The Border Lord and the Lady

by Bertrice Small

  The king sent to all of his liege men, the border lords among them. He told them what had happened at Inverness. It was too late now to go north to wreak his revenge upon the MacDonald. They would go closer to spring. Kier Douglas was ordered to be ready at a moment’s notice, and to be prepared to travel hard. He was to bring as many men as he could muster. Alexander MacDonald would receive a lesson in royal justice he would never forget—if he survived the king’s initial wrath.

  Cicely was not pleased. “Can you Scots not learn to live peacefully among yourselves?” she demanded. “I should have married a man like my father: rich and unimportant. One who did not have to answer a call to arms.”

  “Now, sweetheart,” he attempted to cajole her, but she waved her hand at him.

  “Nay, Kier, I do not like this constant fighting. What if I were with child again?”

  “Are you?” he asked eagerly.

  “Nay,” she admitted.

  “We shall have to do something about that,” he teased her with a mischievous smile. “Johanna and Ian need another brother or sister.”

  “Most men would want another son,” she replied.

  “Aye, I do. But the lasses have their value too, sweetheart. Their marriages unite Glengorm with other families, who become allies. Did you think I was satisfied just to be my father’s son? Aye, Sir William loves me, and I bear his name, but I am still his bastard. My bairns, however, are legitimate. And Glengorm is not a poor apportionment to have been given. You say in your anger that you should have wed a rich man. I intend being a rich man, Cicely. I don’t yet quite know how I will accomplish this, but I will. I have not yet spent a penny of your dower. It remains in Edinburgh with the goldsmith.”

  She had not known this, and was encouraged to learn it. “My father made his wealth investing in trading voyages to the Levant,” Cicely said. “You must be careful, of course, which ships and voyages you invest in, but ’tis no less risky than cattle or sheep, which can be stolen away. And you never put all your coin in one play, he advised me.”

  He nodded. “This could be a way for us to begin, sweetheart. Together we will build a legacy for our descendants.”

  “If you do not get killed fighting the king’s war,” Cicely responded tartly.

  “I won’t,” he promised her, and he took her two hands in his and kissed them.

  The king’s call came in late winter, a time when no one would expect a military campaign to be mounted. But the days were getting longer now, and the chance of a blizzard growing less with every day. The buds had not broken upon the trees and the snows still clung hard to the bens when James Stewart, a large army at his back, crossed the River Tay and moved north into the Highlands. When word reached Alexander MacDonald he was astounded, for the king had come earlier than any of them had expected. The lord of the isles smiled grimly, but he admitted to those closest to him that he had a grudging respect now for James Stewart that he hadn’t had before.

  The MacDonald called forth the ten thousand men who had sworn fealty to him. Many came. But there were also those clans who, having been impressed with James Stewart after their meeting at Inverness—the Camerons, the Buchanans, and Clan Chattan—switched sides to fight for the king. The two armies met at Lochaber, and the lord of the isles was firmly defeated in a dreadful slaughter. The king would not be particularly merciful to those who had burned, killed, and looted Inverness.

  Alexander MacDonald sued now for peace and forgiveness. His Highlanders fled deep into the mountains, attempting to avoid the king’s wrath, because they knew the harshest judgments would fall upon them. James Stewart would need the lord of the isles to bring his word and calm to the region, but before then the king did a bit of burning and destruction himself in an effort to make his point with the northern families. He would tolerate no more rebellion.

  In the borders spring had come. The snows were gone from the hillsides, which were now green and blooming as the weeks passed from March to April to May. Cicely was certain she was with child again, and was eager for her husband’s return. This child would be born in December, and her instinct, even this early on, told her it would be a lad. Kier would be pleased, and she wanted him home so they might share their happiness together. She had received a letter from her father in response to one she had written to him almost a year and a half ago. While he was still frail of body, his spirit was stronger than it had ever been. Her stepmother had died after escaping her keepers, drowning in Leighton Water, a swift-moving small river that ran through her father’s estates. Robert Bowen was saddened, but not unhappy. He and her half brothers would welcome a visit from Cicely, should she be able to come home, he wrote.

