The Border Lord's Bride (52 page)

"As for me, my lord, I take it quite badly that you would seek my life. We have no other choice, I fear, but to settle this matter between us here and now. Give him a weapon," James Stewart ordered to no one in particular.

"My lord!" Hercules Hepburn burst forth, "you cannot fight this man yourself! You are

Scotland‘s king. You have no legitimate heir to follow you."

"Hepburn is right, my lord," Conal Bruce said. "Any one of us would be happy to take on this small task for you."

"If anyone is going to fight this bastard, it will be me!" Duncan Armstrong declared. "He stole my wife, held her captive for weeks, abused her. It is my right, my lord, to have satisfaction of this Englishman."

"My lords, I thank you," the king told them. "But this man would kill me. I think ‘tis my right that is the greater. Give him a sword," James Stewart repeated.

Ellen stood frozen with shock as Sir Roger was handed a sword. What if the dastard killed the king? She wanted to scream her protest, but no sound would issue forth from her throat. Next to her Evina whimpered, genuinely frightened by what was happening about them. Ellen turned on her furiously. "Shut your mouth!" she hissed.

Sir Roger Colby was handed a sword. The clansmen formed a large circle about the two men, who slowly began to circle each other, their weapons clutched in both hands above their heads.

Colby struck first, but the king was younger, more agile. He dodged the blow, laughing, and swung his own broadsword to deliver a deep cut to Sir Roger‘s right arm.

"You need to be quicker, Colby," he said as his weapon cut his opponent a second time on the left arm, in almost the exact same place. "As you see, my lords, I have wounded both of his arms, now rendering them weaker. And given the at least fifteen years he has on me, this dispute shouldn‘t last long." The king dodged a blow aimed at his shoulder. "You must be quicker, Colby," he taunted the man.

"And you not so arrogant," the Englishman replied as his weapon made contact with the king‘s.

"God‘s blood!" Colby swore angrily when the king‘s blade blocked him. Then he said, "If I kill you, your men will certainly slay me. This is not a fair fight to begin with, is it?"

"Of course, you will die this day one way or another," the king replied pleasantly. "Is not that why we are here? To kill you so you do not kill me."

The men forming the circle, their arms stretched out wide to hold their formation, swayed back and forth with each move that the two combatants made. Metal clanged loudly against metal. At one point sparks actually flew off the blades as the king and his opponent delivered blow after blow against each other. They were very well matched.

"Not as easy as you thought, done fairly," the king remarked. "Poison is a woman‘s weapon," he said scornfully. "Or a Florentine‘s."

"I‘ll wager Johnston did not die well," Colby returned. He was becoming winded.

"He did not," the king agreed. He was just feeling warmed up.

"Will you?" Sir Roger asked mockingly, dancing about, his sword making circles above his head as he rotated it threateningly.

"‘Tis not my time," James Stewart said as he began to move closer to his quarry.

"And how do you know that?" Colby demanded with a sneer.

"Because I have the eye," James Stewart responded. "Everyone knows that I have the eye." Then he swung his sword, cutting deeply and cruelly across Sir Roger‘s torso, thrusting his blade up hard, withdrawing it swiftly.

They all watched silently as the line of the slice blossomed with scarlet, and Sir Roger‘s shirt was stained with his blood quickly bubbling up and dripping upon the stone floor of the hall.

The Englishman‘s sword fell from his hands as he dropped to his knees. Some of his guts were beginning to ooze forth from the mortal wound the king had given him. His hands clutched at his middle, attempting to push his innards back into his injured body, but they did not seem to want to go. Sir Roger fell over onto his side, and then slowly rolled onto his back. "At least I die with honor. ‘Tis better than I deserve, I think," he said self-deprecatingly. Then he coughed, and a trickle of blood drizzled from the side of his mouth. His eyes were half closed, his breath labored and harsh.

The king had lowered his weapon now. The hall was quiet but for the harsh breathing of the dying man, the frightened whimpering of the whore. Ellen, who had been part of the circle surrounding the combatants, stood quietly, watching the life drain from Sir Roger Colby. Oddly, she felt nothing. Not the relief she had expected. Not satisfaction. Not sadness. It was as if she stood completely apart from everything that was happening.

