The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  She was astounded by his words, and wondered if she should not be offended at his suggestion that she might be replaced so easily in the laird of Fairlea’s affections. But then Cicely considered that Andrew Gordon had never declared his love for her, and as much as she disliked admitting to it, she suspected he was pursuing her for her dower and her connection to Jo. If the king decided to abandon her—which he might well do, for he did have greater problems to attend to—then he would see that Beth Williams’s dower was good enough for the Gordons, and her blood tie to the queen actually made her a better match than Cicely, with her large dower and close friendship with Scotland’s queen.

  “The queen would never desert me,” Cicely said defiantly.

  “Of course she will not, for you are her friend,” Sir William noted. “But it is not the queen who will decide this matter, Lady Cicely. It is King James. If he can put both the Douglases and the Gordons in his debt he will do it, I assure you.”

  Aye, he would, and Cicely knew it. James Stewart was a charming man, but he was also a hard man who was determined to bring all of Scotland under his rule. The border lords would be loyal, even those with closer ties to England, because of Joan Beaufort. But James would need to spend all his time and his energies to bring the north to heel before he would be satisfied. And while he loved Jo and would do much for her, he would not endanger his plans for her best friend.

  “You don’t love Fairlea,” Ian said.

  She glared at him. “This is not your decision to make, my lord,” Cicely snapped. “If the Gordons will have Beth Williams then they will have her, but it does not mean I must have you for my husband. Remember the choice is mine to make. Not yours.” She hated being hedged in, Cicely thought.

  Ian had already realized that, and so now he said to her, “Give me a chance, ladyfaire. Are you not already mistress here, and comfortable?”

  “There is much to be done before Glengorm is truly habitable,” Cicely said.

  “I will share your dower with you,” Ian Douglas told her.

  “What?” She looked startled.

  “You may keep half of your dower for yourself, to do with as you choose. The other half will be mine. Sir William has heard me say it, and Ambrose will make it a condition of our betrothal and marriage,” the laird promised her.

  Cicely was very surprised by his words. She knew without even thinking about it that Andrew Gordon would not have suggested such a thing to her. She would have been dependent upon her husband for everything for the rest of her life. But if Ian Douglas meant what he was saying, then she would have the freedom within her marriage that she sensed she needed. “You may court me,” Cicely told him, “but that does not mean I have agreed to wed you, my lord.”

  “I understand,” he replied, his heart soaring with pleasure. He was winning her over at last, and soon she would be his wife.

  Sir William smiled, well pleased. Now all he had to do was convince the king that the queen’s cousin would be a better match for the laird of Fairlea, and that Ian Douglas was the right husband for Lady Cicely Bowen.

  The village midwife bustled into the hall. “Where is the laboring lass?” she asked. “Good evening to you, my lords.” She curtsied.

  “Upstairs,” Cicely said. “Lady Grey has gone into labor with her first child,” she explained. “Her husband and my tiring woman are with her. Mab is gathering supplies.”

  “My name is Agnes, my lady,” the midwife said, and she curtsied to Cicely.

  The two women hurried upstairs. Mab had already seen the cradle from the attics brought into the bedchamber. Sesi had cleaned it thoroughly, and Sine had brought fresh straw in from the stables to line the cradle. The straw was covered by a piece of wool, which was topped with a softer cloth. A black iron pot of water was heating over the flames in the hearth. There were clean clothes and a little flask of oil on a table.

  Maggie lay upon the bed groaning with her labor, but Agnes the midwife, upon examining her, nodded, pleased. “You’ll birth this bairn in no time, my lady, and you’re made for birthing, I’ll vow.”

  “Cicely,” Maggie called, “take my lord downstairs to the hall and stay with him. Look at his face. He frets, and needs not.”

  “I’ll come back,” Cicely said.

  “Nay,” Maggie told her. “You’re still a maid, and have not been raised in a house with birthing women. ’Tis better you remain in the hall. I’ll have them call you back when the bairn is born, and you’ll carry it to its sire. Please.”

