To Every Love There is a Season: A historical Romance of the Scottish Border in the reign of King Jo

by Marissa St. James

  "He looks angry." Ellen crossed her arms over her chest, unaware she was mimicking the solemn boy.

  "Aye, child. An English soldier killed his mother. He is filled with sorrow and anger and would rather not be here."

  Ellen said nothing more and continued to study the boy a moment longer, wondering what she could do to change his mood. She understood something of what he was feeling. While her loss was not recent, neither was it forgotten. The corners of her small mouth turned up in a bright smile. She knew what she should do. Ellen slipped from her father's lap, then grasped a cup of watered wine between her two small hands. "Where are you off to, girl?" her father asked sternly.

  "He must not be angry, Papa, it is a happy time." She kept a firm hold on her goblet and carefully stepped down from the dais, then wove her way through the maze of tables, in an attempt to avoid guests unexpectedly leaning back on their benches, laughing. Space between tables was narrow at best and difficult to get through. Servants hurried about, removing empty platters and refilling goblets. Several times, Ellen stopped in her tracks to avoid colliding with a servant who was unable to see her. Stacks of bowls set on trays hampered visions of anything lower than the tray. Sometimes a sharp retort from a harried servant was cut short when they realized who had bumped into them. A quick apology and a glance at the dais with the hope the duke had failed to notice, sent the red faced serving girls scurrying away to the kitchens with their loads.

  Ellen reached the far corner of the room, set her cup on the table, and stood opposite the boy. She rested her elbows on the table, then propped her chin in her hand and studied him, as he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, then crossed his arms over his narrow chest and glared at her. She was not at all bothered by his cold appraisal of her.

  "What you staring at?" he asked crossly.

  Ellen thought back to the earlier meeting when Papa, the Scots leader, and a few of his men had met in private in Papa's chambers. Sometimes voices had been raised in anger, but Papa's was never one of them. She heard mostly muffled words from the nursery where she'd been playing with her sister. Ellen had overheard some talk of holding the boy hostage against the Scotsmen's good behavior. After more heated words, the other men left the room, leaving Papa alone with the leader for a few minutes, and the conversation quieted to whispers. She had heard about the boy, who remained rather secluded in an upper chamber, but had not seen him in the two weeks since his arrival. Only her brother had kept him company.

  Aunt Margaret always knows what to say when she greets the guests. Ellen released a small sigh and experienced a seed of doubt. Mayhap this was not a very good idea after all. He looks so angry. Determined, she refused to let it get the best of her. Ellen, squared her small shoulders and stood straight and tall. Her features reflected a determination to do her duty as she saw it. I am here now. It would be rude to walk away without a word. "Jillian," she called to a passing servant.

  The maid turned quickly. "Yes, my lady."

  "A cup of wine for our guest, and a small padded stool, if you can find one," she ordered in her best grownup voice. She recalled one of her father's men had broken a leg during the summer. If he had felt better with his foot propped up, why should not the boy be made more comfortable as well? Ellen's hands rested on her narrow hips as she spoke to the serving girl.

  "Right away, my lady." Jillian hurried away, ducking her head to hide her amusement. The young servant returned shortly with the requested items and a small tray of fruit tarts, which she placed on the table between the children, then hurried about her duties.

  Ellen gave the stool a push, then ducked, to follow it under the table. She took one step forward and trod on the hem of her gown. The motion almost toppled her into the stool. She quickly backed out, grabbed fistfuls of her skirts, and raised them above her knees. White knitted stockings covered her thin legs, but Ellen gave no thought to propriety. Kneeling on the reed covered stone floor, she ducked under the table again, and pushed the stool ahead of her. When she reached the opposite side, Ellen released the hold on her skirts and straightened up, forgetting there was little room, and rapped the back of her head against the underside of the table. "Ow!" She was uncertain, but she thought she heard a snort of laughter, close by.

