The Border Lord and the Lady (23 page)

“I have not been to Andrew Gordon’s house,” Cicely admitted, “but I am certain it is clean, and his servants well trained. A man
who keeps himself neat will surely have a well-ordered domicile, my lord.”

“Would you marry into such a house knowing that though you are mistress, its lord would always have the last word?” he inquired of her. “In my house you would have full autonomy over the servants, for as a man I am but interested in a hot meal and a warm bed. Fairlea, I will wager, is concerned with every small detail of
his
life and
his
possessions, ladyfaire.”

Cicely was silent. The truth was, he did make a strong point about the laird of Fairlea, and how could he have come to know the man that well in such a short time at court? That was a question she asked Ian Douglas.

“I know men, ladyfaire,” he said quietly. “Life here in the borders is not easy, and you need to be able to read other men quickly to know if you deal with friend or foe. The laird of Fairlea is a proud man. Proud of his name and of himself. It is obvious by the way he dresses, by the way he speaks with others that he holds himself in high regard. And he judges others by his own standards. He considers your beauty and wealth worthy of him, but he is not quite as sure of himself as he would have all believe. That is why he kept other suitors from your side, ladyfaire. And that is why it was necessary for me to resort to such reckless measures.”

“Andrew is a proud man, but the Gordons are one of the finest families in Scotland,” Cicely defended her other suitor. But Ian Douglas was right about his rival. Still, did not a man have a right to be proud of himself and his possessions?

“Fairlea is a fool,” Ian Douglas said frankly. “If he were not he would have swept you off to the priest long since, ladyfaire.”

“Priest? Who speaks of a priest in such bold tones?”

A tall man in a long black robe tied with a white rope belt strode into the hall. “God’s balls! Is that decent food on your table, Ian? I had heard you finally sent Bethia back to her husband, poor fellow. Ahh, and this will be the bride.” The tall man grinned and gave her
a scant bow. “Father Ambrose, at your service, my lady.” He settled himself at the table next to Ian, shoveling the remaining eggs onto the platter that still contained two slices of ham, and then he began to eat.

“I did tell you that we had a priest,” Ian Douglas said.

“Bless me,” the priest said, “old Mab hasn’t lost her touch in the kitchens.” He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sauce on the eggs.

“He looks like you,” Cicely finally said.

“I should, my lady,” Father Ambrose, said with another grin, “for I am this rascal’s uncle. The last of the wenching Douglas’s bastards. It was only natural I go into the Church to make up for my old father’s sins.” He chuckled. “Welcome to Glengorm! I will wager no one has said that to you yet.”

“Nay, they haven’t, thank you,” Cicely replied, warming immediately to the priest. “Now I should be most appreciative if you would tell your nephew to return me to Perth. He probably won’t even have to go the entire way, for the king will have sent after me by now, you may be certain.”

“Regretfully, my child, Ian does not take direction well, I fear.” Then he turned to the laird. “Why in the name of all that is holy have you stolen a bride that King James will want to retrieve, nephew?”

“I love her,” Ian Douglas answered his uncle. “It is said our king fell in love with his queen at first sight, and so it is with me. I saw my ladyfaire on the road to Perth the day I pledged my fealty to King James. And in that moment, Uncle, I knew no other woman would do for me. I went to court to woo her, but some damned Gordon had already marked her for himself. No other man could get near her. I had no choice but to abduct her and bring her to Glengorm.”

“Are you betrothed, my child?” Father Ambrose asked Cicely.

“Nay, Father, I am not. I made no promise to Andrew Gordon, though he did beseech me to pledge myself to him,” Cicely replied honestly.

“Do you love this Andrew Gordon?” the priest inquired.

Cicely hesitated. Then she answered candidly, “Nay, I do not believe that I do. But you know that love is not the point of marriage. Marriage is for procreation. Matches are made for wealth, land, power, good Father.”

“More’s the pity,” the priest answered her, thinking she was a true daughter of privilege and had been well taught. “It is said that the king loves his queen. Is that so?”

“Oh, yes, he loves her deeply, and she him,” Cicely said. “And my own father loved my mother, but when he married a second time it was for more practical reasons.”

