The Border Lord's Bride (47 page)

"He had her, you know," Ian Johnston sneered. "Did you know that, Armstrong? Did you? Colby told me himself!"

"You are a liar," Ellen said in a cold, hard voice.

"Am I?" Johnston said, and he smiled at her. "Will you swear on God‘s name that you returned to your husband as you left him?"

"Aye, I will!" Ellen answered, her voice strong. Duncan would not be hurt by Ian Johnston‘s words; nor would his name be besmirched by the villain‘s lies. "Let God and his Blessed Mother bear witness to my words. I was not shamed or used by Sir Roger Colby. The only man I have ever known is my husband, Duncan Armstrong!"

"I think you have shamed the lady," Don Pedro said softly. "I think you must die."

"Aye," the king agreed. "But if you tell us where Sir Roger is perhaps we will spare your life, Ian Johnston."

"Never!" Johnston said, and he spit at the king‘s feet. "Never!"

"Then you have chosen your own fate," James Stewart said. "As I have better things on which to spend my coin, we shall save the cost of the hangman and the rope. Give him one of the goblets to drink. He shall die as he meant me to die."

At that very moment Ian Johnston broke free of his captors and, jumping down from the dais, tried to escape the hall. But the great chamber was crowded with trestles, benches, and courtiers.

He had barely begun to push his way through them all when Hercules Hepburn with a roar leaped up from a table below the high board and tackled the man, wrestling him down onto one of the trestles, which was swept clean of its cups and trenchers by the two men.

"Shall I break his neck, my lord?" he called to the king.

"Nay, but secure him, Hercules, for he is about to have his last cup of wine," James Stewart said.

Several men now came forward to hold Ian Johnston down upon the trestle top. They pinioned his arms and his legs so he could not move. The captive spewed curses upon all about him in his terrified rage. Now Don Pedro de Ayala stepped down from the high board, a cup of the

poisoned wine in one hand. He walked slowly to where the captive now lay helpless, yet still full of fight.

"I have just been told that my servant has been murdered," he said. "Since you are wearing his costume I must assume ‘twas you who killed him. It is therefore my right to have revenge.

Hercules Hepburn, if you will pinch his jaws open for me," the Spanish ambassador said in a soft voice.

"Immediately, my lord," came the reply, and Hercules‘ big hand forced open Ian Johnston‘s mouth.

Johnston attempted to struggle further against his captors, turning his head this way and that. He fought to close his mouth, but Hepburn‘s hold on it was strong. Johnston‘s eyes were filled with fear, and a stench arose from him as he soiled himself.

Don Pedro smiled a slow, cruel smile. Then he crossed himself, and without another word began pouring the contents of the goblet he held into Ian Johnston‘s mouth. His other hand had reached out to pinch the man‘s nostrils shut so he had no choice but to gulp down the dark red wine if he were to breathe at all. When the first goblet had been emptied, the Spanish ambassador snapped his fingers, and a servants put a second goblet into his hand. He began to empty that one as well down the helpless man‘s throat. When he had almost finished, Ian Johnston‘s body began to convulse.

The men holding him released him, and their victim began to scream in great pain as the poison ate at his guts. He rolled off the trestle and onto the floor, howling. His body curled itself into a fetal position. Those about him backed away in horror from the traitor in his dying throes. And then, with a fierce shudder and a loud cry, Ian Johnston died.

Watching from the high board, Ellen kept her face stony. She shed not a tear, although several women in the hall were now suffering hysterics. What did they know? she thought coldly. Ian Johnston had attempted to destroy her. To destroy her marriage. To destroy Duncan. He was a vicious man who had killed his own wife by beating her to death. He deserved the death he had just suffered. He was every bit as bad as Sir Roger Colby, and she was glad he was dead. She hoped he would rot in hell for eternity.

Don Pedro returned to the high board. "Your honor is now restored, madam," he told her quietly.

He took up her hand and kissed it.

"Thank you, my lord," Ellen told him. "But in truth, honor that has not been lost cannot be impugned, even by a villain."

The Spanish ambassador bowed and smiled his charming smile. "I admire your strength, señora.

I can see you are not a woman to be trifled with, and I envy your husband for having such a strong wife."

Ellen gave him a little smile. "You flatter me, my lord." Then she turned to the king. "But we have not yet caught Colby."

