The Border Lord and the Lady (16 page)

“All right,” he said pleasantly, his white teeth tearing into the roasted meat as he walked away.

Cicely’s belly rumbled. She was hungry. She hadn’t eaten since early morning after the Mass, and she had eaten little, for she was in a hurry to get into the town. She closed her eyes, as if that would block out the delicious smell of the roast.

“My lady.” Fergus Douglas knelt by her side. In his hand was another piece of rabbit on a broad, wet leaf. “Please try to eat something. I know all that has happened this day has been upsetting for you, but you need your strength.” He held out the meat.

“Why do I need my strength?” Cicely asked him petulantly.

“Because we have a long ride tomorrow, and into the next day. My brother is a wonderful hunter, but he may not be so fortunate finding food tomorrow as he was today. And no one roasts a coney over the fire like Ian. The meat is never tough, and ’tis always moist and sweet.” He smiled at her.

Cicely couldn’t help herself. There was something so engaging about Fergus Douglas. She smiled back at him. Then, reaching out, she took the meat from him and began to eat. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“To Glengorm. Our home is there. We are the Douglases of Glengorm, a small branch of Clan Douglas. Your new home will be a large
stone house with a slate roof that sits on a small hillside overlooking Loch Gorm. Our glen is almost hidden, and can be entered only through a small wood. We’re surrounded by the Cheviot hills, which make up the border between Scotland and England,” he explained.

Cicely finished the rabbit he had given her, and took the small, flat oatcake he offered. “It won’t be my new home,” she told him. “It will be my prison until the king arranges for my release. Do you have anything to drink?”

Fergus undid a small leather flask from his belt and, unstoppering it, held it out.

Cicely took the flask and, putting it to her lips, swallowed deeply. A sudden look of surprise crossed her face. She gasped, coughed, and her face turned red. “What in the name of the Blessed Mother was
that
?” she demanded when she could speak again.

“Whiskey,” he said, and he grinned. “I should have warned you, madam, but it didn’t occur to me until you put it to your lips that perhaps you had never tasted whiskey,” he said, looking abashed. “Would you like some water?”

Cicely nodded, and handed him back the flask. “ ’Tis a potent brew,” she noted.

“Aye,” he agreed. He helped her up. “We’ve no drinking vessel, so you will have to cup your hands in the stream,” Fergus told her. Then he escorted her to the stream.

Cicely knelt by the water. Her throat was still burning from the swallow of whiskey, and she was suddenly overcome with weariness. Cupping her hands, she drank, and then stood up, swaying.

Suddenly the laird was beside them. He scooped the girl up in his arms to return her to her place by the large, mossy boulder.

“Put me down, you lout,” Cicely protested feebly, but the truth was she wasn’t certain that she could stand if he did put her down.

Ignoring her, Ian Douglas set her back on the ground. He had spread the gray-white-and-black length of tartan he carried with him
over the moss. Cicely was already half-asleep, and did not notice it, nor did she notice that he laid his cloak over her to keep her warm.

“What will you sleep in?” Fergus asked quietly.

“We’ll share your cloak when we sleep, but do without when we keep watch,” the laird said. “I’ll take the first watch.”

Fergus nodded and, rolling himself in his cloak, placed his body in front of Cicely’s to shield her. Then he quickly fell asleep. When his brother awakened him four hours later he rose obediently, turning the cloak over to his sibling, then adding more wood to the little fire to help him avoid the damp chill of the late autumn night. Traveling with the lady, they had another day and a half’s ride to reach Glengorm. Fergus sighed. He hoped his Marion was all right. The new bairn was due in another few weeks. When the false dawn began to show in the sky Fergus awoke his older brother.

The laird was immediately on his feet. “Do y’think we can move out soon?” he asked the younger man. He picked up Fergus’s cloak and handed it to him.

“It will be slow until dawn, but aye, the road is visible, though the moon be waning. There’s still enough light now to get along,” came the answer.

“I’ll wake Her Ladyship,” Ian said with a wicked grin.