The priest sighed. “So you have two men who would have you to wife. One has declared his love for you. Has the other?”

Cicely shook her head in the negative. “Nay, Andrew has not said he loves me.”

“You say you would wed for sensible reasons,” Father Ambrose said. “And you claim to love neither of your suitors. Yet you must wed, so why would you not wed the man who claims he loves you as opposed to the one who has not said those three words so dear to a maiden’s simple heart?”

His argument gave Cicely pause for thought.

“At last!” Ian gloated. “Someone to take my side in this matter.”

“Of course he would take your side,” Cicely snapped. “He is your blood kin.”

“If Mab is going to continue to cook like this,” the priest said, “I shall take my meals with you.” He snatched up the last crust of bread, scraped the remaining butter from its stone crock with his thumb, and spread it over the bread before popping it into his mouth, chewing with great relish.

When Tam and Artair had cleared the table, Mab returned to the hall with a group of young men and women. “Good morrow, my lord, my lady, Father Ambrose,” she said. “I have brought you this group of men and women eager to enter your service, my lord, my lady. They are hardworking and honest, and will not steal, like some
others who shall remain unmentioned.” Tam had told Mab of Cicely’s intuitive remark. She curtsied to the laird, and waved half a dozen girls forward. “I should like Bessie and Flora to remain in the kitchens with me. Sine, Sesi, Una, and Effie are more than competent to work above stairs, if it please Your Ladyship.” She curtsied again.

Cicely turned to Ian. “My lord?”

“ ’Tis your choice, ladyfaire,” he replied.

“They are all Mab’s nearest kin, and good choices,” Father Ambrose murmured softly.

“The laird is pleased to welcome these girls into his service. And Tam and Artair have done well this morning. Who are the others, Mab?” Cicely asked the old lady.

“My nephew’s lad, Gabhan, who will sweep the chimneys and keep the knives sharp,” she said, pulling Gabhan forward. He ducked his head to the high board.

“He looks a fine lad,” Cicely responded. “He is welcome.”

“The other lads will care for the stables, my lady,” Mab told her.

“You have done well, Mab, and the laird thanks you. Thank you all.” She stood up from the high board. “Come along, lasses. We have a full day’s work ahead of us.”

“You will work with them?” The laird was surprised.

“I am nobly born and nobly raised, Ian Douglas,” Cicely said. “But I was brought up in the household of Queen Joan of Navarre, who did not tolerate sloth or idleness. She believed that for a woman to direct her household she must know exactly how all that needed to be done was done. I will teach these lasses the proper way to keep your household so that when I return to Perth your home will not fall into slovenliness again.”

“Ah, nephew, I see your lass is a stubborn girl,” the priest said softly, and he chuckled wickedly. It was a most unpriestly sound.

“When that time comes, ladyfaire, you will not want to return to Perth,” the laird said, “for your heart will be mine, as mine is already yours.”

Cicely shook her head. “I have never known a man so big or so softhearted as you are, my lord. You are a conundrum.” But she gave him a small smile as she turned and, gathering the young maidservants to her, began to direct them in their duties.

“You have discovered a treasure for yourself, Ian,” the priest said, low. “Now you must find a way to keep her. Will the king send after her?”

“Undoubtedly,” the laird answered his uncle. “My ladyfaire is Queen Joan’s best friend. They were raised together.”

“Sweet Jesu!” the priest exclaimed. “Could you not have fallen in love with an ordinary lady, nephew? Aye, they’ll be coming for her, and for your head as well.”

“She’s mine,” Ian Douglas said, and his eyes went to Cicely, who was now showing the new maidservants the proper way to polish his ancient oak sideboard. “Look at her, Uncle. Does she not belong here in this hall directing her staff? I will give her anything she wants to make this the home to suit her.”

“Perhaps if you get lucky we’ll have an early winter, and they’ll have to leave her until the spring. That will give you time to work your wiles on the lady. Aye, that’s your only hope, Ian. And I’m going to pray for it,” Ambrose Douglas said.

By day’s end the hall was cleaner than it had been in years. But while Cicely had worked side by side with her new maidservants, old Mab had sent for several of her older relations, for she was determined that the lady not spend another uncomfortable night in the hall. Mab meant to see that the bedchamber was ready for an occupant.