  “She’s perfectly right,” Orva agreed. “I’m not needed here, as Mab and Agnes and Sine are perfectly capable. I’ll go with you, and when my lord Grey is settled with the laird and Sir William, you and I will come upstairs to unpack your trunk.”

  “Very well,” Cicely agreed.

  Lord Grey kissed his wife’s damp brow, and murmured something that caused her to smile. Then he departed the bedchamber, assuring Cicely he could find his way downstairs to the hall by himself. “Go and tend to yourself, madam,” he said.

  Together Cicely and Orva hurried to her chamber. The trunk the tiring woman had brought had been set at the foot of the bed next to the other little trunk.

  “You were wise to bring my possessions,” Cicely said.

  “I brought them all,” Orva replied, “including your horses, my lady. I did not think it advisable to leave anything, for you know how some of the younger girls are.”

  “It seems I will be remaining at Glengorm, at least for the interim,” Cicely said, and then she went on to explain the conversation she had had with Sir William and the laird. “It is somewhat disconcerting to know I can be replaced so easily in the laird of Fairlea’s heart,” she finished wryly.

  “He had no care for you, my lady,” Orva said. “It was your dower, not just your beautiful face, that attracted him, and frankly I am not certain which came first, but I do know which he valued more: your dower.”

  “You did not say it before!” Cicely accused her tiring woman.

  “You appeared to be seriously considering the man, and I did not want to interfere with that decision, for your father made it plain that the choice was to be yours alone,” Orva defended herself. “And the laird of Fairlea was a gentleman who would have treated you well had you wed him.”

  “And the laird of Glengorm?” Cicely asked.

  “I do not know him well enough yet to render you my opinion should you desire it,” Orva responded. “But you have been in his house for over ten days now, and he has not attempted to force himself upon you. Indeed, he has given you free rein over his household and his servants. That alone speaks well of him.”

  “The house was a pigsty when I arrived!” Cicely exclaimed. “There was no one in service but Mab and that wretched creature Bethia, who was stealing from the laird’s stores to profit herself, and bullying poor Mab as well.”

  “And the laird gave you permission to do what you would with his house?” Orva asked, curious. “He might have left you to languish in the wretched slough, but he didn’t, did he?” Orva pointed out.

  “Indeed, he told me that if I didn’t like his house to make it over to suit myself,” Cicely admitted. “And now he says that half my dower portion will remain in my hands. I will confess to you, Orva, that this reckless rogue of a border lord is beginning to intrigue me, for I do not believe I have ever met a man like him.”

  “And I think your interest in him is far greater than your interest in your Gordon laird ever was,” Orva replied.

  Cicely nodded. “Perhaps you are right,” she said. “But I cannot help but wonder if my father would approve such a match. He is an earl, a noble of high rank. Ian Douglas is naught but a simple border lord. And how my stepmother will crow with delight should I wed a plain border lord. I am certain she is already planning an important match for my baby half sister.”

  Orva sighed. “May I speak plainly, my lady?” And when Cicely nodded she continued, “ ’Tis true your sire is an earl who springs from an anci
ent line, but your mam, God assoil her good soul, was the daughter of your father’s steward. They were blood kin, ’tis true, but your mother’s family were not noble. You were fortunate in that your father loved your mother, and sought to wed her. That he saw you were made legitimate when she died, and raised you as his own. That you were placed in a great household and became the dearest friend of a girl who is now a queen. It was unlikely that there was any great match for you here in Scotland. Lady Joan sought to have you with her because she was going into a strange situation and wanted her friend. And in England you would have had to be satisfied with a second or third son. Here at least you can wed a propertied lordling, and be mother to his heirs. And that being said, you should marry the man you love, or at least one who loves you.”

  “I love no man,” Cicely said.

  “Mayhap if you gave your laird a chance . . .” Orva began.

  “He is not my laird!” Cicely responded firmly.

  Orva smiled and, opening the trunk, she began taking out the garments she had so carefully packed for her mistress. “Mab tells me there is a small chamber next to this one. With your permission I shall take it so I can be within call.”

  “ ’Tis not my house,” Cicely said. “You must ask the laird.”

