The Border Lord's Bride (49 page)

"The house will be better for her return, and the laird too," the cook said to her staff, and they all nodded. It had been a long, dark, and dour winter with the laird more days than not silently eating a hot meal alone down in the kitchen at night, or taking something to his chamber.

Duffdour had not been a happy house without Ellen.

Pleased to be sitting at her own high board again, Ellen looked out over the hall. The hearths burned brightly. The table and the sideboard gleamed with evidence of their care, and the lady of Duffdour was pleased to see that even though she had been away for several months, her servants had not become complacent or lazy. Below the dais the trestles and benches were filled with the king‘s men, and the Armstrong clansmen were all eating the venison stew from their bread trenchers while the ale flowed freely.

At the high board a bowl of stew had been placed, along with a fat capon roasted perfectly and stuffed with dried apple, onion, and bread; a small ham; and a platter of freshwater mussels in a sauce of dill and mustard. There were two small wheels of cheese, a hard yellow and a soft creamy one. Butter and fresh bread had been set in the center of the board, where those seated could easily reach them.

"I‘ve sent to Conal Bruce and to Robert Ferguson," Duncan told the king. "Conal will be able to catch up to us tomorrow. As for Ferguson it will take him longer."

"How far is this Devil‘s Glen?" the king wanted to know. "Is it in Scotland, or is it in England?"

"It‘s a good half day‘s ride, which is why I want to leave before sunrise," Duncan answered the king. "As to where it is, some say ‘tis Scotland, and others that it‘s England. No one has ever really been certain, but I believe ‘tis England, for it is several miles from any landmark I recognize as being Scots."

"There is a house there?"

"Aye, a dark stone house, barns, and pens, for ‘twas there that Colby and his raiders kept the cattle, sheep, goats, and other stock they stole on their raids," the laird answered.

"Is the house defended?" the king wanted to know.

Duncan Armstrong shook his head. "Nay. ‘Tis just a house. Its safety lies in being at the end of a narrow glen, which makes it difficult to get in and out of because the path is very restricted. A peddler seeking shelter brought us word that he saw horsemen going in and out of the glen recently. I sent men to keep a watch, and indeed there is some small activity. One of my men slipped down the glen under cover of darkness, and the house showed lights. He listened in the shadows of the stables, and heard the men there referring to ‗my lord.‘ It has to be Colby, for the house is his."

"But you cannot be certain," the king noted. "Could he have sold the house?"

"Who would buy it?" the laird wanted to know. "It is small, isolated, difficult to reach. He saw to its building himself, I have learned. Took a wee bit of unclaimed land, and built a house, barns, and pens for the very purpose for which he used it: He assumed he could creep back to Devil‘s Glen and we would not be the wiser. And we wouldn‘t have been, my lord, but that the peddler saw the comings and goings. We did not burn it the night we sought out the women Colby had stolen from Cleit village. But this time we shall burn it to the ground so that the English fox does not have his den to return to if he manages to escape us."

"If we go early," Ellen said quietly, "we shall not have the advantage."

The laird looked briefly puzzled, and then he smiled. "You are thinking of the limited width of the path through the glen," he said.

"Aye," Ellen responded. "If but one or two men can work their way down the track at a time, how can you surprise him? Will he not notice your men coming out of the glen into the open area before his house where the glen widens and ends? And how long will it take all your men to reach the clearing before the house?"

"I had thought that we would gallop down the glen to the house," the laird said.

"Would it not be better to depart earlier so we could get down the trail into the glen before the sun rose?" Ellen asked her husband. "We could slay those sleeping in the barn and the stable quickly and easily, leaving only Colby and whoever is in the house with him to dispose of when we break into it. Galloping is noisy, and they could block the entry to the glen‘s clearing before all your men got through."

"By God‘s blood!" the king swore softly. "Your wife is a strategist, Duffdour. And a damned good one, I believe. How, my bonny, did you learn such things, and how can you speak of slaying sleeping men so coolly and easily?"

"My lord, remember where I was raised. In the Highlands we do not waste time or men when we feud. I learned much listening to the men in my grandsire‘s hall plan raids or speak of raids past.

