Tamed by the Barbarian

by June Francis

  Cicely was dismayed. ‘In what way can’t I trust her?’

  ‘Neither of us can trust her,’ said Mackillin, his hazel eyes sombre. ‘Whilst the Armstrongs thought me still unconscious, I heard them talking. It appears that my mother schemed with Armstrong to destroy my father and half-brothers and…if I heard aright, my demise was also planned.’

  Cicely gasped and turned in his arm and clung to his under-tunic. ‘No! Surely a mother would not plan her son’s death?’

  Mackillin’s expression was bleak. ‘You would certainly believe that, sweeting, but…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘But you don’t,’ said Cicely, feeling such pity for him that she drew him to her and held him in her arms. ‘What are we to do?’ she whispered. ‘Do we pretend we have no notion of this plot against you?’

  ‘I have thought of doing so in order to put her off her guard and see if she will make the attempt on my life herself,’ he said, caressing Cicely’s back.

  ‘That is, of course, if we arrive safely at Killin Keep,’ said Cicely. ‘I presume you have thought of that?’

  He nodded. ‘I wish I wasn’t taking you into danger. My plan was to make all secure for you first. I should really leave you here and go on alone.’

  ‘No!’ Her voice was firm. ‘We married for better, for worst. We are in this together and I refuse to be left behind. Besides, do you wish us to part after what…happened when we…?’ She hesitated to say the words.

  He felt such love for her that she should broach the matter that he decided it would be a waste of time arguing with her. ‘Of course not. How could I when you welcomed me so sweetly into your body?’

  ‘I would do so again,’ she dared to say.

  He did not need a second invitation and when they made love this time it was with the knowledge that they both knew that the pleasures of the marriage bed could indeed be so delightfully unifying that both would want to die rather than be parted.

  Afterwards she was filled with a sweet contentment, cuddling up against him, wondering if what he felt for her and she for him was that love which the minstrels sang about and Owain and Kate shared? It was in her mind that it could be possible that she had found what she had been looking for which she had once mistakenly thought she had found with Diccon. A tiny furrow appeared between her brows as she thought about her first love and she prayed for his safety and that he would find someone else who could love him as he deserved. No doubt he would be angry when he learnt of her wedding, but hopefully he would not wish to challenge Mackillin to combat. She would pray that he would accept that his life and hers now lay in different directions. At least her brothers would be pleased that she and Mackillin had done what their father wished and were now wed.

  Suddenly it occurred to Cicely to ponder on the matter of Mary Armstrong. How would she feel when she discovered that Mackillin had married an English woman? Was she involved in her father’s schemes at all? What kind of welcome could she and Mackillin expect if—no—when they reached Killin Keep? She doubted it would be a warm one from either woman.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cicely gazed up at the grey stone keep amidst landscape that at that moment looked dreary and unappealing beneath a louring sky. Her spirits plummeted even further than they had earlier when they had passed crows picking out the eyes of a dead sheep near a stone circle.

  ‘When spring comes it will not look so desolate,’ said Rory, rousing her from her reverie.

  Cicely darted him a sidelong glance. ‘I have made no complaint, my lord.’

  A smile creased the corners of his eyes. ‘No, lass, you’re too well mannered for that.’ He stared up at the keep yet again, conscious of the lack of a guard on watch. His concern had been that Armstrong might have already entered the building, but surely if he was here then Sir Malcolm would have posted a man to watch out for their coming. He caught a glimpse of a woman’s face at a window on the first floor, but then it vanished.

  Suddenly a door opened at the top of a flight of stone steps. They gazed up and saw a tall, black-clad figure standing in the doorway.

  ‘It’s Mother,’ said Mackillin in an undertone.

  ‘Is that you, my son?’ she called down in a quavering tone.

  Cicely sensed rather than saw him tense, but his voice was calm when he answered, ‘Aye, Mother, it is I, Rory.’

  ‘Come up to me.’ She lifted her hand and beckoned him.

  It seemed to Cicely that it was an effort for Lady Joan to make that gesture and would have felt pity for her mother-in-law if Mackillin had not already spoken of his mother’s deviousness.

