The Border Lord's Bride (46 page)

"And so our attempt to put a friendly Englishman on England‘s throne became nothing more than a large-scale border raid," Hercules Hepburn said. "And, of course, I fear we disappointed the true king very much by taking whatever we could lay our hands on in stock, hay, and grain and decamping back to our own homes. But what did he expect? ‘Tis the way of the borderers in both camps, though, isn‘t it?"

There was much nodding and agreeing in the hall.

"And while your good lord was seeking his wife, the king and his friend, the Spanish

ambassador, came into the borders once again to make certain we were all fortified, for certainly King Henry will eventually retaliate for this incursion into his lands. But the worst was yet to come for our poor king." Hercules chuckled. "He has been forced since his return to listen to the nattering of Katherine Gordon extolling the virtues of her husband‘s compassion for his subjects."

The listeners in the hall laughed along with the big man at this.

"Katherine Gordon is overproud for my taste," Ellen noted. "She always put herself above the other girls in the lady Margaret‘s household. I cannot say I particularly liked her. Although we are both of the Highlands, she spoke of those of us in the more western regions as if we were savages. Thinking that she is queen of England cannot have made her any better."

Hercules Hepburn grinned. "Aye, she is prouder now than before, believing her rank improved.

Well, you need have nothing to do with her if you choose. I‘m sure the king‘s aunt will be happy to see you again. She‘s a grand lady. And she will certainly make certain that you have a comfortable place to lay your heads," he assured Ellen.

And when they arrived at court a week later Hercules learned that his brother, Patrick Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell, had made the sacrifice, giving up his own apartment to the Armstrongs.

And the king was almost meek when Ellen found him in his privy chamber shortly after settling her family upon their arrival. He had warned his personal guard that she would seek him out, and they gave way as the petite whirlwind stormed past them into the royal presence.

"My bonny," he greeted her warmly. "I have looked forward to your arrival."

"Do not ‗my bonny‘ me, Jamie Stewart!" Ellen replied, not in the least mollified by his familiar term of endearment.

"Your apartment is satisfactory?" the king continued, ignoring her outrage.

"Was there no one else in all the world but me to identify Roger Colby?" she demanded. "I was held by him for over three months, and only a miracle led to my escape. I was but barely home, and my bairn wailing at the sight of me, for I am a stranger to him. Now you must call me to court?" She was flushed and breathless with her ire.

The king thought her extremely pretty in her anger. "Sit down, my bonny, and we will speak on it. You have brought the bairn with you, have you not? He‘ll know you soon enough, and will love you as we all do."

"My lord, do you really think me such a fool as to be cozened by your words?" Ellen sat down in a high-backed tapestry chair by the blazing hearth, holding her hands to the flame, for they were cold. She could hear the wind rising outside of the windows.

"Ellen MacArthur, my sweet sister—for I do think of you as such," the king began, and his voice was sincere, "we all know Sir Roger‘s reputation, but only you have had a long acquaintance with him, can pick him out of a crowd, can cry, ‗There‘s the assassin!‘"

"The border lords all know Johnston," she countered.

"And because they do it is unlikely Johnston will be with him when he attempts his assault on my person," the king replied. "Only you know Roger Colby‘s face."

Ellen sighed. "Aye, I do. I will never forget it," she said. "But surely this Englishman cannot just boldly come into your court, my lord."

"He will come disguised, of course, and not as an Englishman," the king responded. "He could gain entry with some young lordling who has lost to him dicing, and allows him to accompany him as a means of repaying the debt. There are some, my bonny, who consider coming to my court to be a treat." The king grinned engagingly at her, and Ellen was forced to laugh. It pleased him to see her mood lightening.

"He might even come as someone of lowly stature," Ellen said thoughtfully. "I know that is what I would do. You do not pay a great deal of attention to your servants, my lord. I will wager you do not even know most of their names."

"I do know the faces of those who serve me," the king answered her, "but you are correct, my bonny. I must speak with my household steward and have him be extra vigilant of any new varlets he might employ. The castle will be filled to capacity during the Twelve Days of Christmas."

"This is a very dangerous man, my lord," Ellen said. "He wants only to be in King Henry‘s favor again. He will do whatever he must to attain that goal. I beg that you not underestimate Sir Roger, nor allow those about you to do so."

