The Border Lord's Bride (31 page)

Duncan Armstrong slid off his stallion and put an arm about his wife. Together they walked into the hall, and she led him to his place. Then Ellen hurried to fill his plate with hot food and his cup with cool wine. She then sat herself next to him and waited quietly to learn how the night had gone. The men looked tired. Some appeared to have wounds, but nothing looked serious.

She would take care of them after they had eaten. Their faces and hands were covered in dirt and soot.

"Did you lose any?" she asked softly when he had cleared his plate and was reaching for more bread and cheese.

"Nay, not this time," he answered her. "We‘ll go again tonight. They‘ll not be expecting us two nights in a row."

"I‘ll tend to the wounded when everyone has eaten," Ellen said quietly.

He nodded. "We‘ll sleep the rest of the day and into the night."

"And there will be food before you ride out again," she assured him.

"Come to bed with me," he said, low.

"When the wounded are cared for, my lord," she promised him, and turned to Conal Bruce. "Did you surprise them?"

The laird of Cleit laughed. "Aye, we did. We burned two villages to the ground, and drove off some fine cattle and sheep that we hid in a secluded meadow near here. They won‘t be easily found. It was a perfect night for it. We learned Colby and his men were meeting at Devil‘s Glen."

"How did you learn that?" Ellen wanted to know.

"The villages had only women, children, and the elderly," he replied.

"And they just told you?" Ellen probed further.

"Some of the men sported themselves with some of the women," he said candidly.

Ellen sighed. She knew what he meant. There had been rape, but then the English thought nothing of amusing themselves with Scotswomen when they came raiding. It was the way of it, and while she didn‘t like it, she knew it happened. It always happened when men warred. The borders were no different from the Highlands in that respect. Men fought. Women suffered.

"No one in the villages was killed," Conal Bruce said, as if to reassure her.

"But their homes are gone now," Ellen answered.

"Aye, and they‘ll rebuild. They do the same to us," the laird of Cleit replied.

"I know," Ellen said, "but it‘s sad." Then she stood up. "Men, if you have wounds I will gladly tend to them before you sleep. Sim will show you to my apothecary when you are ready." Then, excusing herself from the high board, she went off to get ready for her patients. The wounds she saw were mostly cuts and bruises. One man had broken his arm, and could not ride out again. He swore bitterly until Sim said sharply, "Mind your mouth before my lady, man!" And the

clansman asked her pardon, then grew silent as Ellen, swallowing back her laughter, finished tending to his arm. Her grandfather had often used language far worse. When those who needed her care had been serviced, Ellen went upstairs to join her husband. As she passed through her hall she heard the snores of the lairds already abed, and the servants moved quietly about so as not to disturb them.

Entering their bedchamber, she saw that Duncan had stripped off his clothing and was carefully tending to a bruise on his shoulder. "You‘re wounded!" Ellen exclaimed, hurrying over to him.

He smelled of sweat, leather, and horse.

"‘Tis naught, wife. A goodwife struck at me with a shovel," he said. "She wasn‘t happy that we were firing her house, and several of our men had taken her daughter off for a bit of fun. The girl was overripe, and hardly seemed distressed."

Ellen made a face at him, her fingers carefully examining the wound. She was relieved to see the skin wasn‘t broken. "You‘ll live," she told him.

He pulled her into his arms. "I waited to have my bit of fun," he teased her.

"Did you, my lord?" She pulled away from him and began unlacing her gown. "Well, I suppose the mighty conqueror is entitled to his pleasures." She shrugged the gown off and, reaching up, began unplaiting her long red-gold hair.

Stepping in front of her, he undid the ribbons holding her chemise closed. Then he pulled it off of her as Ellen kicked her house slippers from her feet. "God‘s wounds, wife, you are so perfect in every way," he said, and, spinning her about, reached around to cup her two round breasts.

"These are like little apples," he told her. He squeezed them gently. "I long to see our son suckling upon them, but until he comes to do so I shall have the only pleasure of them." Turning her back, he lifted her up, and his mouth closed about a nipple. He sucked on it, murmuring contentedly as he did so.

