The Border Lord's Bride (54 page)

"This Warbeck fellow has lived a great deal in so short a time," Ellen noted. "What happened next, and how did he end up here in Scotland?"

"Well," the king continued, "Maximillian, who succeeded Frederick the Third as Holy Roman Emperor, decided the best thing was to get the pretender out of all their kingdoms, as he had now served his purpose. But he did not wish to make this apparent publicly. So he mounted a small expedition of ships and men and sent Warbeck off to invade England. The little fleet sailed to stand off the coast of Kent, but strangely there was no popular uprising in the pretender‘s favor, and his few followers who landed were cut off by the local authorities.

"Discouraged, for he had been assured by those around him that England would rise to welcome him, he sailed for Ireland, where he met up with the Earl of Desmond in Munster. They attacked Waterford, but the attack failed. It was then that the true king fled to Scotland, and I took my turn using him to keep Henry Tudor agitated," James Stewart concluded with a small smile. "And it has cost me a pretty penny, my bonny."

"You should not have wed him to Katherine Gordon," Ellen said.

"I needed Huntley back in my camp," the king replied. "George Gordon is a good man, a fine soldier, but, God‘s blood, he is naive in many ways. How could he not know this was a fraud?

Yet he was willing to take the chance that this man who claimed to be a king was indeed a king, and if he gave his daughter in marriage to him, that she would be queen of England one day," the king said, shaking his head. "But my first concern must be for Scotland, my bonny. Gordon and his adherents were keeping me from bringing my kingdom together. I did what I did to prevent further chaos. The Earl of Huntley did not have to give his permission for his daughter to wed Perkin Warbeck, but he did."

"George Gordon gave his permission for his daughter, Katherine, to be wed to Richard, Duke of York, England‘s true king, not Perkin Warbeck," Ellen reminded the king in a soft voice. "You took advantage of his pride, my lord."

"I did indeed," James Stewart admitted.

"I remember when we came to court almost two years back to meet this man being touted as England‘s king. You told me but part of the story then, and I thought you ruthless," Ellen said.

"You called me ruthless," he corrected her with a small grin. "And at that point in time I did not know all that I have told you this night. It was after we spoke that night, after Adair was so positive that Warbeck was not her half brother Dickie, that I sent out my spies and sought for the truth of the matter."

"Aye, I did call you ruthless," she remarked. "And you said you were a Stewart king, and Stewart kings were ruthless by nature. Then you told me the tale of the first James, who had betrayed a Gordon friend by sending the woman he loved and planned to wed into the arms of another man." Ellen shook her head. "I thought it so sad. You told me then that kings are either loved or feared, but that you intended to be both. You are already well loved by your people, my dear lord. And in time, as they come to know you better, to know you as I do, I believe that you will be feared too. And that makes me sad as well, for you are a good man, Jamie Stewart."

The king reached out and took her two hands in his. "Never be afraid of me, Ellen MacArthur,"

he said, and he kissed those two little hands. "I have counselors who advise me. I have servants, a confessor, and a mistress I love. I have siblings and dozens of relatives. There are those who call me friend, but I am no fool. They call me friend because they have gained lands or other honors from me. They enjoy power and all it offers them through me. I have only one friend, my bonny, and I am holding her hands in mine now." He kissed her hands again and smiled. "But never shall anyone but you hear me admit to such a thing, Ellen MacArthur."

Ellen‘s fingers closed about the king‘s. She drew his hands to her and kissed them in return.

Looking into his blue eyes, she said, "It is nae easy being a king, Jamie, is it?" And, taking her hands back, she smiled at him.

"Nay, ‘tis not, my bonny," he told her. "And few realize it."

"What will you do now with Perkin Warbeck?" Ellen asked him.

"I will mount a final expedition into England in a few months‘ time. Perhaps the north will rise for this alleged son of York, and if it does then King Henry will be kept too busy to trouble with Scotland for a time," James Stewart said.

"And if the north of England does not rise for him?" Ellen pressed.

"I have put my private secretary to seeking out defunct titles that once belonged to the Crown. I will choose one, revive it, and offer it to Warbeck with suitable lands and a modest income. That will please the Gordons, and keep their daughter near."

