearly for it, haven‘t you, my lord?"

"A man of good sense knows he cannot beg a favor from any man, especially a king, without giving one, mistress," he told her with a small smile. "I might have been put to a far harder task in exchange for my right to fortify Duffdour than just the care of a pretty lass," Duncan said softly. "You are aware of how pretty you are, Ellen MacArthur, aren‘t you? I believe I am taking you from court just in time. The king is surrounded by seducers and rakes."

She blushed, but then she surprised him by saying, "The king is a seducer, and the young men but emulate him, my lord."

"And outspoken too." He chuckled.

"What time are we to leave on the morrow?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Just before dawn. The days are so short now it will be dark by midafternoon," he told her. "I would not prolong our journey."

"We will be ready, my lord," Ellen said. Then she curtsied and left him.

He watched her go, and realized he was glad that the king had put her into his care. He wondered what James Stewart would do with her once the matter of Balgair MacArthur‘s death was solved.

The king would probably find her a husband if he could, but a lass with no lands and no dower would be hard to place. Poor lass. But at least for the interim she would be safe at Duffdour.

Their journey into the borders was a swift one. True to his word the laird set out the following morning even before the sunrise. The skies were grayish with the coming day. Peigi was mounted upon the cart next to the driver, with whom she was already chattering. Duncan‘s party quickly left the cart behind as they pushed their horses into a canter and then a gallop, which they sustained for several hours. When the sun had reached the zenith of its day‘s journey, they stopped to rest the horses for a brief time and refresh themselves. They spent the night at an abbey guesthouse along their way, and were off again the following morning at the same early hour. It was at dusk on that second day when they reached Duffdour Keep.

It was a dark stone house with a single tower topped by a slate roof. It sat on the crest of a hill, which gave it a fine view of the lands around it. There was a small village below the hill. The cottages were of stone, like the house above, but their roofs were of sod. Still, Ellen could see they were well kept, and there was a small stone church at one end of the village. She could just see the smoke rising from the cottages as they rode through the village and up the hill.

"I can see why you need to fortify," she said.

"Aye," he said. "‘Tis a fine house, but it stands out like a wart on the end of a nose, and is a tempting target. Only because I am known to have a strong force of men at arms have I managed to keep most of the English borderers at bay. But there is always some damned fool who tries to make a reputation by attacking me. We‘ve been fortunate so far, but come the spring, the raids will begin again in earnest."

"You will build a wall?" she asked as they rode up to the house.

"Aye. We‘ve been quarrying the stone for it over the last several months. Now that I have royal permission we will begin to build, and we will continue as long as it does not snow. I‘m starting with a wall ten feet high." He dismounted and helped her down from her horse. "Welcome to Duffdour, Ellen MacArthur."

"Thank you, Duncan Armstrong," she replied, looking up into his face and giving him a little smile. "You may call me simply Ellen, if I may call you Duncan."

"Agreed!" he told her, and then led her into his house.

"Welcome, my lord!" An older man came forward to greet them. "You will find your sister in the hall awaiting your arrival."

"Ellen, this is Sim, my steward. Sim, this is the king‘s ward, Mistress Ellen MacArthur, who has been put into my care. We will speak on this matter, and I will have instructions for you after I have met with my sister." Reaching out, the laird took Ellen‘s hand. "Come, and we‘ll go into the hall." He led her off down a short hall that opened into the house‘s main hall.

A woman seated by the fire arose when she saw them. She was tall and slender. Her face was enclosed by a snow white wimple, and her robes were as black as night. "Duncan," she said, "I am happy to see you looking so well. And this will be Ellen MacArthur, I expect. You have had a difficult time, I am told. Well, no matter. You will be safe here at Duffdour." She smiled warmly, and her whole face was suddenly changed from a severe demeanor into a friendly one.

"Maggie," the laird greeted the nun, and he kissed her cheeks. "You grow more like our mother despite your vocation. How much do you know?"

The three settled themselves before the hall‘s great hearth, which was filled with huge logs that burned bright orange and with a crackling noise as golden sparks flew up the chimney. A servant immediately brought a tray with three goblets that were filled with wine. He offered them around.

"In answer to your query, little brother," the nun said, "the king sent a most careful and fully detailed letter to Mother Mary Andrew, which he instructed her to give to me after she had read it herself. I have been told I am to remain with Ellen until the matter between her and the MacArthurs of Skye is settled and the king chooses a husband for her."

Duncan nodded. "Aye," he said.