"Did he harm you?" James Stewart asked her.

"Nay," Ellen said.

She replied perhaps a bit too quickly, the king thought to himself, but he did not press her. He had not the right, and whatever she had said to her husband, it had not changed Duncan Armstrong‘s devotion to Ellen MacArthur, the king saw in the days that followed. The border lord loved his wife unquestioningly and with all his heart.

December brought a host of feast days all leading up to Christmas Day itself. While she truly wished she were back at Duffdour, Ellen had to admit that Christmastide at Sterling was quite enjoyable. As long as the weather was good they hunted during the day. In bad weather the great hall of Sterling Castle was filled with the king‘s guests, all gossiping, playing games, and eating.

Most evenings there was feasting and dancing in the great hall. It was a beautiful chamber, Ellen thought.

It had been the much maligned king, James III, the present king‘s father, who had seen to the building of the hall. It had five great fireplaces. The walls, in an opulent rich lime yellow known as King‘s Gold, were much admired by all who came to Sterling. The graceful tall stained-glass windows were decorated; the sun shining through them on an early winter‘s afternoon reflected their colors on the floors. There was a large hearth behind the high board with a great Yule log burning merrily. The other four hearths burned brightly too. James IV was sending out

ambassadors to various countries. His court was also receiving ambassadors. Many languages could be heard being spoken in Sterling Castle‘s great hall on any night. French. German. Italian.

Spanish. Gaelic. Latin.

The gossip was rife this Christmastide, for the laird of Duffdour‘s wife seemed always to be near the king. Lady Margaret Stewart, the king‘s aunt, told anyone who would listen that her nephew was very fond of Mistress Ellen. "She is like a sister to him," the princess said. "Do you not remember before her marriage how she was his favorite chess partner?" Margaret Stewart reminded them. "And ‘tis he who matched her with Duffdour. The poor lass was held captive by the English recently, and the king rewards her bravery by bringing her to court for a visit."

The court listened to the princess‘s explanation, and then could not decide what to think. There seemed to be nothing more than genuine familial affection between the king and Ellen

MacArthur. Her husband was always in sight, as was the king‘s current mistress, the adorable Meg Drummond. And yet…perhaps the king was tiring of the Drummond girl, some thought

meanly. Nay, others said. Meg Drummond was with child, and it was obvious that the king loved her. There was even talk of making her his queen, and why not? Two Drummond women had

been queens of Scotland in the past. Why not a third? Surely a good Scotswoman as opposed to some foreigner.

On Twelfth Night the king was to hold a costume gala in Sterling‘s great hall.

"A costume gala?" Ellen said despairingly. "Our own clothing is poor stuff compared to what other folk wear. What are we to do? Since I must be there I shall have to wear a costume, Duncan."

"Go and speak with the king‘s aunt," her husband advised.

"Aye," Ellen agreed. "Lady Margaret will know what we should do."

The king‘s aunt suggested that the Armstrongs of Duffdour go as ancient Greeks. "White material," she said. "Simple. No fuss. My maids and I shall help you make the costumes. Duncan shall wear a short tunic, for he does have fine legs," the princess noted, and her maids giggled.

"And you shall wear a Doric chiton. Come along," Lady Margaret said briskly, standing up. "We shall take this opportunity to raid the storerooms." And with her maids and Ellen hurrying after her, she moved off.

In the storerooms at Sterling Castle they found exactly what they were looking for, and quickly snatched the fabric up, carrying it off back to the Lady Margaret‘s apartments. It was a fine light white wool. After measuring Ellen, the princess sent her off, for she was one of the few people who knew why the laird of Duffdour‘s wife was at court. When Ellen had gone, she sent for the laird so he might be measured.

