The Border Lord and the Lady (10 page)

Cicely thought the nobles crowding Melrose Abbey didn’t look a great deal more civilized than the border lairds. “How will I ever find a husband among these wild men?” she asked the young queen.

“They are very different from our English lords, I will agree,” Joan said. “But many are very handsome, like my Jamie.”

“They are rough-spoken,” Cicely said. “The king is not, but he was raised in England. These Scots look like brigands.”

“Are you sorry you came?” the queen asked her friend.

“Nay,” Cicely said. “I should rather be happy and unwed than unhappily wed.”

The young queen laughed at this amusing sally.

On the twentieth of April they reached the capital of Perth and settled into Scone Palace, which was located on the grounds of the abbey. Cicely had to admit that Scotland was a beautiful country. They could see mountains from the palace, and were surrounded by many lakes. In the last few days they had been on the road they had crossed many swift-flowing streams, which were filled with trout and salmon belonging to the king.

The palace of Scone was not grand. The monks from the abbey had originally lived there, but now lived in another building. Cicely and Orva were given a bedchamber with its own fireplace and two lead-paned windows that overlooked the hills behind the palace. There was a comfortable bed with a well-made trundle for Orva, a bedside table, a small settle by the hearth, and more than enough room for the trunks.

“The bed hangings are dusty and have seen better days,” Orva noted. “A good thing I brought our own from England.” She set to work immediately, pulling down the ancient hangings, giving a screech of surprise when several moths flew from the fabric. “Fold that fabric, dearie, and we’ll store it away. If we move, I’m taking our bed curtains with us, and we’ll have to rehang these others. Unless,
of course, the queen tells us otherwise. Royalty do love to move from place to place, and we have some fine castles in our England. But in this wild land I don’t know where they live. This is a pretty place, but it isn’t grand, is it?”

“Jo says there is a great castle at Edinburgh, and another at Stir-ling, but the king remembers this place from his youth. His mother loved Perth. I think it will be his favored residence. I will ask a housekeeper to dispose of these old hangings,” Cicely said. “And if it is necessary to take our curtains with us when we move, we will.” She walked over to the windows, noting that two of the wooden shutters that could close out the light and the chill were hanging by a thread. “These shutters must be repaired,” the young woman noted.

The room had been swept for their arrival. Together Orva and her mistress hung the bed hangings, which were of heavy linen and blue velvet. The straw mattress upon the bed was fresh, for they could smell the fragrance of it. Orva lay the feather bed atop it, dug farther down into the linen chest, and drew out a linen sheet smelling of lavender, several feather pillows, and a down comforter. She quickly made the bed while Cicely carefully lifted her gowns from another chest and hung them in a little stone alcove off the bedchamber. The room had been well aired before their arrival and was chilly on that late April afternoon. Finished with the bed, Orva started a fire in the hearth that was soon blazing merrily, taking the damp from the chamber.

“You had best go to the hall, my lady,” she said to Cicely.

“I should change first,” the girl replied.

“The lavender gown with the violet surcoat is pretty,” Orva suggested. She helped Cicely dress, and brushed out her wavy red-brown hair. Orva then tucked her mistress’s long hair into a pretty gold caul dotted with tiny bits of amythyst. “There, my lady. You run along now. The queen will be waiting for you.”

The hall was not overly large or impressive. It had several fireplaces; long, high arched windows; and a gray stone floor. It was the
hall of a well-to-do nobleman. But it was full to overflowing with those who had come to meet the new king and hopefully get into his good graces. Everyone already knew that Murdoch Stewart and his sons were not among the favored. It had been reported that the Duke of Albany had declared that he had brought home his own executioner. Enough agreed that few wanted to be seen speaking with this now doomed branch of the royal family.

Cicely entered the hall and sought the queen. Seeing her, she hurried to join her mistress. “Am I late, Your Highness?” she asked politely.

“Nay, just in time to save me from boredom, Ce-ce,” Joan Beaufort answered. “The English ladies who came with us are for the most part terrified of the Scots. There are more men in the hall than women too. Look at my ladies, all cowering on their stools, afraid to even lift their eyes. Jamie is speaking personally with all those lords who have come to Perth, trying to gauge where he’ll have friends or not. He has little time for his wife. But when we’re alone he makes up for it.” Joan chuckled with a wicked wink.

