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Authors: Bertrice Small

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

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BOOK: The Border Lord's Bride
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"Because I am king of all of Scotland," James Stewart said with a small smile. "My aunt tells me you are not the ignorant lass she expected. She says you speak French to King Louis‘s

ambassador."

"I try to set a good example of Scots womanhood, my lord, for the ambassador thinks our women forward, and he says we give our kisses too freely," Ellen replied.

"Does he?" The king was fascinated by this seemingly trivial bit of information. "Do you give your kisses freely, Ellen MacArthur?" the king asked her mischievously.

"Unlike many of the ladies of your court, I do not give them at all, my lord," she told him pertly.

"I am betrothed, and I am no light-skirt. When I return to Lochearn, I will return in the same condition as I left it, else I shame my grandfather."

The king smiled a genuine smile at her. "I am pleased to learn that, Ellen MacArthur. I have trouble enough with the lord of the isles. I do not need the laird of Lochearn angry with me. Still, you are a very pretty lass," he said, and chuckled when she blushed.

"My lord, you are too bold!" Ellen scolded him, finding herself comfortable with this king who spoke her Highland tongue and teased her as an older brother might have.

"A man who would be king and remain king must be bold," he told her.

"Aye, my lord, and that I know to be a truth," Ellen agreed.

"Do you play chess, Ellen MacArthur?" James Stewart asked her.

"I do!" she responded. "But none of your aunt‘s ladies seem to possess that skill."

Again he chuckled. "My poor aunt, ‘tis her reluctant fate until I take a wife to shepherd the little featherheads who come to court hunting husbands. She would far rather be in her untidy house on Castle Hill in Edinburgh reading the days and nights away. She does play chess. Tell her I would have you play with her, and if she thinks you are good enough you shall play the game with me," James Stewart said.

"My lord, the question is not am I good enough to play with you; ‘tis are you good enough to play with me?" Ellen surprised him by saying.

James Stewart burst out laughing, to the astonishment of those near him. Even Marion Boyd looked sharply at the red-haired girl who had been engaging the king in conversation in that barbaric Highland tongue. The king now spoke in the more common language of his court. "This little wench thinks she can best me in chess," he said. "Well, I should not make her cry. Play a few games with her, Aunt, and then tell me if she is up to keeping me amused for a game or two." He grinned at Ellen, and then turned to his mistress, who was now tugging at his sleeve.

Margaret Stewart ushered Ellen from her nephew‘s presence. "He spoke to you in the Celtic tongue. I do not speak it. What did you converse about?" she asked Ellen.

Ellen told her, and the king‘s aunt smiled. It was unlikely she would have to worry about James‘s intentions toward Ellen. The lass had wisely made her own position quite clear, and the king was respectful of women. He never pursued one who did not evince an interest in his attentions. But he had turned on his considerable charm with Ellen, and quite put her at her ease by speaking the Highland tongue. "Are you a good chess player, Ellen?" she asked the girl. "My nephew does love a hard-fought game."

"You shall test me, madam, and then judge for yourself," Ellen responded.

And the king‘s aunt did, discovering in the process that the quiet Highland girl was an excellent chess player. She told her nephew just that, and from then on Ellen became the king‘s chess partner. She did not disappoint him, now and again beating him, to James Stewart‘s delight. And suddenly Ellen MacArthur of Lochearn was no longer just a little girl from the northwest. She began to be noticed by the gentlemen of the royal court, but Ellen, while quick-witted and sweet, would not encourage any man. She made it plain to all that she was betrothed and true to Donald MacNab. Oddly she found herself respected for it by both men and women.

Marion Boyd, the king‘s mistress, befriended her. Aye, she admitted to Ellen, she was indeed again with child.

"Why doesn‘t the king wed you?" Ellen asked Marion as they sat one afternoon in the private apartments of Linlithgow Palace, the king‘s favorite home.

"Och, Ellen," Marion replied, "I am hardly grand enough to be Scotland‘s queen. Nay, Jamie must wed a princess of the blood royal one day, and he will. When I have been delivered of this child I now carry he has promised me a fine dowry and a husband of my choosing. I will have no lack of suitors, and when my bairns are past their infancy they will be raised in their father‘s house at no cost or trouble to my husband."