  Cicely laid the missive aside. She would like to see her father before he died, but she had obligations as the lady of Glengorm, and there were the children to consider. They were too young for so long a trip. She would write to her father, explaining, on the morrow, she decided, climbing into bed. But tomorrow she had to ride out and inspect the hay fields and her herb garden was finally beginning to look healthy, with its new growth. The lavender would be particularly bountiful this year, from the looks of the plants she had growing. And the chamomile was already budding.

  On the beach by the loch two of the men left behind by Frang patrolled the beach from one end to the other, meeting in the middle now and again. Bethia crept from her cottage, keeping to the shadows so that no one would see her as she made her way to the shoreline. Seeing the first man-at-arms, she called softly to him, and, startled, he turned about.

  “I’ve brought ye some whiskey, Roddie Douglas,” she said, holding out a stone flask to the man. “ ’Tis a chilly night for the middle of May.”

  “Aye,” the man-at-arms agreed. “ ’Tis kindly, Bethia, but I hope you’re not looking at me for a second husband, for I’m not of a mind to wed.”

  “Nay, nay, and especially as you’re futtering that widow at the end of the village,” Bethia cackled. “I’m too dried up for a fine young lad like you, Roddie Douglas.”

  He chuckled and, taking the flask, drank down a good portion of the liquid. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I’ll give the rest to your mate,” she said. “Who is at the other end of the beach?”

  “That will be Black William,” Roddie replied.

  Bethia sauntered off into the dusk, seeking the second man-at-arms. Finding him, she offered him the flask. He was happy to drink the remaining whiskey down. She left him and, returning to where she had left Roddie Douglas, she found him collapsed and snoring on the sand. With a smile of satisfaction she waited a few minutes, then sought out the second man-at-arms. Bethia found him in the same state as the first.

  Walking back up the shore to where Roddie Douglas lay, Bethia picked up his dark lantern. She removed the shade from the lamp and the light exploded. Bethia raised the lantern and waved it slowly back and forth as she stood facing the water. A twinkle of light from across the small loch answered her. And then her sharp ears picked up the sound of horses entering the water, swimming, coming closer and closer. She was able to make out the form of her brother, Durwin, leading the raiders.

  “Welcome to Glengorm, brother,” Bethia said, grinning. “How may I be of service to you, Durwin, my kinsman?”

  Durwin slid from his horse. “You are certain we can take what we want, that the laird’s away, and their defense is scant? I am not of a mind to lose any men. The Douglases have severely decimated the ranks of the Grahames. We’re going to be taking women from the village for concubines. Those we have can’t produce bairns quick enough. You’ll know those old enough to futter and produce. How many men left?”

  “None of fighting age. Lads and grandfathers. The few fighting men are up at the house. But once they hear a commotion in the village they’ll come running. When they do you can creep into the house and steal the lady. Futter her if you will, but she will actually be worth more in ransom,” Bethia said.

  “Agreed,” her brother replied. “Now, as we h
ave discussed, sister, take the wee boat on the shore here and row yourself across to the other side to wait for us. I’ve brought a horse for you. We’ll bring the women we’re stealing to you. If you say they’re too old or too young we’ll toss them in the water. If they can swim home they will have their lives. If not . . .” Durwin Grahame shrugged. “Is your husband with the laird?”

  “The bastard is dead,” Bethia said. “His old mother died first.” She smiled evilly, and her brother knew Bethia had killed the woman in some manner. “I poisoned her. It was too cold, and the ground was frozen, so we cremated her. Then came the storm. It snowed for three days. I killed my man the first day. Then, while the storm raged, I cut him up into pieces. Some I burned. Some I fed to the dog. The rest I put in a sack with stones. I kept it in the snow behind my cottage, meaning to dump it in the loch when it opened up. But some wild beasts found the sack and ran off with it. I couldn’t even find his bones.”

