The Border Lord's Bride (56 page)

"Let me, mistress," Sim said, taking the child carefully. "You‘ll work better with your two hands than just the one."

"Thank you," Ellen said as the blood washed away, revealing the extent of the child‘s wound.

The gash was long, but it was not deep. There was no dirt in it.

Laria came back into the hall. "Gunna‘s coming, mistress," she said.

"Pour a dram of the laird‘s whiskey," Ellen told the girl, "and bring it to me." When Laria had complied, Ellen drizzled the dram cup over the wound in Willie‘s head. The child whimpered again, and his mother smiled. "Good! You‘ll live," she said.

Gunna ran in carrying a small basket. "Does it need to be sewn?" she asked.

"Nay," Ellen answered her. "I think a poultice and a plaster will suffice."

"Mama!" Willie cried, his eyes suddenly flying open. "Maaaama!"

"Mama is here, Willie. You are a very naughty laddie, running away from Laria, and now you have cracked your head. But Mama will fix it."

"Mama, Mama, Mama!" the bairn wailed.

"Where is Machara?" Ellen wanted to know. "Laria, go and find her. I cannot treat my son‘s wound while he sobs and struggles." She put her arms about the little lad, cuddling him close and careful not to touch the wound. "There, my bairn, there. It‘s all right. It‘s all right."

Duncan Armstrong ran into the hall. "Is the lad alive?" he demanded to know. "And how the hell did he get away from Laria? I‘ll have her hide for this!"

"Calm yourself, my lord," Ellen advised him. "He is your son, and already adventurous. It might have been more harmful, but it wasn‘t, praise the Blessed Mother. He‘ll live to do worse, I fear."

The laird came up on the dais and looked at his son.

"Da!" Willie said, and he smiled. "My da!"

The laird took his son into his arms, holding him close.

"If you hold him like that," Ellen said quietly, "I can probably get the poultice on. The cut is shallow and will not need stitching."

"I‘ve got him," Duncan said. "Do what you must, wife."

His blue eyes met her gray-blue ones, and then he said, "I‘m sorry. I really am."

"I know," she answered him softly, and her heart felt suddenly lighter. "We need not speak on it again, my lord," Ellen told him. And then she went to work doctoring their son‘s wound. Gunna had already mixed a poultice of warm barley flour and a paste of dried figs. Ellen cut away the hair about the bairn‘s wound. Now, his father holding him, she dressed the gash with the poultice, sealing it with a small piece of clean cloth she cut to fit just beyond the ends of the wound.

Machara came into the hall. She had already learned from Laria what had happened. "Give him to me, my lord," she said to the laird. "He‘s almost done nursing, but at fifteen months he will still be comforted by my breast." She took Willie from his father and, settling herself in a chair by the hearth, she gave the bairn her plump breast, and he began to suckle her, murmuring contentedly as he did so.

The crisis was over. A servant cleaned the high board where little Willie had lain. Gunna gathered up the basket of items from the apothecary and left the hall. Another servant took away the basin and bloody clothes Ellen had used to clean the wound. And the laird took his wife by the hand. They walked out of the house, and the laird instructed one of his men to remove the loose stones that remained in the court, shaking his head slightly at the bloody stone where his son‘s head had hit.

"I want a man at the front door until the door is locked for the night," Ellen said. "We were fortunate that he only cracked his little pate. He might have fallen into the moat and drowned as he ran across the drawbridge. And who would have been there to see or hear him? ‘Tis true the drawbridge is small and the moat not very deep, but still."

"I‘ll speak with Artair and have a man posted as you wish," the laird said.

"Thank you," Ellen said, and then she began to cry. She wept great, gulping sobs, and Duncan gathered her into her arms. "We could have lost him," she said.

"But we didn‘t," he reassured her.

"You hurt me," she told him.

"Did you not just tell me we would speak on this no more?" he gently teased.

"But why did you doubt me?" she asked him.

Duncan Armstrong shook his head. "I didn‘t really, but I am a fool, Ellen. My jealousy overcame my common sense. When Ian Johnston spoke those terrible words, and his eyes glittered with malice as he died, something possessed me, ate into me. Terrible pictures came into my head. It was as if I were bewitched." His arms tightened about her. "I love you, Ellen MacArthur. I could not bear the thought of another man having you. I knew you were faithful, but those wicked words bedeviled me to the point of madness."

