“I will give you a child after Midsummer Day,” Cicely told him, smiling. “Does that please you, my lord of Glengorm?”
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her heartily, and their clanfolk cheered even louder. “A son!” he said to them. “I shall have a son!”
“A baby,” Cicely corrected him. “Only God knows if we are to be blessed with a son, my lord.”
“It will be a lad,” Kier told her firmly. “God will surely not deny the Douglases.” Then, bending down, he whispered to her, “Thank you, madam.”
“It seems I can deny you little these days,” Cicely teased him, silently reminding him of the passion they shared daily. “Remember that I like you, my lord.”
And Kier Douglas laughed. “Nay, madam, youloveme!” he told her boldly.
“Aye,” she surprised them both by saying, “I do love you, though why, I do not know. You are arrogant and difficult, yet you have charm, Kier Douglas. But you love me as well, my lord, though you will not say it.”
He flushed. “Ilikeyou,” he told her. She would not weaken him. No woman would ever weaken him again. And to admit to loving a woman was a dangerous weakness no man could afford.
Cicely laughed up into his eyes, but her heart hurt. She had admitted her love for him, but he could not admit his for her.But you will one day,she thought silently.
January came. The snows piled up on the hillsides and around the house. The livestock spent some of the time in outdoor pens, but mostly remained safe in the barns. Kier Douglas was not of a mind to lose any of his animals. On St. Agnes’ Eve all the young women of the house looked deep into a small mirror belonging to their mistress, and then walked backwards to their pallets, for legend said if they did that they would dream of their true love that night.
February came and the ewes began lactating almost immediately in preparation for the birth of their lambs. Cicely distributed a goodly supply of fine beeswax candles on the second day of the month to Father Ambrose, walking down to the village church with Orva, each woman carrying a basket containing the tapers and larger lights. Cicely now had a belly, and Ambrose blessed her belly, which brought tears to her eyes.
“He wants a son so desperately,” Cicely told the priest. “I hope I do not disappoint him. Ian, God assoil him, did not care, but Kier does care.”
“He wants a son for Glengorm,” Ambrose responded. “It is a natural desire with all men, no matter their status. A son carries on your name and gives you immortality of a kind. You will not repeat that, however, for it does not hold with Church doctrine,” the priest said with a small smile upon his lips.
Cicely returned his smile. “I will not repeat it, Ambrose. You are very learned for a cleric in a border village.”
“I had the good fortune to study in France for a time. ’Twas where I took my holy orders, Cicely,” the priest told her. “Then I came home shriven and shorn, to my sire’s outrage.” He chuckled. “I disappointedhim greatly, for in my youth I showed a predilection for wenching even as he did. Still, he loved me well, built me this wee church, and saw that I had a living. I should not want to be anyplace but Glengorm.”
“Neither do I now, though if you had asked me three years ago I should have made mock of anyone who would have told me I would come to love a little Scots border village, and be content to be the lady of the manor,” Cicely said.
“You feel well?” he asked her gently.
“Aye, I do,” she answered him.
“And you have truly come to love him, as you declared on Christ’s Mass?”
Cicely nodded. “ ’Tis odd, but aye, I do, and I know he loves me, though he will not admit to it.”
Ambrose Douglas smiled and nodded. “He’s a stubborn man, my daughter.”
Cicely laughed aloud. “Aye, he is stubborn,” she agreed.
March came, and it seemed the spring would come earlier than later this year. The snows began to fade from the hillsides. The puddles were no longer freezing over at night, and snowdrops bloomed by the kitchen door. Cicely and Orva removed the dressing of hay they had put on the little herb garden last October. They loosened the soil gently, and left it to the open air. And after several days the plants began to show signs of life again, small nubs of green beginning to peek through woody stems and through the soil itself at the base of the plants. The winds blew daily, but they were not so sharp as they had been in January. At the end of the month they celebrated little Johanna Douglas’s first year of life. She had been born a healthy infant, and she remained one. She now tottered about the hall on surer legs, and spoke several words,Dabeing her favorite, and when she addressed Cicely, Johanna would say, “Ma.” Orva was “O” and Mab had been christened Abby. The old cook’s face lit up each time Johanna addressed her.
April arrived. Two of the house cats dropped litters of kittens in the dim recesses of the cattle barn. One of the deerhounds birthed three puppies—all male, to Kier’s delight, for when the pups were grown he would have a strong pack of dogs to hunt with him. By mid-month the snows were entirely gone. The hillsides were green again, with bursts of color here and there indicating groups of spring flowers. The sheep were once more in their near meadow, the lambs born in February now gamboling through the grass as the shepherds and their dogs watched over the flocks.
It was May now. The few fields that could be tilled had been, and were planted with barley, oats, and hay. The cattle and sheep had been driven to their summer pastures. And word came that the king was considering an expedition into the north, for the MacDonald and the Highland chieftains had still not rendered the king their fealty. Kier trained his men daily but for Sunday. When the time came Glengorm would be ready to march north with James. Whether their laird came with them would depend upon the lady. If she birthed a son he would be free to go. If not he would have to remain while his clansmen rode with Sir William. The fields were green and high as the month ended.
Cicely could never, ever recall being as uncomfortable as she was now. Her belly was enormous, and she could scarce waddle about as June began. Her temper was volatile at best. But each day she walked from the house down the hill into the village, and strolled along the loch. The waters seemed to soothe her. One day, however, as Cicely returned from the little shale beach, she saw a large sow rooting along the edge of the lane. She stopped and stared at the great creature. Then she burst into fulsome tears. Her sobs brought several of the women from their cottages to gather about Cicely protectively.
“My lady!” Mary Douglas exclaimed. “Are you in pain? Should we call for Agnes to come?”
Cicely shook her head as she continued weeping.
“What is the matter?” Marion Douglas asked her sister-in-law.
“Perhaps the demon inside of the witch is hurting her.” Bethia cackled.
