The Border Lord's Bride (34 page)

"The mean lord told me I must stay where I was until he and his riders were out of sight. I am a good lad, my lord, and I have been taught to obey my betters."

Duncan nodded, and then looked to the boy‘s mother. "Why did you not give the alarm then?" he asked her.

"He threatened to return to kill me and my bairns if I called out before Evina was finished with your men and returned to the cottage. I believed him, for he has always been a man of his word, my lord," Marchara told the laird.

"Indeed, and how would you know that?" the laird asked her.

Machara flushed. "Evina brought him to the cottage over a year ago. He came with several men.

I did not know Evina had already lost her virginity to him, and when they sought to have at her I tried to protect my husband‘s child, and offered myself in exchange. There were nine of them, and each of them put themselves inside of me. All night long they used me over and over again.

The bairn at my breast now, I do not know who his sire is. And then in the morning, when I came to my senses again, I found this wretched little slut riding them all, and filled with merry laughter. But the Englishman said he would pay me coin if a child was born of that night, and he did. He gave me a whole silver penny and three coppers, my lord, after the birth. He may be a villain, but he has some small honor. And he swore he would never harm Evina, and he has not."

"But he threatened to kill you and your sons if you betrayed him," the laird said. "Do you believe he would have? Truly? And how did he know my wife was here?"

"Aye, my lord, I do. He would have slain us. As for how he knew the lady was coming, the lady herself sent word she was coming to bring us her medicines. And Evina brought him word of it, for he had often railed to her about how you had outwitted him, but how he would have his revenge upon you eventually. So when he learned she was coming to the outlying cottages he came, and he waited two days before the lady arrived."

The laird nodded. "Do you know where he has taken my wife?" he asked her.

Marchara shook her head. "I do not know, my lord. I swear it! I would tell you if I did, for you are my lord, and our allegiance is yours."

Duncan Armstrong looked to Evina. "And you, wench, do you know where Sir Roger would

have taken my wife?"

"I do not know where he lays his head, my lord," the girl said, and oddly the laird believed her.

She was a proper slut of a lass interested only in fucking, and in what she could get for her easy acquiescence.

"If I learn that you are dealing with the English again, wench," he told her, "I will drive you from Duffdour. I would do it now but that I honor the memory of your father, who was a loyal servant to me. You have betrayed me and your lady, Evina, daughter of Gair. My son is motherless now thanks to you. When I find my wife you will come to her on your hands and knees and beg her pardon," Duncan Armstrong said.

"I don‘t know why my Englishman wanted her when he could have me," Evina said sulkily.

"Your wife is old, past twenty, while I am young and juicy, and barely past fifteen." She preened before them, swinging her long brown hair.

The laird looked to Machara‘s eldest son. He was but thirteen, but he already stood six feet tall.

"When I am gone, beat the wench, and do not be gentle," he told the boy. "You are now the man of the family, and she needs to learn respect. And come to me with your arrows. If they are good you shall be my new fletcher despite your youth. What are you called?"

"Farlan, my lord," the boy said.

"Well, Farlan, son of Gair, you have a bright future, I suspect. Now, tend to your sister, and teach her respect and loyalty." The laird then turned and left the cottage. As he rode off he heard Evina shrieking with outrage, and the smack of a leather belt on bare flesh. He could have beaten the girl himself, he was so angry, but he suspected he might have killed her. He was not by nature a man for abusing women, but God only knew the little baggage would try the patience of a saint, as she had tried his. Reaching his house, he had Sim send for Artair, and when his captain stood before him he told him to have the men who had been so negligent in their duty driven from his lands.

"They may go with the clothes on their back and a single weapon. Nothing more. Their

negligence has cost me my wife, and I have no idea where to even begin to look for her," the laird said.

Stony faced, Artair nodded and went off to do his lord‘s bidding.

The laird now sought out old Peigi in the nursery, and asked her what they were to do for his son, who would starve without his mother‘s milk.

"Bad news travels swiftly, my lord. I have already sent Laria to the village to find a nursing mother and bring her back with her own bairn so she may feed William as well as her own child.

We will not let your son die. Now, go and find my sweet bairn, Duncan Armstrong. She is a braw lass, and will know you are coming after her."