Ellen nodded slowly, then said, "Still, husband, we must settle something between us. I will never be unfaithful to you, and I will always speak in your best interests. You must swear to trust me above everyone else, Duncan. If it is to be good between us once again, my lord, you must promise me that."

"I do!" the laird said fervently.

"Then we are reconciled, husband," Ellen told him with a small smile, her tears now gone. "Will you give me the kiss of peace?" She lifted her small face to his.

He bent his dark head to hers, and his lips brushed softly, sweetly over hers. "We are reconciled, wife," he told her. "I do not ever want us to fight again."

"Do not be silly, my lord," Ellen said. "Of course we will fight again. But never do I want any breach between us. We will settle our arguments before we sleep."

"Agreed!" he told her with a happy smile. "I don‘t suppose you would like to sleep now?" he said mischievously.

Ellen giggled, but shook her head in the negative. "The night will come soon enough, husband."

And when it did the laird and his wife departed the hall early, while behind them Sim and the servants nodded, smiling. Whatever had been causing trouble between their master and their mistress, their son‘s accident had corrected. No one had any doubt that there would be another bairn at Duffdour within the year ahead.

In the laird‘s bedchamber the fire burned high, warming the room. Slowly, carefully, Duncan removed her simple garments, gently kissing each section of her body as he exposed it. When she stood naked before him, Ellen began to mimic his actions, stripping away the few pieces of clothing he had worn that day. Reaching up, she unlaced his shirt, opening it wide. He wore no camise beneath it, for the day had been warm. Her hands smoothed across his broad chest, and she pressed little kisses upon the warm, furred flesh. Pulling the shirt from him, she raised her face up for a kiss.

His mouth descended, taking hers tenderly. He reveled in the sweetness of her parted lips, his tongue plunging between those lips to seek out her tongue. Ellen murmured softly as their tongues found each other and entwined in a sensuous dance. Kiss blended into kiss until her nipples were tight with longing, and his cock strained against the fabric of his breeks as her fingers struggled to open them.

"My boots!" he groaned. "I‘ve got to get them off."

"Nay, I don‘t want to wait!" Ellen said fiercely, and she pushed him back so that he fell upon the bed, his legs dangling over the edge. Standing between his splayed legs, she yanked his breeks down, freeing his swollen manhood. Her fingers caressed him, wrapping about the turgid length, tightening gently until he groaned. Ellen bent over him, her tongue skimming up and down his cock with a teasing touch. Then she took him into her mouth and drew upon him, tenderly at first, the pull of her lips growing stronger until he cried out with the pure pleasure her actions engendered.

Ellen raised her head, her eyes limpid. She gazed upon him and, leaning forward, licked him from belly to throat. Her tongue tickled his nipples. She nipped sharply at them. Without a word she mounted him, letting his hungry manhood fill her hot, wet sheath. Then she rode him, slowly at first, then harder and harder. She cried out as his big hands took her breasts, crushing them, leaving the marks of his fingers upon her fair white flesh. Then his hands cupped her buttocks and squeezed them hard.

And as suddenly as she had bestridden him, he swiftly rose slightly, clutching Ellen in his arms, and put her upon her back. He took her legs and pushed them back. Then he began to fuck her strongly. Harder. Harder! Faster! Faster! Deeper and deeper.

She clawed at him wildly, keening softly until it became a scream. Her head was spinning, and she could scarce get her breath. Higher and higher he drove her, until she felt faint with the incredible pleasure he was giving her. "Duncan!" she sobbed his name, but he did not answer.

Half opening her eyes, she saw his face. It was intense, fierce, concentrated upon the passion between them. And then from deep within her Ellen felt the tremors. Felt them more strongly than she had ever felt them. I am going to die, she thought, but she didn‘t care. And as she slipped over the edge he gave a great shout, and she felt his creamy love juices pouring forth to flood her and create another bairn.

When Ellen finally came to herself again she found she was firmly cradled in her husband‘s strong arms and beneath the down coverlet. He was fully naked next to her and, turning her head slightly, she saw that his boots lay upon the floor. "Are you awake?" she asked him softly, and heard him chuckle.