“Look about you, Ce-ce! Isn’t it wonderful? And so different from our English court. The men are so rugged and fierce, but I think the few women here a bit bolder than most of our own ladies. Jamie’s friend Angus Gordon, the laird of Loch Brae, brought his mistress with him. Fiona Hay is her name. I think we would like her as a friend. And Maggie MacLeod, the wife of the laird of Ben Duff. She is a Highland girl who married the man of her heart, a border laird, and infuriated her family in the process. Those two have some backbone, unlike most of those who accompanied us,” the queen said.

“Oh, look!” Cicely said. “There is that borderer who pledged his loyalty to the king on the road. He’s handsome, but too rough-hewn for me.”

“We’ll find you a good husband,” the queen promised. “Remember, my Jamie promised your father before we left England that he would see you well married.”

“Aye, he did,” Cicely said softly, remembering the day when her father came to say his good-byes.

“You’re even more beautiful than your mother was,” Robert Bowen told his daughter. “I am so sorry I could not raise you myself, Cicely.” And indeed, he did look quite contrite as he spoke.

“I understand, Papa, and as long as Orva is with me I am content. The Lady Joan treated me like a daughter. She was very kind. By the time Jo and I were sent to court we didn’t need mothering any longer. And now I have been given the honor of serving in the household of a queen. Had you not sent me to Lady Joan, Papa, I should have never had such an opportunity.”

The Earl of Leighton nodded. “I wish Luciana had felt differently, my daughter, but despite her blindness where you are concerned she has been a good wife to me, and a good mother to my sons.”

“She has helped to make you rich, Papa,” Cicely said wisely. “And my half brothers have begun to serve in court through my intercession, a fact I hope my stepmother will remember now and again.” She smiled mischievously at her father.

The earl laughed. “I have been so fortunate in you,” he said. “Your heart is a good one, Cicely, even as your mother’s was. I will miss you.”

“You have a new baby daughter, Papa, and I know little Catherine will make up to you for my loss,” Cicely replied.
Which is precisely what Luciana has intended,
Cicely thought.
She thinks my father will put me from his mind and concentrate on her daughter, but she is wrong.

“I will never forget you, my child,” Robert Bowen said quietly. “You are my firstborn, and will always remain dear to my heart. It is unlikely, however, that we will ever again see each other, Cicely. I have asked King James to find you a good husband in Scotland. You have a large dower portion, which will make you a most eligible bride, and several men are certain to vie for your favor because of it. I have told the king that you are not to be forced to the altar, my daughter. That you are to be allowed the privilege and courtesy of picking your
own husband from among your suitors. Choose wisely. I do not know if you will find love. Love among our kind is rare, but make certain that the man you choose will treat you honorably and respect you. Seek out his reputation, Cicely, and listen to what others have to say. You are clever enough to know when another is speaking the truth or lying. Promise me you will take your time choosing a mate, for once you have promised yourself you cannot break your word.”

“I will be careful, Papa,” Cicely assured her father. “I have lived in court long enough to know the difference between a sincere man and a rogue.”

“Isaac Kira is the goldsmith I have entrusted your wealth to, Cicely. He is in Edinburgh, but I think the king may prefer Perth as his residence. Isaac will serve you wherever you reside. You will receive an allowance quarterly for your needs, my child.” The Earl of Leighton arose from the settle where he had been sitting with his daughter. “I must leave you now, Cicely,” he said, his voice suddenly rough, as if he were choking a little. He drew her up and embraced her, holding the girl close for what seemed like a very long time. Then, taking her face between his two hands, Robert Bowen kissed Cicely on both of her soft cheeks.

Looking up at him she saw the tears in his eyes. “Oh, Papa, do not weep,” she said softly, her small hand caressing his face. She gave him a tremulous smile, but her eyes were also moist.

“May God, our Lord Jesu, and his Blessed Mother Mary keep you safe always, Cicely,” the Earl of Leighton said to his daughter. “May you always be happy, my darling Anne’s baby, child of my heart.” He hugged her again.

