The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  “Good,” he replied. “Should the day ever come that I am gone from Glengorm and it is attacked, I can rest easy knowing you will be able to mount its defense and attack our attackers. Our son will have to depend upon you if I am not here.”

  “Do not speak such words to me, my lord. You will be here for Glengorm, for me, and for our child.” Cicely leaned over and kissed him softly and gently.

  “Our son,” he said, kissing her back.

  “Or our daughter,” she returned.

  “Or our daughter,” he agreed with her, smiling.

  Chapter 12

  Jan’schest wound healed quickly, but his right arm was stiff now. Mab taught her lady the use of herbs, like lavender for sleep, and comfrey for healing bruises and knitting bones back together. She showed Cicely how to mix powders and poultices, and how to make pills. Cicely learned how to examine a patient for a broken or dislocated bone. How to bind such injuries.

  There was another lack in her education she now had to make up. She began to learn about how to defend the house should they be attacked. The captain of their men-at-arms was a burly, baldheaded Douglas man named Frang. At first he was loath to discuss defense with Cicely. She was, after all, English born.

  “I am capable of keeping the house safe,” he told her.

  “But what if you were away?” Cicely asked him in dulcet tones. “You could come back to find the house burned, and the rest of us dead or carried off. You must teach me what I need to know should you and the laird not be here, Frang. I know I may rely upon you at all times, but if I could not keep my own house and servants safe from attack I should be a poor border wife.” She gave him a small smile. “I would make my lord proud of me. You know he has not been well.”

  Frang looked at the dainty English girl with her swelling belly. And then he looked across the hall to where his laird sat pale and still weak by the hearth, a wool coverlet about his knees like an old woman. He nodded. “I will teach you what you need to know, my lady, though it’s unlikely I’ll be away anytime soon.”

  “Thank you,” Cicely said softly. She had seen where Frang’s eyes had gone as he considered his decision. Ian still wasn’t well, and he was as weak as a kitten. The wound in his chest had finally healed, but the one in his lower shoulder was troublesome. Mab was at her wits end, for just when this second wound appeared to finally be cured it would suddenly fill with green matter again, which would sometimes turn yellow and be streaked with blood. And each time Ian Douglas grew weaker. Finally one morning he was unable to get out of bed.

  “I’m dying,” he told Cicely in a resigned voice.

  “Do not say it!” she almost shouted at him, and the child in her belly seemed to jump at the sound of her frightened voice. “You cannot die, Ian Douglas.”

  “The wound won’t heal. I don’t know why, and neither does Mab,” he said.

  “We’ll send for a physician!” Cicely cried.

  “There isn’t one in the near borders, ladyfaire. I’m dying. Send for Ambrose to come and shrive me before it is too late,” he instructed her.

  “We are having a child,” Cicely replied. “You cannot die, Ian. We are having a child! Don’t you want to see your child?”

  “Aye, I do, but I will not, I fear, ladyfaire. Send word to Sir William, for Glengorm will be without a laird, or the new laird will be a wee bairn. No border keep can be kept by a child or a woman, Cicely. I am sorry to leave you so vulnerable.”

  This was a dream. A bad dream. Nay! A nightmare. Ian wasn’t dying. He couldn’t be! They had been together such a short time, and she had come to love him. His child was in her belly. She drew a deep, calming breath. “I’ll get the priest,” she said. If it would comfort him, so much the better. His uncle would tell him he wasn’t dying, and Ian would get better. Leaving him, she found Artair in the hall. “Go and fetch Father Ambrose quickly,” she told him.

  “Is it time then?” the serving man asked her, but then, seeing the horrified look in his mistress’s eye, Artair ran from the hall.

  What was the matter with the servants? Cicely asked herself. Why did they all seem to be so fixated with her husband’s death? Ian wasn’t going to die. He would be here in the spring to hold his firstborn.

  Mab came up into the hall and, seeing her mistress just standing there silently, she led the young woman over to her chair by the hearth. “Sit,” she said.

  “He wants the priest.” Cicely spoke low, collapsing into the chair.

