The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  “Of course, dearie. ’Tis a pity you cannot remain longer.” Then, looking closely at Cicely with her sharp eyes, she said, “What is the matter, my lady? What has happened? Do not tell me ’tis nothing, for I can see otherwise.” And, realizing that Cicely was about to cry, she hurried her into the queen’s privy chamber. “Something has happened to distress Lady Cicely,” she said to the queen. This time she did not withdraw from the room, nor did the queen ask her to.

  Unable to hold back her tears now, Cicely flung herself down next to the queen, weeping bitterly. “Oh, Jo! You have to help me!”

  “What has happened?” the queen asked her friend. She had never in all the years they had known each other seen Ce-ce like this. Reaching out, she stroked Cicely’s auburn head.

  “The king! He has taken my dower, and will not give it to Ian!” She sobbed afresh, looking up at the queen with a woebegone face.

  “He has taken your dower?” The queen looked genuinely puzzled. “What can you mean, Ce-ce? How could he take your dower?”

  “He used some of it to pay off the Gordons, for they claimed they had been injured by what happened. He supplemented your cousin Beth’s own dower with mine so Fairlea would take her. And now he will not restore what remains to me!” Cicely wailed. “Without my dower I am worthless, Jo! You understand that, but Ian does not. He says it doesn’t matter to him, but it matters to me!”

  The queen was stunned by her friend’s revelation. She knew Jamie could be hard, for she had seen incidences of it, but he was king of a hard land and often had no other choice if he were to uphold the law, keep the peace. And he could be tightfisted, because his own resources were not unlimited. But taking Cicely’s dower was unconscionable.

  This was her best friend since their shared childhood, two little girls who had been fostered out by their families so that those families could widen their sphere of influence with England’s king. They had shared a bed in Joan of Navarre’s household, and again when they were sent together to Queen Katherine. They had shared their girlish dreams and hopes, kept each other’s secrets, giggling together in the dark of night. What her husband had done was unfair and it was cruel, the queen thought. Cicely did not deserve to be treated so unkindly. She had done nothing to merit it.

  “I will speak with Jamie,” the queen told her friend. “It will take time, of course. You know how he can be if you push him. But he was generous to me when our daughter was born. Think how much more grateful he will be when I birth his son and heir. And when I do I shall ask him to restore your dower in full to you. Now stop weeping, Ce-ce. Has your patent been approved, or must you wait for the justices to go about their business in the usual slow and timely manner?”

  Cicely felt a little better with the queen’s reassurance to her, but she was not certain that the king would return her dower. She saw a James Stewart that Jo did not, but, thanking the queen, she then said, “We were told to return home, and that we would be notified whether the patent was approved or not.” Cicely looked up at her friend. “It has to be approved! ’Tis an honest patent.”

  “Do not fret,” the queen said. “Jamie is using the law to regain crown lands that his uncle of Albany and his cousin Murdoch parceled out in their efforts to buy loyalty. But if he just asked for those lands back, and did not review the patents of all landholders, it would appear as if he were singling out some while favoring others. My Jamie would not do that. Establishing the rule of law back into Scotland is important to him. So he has required his justices to go over each patent carefully. And indeed they have found some that were fraudulent. But if the holders of those patents were innocent of the fraud and are good lords to their people, their patents are corrected, then returned to them.”

  “Glengorm’s patent is genuine. My husband and his clansmen are proud of their ancestors’ loyalty to Robert the Bruce,” Cicely told the queen.

  “Then in a few months your husband will have his patent returned to him,” the queen said. “Now dry your eyes, Ce-ce, and bid me a proper farewell.”

  Cicely wiped her tears away with a small handkerchief she had tucked in her sleeve. Then, rising, she curtsied low to the queen. “I wish Your Highness a fine, strong son this time, and many years of happiness.”

  “Aye!” the queen said, holding out her arms to her friend, and when Cicely flew into them Joan Beaufort kissed her on both cheeks before releasing her. “All will be well,” she promised. “You have my word on it.” She smiled into her friend’s face.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” Cicely responded, returning the smile.