Fergus shook his head. Ian might believe himself in love with Cicely Bowen, but she certainly had no use for him. Given the opportunity, Fergus thought she might gladly do his brother harm. And he wasn’t certain that taking her by force to Glengorm was going to alter the situation one bit. The lass was every bit as stubborn as his elder brother was. He had never known Ian to behave in so reckless a manner.

The laird went over to where the girl lay sleeping soundly. His instinct was to kiss her awake, but instead he bent down and shook her by her shoulder. “Wake up, ladyfaire,” he said. “We must be traveling on.”

“Go away, Orva! It’s too early to get up,” Cicely murmured, burrowing back into her bedding.

Ian Douglas reached down, grasped his cloak with strong fingers, and yanked hard. The material unrolled, and Cicely awoke with a shriek of outrage. He pulled her to her feet. “Go into the bushes and do what you must. We are leaving in a few minutes,” he said to her. Bending, he picked up his plaid.

“Brute!” Cicely said furiously, and hit him on the shoulder with her fist.

“Madam,” the laird said, drawing himself to his full height to tower over her, “you will have to refrain from striking me in the future or I will retaliate, I promise you.” Then he turned and walked over to where Fergus was gathering their horses.

Knowing she had little choice for now but to go with him, Cicely slipped into the bushes and relieved herself. Then, going to the stream, she put her hands in the icy water, used them to splash some droplets on her face to awaken herself fully, and then drank a few swallows to slake her thirst. When she joined the two men Fergus put an oatcake into her hand. She ate it quickly, knowing it was likely all she would see for many hours.

Cicely mounted her horse, and the laird tied her hands again to the pommel of the saddle, but he did not tie her legs together. She was relieved, for it had been uncomfortable, and also because now she could escape Ian Douglas, given the opportunity. Having her hands tied to the pommel was little impediment. A horse was better controlled with one’s knees and heels. She smiled to herself.

But although they rode from before dawn until sunset with just a single brief stop, no opportunity had presented itself for Cicely to make her escape. They had traveled very slowly until the sun came up, and then at a good canter until the sun was at its zenith, when they halted to rest and water the horses, eat another oatcake apiece, and ease their personal needs. Mounting up, they rode again until sunset,
when they took shelter in a field by a stone wall. The laird would not light a fire, for they were more in the open this night than the previous one. Fergus had saved a small piece of the previous night’s meal, and he gave it to Cicely.

“We’ll share it,” she said to him.

Fergus gave her a warm smile. “Nay, lass, ’tis for you. I’m used to traveling with an oatcake to sustain me. Ye’re a lady, and need your nourishment.”

“Would you like to share your meat with me?” the laird taunted her.

“Go to the devil, you villain,” Cicely snapped at him. “There’s nothing in this world I would share with you!” She crammed the bit of rabbit into her mouth, chewing.

“We’ll share much in the years to come,” he said softly.

“I’d sooner take the veil,” she told him.

“You’re too beautiful to give yourself to the Church,” the laird told her. “You’re meant for a man’s bed, my bed.”

“Never! Never!
Never!
” Cicely shot back, and she swallowed the last of her meal.

He knelt by her side, and the knuckles of his hand slipped gently down her cheek. “Your passion will never be wasted in prayers and fasting, ladyfaire.” Then he tipped her face up to his and kissed her, his lips playing over hers.

Jesu! Mother Mary!
Cicely thought. His kiss was intoxicating. Part of her knew she had to resist him, but another part of her was ready and eager to give herself to him. She moaned softly against his mouth. She couldn’t let this happen.
She couldn’t!
With the greatest effort she had ever made in all of her life, Cicely pulled away from him. “How dare you touch me!” she demanded coldly of him.

“You have said you would see me hanged, ladyfaire,” he told her. “I should just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.” He had felt her ambivalence, for he was a man well skilled in the amatory arts. Standing up, he moved away into the darkness.