  She moved the small stool beside the boy's leg and felt him jump when she raised his ankle and set his foot on the stool. Once she was satisfied with the placement, she crawled toward the bench and stretched up into the space just beyond the edge of the table, until she was leaning over the seat. Ellen twisted her small body about, then braced her hands on the seat and boosted herself up to sit on the bench. "That should give you more comfort." She heard more muffled laughter and looked at the boy. His arms were still crossed over his chest as he tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. His chin rested against his chest and his eyes were tightly closed. Ellen watched him peek at her then turn his face away, trying to control his laughter. "Surely, it was not that amusing," she muttered. She smoothed her skirt and sighed when she caught sight of dust and stains from the stone floor and broken reeds. Aunt Margaret would not be pleased.

  Ellen stared at the boy's curious gaze when he looked her way again. His sullen expression had all but disappeared as one corner of his mouth turned up in wry amusement. He barely managed to suppress a grin, and Ellen had difficulty hiding one of her own. "You look like a gypsy." His dark looks fascinated her. Black hair and even darker eyes gave him a mysterious aura, and easily hid his thoughts.

  His smile disappeared and he frowned at her.

  The silence stretched out between them for a few moments and Ellen sipped her watered wine, not sure what to say next. He did not make it easy for her. "I lost my mother, too," she finally blurted out, then realized she had failed to introduce herself.

  "Did you?" The boy seemed reluctant to say much of anything in response.

  Ellen rubbed a hand against her face, brushing back strands of hair, which had escaped her braid. "You were fortunate to know your mother. Mine died when I was three. I barely remember her, now."

  The boy said nothing.

  "My name is Ellen. Are you going to stay with us?"

  "Yes," he groused, turning belligerent again. "My father says I am to stay here as a hostage to guarantee good behavior. Only the duke's son has said anything to me while I've been shut up in that room."

  "What does it mean to be a hostage?" Ellen had heard the term before but was unsure of its meaning.

  "It means I must stay here, so my people will not raid the duke's lands. If they do, he can do whatever he pleases with me."

  "Oh." Ellen thought about it for a moment. "I do not think I would like to be anyone's hostage." She quickly changed the subject. "Gordon is my brother, you know."

  "Ah. So you are that Ellen, are you? My name is David." His mood lightened.

  Ellen did not like the sound of his comment. Had it been a mistake to approach the Scot leader's son? If he had come become well acquainted with Gordon in the last two weeks, there was no way of knowing what her brother had told the boy about her. She reached for her goblet and took a sip. "What has my brother told you?" She looked up at him slyly, trying to read his features, and half expected him to laugh at her again. Did he find her amusing? Did he believe everything Gordon had told him?

  "He said you are always following him about and getting into trouble. Now that I see you, I have to wonder how much trouble you really get into. You're just a wee sprite."

  Ellen's hand flew to her mouth to stifle an escaping giggle. No one ever called her a sprite before. "Gordon gets angry with me sometimes," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Papa says Gordon should look out for me when he goes about the bailey. I like to go to the stables with him. Has Gordon told you about the new foal, born just this morning?"

  Before long, she and David had their heads together in conversation. The dish of pastries disappeared as they talked about horses, snow and winter games. They paid little attention to the activity around them. />
  * * *

  Alex smiled with obvious pleasure and nudged Hugh, directing his host's attention to where their children were involved in animated conversation. Ellen's hands flew in wild gestures and David laughed. "It seems your daughter has been a tonic for my son. I have not seen him laugh since his mother died. The recent threats to his life have only added to his surliness. Your suggestion he stay with Gordon seems to be a good one."

  "They do seem to get on well together. My daughter has a way of putting people at their ease. She does have a mind of her own and can be quite determined to have her way, even at her tender age. Those traits will not necessarily be in her favor when she is older." Hugh paused, then added, more thoughtfully, "I am sure David will survive his stay here, just fine. But will he survive Ellen, I wonder."

  * * *

  Having spent a few days in the company of the English, the time came for Alex and his men to return to the Scottish side of the border. David leaned heavily on his crutch and hobbled as quickly as he could across the long room. The boy was tall for his twelve years, almost as tall as his father. He studied the older man's solemn features, then spoke to him in their native Gaelic. "How do you know you can trust this English lord to keep his word? That I would be safe here?" A seed of doubt held on in David's mind.