And then Duncan Armstrong came and knelt by the Englishman. "Did you," he asked in a voice heard by all in the hall, "fuck my wife?"

Ellen gasped and grew pale with her shock.

The Englishman forced his eyes open to meet the fierce look of the laird of Duffdour. No one in the hall made a sound as they strained to hear the dying man‘s answer. "Nay," Sir Roger Colby said in a firm, hard voice, marshaling the very last of his strength. "The damned vixen outwitted me, I am ashamed to say." With great effort he turned his head to find Ellen again, and when he did his gaze met hers mockingly, and he smiled the cruel smile she well remembered. "Did you not, madam?" And then his body was racked by a great shudder, his head fell to one side, and he died.

The hall was now enveloped in a deep silence. The laird of Duffdour arose and went to his wife‘s side. "Wife," he began.

"Do not dare to address me," Ellen said, her voice shaking as she strugged to control her anger.

"How dare you hold me up to public shame, Duncan Armstrong! I told you what happened while I was held captive by Sir Roger Colby. You said you believed me, but you did not, did you? You did not trust me! How can I ever forgive you for this?"

"He had to ask, my bonny," the king said. "Any man would have."

Ellen rounded on James Stewart. "Nay, he did not have to ask! I told him what had happened while I was in Colby‘s custody. But from the moment Ian Johnston spewed his evil lies there was doubt in my husband‘s mind. Another man, a stranger, was to be believed before a woman, his wife, was to be believed." She turned to Duncan. "Did I ask you about the women you fucked before we were wed, my lord? Was I not a virgin on our wedding night? Have I ever given you any reason to believe that I would be unfaithful to you, or you to me? Did I ever ask you if you fucked this little slut?" Ellen pointed to Evina.

"I offered, but he wouldn‘t have me," Evina said matter-of-factly.

A ripple of laughter greeted Evina‘s words.

Ellen glared at them all. Then she pointed a finger at Hercules Hepburn. "You," she said, "will escort me back out of the glen to where my husband‘s six men wait. And they will escort me home." Then she stalked from the hall without another word, and at a nod from the king, Hercules Hepburn quickly followed her.

Duncan Armstrong moved to go after his wife, but the king said, "Let her ride off her temper, my lord. You will have plenty of time to work out this thorny problem you have created for yourself.

What in the name of all that is holy made you ask Colby such a question? What if he had confirmed Ian Johnston‘s words? Sometimes it is better to accept what we are told, and ignore the rest."

"I could not help myself," the laird said, low. "Even as I spoke the words I knew I could destroy my marriage, but I had to know from Colby himself. I did believe Ellen, but then Johnston‘s words put the seed of doubt within me, and that doubt grew even though my common sense told me I was mad even to consider such a thing."

"Aye, you‘re mad. Mad with love for the little red-haired wench," James Stewart said. "And you‘re a fool, Duncan Armstrong. If you love a woman, you must believe what she tells you, especially if she has never given you any reason to doubt her."

"I know! I know!" the laird said brokenly. "Now what am I to do? She will never forgive me, I fear."

"Aye, she‘ll forgive you." The king chuckled. "But not for some time, I suspect. She will want to make certain you have learned your lesson before she does. But for now we have other things to do." He turned to the clansmen. "Fire the house," he said.

"What about the body of the Englishman?" Conal Bruce of Cleit asked the king.

"Let it burn with the house," the king replied. "And we‘ll remain until the fire is out, and we‘ll rake the ashes cold. No one will use this house again."

"My lord, you sustained a slight wound," a clansman said to the king. "It should be treated and bound up."

"It‘s naught but a scratch," James Stewart replied. "I‘ll have it tended to when we return to Duffdour."

"What about them?" Conal Bruce said, his head jerking to indicate the two men at arms who had been in the house when they took it.

"Give them a horse apiece, and send them on their way," the king said.

"And the whore?" Conal Bruce asked looking to Evina.