  “Aye, then he senses his time is near,” Mab answered matter-of-factly.

  “What are you saying?” Cicely cried. “Do not say it! Do not!”

  “The wound is infected, my lady. It is poisoning him. I cannot heal it or stop it,” Mab said. “I am ashamed my skills have failed him, but if he says he is dying then he is dying. Only a miracle can save him now, and prayers are all we have left.”

  Cicely did not reply. She sat very still, her face turned to stone.

  Father Ambrose found her there as he came into the hall. He saw Mab as she returned to her kitchen. The old woman shook her head sorrowfully at him. Walking over to Cicely, the priest put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Tell me what is wrong,” he said. “And then I will do my best to help.”

  “Ian says he is dying,” Cicely began, not looking at him.

  Ambrose nodded. “Let us go to him then, and see how we may ease what remains of his time, Cicely.” His voice was kind and filled with sympathy.

  She turned in her chair, looking up at him. “It isn’t so,” she said, low. “It cannot be! My husband is not dying. Nay! He isn’t.” Her voice trembled. Her eyes were desperate.

  Ambrose put a firm hand beneath Cicely’s elbow, gently forcing her to her feet. “Come, my child, your husband needs us both now. We cannot fail him, can we?” He led her from the hall and up the stone stairs to the chamber where Ian lay. Opening the door, the priest ushered Cicely into the room.

  “Uncle!” The laird’s eyes lit up with relief. “Uncle, I am dying. I feel it. You must confess me before I can no longer do so.”

  Like the young woman by his side, Ambrose Douglas wanted to deny the evidence of his own eyes. But he was far too practical a man. His nephew was right: He was dying. His skin was paler than pale, with just the faintest hint of gray. His eyes were sunken into his head, and he had lost a great deal of weight. He made the sign of the cross over Ian. “Your sins are forgiven you, nephew. And if it will soothe you to confess to me you may do so, but first I must know what you wish me to do.”

  Cicely sat upon the bed. A small sound escaped her, but she said nothing.

  The laird reached out to take her hand in his as he spoke. “Send to Sir William,” he began. “If the bairn Cicely carries is a lad, then Glengorm will have an heir in the direct line. I will depend on Sir William to protect both my wife and my son. If the bairn is female then it is up to Sir William to decide what is to be done. If he means to give Glengorm to another, provision must be made for my wife and daughter. Perhaps he can convince the king to restore Cicely’s dower. I do not think the queen would permit her old friend to be left impoverished.”

  “Why do you say these things?” Cicely whimpered. “You cannot die, Ian!”

  “Do you think I would leave you if I did not have to, ladyfaire? Did I not brave the wrath of a king to make you my wife?” He raised the small hand in his to his parched lips and kissed it. “You are a brave lass, Cicely. Do you remember how you came to Glengorm, my love? Oh, how you raged and fought with me in those early days. You must gather that fervor to yourself again—for your sake, and for that of our child. I expect no less of you, ladyfaire. Now, if the bairn is a lad I should like you to name him after me. But if it’s a lass, the choice is yours, although I should favor Johanna, after the queen.”

  There was a heavy, dark rock where her heart had once been. Her chest hurt, but if she wept she would shatter into a thousand pieces. The child in her womb stirred again. It was as if there were a butterfly within h
er belly, fluttering its wings. She could not allow herself to collapse into self-indulgent hysteria. The child was all she would have left of her husband. The child must be protected at all costs. “I will name our son Ian,” she said. “But if I birth a daughter I should like her to be called after Jo. Thank you for that, my lord.” Now it was she who kissed his hand, and her eyes met his.

  He smiled at her, and she saw a quick flash of the man who had abducted her because he loved her so much.

  Cicely felt guilty, for while she had come to love him she had never felt the same deep passion for him that he did for her. And now he was dying. There was no time left for them, and she was suddenly angry at a fate that had thrown her into Ian Douglas’s embrace and was now tearing her out of those strong arms. It wasn’t fair!

  “You will survive, ladyfaire,” he told her quietly. “You are strong.”

