“You don’t understand, do you? Men seldom do,” Cicely said, herface wet with her tears. “You are the laird of Glengorm. You have lands. A house. A village full of people. The wife you take should bring something to you other than her body. Any woman can offer her body. But now I have nothing for you. Go and find Ben Duff,” she told him. “I promised Jo I would come and bid her farewell before I left. I do not break my promises.” And she hurried off to return to the queen’s apartments.
Ian Douglas stood, shocked by what she had said to him. Did his love mean so little to her that it was not enough? Oh, he was disappointed he would not so easily get the flock of black-faced sheep he wanted, but eventually he would. And Cicely would surely forget this nonsense once they got home. He needed to get her with child. A child would calm her, and she would think more clearly. He found his way back to where Ben Duff waited, and told him what had happened.
Ben Duff sympathized, but he also understood Ian’s point of view. “She has jewelry, and brought plate and linens to the marriage,” he said. “It’s not what you expected, but it will do because you love her. My Maggie brought me little too, because we ran away to wed, and they don’t approve of me, for I’m a borderer. Those Highlanders think very highly of themselves”—he chuckled—“and my Maggie is a proud lass too.”
Cicely had carefully marked the route in her mind when the man-at-arms had come for her. She now retraced it, entering the queen’s apartments and going to old Bess. “We must leave now,” she said, “and I would bid Jo a proper farewell.”
“Of course, dearie. ’Tis a pity you cannot remain longer.” Then, looking closely at Cicely with her sharp eyes, she said, “What is the matter, my lady? What has happened? Do not tell me ’tis nothing, for I can see otherwise.” And, realizing that Cicely was about to cry, she hurried her into the queen’s privy chamber. “Something has happened to distress Lady Cicely,” she said to the queen. This time she did not withdraw from the room, nor did the queen ask her to.
Unable to hold back her tears now, Cicely flung herself down next to the queen, weeping bitterly. “Oh, Jo! You have to help me!”
“What has happened?” the queen asked her friend. She had never in all the years they had known each other seen Ce-ce like this. Reaching out, she stroked Cicely’s auburn head.
“The king! He has taken my dower, and will not give it to Ian!” She sobbed afresh, looking up at the queen with a woebegone face.
“He has taken your dower?” The queen looked genuinely puzzled. “What can you mean, Ce-ce? How could he take your dower?”
“He used some of it to pay off the Gordons, for they claimed they had been injured by what happened. He supplemented your cousin Beth’s own dower with mine so Fairlea would take her. And now he will not restore what remains to me!” Cicely wailed. “Without my dower I am worthless, Jo! You understand that, but Ian does not. He says it doesn’t matter to him, but it matters to me!”
The queen was stunned by her friend’s revelation. She knew Jamie could be hard, for she had seen incidences of it, but he was king of a hard land and often had no other choice if he were to uphold the law, keep the peace. And he could be tightfisted, because his own resources were not unlimited. But taking Cicely’s dower was unconscionable.
This was her best friend since their shared childhood, two little girls who had been fostered out by their families so that those families could widen their sphere of influence with England’s king. They had shared a bed in Joan of Navarre’s household, and again when they were sent together to Queen Katherine. They had shared their girlish dreams and hopes, kept each other’s secrets, giggling together in the dark of night. What her husband had done was unfair and it was cruel, the queen thought. Cicely did not deserve to be treated so unkindly. She had done nothing to merit it.
“I will speak with Jamie,” the queen told her friend. “It will take time, of course. You know how he can be if you push him. But he was generous to me when our daughter was born. Think how much more grateful he will be when I birth his son and heir. And when I do I shallask him to restore your dower in full to you. Now stop weeping, Ce-ce. Has your patent been approved, or must you wait for the justices to go about their business in the usual slow and timely manner?”
Cicely felt a little better with the queen’s reassurance to her, but she was not certain that the king would return her dower. She saw a James Stewart that Jo did not, but, thanking the queen, she then said, “We were told to return home, and that we would be notified whether the patent was approved or not.” Cicely looked up at her friend. “It has to be approved! ’Tis an honest patent.”
“Do not fret,” the queen said. “Jamie is using the law to regain crown lands that his uncle of Albany and his cousin Murdoch parceled out in their efforts to buy loyalty. But if he just asked for those lands back, and did not review the patents of all landholders, it would appear as if he were singling out some while favoring others. My Jamie would not do that. Establishing the rule of law back into Scotland is important to him. So he has required his justices to go over each patent carefully. And indeed they have found some that were fraudulent. But if the holders of those patents were innocent of the fraud and are good lords to their people, their patents are corrected, then returned to them.”
“Glengorm’s patent is genuine. My husband and his clansmen are proud of their ancestors’ loyalty to Robert the Bruce,” Cicely told the queen.
“Then in a few months your husband will have his patent returned to him,” the queen said. “Now dry your eyes, Ce-ce, and bid me a proper farewell.”
Cicely wiped her tears away with a small handkerchief she had tucked in her sleeve. Then, rising, she curtsied low to the queen. “I wish Your Highness a fine, strong son this time, and many years of happiness.”
“Aye!” the queen said, holding out her arms to her friend, and when Cicely flew into them Joan Beaufort kissed her on both cheeks before releasing her. “All will be well,” she promised. “You have my word on it.” She smiled into her friend’s face.
“Thank you! Thank you!” Cicely responded, returning the smile.
“Go home to your Glengorm, Ce-ce. Do your duty as you were taught, and give your husband children. God preserve you until we meet again, for we will.”
“God and his Blessed Mother preserve Your Highness,” Cicely said, and then she backed from the queen’s little privy chamber to depart the royal apartments and return to her husband. The queen had given her a small sliver of hope with regard to her dower, but she would not believe it until her monies were in her hands. She considered writing to her father, but the truth was that Robert Bowen would not be able to help her. Better not to fret him unless she absolutely had to, but Cicely had no intention of being dowerless. Ian deserved more. ’Twas true her birth was better than his, but what did that matter if she had no dower?
She said nothing to him as they returned to the inn, for she did not know how much, if anything, he had told Ben Duff. They changed from their court garments into their riding clothes, preparing to depart. The innkeeper brought Cicely a tied napkin he told her contained a small roasted chicken. He also gave her a loaf of fresh bread and a small wedge of cheese. They tucked the food into a saddlebag. The two lairds paid for the accommodation and, their combined force of men-at-arms mounted, the little party departed the inn and Edinburgh for the borders.
Reaching Glengorm two days later, they sheltered Ben Duff and his men for the night, bidding him farewell the following morning. Cicely had been very quiet since returning home. Her almost silent demeanor worried the laird, and, noticing the change in both of them, Orva finally had to ask what had happened.
The laird explained.
“Shame on the king!” Orva said angrily. “He has no right to retain my lady’s dower, or parcel it out to others. I would not have thought it of him.”
“He’s the king,” the laird responded. “He can do what he wants.”
“I must go to my lady,” the tiring woman said, and hurried to find her mistress.
Faced with the knowledge that Orva knew, Cicely wept afresh in the older woman’s arms. “I am worthless,” she said despairingly. “How can Glengorm even bear to look at me?”
“Do not be foolish, my child,” Orva replied. “The laird loves you, and whether or not you have a dower matters not to him. I’m certain he has told you that. Besides, you brought him plate and linen, for I packed it among your belongings when I came from Perth. I told you then I left nothing behind. Two horses, a dozen silver goblets and spoons, a silver saltcellar that stands on the high board even now, and a chest full of fine linens for your table. You have your own clothing and jewelry. ’Tis a respectable dower you have brought to your husband.”
