Chapter 13
Seeing aflight of stairs, Kier followed them up to a landing, where he found himself in a hallway. “Quin, where are you?” he called out.
“In here, my lord.” His man returned, sticking his head out of a doorway halfway down the hall. “These quarters are not as big as those at your father’s house, but they’re snug and clean. And there’s a wee chamber next door for me.”
Kier stepped into the room and looked about. One lead-paned window. A hearth, now burning, a chair angled towards the warmth to one side of it. A large curtained bed, a table on the left side of it with a taperstick set upon it, a chest at its foot. His own trunk had been placed against the wall, and next to it was a slightly larger table with a pitcher, a ewer, and a towel. “ ’Twill do nicely,” he said, going to the basin and pouring some water into it. “I’ll want the dust of our travels off me by the time I sit down to the meal,” he said to Quin.
“I saw the lady, my lord. She’s a pretty lass, but so sad-looking,” Quin noted.
“She’s still in shock over her husband’s death, I suspect, and just beginning to accept the truth of it. She’ll mourn for a time,” Kier told his man. “She has a strong sense of duty to my late cousin—and to Glengorm, which is to the good.”
Quin nodded. “Aye, a woman with a stalwart character towardsher family is one who can be trusted, my lord. She’s going to make you a good wife.”
“For the love of God, man, keep such thoughts to yourself!” his master admonished him. “Ian Douglas is barely cold in his grave. I understand my father’s thinking, and I agree with it, but now is not the time to put forth a marriage proposal. Besides, my father will have to convince the king to permit it.”
“Och, he’ll do it,” Quin said with a grin. “Your da has a clever tongue. Why, he could get the rooster to invite the fox into the hen-house, he could.”
The manservant was correct in his assessment of his master’s father. Sir William Douglas was a persuasive man. Not certain how his son would approach the matter of the widow of Glengorm, he had ridden from his border home to Perth. The weather was beginning to turn now, and he couldn’t be certain that he would be able to return home before the winter hit with a vengence. But it was important that the king know everything that had transpired at Glengorm. That he approve Sir William’s decision to send Kier Douglas to Glengorm to defend the land and keep the widow safe. But most important, he needed the king to accept that Glengorm was Douglas land, and to be disposed of by the Douglases, and no one else.
In another time this might not have been difficult, but James Stewart—with his demand that every laird and earl in the land prove ownership of his holding—was not making it easy. Sir William knew that Ian had brought the ancient patents to his lands, and left them with the king for examination of their authenticity by the king’s legal council. He also knew the patents were genuine. But the king’s pride had been damaged when Ian Douglas had abducted Lady Cicely Bowen. He had taken her dower, but Ian had made it plain he didn’t give a damn. It had been Cicely he loved. So the king would take his time restoring the patents to Glengorm’s laird, intimating before he did that they might not hold up to scrutiny. James Stewart wanted his revenge.
Of course, now it was a moot point. Ian and his brother were dead. But until the king restored the patents belonging to Glengorm to the Douglases, they could not legally claim the lands. Sir William knew he would have to proceed very carefully in the matter. He debated whether he should go first to the king, or first to the queen. He decided upon the king, lest he offend James Stewart’s pride unintentionally.
The court was gathering for the Christmas holiday. In the great hall all was festive with pine boughs, holly, and branches of juniper berries. There were bunches of rosemary tied with red ribbons. There were fine beeswax candles, and the lamps burned rose-scented oil. The hearths were filled with enormous Yule logs, and the flames danced across their length. Sir William moved easily through the crowds, greeting acquaintances now and again, nodding to others, who nodded back.
He was finally able to reach the area where the king stood with his uncle, the Earl of Atholl. Sir William waited to be recognized. James Stewart knew he was there, for the Douglas chieftain had seen a quick flick of the royal eyes in his direction. This was a game the king played to keep his lords in their proper place. Sir William was wise enough to be patient, and finally his patience was rewarded.
“Sir William!” The king greeted him jovially, as if just realizing he was there. “You are welcome back to our court, but I thought not to see you again until the spring.”
“I should not have left the borders, my liege, but that I had news I thought you should hear. I will await your convenience, however.”Now,Sir William thought,we will see just how piqued his curiosity is by my words and my arrival at his court.
The king nodded and then turned away, but Atholl murmured something in James Stewart’s ear and the king turned back. “Come,” he said, leading Sir William into a nearby alcove. “Is the border agitated, my lord? Is it the English? I cannot imagine anything else that would bring you all the way to Perth, and with winter settling in,” the king said.
“My kinsman, the laird of Glengorm, has been killed. His brother too,” Sir William began in a low voice. “There are no male heirs unless the bairn that Lady Cicely carries is a son. I have sent one of my sons to Glengorm to defend it, and watch over the lady. Her child is expected in the spring.”
“Why is Glengorm dead?” James Stewart asked, surprised and curious.
Sir William told the king the tale of the Grahames.
“He slew them all?” The king sounded impressed.
“All who rode against him that day, my liege. There are plenty of Grahames left. They breed like conies in a summer’s field. I think, though, it will be a long time before they steal from us or attack us again,” Sir William said.
“You did not just ride to Perth to tell me all this. You might have sent a messenger,” the king said astutely. “What do you want of me, my lord?”
“Nothing that is not the Douglases’ by right,” Sir William said boldly.
“You want the patents to Glengorm back,” the king noted.
“Aye, my lord, I do. Glengorm is Douglas land, and should remain so.”
“If I give you the patents back—and my legal councilors have declared them legitimate, by the way—whom will you put in charge there? A border house needs a strong man. Can this son of yours manage Glengorm and defend it against attack?”
“Aye, he can,” Sir William answered, “but if the lady births a son the bairn is, by direct right of inheritance, the new laird. In that case my son would remain to raise the lad. A daughter, however, can be dowered, but she cannot be Glengorm’s heiress, for as Your Highness has so wisely noted, a border house needs a man to defend it.”
The king laughed to have his words turned on him. “You won’t be like old Gordon, will you?” He chuckled. “His heiress’s husband has taken the Gordon name, but the direct line dies with Huntley.”
“The direct line at Glengorm rests on the sex of the lady’s bairn,” he said gravely.