"I‘ll find her, and I‘ll bring her back," the laird promised the old woman.

But even though he sent to Cleit to his brother, and Conal Bruce sent to the Hepburn Earl of Bothwell for his aid, and Patrick Hepburn spoke with the king, no trace of Ellen could be found.

They scoured the countryside both near and far. The rode over the border into England, and straight into the Devil‘s Glen. But Sir Roger‘s house was darkened and obviously deserted. The king spoke with the Spanish ambassador, who spoke with his counterpart in King Henry‘s court, but all he could report back was that the English king had exiled Sir Roger from his court until further notice, being displeased with him.

"He has to be somewhere!" Duncan Armstrong said desperately. "He cannot have disappeared off the face of the earth with my wife."

It appeared, however, that that was precisely what Sir Roger had done. No one could recall seeing him in many weeks. The laird of Duffdour was beginning to despair. He just didn‘t know what to do now, but on his brother‘s advice he posted a large reward for information leading to Ellen‘s safe return. And then he reluctantly looked to his lands and to his son, for they needed his care and attention too.

The summer was passing quickly, but in her cell at the bottom of Colby Castle Ellen knew neither day from night, nor one day from the next. After what she thought to be seven days Sir Roger came to see her. He behaved as if she were in one of his best guest chambers, entering her prison and chatting away in a friendly and normal fashion. At first Ellen was stunned, then appalled, and finally angry. But she swallowed her anger long enough to ask for a healer.

"You are ill?" He sounded genuinely distressed, and peered at her closely.

"I need to stop the flow of my milk," Ellen told him. "You took me from my nursing infant, my lord. A healer can give me some herbs to stop the milk, as it is obvious I shall not be going home anytime soon. My breasts are painful, and it is unhealthy for me to be left in this state. That you wish to torture my husband I understand, but I do not believe that you truly mean for me to die while in your custody."

"God, no!" Sir Roger burst out. "I shall attend to it immediately, madam."

"Thank you," she said simply.

He arose, asking as he did, "Is there anything else you need, madam?"

"A comb would be of service," Ellen said. "I have tried using my fingers to keep my hair neat, but a comb would be better."

"Of course," he agreed, and then with a bow he left her.

She was visited several hours later by an old crone, who handed her a comb and then asked about her milk. How long had she been nursing? Was the child a male or a female? Had the infant nursed strongly? Given the answers to her questions the crone pulled a small bowl and pestle from her skirts, along with a handful of herbs. She ground the leaves into a fine powder, poured it into a small square of cloth, folded it, and tied it with a bit of twine, then handed it to Ellen.

"Take a goodly pinch on your tongue with water three times daily," the crone said. "Your milk flow should stop in a few days. If it does not, have the lord send for me again." Then she scurried from the room, reminding Ellen of the thin gray rat who visited her daily, and with whom she shared a bit of her bread.

The prisoner followed the crone‘s instructions, and before another few days had gone by her milk had dried up. Ellen wept, and wondered if she would ever see her son again. Would she see his father again? Duncan! Duncan! she called to him silently, but there was no response. How long had she been in this tiny stone cell? Each day she spent hours combing her long hair and sleeping, for there was nothing else to do. She spoke to the rat, who would sit watching her with intelligent eyes, but the only sound of a human voice she heard came when her food was brought to her twice a day. The silence was becoming deafening, and Ellen began to sleep more and more. Several times her jailer had had difficulty awakening her when he brought the food. And on those occasions she had fallen back into sleep without touching her food while the rat, realizing there was no danger, clambered up onto the small wooden table and feasted. She was sleeping more and more, eating less and less. Finally the jailer, realizing his prisoner could very easily die unless something was done, went to Sir Roger.

"I‘ve seen prisoners get like this before, my lord," the jailer told his master. "She‘ll die if it goes on like this." He waited for his better to say something.

"What do you suggest?" Sir Roger asked after a long few moments of silence.

"Couldn‘t you keep the lady imprisoned somewhere other than my dungeons, my lord? I know it ain‘t my place to ask, but what has she done that is so terrible that you must put her in there?

She‘s been there over a month now, sir." The jailer shifted nervously on his feet.

