“He has land, a house, livestock, and powerful kinsmen who would keep me safe,” Cicely answered.
“But does he love you? Or does he love your influence with the queen, and your dower portion? My brother tells me you are an heiress.”
Cicely smiled. “Nay, no heiress, my lord, but my dower portion is substantial.”
“I love you,” Ian Douglas said. “I stole you away so you might know and come to love me. I could not do that at court with all the damned Gordons hovering over you.”
“How can you love me? You don’t know me,” Cicely protested. But had not James Stewart fallen in love at first sight with her friend Joan Beaufort? But that had been different, hadn’t it? And Joan hadn’t fallen in love at first sight with James Stewart. She had gotten to know him, and as she had her love had bloomed. But this was quite different. She and James Stewart had much in common. Both were royal. Both were educated, and could speak with each other on a variety of subjects. The sameness that they shared had bonded them.
But this was unlike the king and Jo, Cicely thought. She was the daughter of an earl. She had been raised with a girl who became a queen. She was a queen’s friend and companion. This border lord was an ill-mannered rustic. She had absolutely nothing in common with him at all. Could he even read or write? Speak French? Write poetry?
How could they possibly have anything in common? He had spent his entire life on the border. She knew about the border lords. The Gordons had little use for them. Brigands and battlers, they called them. And Ian Douglas had certainly proved them correct when he had kidnapped her from Mistress Marjory’s shop several days ago.
“There is nothing you could possibly do that would make me love you, my lord,” Cicely told him. “If you will take me back to Perth I will ask that this entire matter be forgotten, and no punishment will fall upon you or your folk for this ill-advised adventure you have taken upon yourself. Please, my lord. You cannot love me, and love has little to do with a good match, which you certainly must know.”
“And yet the king loves the queen, and you have said your own father loved your mother,” he reminded her. “Douglases are every bit as good as Gordons, ladyfaire. I have more land than your Gordon. I have livestock aplenty. My house is sound. I can offer you as much as, if not more than, Andrew Gordon.”
“Aye, I am certain you speak truth, my lord, but you cannot offer me the one thing that Andrew Gordon can,” Cicely told him.
“What is that?” the laird wanted to know. “What can he give you that I cannot?”
“Companionship, my lord. Like me, he has been educated. We have certain likes in common. I think you cannot read, nor even write the letters of your own name, my lord. What could you possibly speak of to me? Would you recite me poetry?”
“Poetry?” He looked surprised. “Why would you want me to spout poetry to you, ladyfaire? I don’t want to rhyme with you. I want to make a life with you, share children with you, make love to you.”
Cicely blushed at this intimate declaration. Then she said, “But I want to do none of these things with you, my lord. I don’t know you.”
“You will after we have spent some time together,” he told her pleasantly. “And when you know me you will not seek to leave me. You will be happy to spend your life here at Glengorm as my wife. Now, the first thing you need to know about me is that I both read and write, ladyfaire. And I can recite my church Latin at the mass. As for French, I have no use for it, so why would I waste my time learning it? I do keep my own accounts. A man who cannot keep his ownaccounts will end up being cheated. Are you warmer now? The fire seems to have caught nicely.”
She was frankly surprised. “Oh, I beg your pardon for thinking you totally ignorant,” Cicely said.
“Now I have learned something about you, ladyfaire. You are not afraid to admit a fault, and you have pretty manners. I hope you will teach those assets to our bairns.”
“Ohhh, you are the most impossibly stubborn man!” Cicely cried.
“Aye, and now you have learned something about me,” he replied with a grin.
Chapter 6
“The watch! Call the watch!”an apprentice cried, running from the lace-and-ribbon shop. “My mistress has been attacked! Help! Help!”
Orva stepped from Master George’s shop, where she had just purchased a supply of lavender oil and balm. People ran past her and, looking down the lane, she saw a crowd beginning to form about Mistress Marjory’s place of business. She hurried down the little street, pushing through the curious onlookers. “Get away from our horses!” she said to several men, shooing them with her free hand. “You are startling them, and if they bolt the queen will be most displeased. “You!Boy! What are you howling about? Where is my lady? Where is Lady Cicely?” She pushed the apprentice back into the main room of the shop. “What is this all about?”
“My mistress has been attacked!” the boy said, looking terrified.
“And my mistress, lad?”
“She was not here when I returned and found Mistress Marjory lying upon the floor of the storeroom unconscious, a lump quite visible upon her poor head,” the apprentice said. He was young, and near tears.
“My mistress was not here?” Orva was astounded. “Where is she? Our horses are still tethered outside the shop.”
The boy shook his head. “I do not know,” he wailed. “Will my mistress die?”
“Show me where she is,” Orva said in what she hoped was a calm voice. The lad led her back into the storage area of the shop. Orva knelt beside the fallen woman, who half sat, her back against the wall. “Mistress Marjory,” she said. “Where is Lady Cicely?”
The fallen woman groaned at the sound of Orva’s voice. She opened her eyes briefly, but then closed them.“Gone,”she managed to whisper.
“Gone?What do you mean, gone?” Orva demanded to know.