"Now, there is the James Stewart I know and love," Ellen told him.

"You do not like the ruthless fellow?" he teased her.

"I do not dislike him," Ellen countered, "but I prefer the kindly man I came to know when I arrived at court from my Highland home."

The king chuckled. Then he said, "Will you tell Adair what I have told you?"

"I think not," Ellen said. "She loved her uncle and her siblings. She still feels the anguish of her half sister‘s betrayal, and King Henry‘s severe actions toward her and his permitting King Richard‘s memory to be sullied when he knew the accusations were not true. To learn that you have been so deliberate and calculating in your behavior and your actions with this fraudulent Warbeck would destroy what small faith she retains in you. And she would be very angry at first should she learn all you have told me, my dear lord. It could cause a breach between Adair and her husband, Conal Bruce. Conal is your loyal man, but if his wife gained this knowledge he would find himself caught between her anger and his king. He loves Adair, but he is an honorable man. Forced to choose he would pick his king," Ellen said quietly.

"An honorable man," the king repeated. "Much like his older brother of Duffdour, my bonny."

"I need time, my good lord," Ellen said. "I cannot say I forgive Duncan Armstrong until I am truly ready to forgive him. And he would not want me to, for he knows that I, too, have my honor."

"So what is to happen then?" James Stewart asked her.

"We will live side by side each day. I will show my husband no disrespect, for he is laird of Duffdour, and is entitled to even my good regard as such. But I will not share myself with him until I am satisfied he has learned to hold me in as high esteem as I hold him," Ellen said.

"Women, my lord, have their honor too, and Duncan besmirched mine when he knelt by Roger Colby and asked that infamous question of the dying man."

"Be as generous of spirit, Ellen MacArthur, as I know that you can be," the king said to her. "Do not keep him twisting at the end of your rope too long."

"It is Duncan who shall make that decision," Ellen replied serenely.

James Stewart arose from his chair. "I am for bed, my bonny. I shall depart on the morrow for Linlithgow."

"Sleep well, my lord," Ellen said, and watched as he walked from the hall. Turning, she looked into the fireplace, where the flames were now burning low. The days ahead, she knew, would not be easy ones. With a sigh she stood up and climbed the stairs to her own bedchamber.

Her husband lay already sleeping in their bed. She was grateful he had not lain awake in an effort to speak with her. She could not have remained calm yet. Stripping off her gown, she washed her face and hands, scrubbed her teeth, and got into the bed, turning her back to him. She would be awake before him, and down into the hall to see to the comfort of the king before he left Duffdour.

Duncan had not been asleep when she had come into the chamber, but he instinctively knew that she could not be reached by either reason or passion right now. He had seen her anger tonight, and although he had always heard that red-haired folk had fierce tempers, he had never until this day seen it in his little wife, with her sweet nature. Then he remembered the girl who had taken a knife and carved Balgair MacArthur‘s handsome face into a mask of horror. The laird of Duffdour realized that it was going to take a certain amount of time to regain his wife‘s love and respect. But he would do what he had to do, because he loved her. He smiled softly to himself in the darkness. And he knew that she loved him. It would take time. But she would eventually forgive him. Of that, Duncan Armstrong, laird of Duffdour, was certain. Closing his eyes, he slept.

Ellen awoke at the first bird twitter outside of the bedchamber windows. Rising, she washed, dressed, and hurried down into the kitchens, where Lizzie and her helpers were already taking freshly baked loaves from the oven. At the table sat a young boy and a young girl. The lad was carefully slicing the tops off of the round bread trenchers that had been baked yesterday morning and left in the pantry since then to harden. The lass seated across from him was carefully scooping the soft bread from the insides of the hard shells, leaving just enough to make the trencher leakproof, while opening the round loaf wide enough to contain the meal. The bread scooped out would be put into the stew cooked that day. Lizzie was a frugal woman and would see nothing wasted, for like all the others in her kitchen at Duffdour, she had known times of hunger.

"Good morning, mistress," she greeted Ellen.

"The king and his party are leaving this morning," Ellen reminded all within hearing.

"Everything has been prepared?"