  “Go home to your Glengorm, Ce-ce. Do your duty as you were taught, and give your husband children. God preserve you until we meet again, for we will.”

  “God and his Blessed Mother preserve Your Highness,” Cicely said, and then she backed from the queen’s little privy chamber to depart the royal apartments and return to her husband. The queen had given her a small sliver of hope with regard to her dower, but she would not believe it until her monies were in her hands. She considered writing to her father, but the truth was that Robert Bowen would not be able to help her. Better not to fret him unless she absolutely had to, but Cicely had no intention of being dowerless. Ian deserved more. ’Twas true her birth was better than his, but what did that matter if she had no dower?

  She said nothing to him as they returned to the inn, for she did not know how much, if anything, he had told Ben Duff. They changed from their court garments into their riding clothes, preparing to depart. The innkeeper brought Cicely a tied napkin he told her contained a small roasted chicken. He also gave her a loaf of fresh bread and a small wedge of cheese. They tucked the food into a saddlebag. The two lairds paid for the accommodation and, their combined force of men-at-arms mounted, the little party departed the inn and Edinburgh for the borders.

  Reaching Glengorm two days later, they sheltered Ben Duff and his men for the night, bidding him farewell the following morning. Cicely had been very quiet since returning home. Her almost silent demeanor worried the laird, and, noticing the change in both of them, Orva finally had to ask what had happened.

  The laird explained.

  “Shame on the king!” Orva said angrily. “He has no right to retain my lady’s dower, or parcel it out to others. I would not have thought it of him.”

  “He’s the king,” the laird responded. “He can do what he wants.”

  “I must go to my lady,” the tiring woman said, and hurried to find her mistress.

  Faced with the knowledge that Orva knew, Cicely wept afresh in the older woman’s arms. “I am worthless,” she said despairingly. “How can Glengorm even bear to look at me?”

  “Do not be foolish, my child,” Orva replied. “The laird loves you, and whether or not you have a dower matters not to him. I’m certain he has told you that. Besides, you brought him plate and linen, for I packed it among your belongings when I came from Perth. I told you then I left nothing behind. Two horses, a dozen silver goblets and spoons, a silver saltcellar that stands on the high board even now, and a chest full of fine linens for your table. You have your own clothing and jewelry. ’Tis a respectable dower you have brought to your husband.”

  “I had coin, and now it is stolen. The coin was my dower. Every girl brings plate and linen to her marriage, Orva. Well, perhaps not all, but women of my stature do,” Cicely said. “The gold my father entrusted to King James was for my husband, not the king. But Jo says she will get the king to return my dower.”

  “And how does she expect to do that?” Orva wanted to know.

  “She says when she births her son he will be so grateful he will give her whatever she wants. She will ask him to return my dower,” Cicely said. “Still, I cannot be easy until Ian has my monies.”

  “Then you should not fret yourself, my child,” Orva said soothingly. But she wondered if Joan Beaufort could indeed deliver on her promise to Cicely. In a sense they were both still trusting girls, and men, even husbands, were not necessarily to
be trusted. Although Orva would not know it, her instincts were correct.

  On the same day that Cicely had visited the queen before departing back to the borders, James Stewart came to visit with his wife. The queen dismissed her ladies, for she wished to spend time alone with the king. She was almost halfway through her second pregnancy, and had begun to feel comfortable once again. Now, sprawled in her husband’s arms while he kissed her neck while caressing her belly, she felt deep contentment. “I’m certain ’tis a lad,” she told him.

  “I saw wee Meg today,” he replied. “Praise God she is so healthy. Aye, give me a son like that, sweeting, and I will be satisfied.”

  The young queen smiled. “And what will you give me in return?” she teased.

  “Whatever you desire will be yours,” the king vowed passionately.

  “I want you to return Ce-ce’s dower to her, and then give it to Glengorm,” the queen said. “You should not have taken it.”

  James Stewart’s brow darkened. “I need to keep the Gordons allied to me,” he told her. “They were insulted by what happened.”