The king turned his head toward the girl. She made a feeble attempt to flirt with him from the corner where she stood. "By the time we‘ve burned the house and the barns, and made certain not to set the moor afire, ‘twill be day‘s end," the king said thoughtfully. "We‘ll camp here until the morrow. I have no wish to travel again in the darkness. We‘ll go back to Duffdour in the daylight. Let the girl stay, earn a few coins, and amuse the men. Tomorrow when we leave she can be sent on her way. We‘ll give her a horse for her troubles. And as for you, Duncan Armstrong, you are better letting your wife get over her pique before you go home again." The king laughed.

James Stewart‘s orders were carried out. The livestock belonging to the house, which consisted of horses, two cows, several chickens, and geese, were removed from their enclosures and penned outside. The barns and the house were set ablaze. The two men at arms who had been spared by the king were more than aware of their good fortune when they were taken into the barn to get their promised horses. They looked nervously at their dead companions, and hurriedly saddled their animals, leading them quickly out of the barn to mount up and ride away without ever turning about. Both men knew without even voicing it that only chance had saved them when Sir Roger had chosen them to guard his door last night. They rode for Colby Castle to tell Rafe, their sergeant, that the last of the Colbys was now dead and in hell.

Behind them the barns that had once held the pilfered livestock belonging to the Scots borderers began to burn. The king had allowed the clansmen to pillage whatever they could carry from the house. There had been little, for the house had been nothing more than a hidey-hole for Sir Roger and the English borderers. Duncan Armstrong was given the two milk cows, for Duffdour was the closest of their homes, and milk cows did not travel great distances well. The hens and the geese were killed and roasted for the clansmen‘s supper. The horses would be divided among Conal Bruce, Robert Ferguson, and Hercules Hepburn. It was hardly booty worthy of a

successful raiding party, but Sir Roger Colby was dead, and that had been, after all, why they had come. The king was no longer in danger from this particular Englishman.

By day‘s end the structures that had stood in Devil‘s Glen were gone, burned to a pile of gray ashes. There was no evidence of bodies remaining, as they had been incinerated along with the buildings. Although they remained the night, their campfires burning brightly, hardly any of the men slept well. This was surely a haunted place now, but they had been safer in this hidden dale than they would have been out on the open moor. It was nonetheless with relief that they rode out at the first sign of light the following day. Halfway through the morning, Robert Ferguson and his men bade the king farewell, riding off in another direction. And at midday Conal Bruce and his clansmen left them, riding for Cleit. Afterward they saw several small parties of riders as they rode along, but as no one seemed to be of a mind to stop, they could not tell if they were English borderers or Scots. But so much daylight activity caused the king to comment that he suspected that the spring would be very active here in the borderlands, and Duncan Armstrong agreed. Finally in late afternoon they reached Duffdour. Its gates were closed, as they should be, and only when the laird was identified did they slowly swing open to allow him and his party admittance.

They dismounted and entered the house, going directly to the hall, where a domestic and calm scene greeted them. Ellen sat by her tapestry frame, working diligently. Little Willie toddled about the chamber under the watchful eye of his nursemaid, Laria. The servants were setting the high board for the evening meal.

Ellen arose and came forward to greet them. "Welcome back to Duffdour, my lord," she said to the king. "If you are up to a game of chess after the meal I shall be delighted to oblige you." She smiled mischievously. Then she glanced at the laird.

"Sir," was all she said, and her voice had taken on a chill.

The meal was served: a lovely hot pottage of vegetables, roasted rabbit, trout with a dill sauce, bread, and cheese. And afterward the last of the autumn apples was brought forth, baked with cinnamon and honey, to be served with heavy cream. Knowing the young king had a sweet tooth, Ellen had seen to this special treat. The hall emptied early, for the laird‘s men were tired, as were the Hepburn clansmen. At Ellen‘s request Sim brought forth the small gaming table, setting it before one of the hearths so they would be comfortable. Ellen fetched the chess set and placed the pieces neatly upon the game board. Then she and the king sat down to play.

The laird amused himself playing with his son, who was now a year old. It was like looking into a mirror, he thought. The lad did look like him but for Ellen‘s red-gold hair. He wanted more bairns, and wondered if that passionate night they had recently spent together had proved fruitful.

If not, he could tell it would be a while before he got another chance to father a bairn on his wife, for it was obvious she was still very angry at him, and he didn‘t blame her. What devil had tempted him to kneel next to the dying Englishman and ask him whether he had fucked Ellen?