“I will write to you now and again, Papa, so you will know how my life progresses,” Cicely promised him. “But I will send my letters in care of Queen Joan, for I believe that my stepmother, Luciana, would keep them from you.”

“Aye, ’tis wise you are, Cicely,” he agreed. Then, kissing her on her forehead, he turned to depart. “God bless you, my daughter,” he
said as he went through the door of the chamber where they had been seated in conversation.

Thinking back on their farewells, Cicely felt tears welling up, and turned away from the queen.

Joan knew intuitively what Cicely had been thinking, and tried to turn the subject. “There’s a very handsome man staring at you, Ce-ce,” she said. “Turn slowly and look across the room. I think he’s a Gordon, for he is with Huntley.”

Diverted, Cicely turned around and saw that indeed, across the hall in a group of gentlemen surrounding the king, one tall, dark-haired man was looking directly at her. “Oh, my!” she said, quickly turning away. “He is outrageously handsome, Jo. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hair quite so black. And he is very tall, isn’t he? Scotsmen seem to be tall. Do you remember that border lord who paid his respects as we traveled? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man as tall as that. But he was hardly as elegant as the man standing with Huntley. Still, he’s probably as ignorant as the rest of these lords. They are rough, these Scots. Not at all like our English gentlemen.”

“Aye,” the young queen agreed. “They have been too long without their master, and I am not certain I trust many of them. Still, once I give Scotland an heir it is hoped they will settle down.” The queen lowered her voice. “I think I am with child, Ce-ce.”

“Ohh!” Cicely’s eyes grew wide. “Does the king know?” she whispered. “And when, Jo?”

“Probably by year’s end,” the queen said.

“So soon?” Cicely didn’t know whether to congratulate her friend or be shocked. It was one thing for a woman like her stepmother to birth heirs quickly, but Jo was royal. She should have not had to prove herself to anyone, and yet she seemed happy to do so.

Queen Joan chuckled. “The king is a fine and enthusiastic lover, Ce-ce,” she teased her best friend. “I wish you the same good fortune.”

Cicely blushed. “Jo!” She giggled. Then, looking up, she saw that
the tall, dark-haired man was staring at her again. He smiled, and with another blush she turned away. “He is looking at me again, Jo,” she told the queen. “Oh! He is coming over to us!”

Taking several strides, the tall man crossed the hall, and then bowed low to Queen Joan. He took her hand up and kissed it. “I am Andrew Gordon, Highness, laird of Fairlea. I have the king’s permission to pay my compliments to you.”

“I am pleased to greet you, my lord,” the queen said graciously. “I saw you standing with Lord Huntley and the laird of Loch Brae. Are you kin to them?”

“I am, Highness. A portion of my lands border on Brae loch. It is Gordon country, and a fair land it is,” the laird of Fairlea replied, his eyes going to Cicely.

Seeing it, the queen said, “I am remiss, my lord. I have not introduced you to my companion. This is Lady Cicely Bowen, daughter to the Earl of Leighton, my childhood friend. We spent several years together in the household of Queen Joan of Navarre.”

“My lady.” The laird bowed to Cicely.

“My lord.” Cicely curtsied prettily in return.

“Ce-ce, do entertain the laird. I see the king is looking about for me,” Queen Joan said, and then, before Cicely might protest, she moved away across the hall.

“Do you think the queen is a matchmaker, my lady?” Andrew Gordon asked her.

Cicely blushed, to her dismay. “Why would you say such a thing, my lord?” she asked him, her hands going to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her surcoat.

“She has left me with undeniably the prettiest girl in the hall,” he replied gallantly. “You surely saw that I have been staring at you all evening, my lady.”

“I had not noticed,” Cicely lied, and then blushed once more, for he surely knew that she was lying. “I thought you looked at the queen,” she finished.

“The queen is lovely, but you, my lady, are fairer by far,” the laird of Fairlea said. “Will you walk with me?” He offered her his arm.

Cicely hesitated a moment, but then she took Andrew Gordon’s arm. He was very handsome, and he did not seem as rough-spoken as so many of the Scottish lords were. And there was no odor or smell of heavy scent about him either, which meant he was clean. His clothing was certainly fresh, and even stylish.