  Cicely sighed. “I don’t want to be without you. Curse the Grahames! I will take a party of clansmen over the border and slay them all for this. They have taken my husband from me, and my child will have no father because of their dishonorable actions.” Her beautiful face was suddenly set in a hard manner.

  “Nay, I have avenged Fergus’s death, ladyfaire. I want no border warfare disturbing the peace of Glengorm for our folk, or for you and the bairn,” he said. “Promise me that you will not attack the Grahames and start a feud.”

  “You have avenged Fergus’s death, my dear lord, but who is to avenge yours if I do not?” she asked him candidly.

  “I need to go to God reassured that you and our child will be safe, Cicely,” he said seriously. Then he fell back upon the pillows. “I am weary now. Leave me. Ambrose will remain and hear my confession. Give me a kiss now.”

  Rising, she bent and touched his lips with hers. Did they feel colder? “I promise you I will not feud with the Grahames,” she told him. “But they should pay for what they have done, and your revenge for Fergus wasn’t enough, my lord.” Then she left Ian and his uncle together.

  When she had gone Ambrose Douglas said, “I will send to Sir William today, nephew. And I will watch over her, I promise.”

  “Tell Frang I want no feud,” Ian Douglas said. “She has sworn, but when I am gone she may think better of her promise to me, Uncle.”

  “Sir William will send someone to keep her in check,” the priest replied. “Now, Ian, that I have heard your wishes, let me hear your confession, nephew.”

  The laird gave his priestly uncle a weak grin. “I’ve been sick for weeks now, Ambrose. What sins could I possibly have?”

  The priest chuckled. “I’ll stay with you, Ian,” he said quietly.

  The laird nodded. “Thank you,” was all he said, and then he closed his eyes.

  Ian Douglas died quietly in the night as his wife and uncle dozed by his bedside, unaware until after the fact. As a male in the direct line of descent, the priest immediately took charge of the situation. Stony faced, Cicely could not cry, fearing that to grieve would harm her unborn child. A messenger was dispatched to Sir William Douglas, who came with all haste to comfort the widow, and to learn how his kinsman had died.

  “The Grahames are to blame,” Cicely told him bitterly. Her face was pale, her hair unbound, and she could not stop pacing.

  Sir William looked to Ambrose Douglas, who quickly explained.

  “Both brothers gone? Ahh,” Sir William said, “this is not good. The lady and her bairn will need to be protected.”

  “We need no stranger,” Cicely spoke up boldly. “Our Glengorm folk are true, Frang, our captain, capable. And we have Ambrose.”

  “My dear,” Sir William responded in as kindly tones as he could muster, “your bairn, be it a lad or a lassie, cannot rule Glengorm from its cradle. I know your folk have good hearts. I know Frang is loyal and able. But this is a border house. I need a strong man to maintain order here. You are the lady of Glengorm, and will remain so, but the welfare of Glengorm will be in a man’s hand. But I promise I will send you a good man.”

  She could feel her resistance to his suggestion rising, but Cicely swallowed back the words she wanted to speak. In her heart she knew he was right. A woman in charge, especially a woman with a large belly, would be considered fair game to any less than honorable border lord. And the border did have its share of dishonorable men. Sir William’s protection would keep Glengorm safe. She sighed audibly, and curtsied to him. “I am grateful, my lord, for your care,” she said. “Now, if you will excuse me.”

  “Go and rest, my dear,” he replied. “These last weeks have been difficult, I know.” He gave her a courtly bow, thinking how sad her plight was.

  Cicely left the hall.

  “She goes to the chamber beneath the church where his coffin now rests. The ground was too hard and we could not dig his grave,” the priest explained. “She goes several times daily and speaks with him.”

  “Has she lost her reason?” Sir William asked nervously.

  “Nay, she is simply still in shock over his death,” the priest replied. “She was raised gently, and is not accustomed to so harsh a life as can occur here in the borders. But she is a strong lass, cousin. She will survive. Tell me now whom you will send us.”