  “You behaved no better than your father and your uncle,” the queen accused, “bribing those you desired as friends. The Gordons were given my blood kin for Fairlea’s wife. Was not the queen’s cousin enough to assuage their pride?”

  “Her dower was small.” The king attempted to defend himself.

  “Aye, it was,” she agreed. “But they knew not how large was Cicely’s dower, and you might have lied to them about it. Because of Fairlea’s marriage to my cousin the Gordons are now bound to us. That should have been enough for them, my lord. Ce-ce did them no wrong. Their quarrel, although they had no cause to quarrel, should have been with the Douglases. But there were no marriage contracts drawn and awaiting signature. And Ce-ce had given no promise to Fairlea. Even he admitted that. So it was nothing more than a matter of pride between two young men who both wanted the same woman. Yet only one could have her. Fairlea, in the belief that he had run off all comers, simply found himself outwitted by a border fox. My cousin was more than compensation enough, Jamie. You did not have to pay off the Gordons.

  “If they brag on it your earls will think you are no better than those who came before you. They will decide that you can be managed. You made a mistake, my lord. Let us hope the Gordons will remain silent. And after our son is born you will return the monies you should not have taken from Ce-ce. Not having her dower for Glengorm has devastated her. She feels worthless. You had not the right to do that to my best friend,” the queen scolded her husband. “She has been loyal to me since the day we met.”

  James Stewart was well chastised by his wife, but he refused to feel any lasting guilt. “And where do you propose I get the monies to repay Cicely’s dower?” he asked her glumly. “Do I not have enough expenses of my own?”

  Queen Joan smiled, turning her head to look up into her husband’s face. “Oh, Jamie, we both know you have a knack for finding gold, especially when there is something that you particularly want. Well, this is something that I particularly want,” she said sweetly. “I know that you won’t disappoint me, my lord.”

  He laughed a quick laugh. “Give me a son, my sweeting, and the laird of Glengorm will have his wife’s dower in full, I promise you,” the king said.

  The queen smiled at him again. “You are so good to me,” she said.

  “May God have mercy on me,” James Stewart replied. “I love you.”

  “I know,” the queen told him. “Now leave me so I may write to Cicely of your promise, and put her mind at ease.” And when he had gone the queen called old Bess to bring her writing box and, taking up her quill, she wrote to her longtime friend.

  To Cicely, Lady of Glengorm, from Joan, Queen of Scotland, Greetings!

  I have spoken with James about the matter we discussed, and he has agreed that when our son is born, he will return to you fully what is yours. I could not ask him to restore it immediately, for his pride’s sake, but you may tell your husband that all will be resolved in this matter by year’s end. May God and his Blessed Mother grant you the same joys that I have. I will pray for you, as I know you will for me.

  Jo

  Finished, the queen carefully folded the piece of parchment into a small square, sealing it and pressing her signet ring into the hot wax, which was already solidifying. She handed the message to old Bess. “Tell my page to have this dispatched with one of my own messengers to Glengorm,” the queen said. Then she sat back in her chair as Bess removed her writing box and left her alone in her privy chamber.

  She had done what needed to be done, and with a sense of great satisfaction Queen Joan sat back in her chair, pleased. In a few days they would travel to Scone, where they would remain for much of the rest of the year. Her son would be born there, as was fitting. She smiled.

  Chapter 11

  Cicely had come to love Ian Douglas, but not as deeply as he loved her. Yet despite his reassurances that what little she had brought him was more than enough, she was not content. She wanted her dower portion like any other woman. She was the Earl of Leighton’s daughter, not the daughter of some simple man. For the laird, however, the matter was over and done. He was a man of practical needs. His house was clean and comfortable. He had land, cattle, and sheep. He had a wife he adored, and the border was currently quiet. Glengorm lacked but one thing: an heir.