  “Get in the boat then,” her brother said. His sister was a far more dangerous woman than he had imagined. He would have to kill her before they began their return over the border today. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life wondering about when she would turn on him. She was a traitorous bitch who thought only of herself. Despite being married to a Douglas, and living with the Douglases for all these years, Bethia had betrayed them without so much as a single regret. She would betray him too, given the opportunity, but he would not give her that opportunity.

  Bethia nodded to him, obeying, and when she was settled in the small boat he pushed it from the sandy shore into the loch. “I’ll see you on the other side,” he said. Then, turning, he mustered his men, who had been waiting silently. “We’ll leave the horses here and go on afoot into the village,” Durwin Grahame told them.

  In her cottage at the end of the village nearest the path to the house, Mary Douglas lay sleepless. She never slept well when her husband was away. A dog suddenly sent up a bark. Then she heard a yelp, and for a moment it was silent before Mary thought she heard a scream. She got up and peered through the small window to see the dark shapes of men running through the village and into the cottages. Mary did not wait. Grabbing her dark cloak, she slipped out of the little door at the rear of her cottage and, using the trees on the hillside as cover, made her way up the hill to the laird’s dwelling. The shrieks of frightened women had become more audible.

  Reaching the house, she pounded upon the little kitchen door until the lad, Gabhan, peered out and, seeing her, opened the portal to let her in. “Bar the door, lad! The Grahames are upon us!” Mary cried. “Where is Frang? We must rouse the house!”

  “This entry won’t hold against an assault,” Gabhan told Mary.

  “Then quickly, wake Mab and the lasses and get upstairs,” Mary told him as she hurried to climb the stairs into the hall. There she found Frang snoring in a bedspace. “Get up! Get up!” She shook him. “The Grahames are upon us, man!”

  He was awake in an instant. “How? Where?”

  “In the village for now, stealing women, but they’ll be at the hall soon enough,” Mary told him. “They came from the loch side, or they’d have had me. I couldn’t sleep, and heard a noise, saw the shadows, and ran.”

  “I’ll get the men, and we’ll go into the village and settle this,” Frang said.

  “Nay! Nay! You mustn’t leave the lady and her bairns unprotected. The ransom would be fierce, and ’twould beggar the laird. Besides, it appeared there were more of them than there are of us.”

  The door at the end of the hall opened, and Cicely stepped out. “What is it?” She saw Mary Douglas, and her brow lifted questioningly. She was wearing a long chemise.

  “The Grahames are in the village,” Frang said.

  “Is the house secure?” Cicely asked him.

  He nodded.

  “Nay, the kitchen can be breached,” Mary said. “Gabhan said so.”

  “Then we’ll seal the entry from the hall to the kitchen stairs,” Frang told them.

  “Where are Mab, the lasses, and Gabhan?” Cicely wanted to know. “Get them upstairs immediately.”

  Frang hurried down into the kitchen, where he found Mab, her two helpers, and her great-nephew shoving the big kitchen table so that it blocked the outside door, which was also barred. It was a good strategy. He helped them to get it the last few feet, and then shooed them all up into the hall. Cicely had gone into the large bedchamber with Mary Douglas, and they pulled the outer wooden shutter closed over the chamber’s single window. The window was now made of glass, but they had not yet dispensed with the inner wood shutters. They pulled them tightly and laid a wooden bar across them. Then they piled the trunks in the room before the windows. With great effort someone would be able to get into the chamber eventually, but all they needed was time.

  “I want you, the bairns, the women in that chamber,” Frang said. “You’ll be safe unless someone manages to break in, and you’ll have time to reach the hall if they do. You can then bar that door to gain more time for us.”

  “Can we send to Sir William or Ben Duff for aid?” Cicely asked.

  Frang shook his head. “Their men are also with the king but for a few, my lady.”