"‘Tis a strange way of doing things," Ellen remarked. "When my parents died and there were none but me, Grandsire looked about his family and chose his sister‘s grandson to follow him at Lochearn. I was betrothed to him so that even though Donald is a MacNab, the MacArthur blood would be represented. And, of course, my virginity belongs to Donald MacNab, as my husband-to-be."

Marion smoothed a wrinkle from her burgundy velvet gown. "Aye, ‘tis the way for most women, but when a king beckons you cannot really refuse. At least, I couldn‘t," she concluded with a small smile.

"He is a bonny lad," Ellen agreed with a smile of her own. "Do you love him? Won‘t you be sad when you leave him?"

A quick shadow touched Marion Boyd‘s face, and then it was gone. "I care for Jamie, aye, but I also know my place. I never had any illusions. My uncle, old Bell the Cat, made certain of that, Ellen."

"Why do they call the Earl of Angus that?" Ellen asked.

"Once when this king‘s father reigned, his nobles had met secretly to murmur against the old king‘s policies, but none dared to speak to the king directly of their complaints. Finally my uncle Archibald, who does not suffer fools easily, jumped up and said, ‗I‘ll bell the cat!‘ And he did, though it did little good in the end. After that he has always been known at Bell the Cat Douglas."

Ellen giggled.

"Now I have a question," Marion said. "Why did you come to court if you already had a husband chosen for you?"

Ellen explained her situation.

Marion nodded. "The MacDonald lord of the isles thinks he is every bit as good as James Stewart. He thinks the Highlands are his alone. He will eventually learn to his detriment that they are not."

Ellen listened and said nothing. You learned a great deal at court by just listening. She wondered if Marion understood how powerful the MacDonald family really was.

The months passed, and she had been at court a full year. There was no word from her

grandfather, and so she had to assume he was well. Marion Boyd was delivered of a daughter who was baptized Catherine. She did not return to court, and after a time the king fell desperately in love with sweet Margaret Drummond, known as Meg.

Finally in midautumn a messenger came from Lochearn, and Ellen was called with Margaret Stewart into the king‘s privy chamber. She dressed carefully, as she always did when she was called into the king‘s presence. "My few gowns are growing worn," she said to Peigi. "And I have no coin to spare for material to make new. I hope Grandsire has sent a purse for us."

"I hope ‘tis a request for us to come home," Peigi replied. "I miss our loch, and I miss the hills."

She coughed, and her body shook with the sound.

"Oh, do not wish it!" Ellen cried. "He said that when he called for me he would be near death. I have so wanted to go home, but I cannot bear the thought of his dying. And now you are ill with this terrible ague and cough."

"There, there, my bairn," Peigi soothed. "Near death is nae dead, and you‘ll hae time to bid him a proper farewell. And while I am sick, lass, I will recover. I am nowhere near death." She swore softly as the lace she was tying broke.

Ellen giggled, her spirits suddenly restored. "Take a lace from my other gown," she said.

"Perhaps it would be a good thing for us to go home before I am disgraced with these tinker‘s garments. Then get back into bed, Peigi." She walked over to the little hearth in the small chamber they shared and added more wood. Then, returning to her serving woman, she finished dressing.

Her few gowns were really close to rags now, although Peigi had worked hard to keep them in good repair, and remake them to conform more to the fashions here at the court. But one could do only so much with the fabric, Ellen knew. Her grandsire had sent her with only a small purse of silver pennies, and Margaret Stewart—while watching carefully over her charges‘ spiritual welfare and trying to teach them something—rarely concerned herself with their clothing. And most of the girls seeking husbands were not of a mind to share what little they had.

The gown Ellen had chosen was of faded yellow velvet. It fit closely with a long waist and sleeves. Ellen knew the new fashion worn by some of the wealthier girls like Katherine Gordon was far more practical, for the skirt and bodice were separate garments. A single skirt might have several bodices, which allowed a girl to look as if she possessed more clothing than she actually did. Ellen sighed as she brushed her hair. She knew she would never have anything as

fashionable.

"Ye look as fair as any here at court," Peigi said from her bed.

Ellen smiled. "You love me," she replied. "I‘ll come back as quickly as I can with the news."

And she hurried from the chamber.