Cicely pulled her own cloak about her and, her back against the cold wall, she closed her eyes and prayed for sleep. But unlike the previous night, when she had been in shock over her abduction, her stomach filled with hot roasted rabbit, and feeling warmed by whiskey, she could only doze. Several times in the night she had awakened cold, hungry, and just a little frightened. She wanted to weep, but she would show no weakness to this bold man who had stolen her from everything she knew.

Had she not heard the snores of the two men near her—for tonight both slept, as there was no fire to draw the attention of strangers to them—she did not think she could have borne her condition. Even the horses grazed silently, moving away from the shelter of the wall now and again. Above them a pale waning moon shone down, and the still air was icy. She dozed again, and the next time she awakened the sky was beginning to lighten, to her great relief. She stretched her limbs out and then stood up.

Instantly the laird was awake and on his feet.

“I must relieve myself,” Cicely said quietly, and moved off to the other side of the wall. “I have no intention of running from you until I have peed and you have fed me one of those flat rocks you call oatcakes. Turn your back, my lord, and give me some privacy.” Then, without waiting to see if he complied with her request, Cicely turned her own back and raised her skirts.

He had almost laughed, but he did not. Until she was ready to acknowledge him as her lord and master he would give her no satisfaction. But he had appreciated her dry wit. He would not have expected it of so fine a lady. And then he realized that in his desire to steal her, to make certain that the Gordons did not take her for themselves, he hadn’t admitted everything Fergus had been saying to him, that Sir William had said, was true. He knew absolutely nothing about Lady Cicely Bowen other than that he loved her and wanted her for his wife. But how did you love someone you barely knew? He couldn’t answer his own question. His heart had spoken for him.

It would have been better, he knew, if he had been able to acquaint himself with his ladyfaire within her own environment, but the damned Gordons would not let him. They had hovered and buzzed about her like a hive of bees surrounding their queen. It had been impossible to get near her long enough to court her. He had had no choice but to take matters into his own hands. The Douglases were every bit as good as the Gordons. And when she came to know him better she would appreciate that.

Ian Douglas bent and shook his brother awake. “If the weather holds we should reach Glengorm before sunset,” he remarked as Fergus stood up, stretching.

The horses were caught. Oatcakes were handed out, and they mounted up. Once again Cicely’s hands were tied to the pommel of her saddle.

“You have chafed my wrists raw,” she complained. “Where can I run to, my lord, that you persist in binding me?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but we are close enough now to Glengorm that I will take no chances with you, ladyfaire. By sunset we should reach home. I do not wish to waste time chasing you over the hills and moors. Do you not wear gloves when you ride, madam?”

“I do, but I also leave them with my horse, which, the last time I saw him, was tethered outside of Mistress Marjory’s shop,” Cicely snapped. “You are a monster, and—”

He cut her off. “I will hang. I know. I know!”

The day was gray and lowering as they rode across the hilly countryside. Now and again in the distance a tower house came into view, but they never rode near any dwelling. They saw no one, nor were they seen. There was no one to whom Cicely might appeal for help. Again, as on the day before, they stopped once. But today they did not linger long resting. The laird and his brother were most anxious to reach their home. And at this point so was Cicely.

Traveling to Scotland with the king and queen had been an almost
leisurely progression. Each night they had stopped at either the home of some noble or at the guesthouse of an important monastery or convent. When such accommodation had not been available they had been housed within comfortable pavilions set up for them by staff who had ridden ahead. They had been served hot meals. It had been most civilized. This journey had been horrible. The laird’s home would certainly be provincial, rustic, but it would be warm and dry. There would be cooked food.

“We are almost home,” the laird said, coming up to her side, for he had ridden ahead briefly.

It had begun to rain, and it was an icy rain. There was a north wind at their back now. Ahead of them Cicely saw a wood rising from between the hills. She hunched down into her cloak, her hood pulled up to protect her from the growing storm. They rode into the wood. In summer it would have been thick with growth, but now the branches of its trees were stark and black against the gray sky. The path through the wood began to move upwards, and suddenly she saw the house atop the hill. It was tall and square, and had a single tower that rose from the south corner of the building.

“Why is there only one tower?” she asked, curious, as they rode up the incline.