  "He could have demanded ransom for you, or worse, had you killed. Instead, he has seen to your care. Can you say you have been ill treated?"

  "No," David admitted reluctantly. "But it does not mean he would not change his mind."

  "That is true, but he has shown good faith. He has enough problems, caught between Fair Haven and Winterbury Castles. Friends across the border can only help. Besides, for the time being, you are safe here until I can discover where the threats on your life come from." Alex saw his son about to protest and raised a hand to prevent any argument. "You are my only son and heir. I will not have you placed in needless danger. Use your time here wisely, for what you learn of English ways may benefit you one day. When the time is right, you will return home.

  "I will tell you this, and you must never repeat it." Alex, noticing the group of men looking his way, turned his back to them and lowered his voice. "Lord Hugh and I have been friends for many years, just as our fathers were. We do well to keep that friendship secret. That is why I trust Hugh with your life. I know he will protect you as he would his own son." Alex gave his son a brief smile, responding to the boy's surprised expression, then lightly squeezed his arm. As much as he loved his son, it was the closest he ever came to showing affection for David. Alex could not afford to show a vulnerability to his enemies, by doting on his heir. Long ago, Alex saw to it, the boy learned there were subtle ways to show love and loyalty. Alex turned quickly and left the great hall, followed by his men.

  CHAPTER TWO

  David stared into the flame of a fat tallow candle, recalling those first few days after his arrival. He had no memory of any events beyond fighting chills and fever. He remembered a voice speaking in Norman-French daring him to fight, and wondered why his father spoke a language not their native Gaelic? Why was his mother not here to care for him? He remembered the strong desire to give up the struggle to get past the illness, of the tight band around his chest, making every breath nearly impossible – the feeling of being too close to flames he could not escape. Other times, he felt he had been abandoned in the snow covered highland mountains, with nothing to provide warmth. He remembered wishing the fog clouding his mind would vanish, and feeling too tired to really care. The hammering in his head had been intense and he longed for it to end so he could quietly give up and find peace. His captor refused to let him quit.

  The struggle to survive was almost lost to him, but somewhere deep within himself, David found the will to pull through. Not until some days later, did he learn of Gordon's almost constant company, willing him not to give in. During those days of regaining his health, David's cold attitude slowly dissipated with Gordon's overtures of friendship. David was uneasy with the thought that not all English were treacherous creatures. Some, he reluctantly realized, could even be called allies. It was this realization which guided him and Gordon onto a road toward a lasting friendship.

  David had no idea why he frequently relived his initial experience with this family, but he finally settled in with a great deal of reluctance. He was still unsure why his father insisted on leaving him in an English castle. It was nothing new for the son of a Scots leader to have his life threatened. No one was truly safe in the highlands. Was he any safer here? Perhaps his father trusted this English duke, but what of others? David had expected to be confined to his chamber, and was surprised when the duke treated him the same as his own children.

  As he looked back on the three months since his arrival, David found it disconcerting to realize how much time had passed. Once he let go his anger at being driven from his home, he accepted the fact he was caught in this place until his father sent for him. There had been little correspondence from his father, but news traveled quickly, and David had learned times in Scotland were more turbulent than usual.

  Ellen amused David, especially when he and Gordon took to teasing her. In those moments, when she could think of nothing to say, she called him 'gypsy', with unkind intent. Somehow, he knew she did not really mean it as an insult. He supposed her assessment of his dark hair and eyes justified the nickname. If he were honest with himself, he would agree he could be as quick tempered as any dark wanderer he had ever met. Just as he had slipped into acceptance of being part of this English family, he also accepted Ellen as the rare person who could throw insults at him and not raise his anger. He often looked forward to sparring with her, and concluded the nickname 'Sprite' fit her very well indeed.