Ellen felt the tug of lust between her legs that she always felt when his mouth suckled upon her.

Her fingers kneaded his muscled shoulders, and he winced as she touched the bruise. "I‘m sorry," she whispered. "Take me to bed, my lord, and have your way with me, for you must sleep before you ride again tonight."

His mouth released its hold upon her nipple, and, sweeping her up, he carried her to their bed and laid her down. She opened her arms to him, and he slipped between her milky white thighs. His cock was hard and eager. He sheathed himself quickly and easily as Ellen wrapped her legs about him. Her teeth nibbled upon his ear, and she licked at it as he began to ride her. Her nails raked down his long back as he moved faster and faster upon her. She cried out as her crisis overcame her, but he was not yet satisfied.

Withdrawing from her, he rolled her onto her belly, whispering instructions to her. Ellen tucked her legs beneath her, raising her bottom up to him and resting upon her arms. She felt his manhood sliding into her female channel, delving deeply. He began to piston her, and when he had found his rhythm he released his hold upon her hips and, reaching about, took her two breasts in his hands, crushing them, pinching the tight little nipples as he strove to find release.

And when he did she came with him, crying as his love juices flooded her, and he groaned with pleasure, collapsing atop her. But even in his delight the laird remembered his petite wife, and rolled off of her. When Ellen managed to regain herself as her satisfied lust drained away, she discovered that her husband had fallen into a deep sleep. She smiled, amused. Their fierce and hurried coupling had released all the tension of the night past for him, and she was glad of it.

For five nights in a row the clansmen, led by the laird of Duffdour, raided over the border into England, causing much damage. After the third night the English knew that they were coming, but each night they rode from a different direction, completely flummoxing the English, who weren‘t at all certain where this great raiding party was coming from or where they would strike next. Stock was taken. Fields were fired, along with houses, and many young women found themselves on their backs entertaining their unwelcome guests. And then the Scots went to ground. Hidden at Duffdour, they waited to see what would happen. But all was suddenly quiet.

It appeared as if their fellow borderers had understood the message they had sent them.

"Either that, or they are planning to retaliate in kind," Hercules Hepburn, who had brought a contingent of his clansmen, said.

"We‘ll have to send out men to spy upon the English," Duncan Armstrong replied. "We need to know if Colby‘s forces are being increased, or if his forces have scattered. The English fields need to be replanted now, if they and what stock we haven‘t taken aren‘t to starve this winter.

We‘ll draw lots to decide whose men go."

"What are we going to do about Johnston?" Andrew Hay wanted to know.

"Let him twist in the wind," Conal Bruce said.

"Aye." The laird of Duffdour chuckled. "It is likely he has lost his credibility with Sir Roger for not warning him of our plans. And he‘ll know, if he doesn‘t already, that we are onto him. The traitor would piss his breeks if any of us came calling. We‘ll leave him be for now."

There was a murmur of assent, and then several clansmen were chosen by lot to leave that night to spy upon the English. One returned two days later to tell them that he had followed a raiding party back over the border. Ian Johnston‘s few fields had been burned, his stock driven off, his small village and his tower set afire. Johnston himself had been taken off with those of his clansmen remaining with him not killed, and any of the cotters who could be found. His wife had not been seen, but when the English had gone the Scots clansman had discovered a new grave near the tower.

"Before I left to return to Duffdour," the clansman said, "I found a small group of women who had managed to hide themselves in the heather and not be caught in the chaos. One old hag told me that Johnston had beaten his wife so severely that she had died a few days before. The English led him away, a rope about his scrawny neck."

"Good riddance!" Hercules Hepburn said. "I hope they hanged him."

"Colby will want to know what he believes Johnston knows first," Duncan said. "And Johnston may have talked his way out of it, given the chance."

After several more days, all of the men sent out returned with the same tale to tell. Sir Roger‘s band of raiders was mostly dispersed now but for his own personal men at arms. The others had returned to attempt to restore their homes and replant their fields before another winter set in.

The Scots had succeeded in bringing a peace of sorts to the borders for the interim, and so the border lords and their clansmen returned to their own homes satisfied they had bested the English for the time being.