On Twelfth Night the laird of Duffdour and his lady entered the great hall at Sterling to find themselves surrounded by all manner of folk in all manner of garb. Duncan Armstrong wore a short-sleeved white wool tunic that came to just above his knees. Its neckline was round and decorated with a black-and-white dentil band that was repeated down the shoulder and around the sleeve, as well as at the hem of the tunic. A silver ribbon was tied about his dark head. On his feet he wore sandals, a great inconvenience, as a draft ran across the floor of the hall, chilling his legs and his feet. Ellen was dressed in a Doric chiton; the upper part of the garment, which was bloused, was called a kolpos. The chiton fastened at the shoulders with ribbon ties, and was decorated at the bustline, the edge of the kolpos, and the hem of the chiton with a delicate design of tiny purple spheres. Her red-gold hair was caught up in a gold caul, and she wore gold sandals upon her feet. Their costumes were simple compared to those about them.

The king was dressed like one of his ancestors, with a rough wool plaid about his loins, a bare chest, a round leather shield studded with brass nails, and an ash wood spear with an iron spear point. The Spanish ambassador, Don Pedro de Ayala, stood next to him, dressed as a Moorish lord in a long, colorful striped silk robe and a gold turban with a great red jewel in its center.

"Surely it isn‘t real." Ellen gasped when she saw it, but the gem did sparkle brightly as Don Pedro turned his head to smile at her.

"‘Tis paste, lady," he told her, and he again smiled his charming smile.

Ellen looked out over the hall at all the excitement and color the gala was producing. "‘Tis amazing, my lord. Beautiful, wicked, and perhaps a little dangerous."

"For some, my bonny, it will be dangerous," he said.

"This would be a perfect night for the attempt," the Earl of Bothwell murmured. He had dressed himself in a long dark-colored gown decorated with stars, comets, and moons. "I am Merlin, the sorcerer," he told them. "It is my duty to keep the king safe."

They sat down to a great feast that night. Sides of beef had been packed in rock salt and roasted over open pits until their sizzling juices caused the red coals to leap with every drop escaping from the meat. There were great barrels of oysters packed in ice and snow that had come from the coast. There was venison, and ducks toasted black on platters and swimming in a sweet sauce of plums and cinnamon. Whole salmon and trout, mussels and sea scallops were presented.

There were chargers holding artichokes steamed in wine. Bowls of vegetable pottage. Capons, and pies filled with rabbit and small birds. There had been baked great round loaves of bread to be placed upon each table, and at each place there were good-size bread trenchers to hold generous amounts of food. Large wheels of cheese, both hard and soft, were put out. Crocks of butter and small dishes of salt were placed in the center of each table below the high board.

There was ale and wine readily available. Ellen and her husband were seated at the far end of the high board, as they were the king‘s personal guests.

As the meal was coming to an end, sugared wafers and a carafe of a sweet Spanish wine Don Pedro had brought for the enjoyment of the king and his guests at the high board were brought forth by one of the ambassador‘s servants, who was garbed as a dark-skinned Moor. As he bent to pour the liquid into Ellen‘s cup she caught his eye. The man stiffened, but continued pouring.

When he had finished he stepped back. Don Pedro arose to make a toast.

"No!" Ellen cried, jumping to her feet. "Wait!" She picked up her cup and, handing it to the servant who had poured the liquid said, "Drink!"

The fellow shook his head, but said nothing.

"Drink it!" Ellen commanded.

"Señora," the man said, and then he shrugged.

"My servants do not speak your tongue," Don Pedro said. "What is wrong, my lady? How has my servant offended you?"

"He is not your servant, my lord ambassador," Ellen said. "He is Ian Johnston, and the wine he has poured I believe is poisoned. He would have killed all at the high board in order to kill the king. Where is your master, you traitorous coward?"

"Seize him!" the king called as the man made to bolt.

Several men caught hold of Ian Johnston as he sought to jump from the dais.

Don Pedro Ayala went over to the man and looked at him closely. He ran a finger down his face, looking at the brown stain it gathered. "He is not one of my servants, but where, then, is my servant?"

Duncan Armstrong arose and stood before Ian Johnston. "Where is Colby?"

"I‘ll never tell you! Any of you!" Ian Johnston said. "Why should I? You cast me out. Drove my wife to the grave. Cost me my son! I‘ll tell you nothing!"

"You‘re mad, Ian. ‘Twas you who betrayed your fellow border lords," the laird of Duffdour said.

"You beat your wife to death. And ‘twas Colby whose raid caused your wife to miscarry. Yet you aligned yourself with him and betrayed your own country and king. Now you would involve yourself in a plot to kill that king?"