  Orva smiled again. Her mistress had always been a stubborn girl, but in the end she would come around. And I will ask the laird, she thought to herself.

  The two women unpacked the garments and put them away. Cicely had to admit to being relieved to have her own things about her again. It somehow made Glengorm feel more welcoming. When they had finished Orva said she would go to see how Lady Grey’s labor was coming. She went first to the hall to request permission to use the small chamber next to her mistress, and the laird gave it to her with a smile.

  “I think my ladyfaire is happy to have you with her again,” he said.

  “You must not beat her again, especially before others,” Orva said quietly.

  “God forgive me, but I lost my temper when she threw that little goblet,” he admitted. “Do you think I hurt her?” He looked genuinely concerned.

  Orva gave him a small smile. “Only her pride,” she told him. “It is as great as yours, I suspect.” Then she gave him a quick curtsy.

  Orva did not stop to speak to Lord Grey, who was deep in conversation with Sir William. She hurried back upstairs, stopping first to see how Lady Grey’s labors were progressing. She arrived in time to see the infant slip from its mother’s body, howling loudly. Not even waiting to learn the child’s gender, she ran to fetch Cicely, who came swiftly.

  “It’s a boy!” Agnes the midwife crowed. “And hear him howl, and look at that bairn’s manhood! It’s large for a newborn.” She looked to Lady Grey. “Does the laddie take after his da then, my lady?”

  Maggie laughed weakly. “Aye,” she said. “Ohh, give him to me, please!”

  “A moment more, my lady, so he may be cleaned and swaddled. And you must be refreshed now that all is done,” Agnes said.

  “What is that?” Cicely was staring at a bloody mass in a brass basin.

  “ ’Tis the afterbirth, my lady,” Mab told her. “We’ll bury it beneath an oak so the bairn may be strong.”

  The infant was wiped free of blood and rubbed down with oil. Then he was wrapped in swaddling bands and brought to his mother.

  Maggie’s eyes filled with tears. “He looks just like Andrew,” she said, sounding both pleased and happy. She touched the baby’s cheek with the tip of her finger. “He’s perfect. Take him to his father now, and then bring him back to me.”

  They handed the child to Cicely, whose face was suddenly filled with panic. “I’ve never held a baby before,” she half whispered. “What if I drop him?”

  Maggie smiled. “You won’t. Tell my husband to come back with you, and thank you for giving us shelter, and such a good place for our son to be born.”

  “There, dearie,” Mab said. “You’re holding him just right.”

  Cicely walked from the bedchamber cradling the newborn infant in the crook of her arm. Orva moved ahead of her. They descended the staircase into the hall. The child had decided to howl loudly once again, and Cicely was terrified she was doing something wrong, but Orva assured her she was not.

  As they entered the hall Lord Grey ran forward. “Is it . . . ? he asked.

  “A boy, my lord,” Cicely told him.

  Andrew Grey looked down into his son’s face. Tears sprang to his eyes. “Maggie?” he asked.

  “Well, and anxious to see you,” Cicely said.

  “She said she would give me a son,” Lord Grey said wonderingly.

  Then, pushing past Cicely and the baby, he ran up the stairs to see his wife.

  Cicely brought the baby into the hall for the others to see. The Grey heir was suitably admired, and then Orva took him from her mistress.

  “I’ll take him back upstairs to his cradle,” she said.

  Cicely suddenly found herself with Ian Douglas. Sir William seemed to have disappeared. “They wouldn’t let me see the birth,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  “It’s a fine strong lad Maggie’s given her husband,” the laird said quietly.

  “You want children,” Cicely said.

  “Aye, don’t you?” he responded.

  “Aye, but I don’t know how many, and I pray I am not like my own mam. She died after I was born. If I loved you I wouldn’t want to birth your son and then die,” Cicely said. “It would be far too sad, my lord.”

  “Could you love me, ladyfaire?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know,” she answered candidly.

  “But do you like me more than when I first brought you to Glengorm?” he wondered. His warm hazel eyes searched her face.