Gabhan spent half of his day in the chimney that drew the hearth in the bedchamber. He swept the passage free of soot, and removed several birds’ nests, one built on top of another. Then he lit a small torch and, stooping down, held it to see if the chimney would now draw properly. When he saw it did he notified Mab, and immediately a trio of women he recognized as his own kin hurried to the chamber
with mops, buckets, and brooms to sweep, wash, and dust its furniture, window, and floor.

By day’s end the bedchamber was clean, a bright fire burning merrily in its hearth. The room had a lead-paned double window that could be opened by swinging the twin halves out. The window had a wide stone sill. There was a large, comfortable oak bed-stead with a tall linen-fold headboard and two turned posts at its foot to hold up the plain wood canopy. The natural-colored linen bed curtains that old Mab found in a trunk had seen better days, but they were clean and serviceable. Mab set Gabhan to polishing the brass curtain rings, and when he was done the bed curtains were hung.

There was a small round oak table by the bed. It was now topped by a small brass candlestick that contained a short beeswax candle. There was a beautiful brass-bound trunk at the foot of the bed and a single tapestry-backed oak chair by the hearth. The rope springs on the bed were tightened, and a newly made mattress placed upon it, along with a feather bed. Fresh linens, plump pillows, and a warm comforter completed the bed.

Mab came to inspect her relations’ hard work. “Ah, cousins, you’ve done well, and I thank you for it. Her Ladyship will be most comfortable here.”

“You like the lass,” one of her kin said. “I saw her in the hall with my daughter and the others scrubbing with her own hands. For all she is a lady she has no fear of hard work,” the woman noted approvingly.

“She’ll make a grand mistress for Glengorm House,” Mab said.

“If she’ll have him,” another of the women said. “I heard the king is sending to fetch her back to her mistress, the queen.”

“The laird needs but a bit of time with her,” Mab replied. “He’ll win her over.”

“I hope our laird does,” the first woman agreed.

“She looks strong too,” the third woman said. “She’ll give Glengorm
heirs. I’ll not rest easy until we have them, and know we’re safe for another generation.”

The others nodded in agreement with her. Then Mab had them pick up their brooms, buckets, and mops, and they returned them to the kitchens, departing for their own cottages in the village. Cicely had sent the maidservants home just before dark. The servants’ quarters weren’t ready for them yet, and after all the hard work they had done that day she felt they deserved a comfortable bed to sleep in this night.

Mab came back up from the kitchens to see Cicely walking slowly about the hall, taking the measure of it, inspecting it all, her hand running over an ancient sideboard as she wore a smile that bespoke her pleasure in a job well-done. “My lady,” Mab addressed the girl.

Cicely looked up. “Aye, Mab, what is it?”

“Will you come with me for but a moment, my lady?” And when Cicely nodded Mab led her upstairs and to the chamber that had once been the room of Ian and Fergus Douglas’s mother. Opening the door, she ushered the girl inside. “We cleaned and freshened the chamber today. You cannot continue to sleep in the hall, my lady. ’Tis not right that you should. This chamber belonged to the lady before you,” she said.

Cicely looked slowly around. The fire had warmed the room. Beyond the windows she saw the blazing horizon, the sun gone. The room had been aired. The floors were spotless. And the bed! Ohh, how comfortable that bed looked. She was startled to feel Mab’s hand touch hers. The old lady was handing her a key.

“ ’Tis yours, my lady,” she said quietly. “The door can be locked from the inside.”

“Is there a tub that might be brought to this chamber so I could bathe?” she asked. “I am filthy from my travels, and especially from my exertions today.”

“Will you bathe now or after the meal?” Mab asked her.

“After,” Cicely quickly said. “ ’Twill give everyone more time to
prepare it for me. Oh, Mab! How can I thank you for this? And you must thank your helpers too.”

Mab smiled, very well pleased. This was the first step in making the lady comfortable, and certainly she would be more amenable if she were content at Glengorm. But instead she said, “It were a mercy you didn’t catch an ague in that hall last night.”

“You were there too,” Cicely replied, knowing who had kept the fire going, and who had covered her with that thick woolen shawl. “It seems I owe you much.”