  “I have a son, one born on the other side of the blanket, but one I have recognized and to whom I have given my name. I’d like to send Kier to look after Glengorm. Your father favored you, Ambrose. You have his name. He educated you, so I now consider you the male who speaks officially for this branch of the Douglases. If Lady Cicely births a daughter I will, with your approval, give Glengorm to Kier.”

  “What of the bairn?” the priest asked. “If she is not the heiress of Glengorm then what is to become of her? Will you see her properly dowered, cousin?”

  “I will,” Sir William replied. “You know I cannot let Glengorm out of our hands. But I will provide for Ian’s child. If the bairn is a lad then he will inherit the land, and Kier will remain to see he is raised as a Douglas should be raised.”

  “And the widow?” the priest inquired.

  “I will speak to the king on her behalf. I think with Queen Joan’s help I can get at least part of the lady’s dower portion returned to her. The fact that she has been widowed so tragically while carrying her husband’s heir will certainly work in her favor. The king was really angrier with Ian Douglas than he was with Lady Cicely. I am also considering that perhaps Ian’s widow might make a good wife for my son. But that is not something I will discuss with her at this point,” Sir William said.

  “Nay,” Ambrose Douglas replied dryly, “ ’twould be best to wait, I suspect. She should be given time to mourn, and to birth her child. Tell me about your son, cousin.”

  Sir William paused as if considering his words. “Kier’s mother was Lady Sybil Stewart. She was widowed, and we fell in love. Albany forbade us to marry. He feared an alliance between the Stewarts and the Douglases. She died giving birth to Kier. I married shortly afterwards, and my wife raised him with our children. He is a fine warrior, but stubborn. He’s never married, although there was a lass once, but it came to naught. Her father wanted a better match for his daughter than the bastard of Sir William Douglas. My son had not until that moment faced the stigma of his birth.

  “My wife loves him as she does the bairns she’s given me. We never hid the circumstances of his birth from him. He understood his place in the inheritance and line of descent. But Callum Ogilvie sold his lass to wife a fat, elderly Edinburgh merchant. When her husband died the sons born in his first marriage sent her back to her father with nothing but a big belly one of them had given her. She couldn’t name the father because it seemed she had had both of her husband’s sons to satisfy her when he could not. Her father has died now, and she lives in her brother’s house, to his wife’s distress. No one knows what happened to the lass’s bairn or even when she birthed it.

  “Kier thought he loved the girl once, but then he saw her for what she really was. I don’t think his heart was broken, and I always thou
ght it was his lust driving him. But he has been cold and guarded where women are concerned ever since. My son does not enjoy being made a fool. He is a proud man. But he is honest, and he is fair. Glengorm will be in excellent hands, Ambrose. You may trust Kier Douglas.”

  “I am pleased to know that,” the priest said. “Cicely must be treated gently and with kindness. Ian loved her deeply, and she has become accustomed to it.”

  “Did she love him at all?” Sir William asked curiously.

  “Aye, she did. Not as he did her, but she did care for him. The tragedy is that they were just really getting to know each other well, becoming more at ease with each other. Cicely never really got over the king’s appropriating her dower portion. Only Ian’s love took the sting of it away. And now she must continue on without him, with a child, and penniless but for whatever your son will allow her.”

  “I will see she receives the rents from three cottages annually,” Sir William said.

  The priest smiled. “ ’Tis generous,” he approved.

  Cicely did not return to the hall that afternoon. She had Orva come to ask Sir William to excuse her, as she was not well. Mab nonetheless saw that a splendid supper was set upon the high board for the priest and their guest. When the morning came and Sir William was preparing to depart Glengorm, Cicely came into the hall to bid him farewell. She was pale, and looked as if she had not slept well at all.

  “I could not allow you to leave without a proper farewell,” she told him with a small smile. She wore a dark blue gown with a high waist and long, tight sleeves.

  Looking at her, he thought how lovely she was. Enceinte with her first child, and mourning a husband she had just lost, she still possessed a beauty that was almost luminous. If Kier were not a total fool she would make him a fine wife. “I was sorry you were not with us at supper,” he said. “Mab is a wonderful cook.”