The remainder of the summer was more peaceful by far than they had seen in several years. In the autumn the king came to hunt grouse, bringing with him the false Richard of York and his wife, Katherine Gordon. The king, used to visiting in the borders, had not brought his mistress, Margaret Drummond, and was content to sleep simply. But Katherine Gordon a fine

horsewoman, and hunter, had insisted on accompanying her husband. Ellen gave the royal couple the bedchamber she shared with her husband, but Katherine Gordon was not pleased at all. If her husband was to be England‘s king one day, then she was England‘s queen.

"Have you no better chamber than this?" she demanded of her hostess.

"I have given you the finest in the house, my lady," Ellen said.

"Your Highness," came the reply. "You must address me as Your Highness. And please keep your head covered while I am in residence. I cannot allow you to show your hair, for it is much the color of mine, although mine is finer in texture and purer in color."

"Of course, Your Highness," Ellen said pleasantly. "I should not want you mistaken for me based on the color of your tresses."

"How can you speak so sweetly to that little bitch," Adair, who had come from Cleit with her husband, wanted to know. "She is far above herself, especially given that she is married to an impostor. My blood is more royal than hers."

"I knew her at court," Ellen answered. "It is her nature to be overproud. Let her enjoy herself while she can. We both know she will never be queen of England, and I think in her heart she knows it too."

"You look pale," Adair said.

"I am pale by nature," Ellen replied with a smile.

"Nay, you are paler than normal," Adair insisted.

"I believe I may be with child," Ellen said softly. "Do not squeal, Adair! Until I am certain I do not want to tell Duncan."

"How many cycles have you missed?" Adair wanted to know.

"Two, and soon a third," Ellen responded.

"Are your breasts tender?"

"Aye!"

"And your gowns are beginning to feel perhaps a wee bit tight?" Adair probed further.

"Aye," Ellen answered her sister-in-law.

"Are you nauseous?"

"All the time, though I hide it, for a puking woman lacks charm," Ellen said with a mischievous grin. "And I have a terrible hunger for cheese all the time, and all I desire to do is sleep. Such a thing is not natural for me."

Adair laughed. "There can be no doubt. You are with child. I have gone through what you are experiencing enough times to know the signs of a breeding woman. You must tell Duncan. It will make him so happy."

"Oh, dear," Ellen said. "We have been…Can we still…Will it harm the bairn?" she asked the older woman.

Adair giggled. "Just be careful, but if you are it should not harm the bairn. I am always very lustful just before I deliver my children." She chuckled. "Conal loves it, and doesn‘t seem to mind my big belly."

The royal hunting party departed after a few days, and the Bruces of Cleit left as well. Back in their own bedchamber, and cuddled up with her husband that first night, Ellen told her husband that she would give him a child in the spring. Adair had calculated, Ellen said, probably at the end of April, the beginning of May. As her sister-in-law had predicted, Duncan Armstrong was ecstatic.

"A son," he said. "You are giving me a son!"

"It might be a daughter," she reminded him. "It is in God‘s hands, husband."

"Nay," he insisted, "it will be a lad. Armstrongs throw lads."

"What of your sister?" she asked.

"One lass but two lads, our mother bore our da," he said. "Nay, you‘ll give me a boy," he said in a determined tone.

"I shall name her Mary," Ellen teased her husband.

"I shall name him William Kenzie, after my father and my Bruce stepfather," the laird told his wife, and he hugged her tightly to him. "You are the most precious thing in the world to me, Ellen MacArthur," he told her.

Ellen nestled happily against him. Would her life at Lochearn with Donald MacNab have been as contented? she found herself wondering. Nay, it could not have been. Lochearn was as far away in her heart and mind now as the moon in the sky was.

The autumn finally came to an end. Duncan and his men had done well in the hunting, and their cold larder was well stocked. The first snowfall came at the beginning of December. Old Peigi, who had been fading away, was suddenly revived by the news that her own nursling was with child. She would live, despite the winter months, to see the bairn, she told her mistress with a toothless grin.

"It is amazing," Ellen told her husband. "She can hardly walk, but her mind is as sharp as ever.