"I suppose," Sir Roger said, ignoring the man‘s question, "that we might put her up in the west tower now. Yes, I‘ll have something prepared. Bring her up to the great hall in an hour‘s time, jailer."

"Yes, my lord!" The jailer was relieved. He was frankly curious as to who the lady was—and she was indeed a lady. Even a lowly fellow like him knew the difference between a lady and a slut.

And why had his master brought her to the castle and imprisoned her? For since she had been here Sir Roger hadn‘t seemed particularly interested in her. But it was not his place to ask aloud such questions.

Ellen was feeding her rat when the jailer entered her cell. He was relieved to see she was awake.

The rat scuttled away. "You‘re to come with me now, my lady," he said to her. "The master wants to see you in the hall. I think you will soon have a change of quarters for the better," he confided to her with a wink.

Ellen said nothing, but she did give the man a weak smile and followed him slowly through the damp corridors and up the several flights of stairs and finally into the great hall of Colby Castle, where Sir Roger was awaiting her.

He was appalled when he saw her. She was paler than normal, and her hair was filthy. Her gown was badly soiled, and yes, yes, there was definitely a distinct unpleasant odor about her. "What has happened to you?" he asked her.

Ellen looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Or perhaps it was she who had lost hers. Finally she said in a weak voice, "How long have you had me imprisoned in your dungeons, my lord?

You stole me away in the middle of July. How long have I languished in the dark and dirt of your cellars?"

"I did not realize so much time had passed since you came to the castle," he told her.

"What day is this?" she asked him.

"The nineteenth of August," he admitted.

"Then there is your answer, my lord," Ellen said with a small show of spirit. "For over a month I have lain in that fetid cell with no change of clothing or way to bathe. I am flea-bitten, and there are certain to be nits in my hair. I am not used to living in filth."

"I am moving you to a small apartment in my west tower," Sir Roger said. "I kept you hidden only so I could be certain you would not be seen, and your location reported back to your husband. I am not yet ready to deal with him, madam."

"My comb!" Ellen cried, and she looked to her jailer. "I have left my comb behind. Will you be kind enough to fetch it for me, good sir?"

"There are women‘s things in your new residence," Sir Roger informed her. "Rafe!" he called to the same sergeant who had several weeks back escorted Ellen to the dungeons. "Take the lady to her new quarters now."

"I will need clean clothing," Ellen said. "And I want a bath, and water to wash my hair, my lord."

"Rafe will see you have whatever you need, madam," Sir Roger replied.

"When will you let me free?" Ellen wanted to know.

"In time, madam," he said. "In time."

Her new quarters were indeed a great improvement over her old. At the very top of the west tower were two small rooms, each with its own hearth, a stack of wood by each. The sergeant escorted her into the apartment, and as he left her he said, "I will fetch a tub and see that there is water for it, my lady. Is there anything else I might do for you?"

"Who lived here once?" Ellen inquired as she saw the brush and comb upon a table, and opened a small trunk to reveal female garments.

"Sir Roger once had a mistress," the sergeant said tersely.

"What happened to her?" Ellen wanted to know.

"He found she was betraying him, and he killed her," the man answered.

"Was she?" Ellen looked directly at him.

"Yes," the sergeant replied. "His mother saw to it, for he was needed to do the king‘s work, but he would not leave his mistress. Then his mother saw that her son learned of the betrayal. He killed them both. It was several years ago, my lady. There has been no one in these rooms since."

He bowed. "I will go fetch the tub now."

"He kidnapped me," Ellen said. "He has a quarrel with my husband."

"It is not my place to know these things, my lady," the sergeant said, and he hurried off to find the oak tub, and to get her enough water to fill it.

When she was alone once more she wandered through the two rooms, examining everything. The tiny day room had a rectangular oak table that had been set beneath one of the two windows. On either side of the table, against the stone wall of the tower, was an oak chair with a woven seat and a tapestry cushion. Before the hearth was a small oak settle with a cushion made to fit over the wooden seat. The wood floor of the room was black with its age. The two windows had shutters that were now open, and there was glass in the casements. Ellen opened one of the windows and breathed in the first fresh air she had had in weeks. It was late afternoon, and the sun was bright.