  “I might,” Cicely said, “if you did not smack my bottom publicly.”

  “Might I do it privately?” he teased, and chuckled when she blushed.

  “You are unseemly, my lord,” Cicely scolded him, suddenly shy.

  He took her hand in his; raising it to his lips, he kissed the back of it, and then, turning the hand about, he kissed both the palm and the wrist.

  “Oh!” Cicely exclaimed as a shiver of pleasure traveled down her spine.

  He drew her close, still holding that hand, placing it upon his chest over his heart. He smiled gently at her. “You are a prize to be treasured, ladyfaire. I am going to teach you to fall in love with me now that Sir William has solved the problem of the laird of Fairlea for us.” Then he took her face between his two hands and began to kiss her slowly, his warm lips traveling over her face first, and then reaching her lips.

  Cicely sighed. She was simply helpless to this man’s kisses. She kissed him back, feeling his heart beneath her hand begin to race. He released her face, one arm slipping about her waist to bring her even closer to him, the other lightly caressing one of her small round breasts. Cicely stiffened. Not even Fairlea had been so bold with her.

  “Nah, nah, ladyfaire,” he crooned against her mouth. “Am I the first then?”

  She was speechless with the emotions now overcoming her. Jo had never shared with Cicely the intimate details of her courtship, and Cicely had never asked, fearing to intrude upon her friend’s privacy. Was he supposed to be touching her? Should the hand cupping her breast feel so good? “Should you be doing this?” she finally managed to gasp. “You are not my husband. Oh, Blessed Mother!”

  “It is part of courtship, ladyfaire,” he told her gently. God’s balls, her breasts were so sweet. Perfectly round and firm, yet soft. Unable to help himself, he pinched her nipple lightly. His cock was already straining against the fabric of his breeks.

  “Please,” Cicely said, “I did not know, my lord.”

  His hand fell away from her breast. So Fairlea had not gone as far as caressing her. That was to the good, for then his were the first hands to touch her. And now no others would. She was his alone.

  “Why have you stopped?” Cicely asked him.

&nbs
p; “Because I would not frighten you,” he told her. “No man has ever fondled you, my ladyfaire. But I long for much more. Do not, I beg you, keep me waiting too long.”

  “How can you know I have not been touched before?” Cicely demanded.

  “Did you not tell me ‘I did not know’? Had another touched you as I did you would have known that after the kissing came the caressing, ladyfaire,” the laird said.

  “I am not easily seduced, my lord,” Cicely said.

  “Nay, you are not easily seduced,” he agreed, his hazel eyes twinkling at her. “If the truth be known you have been extremely difficult to approach.”

  “You are a rogue,” Cicely told him.

  “Aye, I am,” he replied, close to laughter now. “But I suspect you are discovering that you like a rogue.”

  “You had no right to kidnap me, my lord,” she said sternly.

  “My name is Ian, and as I fully intend winning you over, ladyfaire, I should like to hear you say my name.”

  Cicely looked directly at him with her big blue-green eyes. “Ian,” she said.

  “How sweetly you say it,” he replied. “Soon you will cry out my name in passion, my ladyfaire. We shall bind our bodies together, and you will cry my name.” His gaze had suddenly become very intense.

  “I am a virgin, you must know,” Cicely said nervously, stepping back a pace. “I know nothing but that if you become my husband I must submit my body to you for whatever purposes you devise. I do not know if I am ready to consider such a thing.”

  Now he laughed at her proper speech, which he suspected she had been taught by some priest. A woman must submit. Coupling is for the purposes of procreation only. “As you submit to me so will I submit to you, ladyfaire. And there will be pleasure between us, for while the Church wants more souls to baptize, there is no reason we cannot enjoy each other while we give them what they want,” the laird told her. “For now, however, I am content to learn all I can about you, and you must learn about me.”

  Lord Grey returned to the hall. “Maggie is well, and says we must have more bairns,” he said, grinning delightedly. “Our son is strong, but I would like Father Ambrose to baptize him before we return to Ben Duff. And if you two will stand as his godparents, both my Maggie and I would be honored.”