"I have been but waiting for you, wife," he told her.

"Did I sleep?" she said, slightly confused.

"You swooned as we reached the peak together, sweetheart," he told her.

"Oh," she answered, not certain whether she should be embarrassed. There had been passion between them from the start, but never quite like what had just happened. It had been extremely intense. She felt herself blushing.

"I like you bold," he whispered in her ear. "And you seem to grow bolder each time we make love, wife." There was a hint of amusement as well as pride in his voice.

"I missed you," she excused herself.

He chuckled. "We made another bairn this night," he said.

"I know," she replied, and her voice was filled with happiness.

"Never quarrel with me so fiercely again, wife," he said to her.

"Never give me cause, husband," Ellen replied pertly. She snuggled harder against him. "But perhaps when my anger dissolved, the fierceness of it was channeled into my passion for you, Duncan Armstrong. I love you with all my heart."

"And I you," he responded. "And you must keep that fierceness, even if I do not anger you, Ellen MacArthur, for I do not believe either of us has ever experienced such pleasure as we have this night. Now go to sleep, my darling wife. Before the dawn I will want to bury myself in your sweetness and enjoy our passion again."

"Now, here is something we may both agree upon," Ellen told him happily.

And their happiness was complete once more. Little Willie‘s head healed, and he seemed none the worse for wear. And Ellen found she was indeed with child this time. The border raids that late summer and early autumn seemed to concentrate themselves more to the east of them, and Duffdour‘s walls and defenses were not tested. Hercules Hepburn came often to bring them the news of what was happening, and so they were well-informed, sharing their news with Conal Bruce at Cleit.

In midautumn the king came into the borders, not to hunt grouse, but to reconnoiter for another invasion of England, for King Henry was again demanding that he turn over the pretender. As the young man was worth more to James Stewart alive than dead, this he refused to do. The Spanish ambassador, Pedro de Ayala, was attempting to broker a firmer truce between England and Scotland. King Ferdinand, his master, did not like the idea of an England caught between two enemies, France and Scotland. A war among them all could force him to choose sides, which sly Ferdinand did not want to do, preferring to be everyone‘s supposed friend while actually seeing only to his own interests. And then fires appeared on the border hillsides, calling the clans to war again.

"All this fuss over a man who isn‘t really who he says he is," grumbled Ellen to her sister-in-law, Adair. She had invited the lady of Cleit and her children to stay at Duffdour while their men were with the king over the border. Cleit had not yet been fully fortified, and Duffdour was safer.

Adair, her children, and their personal servants had come gladly. And Ellen was happy for the company, especially as she was with child.

"When will the bairn be born?" Adair wanted to know.

"Probably at the end of May, the beginning of June," Ellen said. "I hope the men are back before then."

"The clans will be back by winter," Adair said. "Neither my cousin James nor the English wish to be encamped in the open come the snows. They prefer to fight their wars in comfort, which is why it is generally peaceable in the borders come winter. I just want them both back safe and uninjured. At least Murdoc is safe in his monastery."

Bits of news filtered into Duffdour. The Scots had bypassed the tower houses and small forts where the local farmers and their animals usually took shelter during a border war. They instead made directly for Norham Castle near Berwick and laid siege to it. Before this could be fully accomplished, the Earl of Surrey came north with a vast army. The Scots were forced to move quickly back over the border, lest they be caught. Basing themselves in the disputed town of Berwick, Surrey‘s forces began a series of raids in the eastern border, razing Ayton Castle as the Scots, far fewer in number, were forced to stand by helplessly. Both women at Duffdour knew the king would be furious.

And James was. It was the same old thing all over again: a border war that cost Scots lives as well as loss of property and livestock. It was vicious and bloody and useless, as it always was.

"It has to stop," the king said. "We cannot go on like this forever. Every time England and Scotland disagree the border erupts. Our people suffer." And then James Stewart sent his personal herald to the Earl of Surrey, challenging him to personal combat. The winner would take Berwick, and this current war would end. Delighted with the idea, the Earl of Surrey accepted the king of Scotland‘s offer.