  Cicely nodded. “Then we are on our own,” she said. “Sine, go up. Wake the children and their nursemaid. Bring them downstairs. Where are Mab and her lasses?”

  “Here, my lady,” the old woman said. She held a large wooden rolling pin in one hand. Her helpers, Bessie and Flora, held wooden mallets used to tenderize the meat.

  “You are well armed, I see,” Cicely remarked. “Let us pray they cannot breach the house,” she said, leading them into the enclosed bedchamber. But she kept the door open, and after she had quickly dressed Cicely went back into the hall to speak with Frang. Kate came downstairs with the two children. She was wide-eyed, but calm.

  “What are our chances of avoiding a fight?” Cicely asked Frang.

  He shook his head. “We’ll try to hold out until either they grow weary of the game and depart with their booty, or offer decent terms for our surrender,” he said. “And, of course, they could go away with what they have gained today, and return another day.”

  “I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands,” Cicely quietly told the captain of the men-at-arms. “I could not bear to lose any of you.”

  He gave her a warm smile. “We will do our best, my lady,” Frang promised. But he knew that if the Grahames managed to reach the hall it would be a fight to the death. He crossed himself and prayed silently for a miracle. Then he sent one of his men up to the second floor to see what was happening, and relay it down to them.

  “The village is burning,” the man called. “I can see it from here.”

  Frang shrugged. “It was to be expected,” he said sanguinely.

  “The women are shrieking up a storm,” the lookout said. “They are having quite a time containing them. I can see some of them running, being chased.”

  “Good,” Frang said. “They may have to decide if they want the women more, or what’s in this house more. If they can’t control our lasses they can’t storm the house.”

  Durwin Grahame was learning, to his annoyance, the truth of this as the women scattered about the village, evading his men, half of whom were chasing after them while the other half fired the cottages. “Leave that cottage at the end alone,” he called to his men. “We’ll pen the women in there with two of you to guard them. Then we’ll go after the laird’s wife and bairns for the fine ransom they’ll bring us.”

  After several hours of running the younger women of Glengorm down, the raiders finally had them bound and incarcerated in Mary Douglas’s cottage. The older women and the children they had let run off, for they weren’t interested in them. And while the elderly had protested the destruction of their homes, the Grahames had waved them away threateningly, telling them they were fortunate not to be killed. There were some who might have killed them, and another time Durwin Grahame might have. Today, however, he w
as interested in only two things: women to bear Grahame bairns, and a fat ransom.

  Their prisoners contained, the Grahames moved purposefully towards the laird of Glengorm’s house. The sky was beginning to lighten now with the mid-May dawn. The air was filled with the scent of burning, but the day would be clear. Suddenly Durwin Grahame saw a herd of six fat cows, in a pen near the barn. His eyes lit up. He wanted those cows, whose udders were enormous with milk and cream right now. He pointed to three of his men. “Swim that group across the loch,” he told them. “Then come back.”

  The trio went off to do his bidding as Durwin led the rest of his men to the house. They had almost reached it when a hail of arrows flew from the upper story of the building. The arrows found targets. Howls of pain from some of his men pierced the air. He signaled his men back far enough to avoid the arrows, and so he might think. He could see that the front door was heavy and bound with iron. There had to be another way to gain access to the dwelling. In the meantime he set several men to cutting down a tree, from which they would strip the branches, and then use the trunk as a battering ram. Another two he sent to walk about the house to find its weakness.

  Fortunately none of his men had been seriously injured by the arrows, although their wounds were painful. Care would have to be taken that the wounds did not become infected. The arrows were all yanked out and cast aside, while the injuries were bound up. The two men returned to report that they had found another smaller door near a kitchen garden that might be breached. And there was a shuttered window in an extension.

  “We will try the door first,” Durwin Grahame said. “If it is the kitchen there will be access to the hall from there.” But try as they might, they could not get in through that small door. Durwin began to wonder if the portal were iron instead of blackened old wood. “We’ll try the shuttered window then,” he finally announced.