  Mackillin murmured an order to the man at his side before dismounting and helping Cicely from her horse. ‘Don’t you want to go ahead and greet your mother on your own?’ she whispered.

  His craggy features were grim. ‘No. There is naught I will say to her that you cannot hear. Besides, I want you to witness at close quarters her behaviour—so smile, my lady, and lift your head high.’

  Cicely did so, but her pulse was rapid as she climbed the steps towards the woman whom she was about to supplant as lady of Killin Keep.

  Lady Joan offered her cheek to her son. ‘I thought you would never come. You knew my need and should have hastened home,’ she scolded.

  ‘You know my reasons, Mother.’ Rory’s lips barely touched his mother’s cheek. ‘May I introduce my wife, Lady Cicely Mackillin.’ He drew her forward.

  Cicely noticed the signs of former beauty in the middle-aged patrician features, but only for an instant did she consider aping her husband in kissing his mother’s cheek. The gloved hand offered to her and the cold glint in the depths of the elder woman’s grey eyes caused Cicely to scarcely touch that hand. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Lady Joan.’

  ‘So I should imagine,’ said her mother-in-law, drawing her skirts close about her as if she did not wish to make further contact with Cicely. ‘No doubt you will find this lowly keep not the least like your own home. If the messenger had not warned me of your coming, then you would find us in a worse state than we are. I have done my best to have a bedchamber prepared to your liking with the few servants I have here. You will find them sullen and unwilling and no doubt you’ll soon be wishing yourself back in England.’

  ‘Is that what you did?’ asked Cicely, finding something to pity in the woman’s situation despite what she knew of her.

  Lady Joan’s tall figure stiffened. ‘What do you mean by that remark?’

  ‘I thought it was obvious,’ said Cicely, smiling warmly. ‘You’re English. I just wondered if you’ve ever wished yourself back home.’

  Lady Joan darted a look at her son and then threw up her hands. ‘It has started already,’ she wailed. ‘This wife of yours would be rid of me.’

  Cicely was stunned by the accusation and hastened to reassure her. ‘That is not true. Believe me, it is not so.’ She turned to Mackillin. ‘Tell her—I would that your mother was as a mother to me.’

  ‘You have just told her yourself.’ There was a hard light in his eyes as he looked at Lady Joan. ‘Did you hear Cissie, Mother? Does the thought of having a daughter not delight you?’ There was a thread of irony in his voice.

  ‘You do not mean it.’ Lady Joan took a scrap of lace and linen from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘How can I see her as a daughter when I know naught of her but that her father was a merchant?’ She took a deep breath before rushing into speech again. ‘And that you allowed yourself to be forced into a marriage with her because you took her into your bed beforehand as you would a common whore.’

  The colour drained from Cicely’s cheeks. ‘That is not true!’

  Lady Joan laughed. ‘Naturally you would deny it, but why else would he marry you?’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Mother.’ Mackillin’s voice was harsh. ‘My wife was a virgin when she came to me as a bride. I married her because I care for her.’

  His mother turned on him and her features were twisted with fury. ‘You expect me to be
lieve that? You’re like your father. He stole me away from all I held dear and brought me to this Godforsaken place. She’ll regret joining her life with yours. Mark my words, she’ll rue the day.’

  ‘Enough! Make up your mind between one or the other, but be warned—I am not a child that can be bullied and lied to any more,’ he said sharply.

  Lady Joan gasped and put her hand to her heart. ‘You dare to speak so to your ailing mother. I have only ever cared for your well being.’

  Mackillin threw back his chestnut head and laughed; it was not a pleasant sound. ‘You resented me because I was my father’s son. Perhaps you thought if I had not been born then he might have given you your freedom.’

  Lady Joan fumbled for a chair and sat down. ‘You should not speak of these matters in front of this—this merchant’s daughter. I feel faint.’ She put a hand to her head. ‘Summon one of the servants. I need wine.’