The element of surprise is crucial if one is to keep casualties low, or even nonexistent," Ellen told them.

"And you would slay all those with Sir Roger?" the king asked her quietly.

"If there are no witnesses, my lord, who is to testify to what happened?" Ellen asked him softly.

"Besides, they are not Scots. If you took Colby captive he would, under the right circumstances, betray his own king. Do you think Henry Tudor wants to be accused publicly of causing the murder of another king? Of Scotland‘s king? What would that do to the reputation he attempts to forge among his fellow kings?"

"Most of whom have undoubtedly done murder for hire themselves," James Stewart said dryly.

"You are a fierce woman, my bonny, which surprises me, for I have known you only as a wee lass and friend whom I sheltered and then rescued."

"Do you really want that pretender you shelter on England‘s throne, my lord? And if you put him there, how long do you think he would remain? Would you be obliged to go to his defense if he faltered? Of course you would, having put him there. Has this fellow not cost your treasury enough as it is? His upkeep still costs you. And then too, there are other Yorkist contenders for England‘s throne with even better claims than any of King Edward‘s sons would have had were they alive."

James Stewart laughed softly. "So you believe Adair, my bonny, do you?"

"Why would Adair lie, my lord? There is no gain in it for her. She is far too proud of her own blood to allow a fraud upon England‘s throne, or even to displace her half sister, no matter the hurt that one gave her," Ellen said. "You know she tells the truth, for you are a man who understands people well."

The king smiled at her. "Aye, my cousin Adair speaks true," he said, "but you know why I do what I do, my bonny."

Ellen nodded. "Perhaps one day you will tell me the whole truth of the matter, for I will admit to being frankly curious as to who this pretender really is, my lord."

The young king looked thoughtful for several long moments, and then, reaching out, he took Ellen‘s hand in his. "Aye, I will tell you, my bonny. I will tell you to relieve my scruples, and so that I need not confess it to the priests, for I have enough on my conscience, I fear. But not today," he said. Then he turned to the laird of Duffdour. "Let us not go tomorrow, but tomorrow night," he said. "The horses and the men will be better rested for the delay, and I like your wife‘s idea of entering the glen under cover of darkness, dispatching those we can find, and then waiting till dawn to bring Colby to the justice that he deserves."

"It will be as Your Majesty decides," Duncan Armstrong said.

Duffdour had its own harper, an elderly man with a sweet voice. When the meal had been concluded the harper played and sang for them. Sim saw that the clansmen were bedded down comfortably in the barns and stable, while Ellen saw that Hercules Hepburn was given a bed space in the hall, and the king was settled in a small guest chamber. Knowing his appetites, Ellen sent him a pretty serving girl she knew was not a virgin. In the morning the girl was filled with praise for the monarch, and proudly displayed the silver penny he had given her.

"Not one of his da‘s useless old black pennies," the girl said, "but true silver!"

"How shall you spend it?" Lizzie, the cook, asked her.

"Spend it? Never!" the girl declared. "I‘ll drill a hole in it and put it on a ribbon about my neck for all to see, and when they ask about it I will tell them proudly that the king gave it to me, for he said I futtered him nicely."

"You‘ll more than likely have it stolen," the cook said tartly, turning back to her pots, which were already bubbling with the main meal of the day. "Get into the pantry now, lass, for there is work there for you to do."

"I thought I could serve in the hall," the girl said.

"You‘ve done all the serving you‘ll do today," the cook replied, and the other serving girls scattered about the kitchen giggled. "Get along with you now, lass. There is a pile of rabbits in need of skinning."

The day was yet cold, but clear. There was a sense of spring despite the patches of snow still visible on the far hills. The men in the hall were quiet and took their ease, playing at dice and talking in low tones. They could not be certain what tomorrow would bring, or if they would survive it. The Duffdour cook had seen that they ate well the day long. Come early evening most of the men had returned to the stable and barns to sleep.

The previous night Ellen had slept with her husband, but she had undressed quickly and gotten into bed, turning her back to him in a way that told him she was not to be trifled with by her husband. He was disappointed, but considered that she had spent several days riding down into the border from Linlithgow. This night, however, he was in no mood to be denied his wife‘s company, and Ellen sensed the change in his attitude.