Ellen moved through the corridors of the palace. The young guardsmen along her route always looked favorably upon her, and the two at the door to the king‘s privy chamber smiled as they allowed her to pass. One of them even winked at her. She smiled back and entered into the chamber where James Stewart, his aunt, and another man were waiting. The king and his aunt were seated. The stranger stood. She curtsied deeply.

"You are to go home, my bonny," the king said to Ellen. "I have had a message from Father Birk, who transcribes for your grandfather. He is failing, and wants to see you wed before he dies. You will leave tomorrow and be escorted by my friend Duncan Armstrong, the laird of Duffdour, he who stands by my side now."

"Tomorrow?" Ellen was surprised. She had thought to have a few days to pack when the call came to return. And Peigi certainly wasn‘t well enough to go yet.

"I know it is short notice, but I am told your serving woman is too ill to travel now. Pack only what you will need, my bonny, and when your servant is well again she will follow with the rest.

The reason I am sending you off so quickly is that it is certain that word of your grandfather‘s health will also reach his cousin on Skye. It is possible he may attempt to intercept you and have his way in this matter after all. I must do what I can to help you carry out your grandfather‘s wishes, my bonny." He used his pet name for her.

"By coincidence, my old friend Duncan Armstrong has just come to court. He does not visit often, and is not known by my lords from the north. Therefore your little party will attract little if any attention as you travel. And the MacDonald‘s spies here at my court will not realize you have gone until it is too late. And they will not know with whom you travel. I believe I can assure your safe passage home," the king concluded with a small smile.

"I shall miss our chess games, Your Majesty," Ellen said. "You have been a most worthy opponent for me." Her gray-blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Beware this wench, Duncan," the king warned his friend. "She is a most devious lass. I am not certain she has not cheated me on several occasions."

Ellen laughed aloud at this remark. "I do not have to cheat with you, my lord," she taunted him wickedly.

Now James Stewart laughed. "Oho, ‘tis unfortunate we shall not have time for another game, my bonny."

"Indeed it is," Ellen agreed.

"Ellen must be presented to Duffdour, Jamie," Margaret Stewart reminded the king. She

beckoned the laird forward from his place behind the king‘s chair.

"Aye, you are correct, Aunt. Ellen, my bonny, this is Duncan Armstrong, the laird of Duffdour, a holding in the borders. And this, Duncan, is Ellen MacArthur, the heiress to the laird of Lochearn in the Highlands."

Ellen curtsied prettily as Duncan Armstrong bowed politely.

"There, Aunt, ‘tis done."

"I will see you safely home, mistress," the laird said to Ellen. He was a very tall man, with black hair and blue eyes.

"I thank you, sir, for your escort," Ellen replied. My, she thought, how handsome he is. It was unusual for her to take note of any man, being a betrothed maiden.

"I would like to leave before sunrise on the morrow," Duncan Armstrong said. "We are less likely to be noticed by any at that early hour."

Ellen nodded. "I can be ready," she said.

"Come to the stables then, one hour before dawn, mistress," he told her.

"With Your Majesty‘s permission," Ellen said quietly, "I will go and do what needs be done."

She curtsied again at the king‘s nod of dismissal, and hurried from James Stewart‘s privy chamber.

"She is a sensible and practical girl," Margaret Stewart remarked when Ellen had gone. "She will travel well. I shall miss her, for few among my charges possess her good traits and her intelligence."

"My aunt means Ellen reads well, and discusses her books with her," the king responded with a small smile.

"Why has she been here?" the laird of Duffdour wanted to know. "I would have thought a lass like that would have married several years back."

The king briefly explained Ellen‘s plight. "That is why it is so important that she be returned home safely to marry her betrothed," he said. "The MacDonald is loyal to those who are faithful to him. If this MacArthur piper of his wants Lochearn for his son, and by marrying Ellen he can gain it, the lord of the isles will help his man. But the old laird has chosen his successor and made his own plans. Lochearn is his, and he has a right to choose his granddaughter‘s husband and dispose of his lands in the way he wants. Get the lass home as quickly as you can, Duncan."

"Are you sure you can keep her going a secret?" the laird of Duffdour asked.

"Ellen MacArthur isn‘t important; nor is she well-known here at court. The only people who might be interested in her departure would be those the MacDonald has here spying for him.

BOOK: The Border Lord's Bride
12.42Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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