"We will another day, my bonny," he told her. "You have saved my life this night. All of our lives at this board. We owe you a great debt of gratitude."

"Oh, yes, we do!" Katherine Gordon cried. "What if you had not recognized the assassin? This is surely a plot by Henry Tudor, that foul usurper, to kill my beloved husband, England‘s true king.

But next year we will march into England and throw him from his hollow throne, won‘t we, cousin James?"

"Indeed, cousin, we will," the king replied. If for no other reason than to end this so I do not have to keep supporting you and that coward to whom you‘re wed, James Stewart thought. If we succeed, then I have a friendly English king to the south. If we fail, the king now on the throne will make peace, for he cannot afford a serious war any more than Scotland can. Either way I win. But this time, Richard of England, you will not leave me because you cannot bear the sight of Englishmen being killed. Perhaps if Henry Tudor knew as you have now learned what misery a border war entails, he would be more willing to make a real peace with me. Well, one way or another I shall have that peace by this time next year. He turned to Ellen. "I would reward you."

"Then let us fortify Duffdour even more," Ellen said. "And let Cleit be fortified, for surely the English will come at us again next spring."

"Agreed," James Stewart said. "And I shall pay for these new fortifications. Now, take that cur‘s body from the hall and bury it in unhallowed ground. I think we have eaten and drunk and been entertained enough for one evening. This is one Twelfth Night you shall not forget. Go home or find your beds, all of you!" Then, taking his lovely mistress, Meg Drummond, by the hand, the king walked from the hall.

Ellen turned to her husband. "We still can‘t go home," she said despairingly, reaching for his hand.

"Aye, you must remain, but I cannot stay any longer from Duffdour," Duncan told her. "Thank you for gaining us further fortifications, and the means to build them."

They walked from the hall and to their apartment. Laria, Machara, Willie‘s wet nurse, and the baby were nowhere in sight. Ellen waved Gunna away as her tiring woman came forward. An icy hand was gripping her heart. "You would leave me?" she asked him quietly.

"I cannot remain with the court," he said. "It‘s January, and I must begin the business of reinforcing Duffdour‘s defenses before the spring comes. And I must stop at Cleit to tell Conal he can also build up his defenses. Thanks to that cowardly fraud the king is using to bring King Henry to reason, the borders will be aflame come spring. To whom can I delegate such authority for what must be done? I am no great lord with servants at his beck and call. I am the laird of Duffdour. The responsibility for it, for its people, is all mine," Duncan Armstrong said.

"You would leave me," Ellen repeated bleakly.

He sighed. "I know you cannot come home, wife, until Sir Roger has revealed himself so the king may be safe. But I cannot sit here and wait for the bastard."

"Ian Johnston‘s words have given you pause for thought," Ellen said candidly. "You were eager enough a few weeks ago to slay Colby yourself. Why suddenly are you no longer interested in such a venture? You think me not worthy of your revenge, Duncan? Perhaps you would prefer I remain at court and not return to Duffdour at all," she cried. She was suddenly frightened. Was she losing him?

"Nay, that is not so! I want you home, wife, but you must remain with the king until Colby is caught and slain!" He put his arms about her, drawing Ellen close, but she was stiff and cold in his arms. "Come, sweeting, do not be angry at me." He pulled the caul from her head and let her long red-gold hair flow loose as he slid his hand up to cup her head in his palm.

"I don‘t want you to go, husband," Ellen said, low.

"I have to, and you know I do, wife. The English will come for me, for Duffdour, you may be certain, for it is known that I am the one who broke the back of Sir Roger‘s troops last spring. If I can get the walls higher we should be safe," he told her.

Ellen began to cry. She knew he spoke truth to her. He had to return to Duffdour.

The laird took his wife‘s small face between his hands and kissed her tears away. "Don‘t weep, wife," he pleaded with her, but his gentle words only made her cry all the harder. Finally Duncan Armstrong did what most men madly in love with their wives would do in such a situation: He decided to make love to her.

Taking her hand, he drew her into their bedchamber and down onto the bed. His hands pulled away the top of her simple costume, baring her breasts to him. He caressed them tenderly, and then began to cover them with kisses. Ellen sighed, her sadness easing with his gentle touch. His mouth closed over a nipple, and she sighed again. He tugged on the sentient flesh, and she murmured, low. His teeth delicately grazed the skin, and then he moved to do homage to her other nipple.

