Who was he to be married to a cousin of Scotland’s king and the half sister of England’s queen? He was nothing more than a simple border lord. Was Adair really happy with him when even she must be aware that she could do better? Perhaps he should let her go, and have their union annulled. But he couldn’t let her go, for he really did love her, and life at Cleit without his honey love would be miserable.
Conal Bruce was not unhappy to bid Robert Lynbridge farewell the following morning. He noted that his wife was cordial, but not particularly warm toward the Englishman. “Do you wish you were riding out with him, and home to England? To Stanton?” he asked her low.
Adair looked up at him with those wonderful violet eyes of hers. “Sometimes, Conal, you can be a dunder-head. Like now,” she said. “Cleit is my home, and always will be. Now, I have more important things to consider, like a new gown or two for New Year’s at Hailes. I am quite looking forward to it. It will be good to see Patrick Hepburn and the king again. And I must make certain that your clothing is respectable for our visit.” She turned and went back into the keep.
“I’ll not be dressed up like some damn Gypsy’s monkey,” he grumbled, following after her. “I’m a border lord, not some perfumed courtier.”
“Because you are a border lord doesn’t mean you have to go to Hailes looking like a ruffian or smelling like a cow byre,” she snapped back. “I intend making you a fur-trimmed gown, and you will wear it, Conal.”
He caught her hand and pulled her about. Looking down, he cupped her face between his two big hands, gazing into her eyes. “You are really happy with me?”
he asked, attempting not to sound like he was a weakling. “If you are not, if you want to return to England and regain your Stanton lands, I can send after Robert Lynbridge now, Adair. I could not bear it if you were not completely content at Cleit. I will not change, my honey love. I am what I am: a simple man. I do not seek any title but the one I have, laird of Cleit. But you are what you are: a woman with royal blood in your veins. You have held a title and lands in your own right. Cleit will never be more than what it is: a border keep with a herd of cattle and some sheep. We shall not be rich or powerful. Are you certain you can be content, be happy, with a man who has so little to offer you?”
“Do you love me, Conal?” she asked, looking up into his rough-hewn features and the stormy gray eyes with the golden flecks that stared at her so hopefully.
“Aye, I love you,” he answered her. “So much so I have discovered that if letting you go would make you happier than remaining with me, I would do it, to my sorrow. I love you, I have discovered, so much that I can actually say the words aloud. Cry them in my hall for all to hear. I love you!I love you!” Then he bent and covered her small face with what seemed to her like a hundred kisses.
She began to weep with her happiness. “Now why, Conal Bruce,” she sobbed, “would I ever leave a man like you? You are everything a woman desires in a man.
You are! I am more than content to remain the wife of a border lord. A man who will remain exactly what he is at this moment: loving, loyal, and noble to his core.”
“If you are content then why do you weep?” he begged her.
“I am crying because I am so happy!” she told him, half laughing now.
“I will never understand women!” the laird declared.
“You aren’t supposed to understand us,” Adair told him. “You are just supposed to love us! Now let me go so I may begin the tasks I need to complete before we go to Hailes at the end of December.”
Conal Bruce was relieved that Adair was satisfied to be his wife and seemed to have no regrets over her lands at Stanton. Over the next few weeks he watched as she, Elsbeth, and the other women worked on two new gowns that she would take to Hailes. And he even stood good-naturedly in his hall while they carefully fitted him for a long black velvet coat that would be both lined and trimmed in warm fur. It was a simple garment, he noted, with a deep cuff. He had nothing to complain about, much to his surprise. Even the short-skirted new doublet she sewed for him could not be called ostentatious, even with its embroidered neckline. She made him three new linen shirts, and sewed him hose in the Bruce plaid. When he saw all she had done he was touched.
“I have done what a good wife should,” she told him, and then said no more.
For herself she had made, with the help of the other women, two new gowns. Both dresses were cut with fullness from the neckline with a high waist. One was burgundy-colored velvet, and the other a deep purple that was almost black. The sleeves were long and fitted, the necklines high and square. The burgundy dress’s sleeves had fur-trimmed cuffs. The purple gown’s sleeves had embroidered cuffs that were trimmed with a narrow line of tiny pearl buttons. The hemlines were trimmed with ribbon: the burgundy with cloth of gold, and the purple with embroidery matching the gown’s cuffs.
“I imagine styles have changed, but I have no knowledge of it,” Adair said as she showed him the two garments. “They are a bit more elegant, because I felt it would do honor to the king and Patrick Hepburn. It is an honor to be invited to Hailes.”
“I’ve been to Hailes before,” he said. “ ’Tis a keep like Cleit.”
“Surely bigger,” Adair said.
“Aye, bigger,” he admitted.
“You were at Hailes when the Hepburn was a mere laird and the king a prince,” she reminded him. “It will be different now.”
He smiled at her excitement in spite of himself. If there was one thing he was not looking forward to it was a day’s ride across the winter hills to Hailes. He hoped for a serious snowstorm, but it seemed they were meant to go, for while there was rain for several days in December that lashed the keep and anyone foolish enough to venture out in it, and while there was a dusting of snow now and again, it would be possible to make the journey. And Adair had not said she was with child.
He had no excuses, and they would have to go, for Adair was correct when she said that they could not insult the king or his best friend, Patrick Hepburn, the Earl of Bothwell.
Their clothing was packed, and the trunk would be carried by a sturdy mule. Ten men at arms would accompany them. They celebrated the first of the twelve days of Christmas with a Mass in the hall. Afterward a small feast was served, and the laird presented each of his men with a silver ha’penny in appreciation of their loyalty. They were grateful, as they knew their master was not a rich man. Adair presented her women with enough cloth so each might have a new gown. And Jack was given his first knife. It had a bone handle, and he was very pleased, although Flora professed her concern that her son was not old enough for a weapon.
Murdoc had been given one of young Beiste’s first litter. He was well pleased. He had not been invited to Hailes, and so would remain behind as guardian of Cleit Keep. He was very excited at the responsibility that had been given to him, and stood in the courtyard as they prepared to depart the morning of December thirtieth.
“We’ll be back in seven days, laddie,” the laird told his youngest sibling. “Try not to get into too much trouble while we are gone. And bring Agnes up for your pleasure. Don’t spend the night away from the keep.”
Murdoc grinned. “I’m glad to have your permission,”he replied.
Conal Bruce laughed.