  And so he told his wife one rainy late-autumn afternoon as, bending her over the edge of the table in the small chamber in which he attended to the clerical matters pertaining to his lands, he fucked her lustily. There had been something about her that afternoon that aroused his desires. She had been sitting in the hall weaving on a tapestry when he had passed by. He called Artair to him. “Tell your mistress to come to my privy chamber,” he said to the servant, and the man had hurried to do his bidding.

  And when Cicely had entered the small room he had boldly turned the key in the door’s lock and taken her into his arms. An interlude of kissing and fondling had followed. Her skin was soft and scented, her breasts lush, and his cock hardened. She murmured a slight protest; then he bent her over the table, pushing her skirts up to her waist. The sight of her perfectly rounded bottom sent a jolt of heat throughout his entire body. Bending, he kissed, nibbled, and licked her buttocks, nuzzling the dimple at the base of her spine until his impatience got the better of him. Releasing his manhood from his leather breeks, he grasped the curve of her hips and thrust himself into her wet heat. He drove into her hard and deep, unable to help himself, almost whimpering with his need.

  His sudden lust had surprised Cicely, but it was not displeasing to her. Her breasts were mashed against the table, but it didn’t prevent her hips from wiggling beneath his thrusts. Then for a moment he ceased moving, and she felt the long, thick peg of flesh piercing her throb within her sheath. She moaned and, unable to help herself, released her pleasure.

  He laughed softly, and leaned forward to bite the nape of her neck. “Do you like this?” he whispered in her ear. Then he tickled it with his tongue.

  “Aye!” she said. “But I want to kiss you, and I want to see your face when I pleasure you, my lord.” Her hips pressed against his belly tauntingly.

  “Then do what I tell you without question,” he instructed her, withdrawing himself from her and quickly turning her onto her back. “Wrap your legs about me, ladyfaire,” he said, and when she did he plugged her with his hard, steaming cock as he pulled her gown open so he might bury his face between her breasts. “Aye, that is better,” he said. Then, lifting his head slightly, he clamped his lips about one of her nipples.

  Cicely squealed as his tongue encircled the nipple until it was so stiff she thought one more sweep of his tongue would cause it to snap off. His teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, and then he sucked hard on her breast until Cicely was moaning with the excitement she felt. When he transferred his attentions to her other breast Cicely thought she would expire from the fire he was kindling within her.<
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  But then, having roused the second breast, he began to lick her torso with his tongue. The tongue probed beneath her breasts. It swept slowly, slowly across her warm, smooth flesh, sending tingles of heat down her spine. Raising his head, he leaned forward and began to kiss her mouth with slow, hot kisses that left her breathless. His tongue found hers, fenced with it, sucked it sensuously, subdued it.

  Cicely couldn’t move, she was so weak with her own desire. Her entire body felt boneless, though her raised legs clutched at his torso. When he began to move again within her she sighed a long sigh. She wanted to cling to him, but he raised her two arms above her head, one hand holding them prisoner as he pumped and pumped and pumped himself within her. It was as if he wanted to subdue her totally, and would not be content until he did.

  “Ian!” she whispered to him.

  “Say nothing,” he growled. “I would hear only the sounds of your pleasure, ladyfaire.” Then he fucked her harder and deeper than he ever had before.

  Cicely suddenly realized that for the first time she had no control at all over her body. It absorbed his lust and begged for more. Her breath came in short, fierce pants. Her head spun as she found herself climbing, climbing, and then as quickly plunging down into a warm pool of heated desire as stars exploded behind her tightly closed eyes. Whatever was happening, she didn’t want it to end. She screamed softly as she peaked, and realized that what had been was even now draining away as his love juices spurted within her body to fill her with his seed.

  “I love you so damned much,” he groaned into her tousled hair.

  “I love you, my bold border lord,” she responded. “Do you think we have made a child?” Her legs fell away from him, and, moving away from her, he reached out to pull her to a seated position so she might recover herself. A brief wave of dizziness overcame her. Cicely let it subside, then drew her skirts down modestly and tried to straighten her hair. “We have never before made love of an afternoon, nor have you had your pleasure of me outside of our bedchamber,” she remarked.