"I shall be no trouble," Ellen told the nun. "And my servant, Peigi, should arrive tomorrow to care for me."

"My child, you hardly look as if you would cause anyone trouble," the nun said. "I am astounded you were quick enough to kill your attacker, may the lecher‘s soul burn for eternity. How did you do it?"

"Maggie!" The laird looked shocked at his sister‘s question.

The nun looked at her brother, amused. "I have devoted my life to God, brother, but I am not entirely unmindful of the world outside of my convent."

"My grandsire gave me a dirk when I was seven," Ellen said. "And he taught me to use it properly. He said I should wear it during the day, and keep it beneath my pillow at night. He said that he hoped I would never have to use it in defense of myself, but if that need arose I should know what to do." She slipped the small weapon from its sheath, which was attached to the leather girdle she wore, and showed the nun.

The older woman took the dirk and admired its small carved bone handle. She tested the blade with her finger, noting that both it and the tip were well sharpened. "It‘s a fine weapon, and it served you well," she told Ellen as she handed the dirk back to the girl. Then, reaching into her robes, she drew forth her own dirk. "My father gave it to me," she said, "with very much the same advice as your grandfather gave to you."

"God‘s bones!" the laird swore. "You‘re a nun, Maggie!"

"Oh, come now, Duncan; do you think my vocation and my robes will protect me from

violence?" She reached out and patted his cheek. "You are really such a dear laddie, little brother. Every woman—even a nun—should be prepared to protect herself."

Ellen could not refrain from giggling. The look on the laird‘s face was of pure astonishment.

"Sister Margaret Mary is correct, Duncan," she told him. "We are not all entirely helpless creatures."

"Please call me Maggie, Ellen," the nun said.

"Women are the frailer sex," the laird replied. "It is God‘s law. Man was created first, and then woman from Adam‘s rib."

"I am pleased to see you know that fact," Maggie said with a mischievous wink at Ellen. "I am not certain that God gave women the task of carrying and bearing new life because they are weaker than men, little brother. But for now it is the supper hour, and I see the servants carrying in the meal to the high board as we sit chattering." She arose. "Come along now, and let us eat. I imagine you are both starving after your long, cold ride from Falkland. We‘ve a fine haunch of roasted venison tonight."

They adjourned to the table, where there was not only roasted venison, but a capon in a sweet sauce, and ham as well. There was a pottage of vegetables, fresh bread, sweet butter, and roasted apples cooked with cinnamon in heavy cream. There was a pitcher of rather excellent October ale to drink, and Ellen found herself eating more heartily than she had in the last few weeks.

When the meal was over the two women returned to their chairs by the fire to chat while the laird disappeared in the company of his steward.

"Have you prayed for the black soul of your attacker?" the nun asked the girl.

"I have, every day," Ellen admitted. She had told her companion the entire story while they sat together.

"Would you have wed him if he had not approached you during the month of your mourning?"

Maggie wanted to know.

Ellen shook her head. "Nay. He was right. I was considering how to run. How could I live in Lochearn‘s hall again? The memory of my grandsire and poor Donald, tied into their chairs and murdered, would have made it impossible. And while I know it is a duty to marry the man chosen for you, the truth is that I did not like Balgair MacArthur. He was ignorant, and rough and crude. And I could not have tolerated his flaunting his mistress before me. Poor Anice. She is a fool."

"You know the wench?" Maggie asked.

"Aye," Ellen said, and explained, concluding, "and she told me she was with child already. The clansmen in the north are not so scrupulous about their children. If she births a son he might inherit Lochearn, unless, of course, the MacNabs claim it as a forfeit for poor Donald‘s death."

"You are well out of it," the nun said.

"But what is to happen to me now?" Ellen said. "I have no land; I have no coin, no dower of any kind. What man will have me to wife? I have gone from being my grandfather‘s heiress and a betrothed wife to a pauper. I suppose I could ask the king‘s aunt to take Peigi and me into her service. She is a kind woman."

"You are thinking too far into the future, my child. You must trust in God to direct you. He will.

For now—for the next several months—you are safe here at Duffdour. It is unlikely we shall hear anything from the king before the spring. There will already be snow in the Highlands, which means most travel will cease."

Comforted by the nun‘s kind words, Ellen settled into the keep. She was given a spacious room on the floor above the hall. It had a large fireplace, which kept it warm. The double window faced southwest, and it was rare in winter for the winds to come from that direction. It had interior wooden shutters and heavy brocade draperies of natural-colored linen and green velvet.