"Indeed, mistress, everything is in good order," Lizzie reported proudly. "The oatcakes were baked yesterday so they would be firm today and not crumble in the men‘s pouches. I‘ve roasted a nice plump rabbit for the king to dine on when they stop to rest the horses. The oat porridge is cooking now for breakfast. There will be hard-boiled eggs, fresh bread, butter, and cheese for the men. I‘ll have ham, and lovely eggs poached in cream with nutmeg for the high board, along with bread, butter, and cheese."

"Thank you, Lizzie," Ellen told the cook. "It is good to know I can count upon you and your helpers. Be certain there is both ale and cider for the trestles." Then she hurried from the warm kitchens and up into the hall, where the servants were already setting up the trestles needed, along with the benches. The fires in the hearths were burning high, taking the night chill from the room.

The men began streaming into the hall just as it appeared the sun was about to rise. The servants began coming up from the kitchens with the trenchers of hot oat porridge, placing them before each man. The bread, butter, and cheese were set out. Two serving girls with pitchers filled the wooden cups. A servant came to tell Ellen that the king would be arriving at any moment. Ellen sent the man to the kitchens to see that the food for the high board was brought up immediately, and then to the stables with instructions to see that the horses were saddled and ready for the king‘s departure.

"Good morning, wife," Duncan Armstrong said to Ellen. He smiled down at her, thinking she was the most adorable of females, even when she was angry at him. I am besotted, he

considered. A fool enamored of his wife.

Ellen turned. "Good morning, my lord," she greeted him. But she did not smile.

"You slept well?" he inquired politely. Of course she had, and he knew it, for he had wakened on and off the night long, unable to find peace, while Ellen slept deeply.

"Actually I did. My conscience, you see, is a clear one," Ellen answered him pertly. "Now, excuse me, for I must greet the king, who has just entered the hall." She turned away from him and, going to James Stewart, curtsied. "Good morning, my lord. I hope your night was a restful one. The meal is ready, and the horses are being saddled as I speak. I have some small provisions for you and your men for your day‘s ride."

"Good morning, my bonny!" the king said jovially. "Aye, we‘ll make for Hailes today. My Meg will be awaiting us, and right glad will I be to see her."

The king, the laird, and his wife sat themselves at the high board with Hercules Hepburn, who had joined them.

"Poached eggs in cream sauce!" the king enthused. "Meg‘s sister‘s cook adds marsala wine to hers." He helped himself to a generous portion.

"I regret we have no marsala," Ellen said, "but the sauce is dusted with freshly ground nutmeg.

Ours is but a simple kitchen, my lord."

"I shall see that you are sent a cask of marsala," the king replied. "I know you have tasted it, for my aunt has a taste for marsala wine." He chuckled.

"I remember," Ellen responded, dimpling. "She said it helped her sleep."

The king turned to the laird. "Your border hospitality, my lord, is always most welcoming. And I am relieved to see you are well prepared for any English incursion."

"We here in the west will see some fighting," the laird said, "but we border on Cumbria, a region as wild as our own. ‘Tis the eastern borders that will suffer the worst."

The king nodded, as did Hercules Hepburn. "I will make one more incursion on behalf of Katherine Gordon‘s husband," he told the laird. "I know when I call that I can count upon you and your clansmen to join me."

"We will be there, my lord," the laird said.

When the king had finished his meal he was escorted by his host and hostess outside, where the horses were waiting. His men were already mounted and ready to go. Hercules Hepburn thanked Ellen and the laird for their kind hospitality. James Stewart shook the laird of Duffdour‘s hand in friendship. He kissed Ellen on both of her cheeks. Then, mounting his horse, he led his men from Duffdour‘s courtyard and through its gates.

The laird and his wife watched until their guests were well onto the border track that they would follow. It was then that Ellen rounded on her husband furiously.

"What do you mean, you will join the king on another of his futile incursions into England for that fraud with whom he has been torturing the English king?"

"Is he truly a fraud?" Duncan asked her. "And keep your voice down, woman!"

"Aye, he is, and James Stewart knows it," Ellen said.

"If the king calls I must go," the laird told his wife. "You know I must go."