  ‘We all need wine,’ said Mackillin, breathing deeply. ‘And Northumberland’s men need ale and food and a place to sleep before they return to Alnwick. Where are the servants? Where are Killin’s men-at-arms? Where is Mary? You said in your message that she was staying with you.’

  His mother glared at him. ‘You think I would keep her with me, knowing you were coming home with another bride? The poor child was so disappointed, I had to send her away.’

  ‘Where to? Have you had word that her father has returned?’ he asked sardonically.

  Lady Joan’s eyelids flickered rapidly. ‘I don’t like your tone.’

  ‘Did you provide her with an escort?’

  His mother leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

  Cicely looked at her husband and saw his lips tighten. ‘Should I go in search of the kitchen and see what food and wine there is available?’ she murmured.

  His expression lightened. ‘Aye, that would be useful.’

  Lady Joan smirked. ‘There is little wine and food in this place. It is almost March, so provisions are low. See what a mistake you have made in marrying my son, merchant’s daughter, you’ll receive naught of value from him.’

  ‘Silence!’ thundered Mackillin.

  Both women visibly jumped. Cicely wondered at his interest in Mary, but did not speak of it. Instead, she said, ‘It is not your son’s responsibility to lay in stores for the winter or to purchase what is available from the nearest town if none is available on one’s manor. It is the lady of the household’s job to perform that task. As it is still Lent, then hunting for fresh meat must wait, but surely you have the means to make bread? There is the river to fish, and do you not have peas and onions and barley to make pottage?’

  She did not linger to see the effect of her words on Lady Joan, but left the hall by an inner door. Still disturbed by the strength of the emotions between mother and son and what had been said about Mary, she tried to put it out of her mind. She was in a small space containing a chest, a small table and a bench; a stone staircase twisted upwards and downwards. She took the lower stairs and was almost at their foot when she heard voices.

  She took several breaths before opening the door a few feet away. A glance around the room assured her that she had found the kitchen. Those present turned and stared at her. One of the men was grizzled-haired and had a snub nose. Immediately she recognised him. ‘Robbie!’ she cried, so delighted to see him that she ran over and flung her arms around him.

  ‘There, there, Mistress Cicely, don’t fash yerself, lass.’ He patted her back awkwardly.

  Immediately she drew away from him, sensing his embarrassment. ‘I beg your pardon. I am just so relieved to see you.’

  ‘I, you, too. Mackillin is with you?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘Of course he is. We are wed now.’

  ‘So I’ve just heard. I’m newly arrived, meself, with these men.’ He indicated those in the company with a wave of his hand. ‘Your father would be delighted.’

  For a moment her face was sad. ‘Aye. I only wish he could know that his last wish has come true. Still, perhaps he can see us from heaven.’

  ‘Aye, my lady.’

  There was a silence. Then Robbie said, ‘Is it food and drink you’re after, mistress?’

  ‘It is indeed.’ Cicely smiled and faced the eldest of the three women there. ‘As you will have gathered from Robbie’s greeting, I am your lord’s wife. I would that you would not resent me because I am English, for when I married Mackillin I became part Scots, too.’

  ‘Well said, mistress, them are words that Lady Joan has never said to any of us serving folk,’ said Robbie gruffly. ‘Now make your bow to her ladyship and prepare food and drink.’

  Tears shone in Cicely’s eyes. She thought it most likely that, if it had not been for Robbie, her presence here would have been resented. ‘My thanks, Robbie. You must go and greet Mackillin.’

  ‘Aye. I’ll be glad to see him.’ His eyes were bright. ‘I have much to tell him.’ He hurried out of the kitchen.

  Cicely faced those remaining and asked some of their names. Then she requested that on the morrow one of the women should show her what provisions they had and where everything was kept. ‘I know winter is almost over and so you will not have much in store—but thankfully spring is not far off.’

  ‘That is true, my lady,’ said the eldest maid. ‘Will you be staying here for Eastertide?’

  ‘I deem that is Mackillin’s intent,’ replied Cicely, suddenly remembering that she had planned to marry Diccon at that most holy time of the year.