"You should not wear yourself out, husband," she advised him as, seated upon the edge of their bed, she brushed her long red-gold hair.

He took the brush from her and, seating himself next to her, slowly ran it through her silken locks. "I have always thought that you have the most beautiful hair, wife," he said. He skimmed the brush down the thick, heavy swath of her tresses. "I have missed seeing it, feeling the softness of it." He took a single strand and brought it to his lips. "But most of all, Ellen, my wife, I have missed you." He laid the brush aside and, pushing her hair from the nape of her neck, placed a kiss upon the bared flesh.

Ellen sighed. She hadn‘t meant to do so, for she was still half-angry with him.

"Did you miss me?" the laird asked, and then his tongue traced the outline of her ear as his supple fingers unlaced her chemise.

Ellen leaned back against him, knowing she was helpless to deny him. "Aye," she admitted softly. "I had grown used to you next to me in our bed."

He pushed the chemise from her shoulders, and it puddled about her waist as his hands cupped her two round breasts. The soft yet firm globes fit within his open palms perfectly. Gently his fingers squeezed the two breasts, leaving faint marks on her milky white skin. "So perfect," he murmured in her ear, and his teeth nipped at the lobe. His thumbs circled the nipples, slowly teasing them. He watched as the nipples puckered like frosted flower buds, growing dark and tight.

He bent to press several small, hot kisses upon her graceful shoulder. Then his tongue licked up the side of her slender neck, and he turned her head just slightly so he might nibble at her sensuous lips. His mouth worked against hers, kissing hungrily, and then his tongue darted past her teeth to take issue with her tongue. She moaned softly against his lips, her initial reluctance evaporating under his skilled attack.

Ellen felt her heart beating a fierce tattoo. It had been so long since she had lain warm and replete in his arms. There had been only hurried couplings since her return from Colby Castle, and then suddenly they were forced to court, and as suddenly Duncan was gone from her again back to Duffdour. He was her husband, and the plain truth was that despite the hurtful suspicions that lingered deep within him regarding her kidnapping and the months that followed, she loved him. And she knew that he loved her. There were no doubts in her mind about that. Would the uncertainty he had felt ever since Ian Johnston‘s hurtful lies ever disappear? Ellen didn‘t know the answer to that, but at this moment she didn‘t care.

Turning in his embrace, she took his head between her two small hands and kissed him again. "I love you, Duncan Armstrong," she said softly. "I will always love you."

His strong arms wrapped about her tightly, and he buried his face in her long hair. "Forgive me,"

he groaned. "His words haunt me, though I know better. You would not lie to me, wife. Yet I cannot help myself. I keep seeing this shadowy figure ravishing you, and my anger and jealously know no bounds. Since I cannot take my anger out on Colby, I have taken it out on you, Ellen, my love. I am sorry."

Ellen would not allow Colby or the now-damned Ian Johnston to destroy her marriage to Duncan Armstrong. She would not let them break his heart. "Erase such thoughts by ravishing me yourself, husband," Ellen said to him. "Love me as you previously have, and let us create another son for Duffdour." Lying back, she drew him down into her arms. "I love you, Duncan," she told him quietly. "You have no need to be jealous, my lord. I swear on my life that you have not. You are the love of my life. My only love."

"God‘s blood, I have missed you, wife!" he cried. He kissed her almost frantically, and she kissed him back as eagerly. But then he ceased as suddenly as he had begun looking down into her face. "We must not be greedy, wife," he told her.

Ellen laughed, low. "Nay, husband, we must not. We must go slowly."

"Sweetly," he agreed, and he moved his big body so that he lay on his side, observing her as a man might contemplate a particularly delicious meal that had been set before him. "Hmmmm,"

he said. "Where to begin? Where to begin?"

"A bit of breast, perhaps, my lord?" Ellen suggested, and she lifted one up to him. "You will find them quite tender and delicious."

"Indeed," he replied, leaning forward to lick at the flesh she was offering him.

"Oh! That is quite nice," Ellen told him.

"I want more," he said, pushing her flat onto her back, his dark head lowering, his mouth closing over a nipple. He tugged upon the sentient nub. Then he tugged harder.