"Oh, that is so nice," Ellen whispered. Her fingers began stroking the nape of his neck. His dark hair was shaggy and needed to be cut, she thought as her hand played with it.

He pushed her skirts up, and the dark head began a slow journey down her torso as Ellen drew her breath in sharply. There had hardly been a moment to make love since her return from England, and the truth was, she was yet nervous. Oh, they had coupled several times, but it had been a hurried thing, more for his pleasure than hers. Yet now he was taking his time and truly making love to her. The kissing, the touching she had admitted to Duncan, but he‘d never know the pain she still felt, or the fear she had that she might not escape. Some things were better left unsaid.

Ellen pushed her unhappy thoughts from her and concentrated upon the man whose warm lips and tongue were now caressing her skin. "Wait," she said softly, and when he lifted his head she pushed the skirts of her costume off and onto the floor. "Now you, my lord, for while your tunic is short, I prefer the feel of your flesh against mine."

He complied, and then, sliding between her legs, he began to kiss her hungrily, his hands holding her head between them, his lips scorching hers, his tongue dueling with hers within the warm cavern of her mouth. Ellen stretched beneath him, murmuring as her hands smoothed over his shoulders and down his back. The feel of his smooth, warm chest crushing her breasts left her weak with her longing for him.

Duncan felt her trembling beneath him. Was it fear? Was it her natural excitement when they made love? Why did Ian Johnston‘s wicked words keep echoing in his head? He had her! The words burned, and yet Ellen had denied that Colby had raped her. She had admitted to his kisses, his obscene touches, but she had insisted there had been no rape. And he had believed her. Until tonight, when a condemned man had accused her. Did a man facing imminent death lie? He wasn‘t certain.

"What is it?" Ellen asked him, suddenly aware that his thoughts had turned elsewhere.

"Why did Johnston say Colby raped you?" Duncan said, knowing even as the words left his mouth that he was making a mistake. He rolled onto his side. Why was he questioning her about this? What the hell was the matter with him?

"Perhaps he said it because he had been caught, and was about to die," Ellen suggested calmly.

"Some men, when they face death, confess to their faults, their sins. Others are angry that death has caught up to them, and want to strike out and hurt anyone they can. Ian Johnston was not a man to admit to his faults. He murdered his own wife and then lied about it. He knows we are happy in our marriage, husband. And so he reaches out to hurt us as death claims him. When Sir Roger made plain his intent to make me his mistress, Johnston boldly asked if he would share me. God forgive him for what he said tonight. God forgive you for the doubts regarding my chastity that it has raised in your mind and heart, Duncan."

He gathered her into his arms. "I am sorry," he told her, "but the truth is, his cruel words raised such pictures in my mind that are difficult to get out."

"Make love to me," Ellen said to him.

"What?" He looked surprised.

"Make love to me," she repeated. "Let us wipe away those horrid words, and make dreams for you to dream when we are apart," Ellen tempted him. Leaning over him, she bent and kissed the nipples of his chest. Then she began to lick him. If it took every ounce of her strength she would destroy those evil pictures Ian Johnston had drawn and placed in Duncan‘s mind and heart. She brushed his lean naked body with her long red-gold hair. It was soft and perfumed, and his eyes closed as he enjoyed the sensation of her budding passion. Her tongue licked over his torso, swirling about his belly with slow, leisurely strokes. He exhaled in a long, soft hiss as her head moved lower, and he felt her press a hot kiss through the thick mat of pubic hair covering his mons.

"Take me in your mouth," he begged her. He had taught her that delightful diversion right after William had been born. She had been surer of herself then, and had been growing bolder with their lovemaking.

Ellen laughed, low, and, taking his manhood between her thumb and her forefinger, lifted it up as if to inspect it. She then licked his length from tip to root several times. He moaned with his open pleasure, and grew slightly firmer beneath her skillful tongue. But then she took him into her mouth, drawing upon him until she was close to swallowing him. Duncan groaned, and she began to suckle upon him. When his cock had grown hard and throbbed within her mouth, Ellen released it and, climbing upon her husband‘s body, she sheathed him within her own.