  David's thoughts into the past were lost, as his attention was jerked back to the present. He glanced about the room, hoping no one had noticed his preoccupation. This small room, across from the nursery, was set aside for instruction. A long table took up most of the space, and had four stools set about it. At one end of the table, a chair had been placed for Father Bernard's comfort. Winter winds managed to slither between close fitting stones, and whistle through the narrow windows, then settle into the room, despite being securely covered with shutters. No light entered the room, making it necessary to fill the corner with candles. Four fat tallow candles were lined up along the center of the wide table, doing little to alleviate the dimness. Torches in wall sconces were not much help either. Threads of smoke rose, while the flames danced in the drafts.

  Despite the use of her cloak, David watched Ellen shiver in the chill coming from the stone walls, particularly near the corner where she sat. He ignored the discomfort, while the small girl squirmed on her stool, drawing Father Bernard's ire. David had no desire to bring Father Bernard's anger down on him for staring at Ellen. It was bad enough the way the priest treated the duke's older daughter.

  David glanced at Gordon, who concentrated on the piece of hide before him, practicing his writing. It was no secret Gordon preferred being in the training yards with the men-at-arms, practicing his swordsmanship. Lord Hugh insisted his son become better skilled at writing and spelling. One day, Gordon would become duke and he needed the skills to keep others from cheating him. David hid a grin as Gordon sighed and scraped the ink from the hide, focusing his concentration on the task at hand.

  David made a pretense of doing the same, while refusing to acknowledge the presence of the third boy, Nicholas St. Thomas. Nicholas' rapt attention always focused on their teacher, listening intently as the priest, once again, mumbled complaints about females and heathen Scotsmen. David preferred to ignore the slurs made about his countrymen; they were nothing new.

  Nicholas, the second son of the Earl of Fair Haven, was always better dressed than the children of Ravencliff. David learned of the duke's dislike for pretension, and preferred the practical. Nicholas' hair was a mouse brown, but carefully cut. Dark eyes always had a way of looking smug. Despite being fostered here, h
e showed a definite distaste for any physical activity, and spent little time learning about arms and knighthood. While on the slender side, he was narrow shouldered and had a soft body.

  One day they would go up against each other, and David knew who would win that bout.

  As he glanced toward the end of the table, David disliked the way Nicholas often stared at Ellen, smirking. Thoughts went through that mind, guided by the priest's words. The Scotsman shuddered to think what sort of man Nicholas would become one day.

  David watched surreptitiously as Father Bernard stood over Ellen, impatiently waiting for an answer to his question. The boy had come to hate the way the priest tucked his hands within his cassock's wide sleeves, or how his features hardened when he waited for an answer too slow in coming. The priest's cassock snuggly encased his robust body, like the covering on a fat sausage. He certainly did not look like a man who did without anything in deference to his vows. Despite his tonsured head, his gray hair, stuck out wildly, as if he had just awakened from a restless night Small dark eyes missed nothing, especially where Ellen was concerned.

  David was well aware that Father Bernard believed females had no business learning to read and write. Women were a temptation men could ill afford; it was foolish to give the wily creatures more tools to use against their betters. The priest had, often enough, voiced his beliefs, and his disagreement with the duke. In David's opinion, Lord Hugh was one of those rare men who believed daughters should be educated along with sons. If the duke had not insisted his daughter be taught, Father Bernard would have chased Ellen from the schoolroom long ago.

  As to being called the Scottish hostage ... David refused to waste his time considering the priest's thoughts about him.

  David had no need to look at Ellen to know she could answer the question the priest put to her, but Father Bernard's intimidation kept her silent. She kept her head down, her chestnut hair partially hiding her delicate features, and looked uncomfortable under the priest's scrutiny. Where was the willow switch the priest always carried? Crack. David's head snapped up at the sound, and he stared at Ellen in surprise. The short switch struck the table, sounding like a snapping whip. Ellen's hand jerked backward, just in time to avoid receiving a sharp sting. The willow switch was always kept close by as a threat. This was the first time it had been hidden, then struck without warning. David's anger rose as Ellen's eyes widened at the attempted discipline.