  She lingered a little longer, watching the mulled wine being prepared. When it was ready, she accepted one of the men’s offer to carry it upstairs for her. But when they reached the hall, there was no one there. She bid him place it on the table and then told him to leave her. She presumed that Mackillin had gone with Robbie to the stables where no doubt Northumberland’s men were tending their horses. She was so glad to have found Robbie here because he was someone they could both trust.

  ‘But where is the Lady Joan?’ she asked aloud.

  Her words echoed about the hall, which was now filling with the shadows of evening. Her ears caught the sound of a stealthy movement and she almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Is there anyone there?’ she called.

  There was no answer, but again Cicely thought she heard a noise as if someone had drawn in a breath. With a heavily beating heart, she took one of the candles from the stand on the table and lit it from the fire. Then she searched the room, looking behind the wooden settle and under the table and also behind the enormous chest that stood in a corner. Then her eyes alighted on a screen and she tiptoed over to the fire and picked up a poker before approaching the gaily painted screen.

  ‘Come out, whoever you are!’ she ordered. ‘And beware, for I am armed.’

  There was a gasp and then a girl emerged from behind the screen. ‘Who are you?’ demanded Cicely, noting the shabby brown gown and was relieved that she was not Armstrong. ‘Are you one of the servants?’

  ‘You don’t want to know who I am,’ came the shaky reply.

  ‘But I do,’ said Cicely, guessing the girl was scared of her. She held the candle closer to her face, to enable her to get a better look at it. She saw dimpled cheeks in a pleasant face, framed by wings of dark hair. ‘Were you placed there to spy on us?’

  ‘Aye. She told me I had to stay out of sight because she didn’t want me sent away. I’d be happy to leave here. Perhaps Rory can have someone escort me to a convent in Galloway, far away from here. I’d rather that than return to my father’s hall.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Sir Malcolm Armstrong.’

  Cicely gasped, ‘You’re Mary Armstrong?’

  She nodded, linking hands together that trembled. ‘Don’t tell her I told you. She means you and Rory harm…’ Cicely flinched. Mary hastened to add, ‘But I don’t—as Christ and His Holy Mother are my witnesses.’

  ‘I believe you.’ Cicely was astounded by this turn of events. How could Rory’s mother believe that
she could get away with concealing Mary Armstrong from them? ‘Were you planning on remaining behind that screen all evening?’ she asked curiously, convinced now that she had met her that Mary was no threat to her relationship with Mackillin.

  The girl sighed. ‘I was just about to come out of hiding when you came through the door.’

  ‘And where would you have gone?’

  ‘I sleep in an antechamber adjoining Lady Joan’s bedchamber because she likes me close by. Sometimes she wants me to fetch and carry for her when she cannot sleep during the night. She’s going to be furious with me once she knows we’ve met.’

  ‘We’d have met sooner or later, so what does it matter? Whether you tell her now is up to you, but you certainly couldn’t continue to conceal your presence from us.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Mary, looking relieved.

  ‘But perhaps you’d best go or she might be wondering what’s taking you so long.’

  Mary hesitated before agreeing and left the hall.

  Cicely lit the rest of the candles, which smoked quite dreadfully. She thought certainly they were not beeswax, most likely made from mutton fat. Once that was done, she poured herself a glass of mulled wine and thought she should have asked Mary not only where Lady Joan’s bedchamber was situated, but where Mackillin’s and her bedchamber was. She hoped that he would return soon as she wanted to tell him about Mary.

  Cicely did not have to wait long because he reappeared a few moments later. ‘You are alone,’ he murmured.

  Her lips curved in a delightful smile. ‘Aye. And so are you. Did you speak to Robbie?’

  Mackillin nodded, placing his arms about her waist and bringing her against him. He kissed her. ‘You taste delicious,’ he murmured.

  She pressed herself closer to him and watched some of the strain vanish from his face. ‘Mulled wine. I will pour you some once you let me go.’

  ‘In a moment. I need to beg your pardon for showing my anger earlier. I should have had more control.’

  ‘You’re forgiven.’

  ‘Thank you.’ His hands caressed her back before coming to rest on her buttocks.