“Ahh, ham!” Father Ambrose said enthusiastically as the dishes were placed upon the table. “I always enjoy ham.” He dug his spoon into his bread trencher. “Umm, Mab has flavored the oat stirabout with spices and honey.”
“ ’Twas Ian’s favorite,” Cicely said sweetly.
Kier glowered darkly.
“Give over, my daughter,” the priest said, low. “You have won this battle.”
“But not the war,”Kier Douglas snarled.
They ate the hot oats, the ham, and the hard-boiled eggs, along with a crusty loaf of newly baked bread with butter and a berry jam. Their cups were filled with cider. The silence filling the hall now was almost ominous. When they had finished eating Cicely arose, preparing to depart the hall.
“I must see to Johanna,” she said.
“Not quite yet, my daughter,” Father Ambrose replied in a voice that even Cicely realized was not to be challenged. He stood. “Come, let the three of us sit by the hearth and discuss what needs discussing so there may be no more confusion about this matter.”
They followed him from the high board and settled themselves as he had suggested near the fireplace. Cicely was looking particularly pretty this morning in a simple gown of spring green, her auburn hair plaited neatly into a single braid. She spread her skirts about her andlooked to the priest. Kier, however, did not sit. He stood, looking fierce and determined.
“Now, my lord,” the priest addressed the new laird, “my lady, the widow of Glengorm, has made a salient point in this matter. Your cousin, the late laird, may God and his sainted Mother bless him, was both loved and esteemed by his folk. To rush his widow, but a few months after childbirth, into a marriage with you lacks the respect that needs to be shown to Ian Douglas’s memory, no matter what the king and Sir William want.”
Cicely smiled sweetly at Kier, who glowered back.
“Your father,” the priest continued, “can give you Glengorm. King James can approve his decision. But only you can earn the good regard of your folk, Kier. And in times to come you will need that loyalty not once, but often.” Now Ambrose Douglas turned to Cicely. “As for you, my daughter, the marriage contract is drawn and ready for your signatures. Youwillmarry this man three days after the first anniversary of Ian’s death in October. You will not seek to delay your marriage in any way. I don’t care if the Grahames are banging on the door to the hall. You will wed Kier Douglas on the eighteenth of October, and we will be done with it! Now, I shall expect you at the church today to make your confession to me.” The priest stood and walked from the hall.
“Well, madam, you have gotten your way and had your revenge on me, haven’t you?” Kier said darkly.
“And you have gotten your way, my lord, haven’t you?” Cicely countered, not denying his accusation of revenge. That was what it had been.
“Do not think this delay will keep me from your bed,” he told her. “I will have you with child by our wedding day.”
“If you persist in treating me roughly, my lord, I will fight you,” Cicely told him plainly. “Are you so lustful that you cannot deny yourself for a few more months?”
Stepping before her chair, he yanked Cicely up, pulling her against him, a hard arm about her waist. He tipped her face up and kissed her not cruelly, but softly, seductively. “HadIbeen in Eden we should still be there,” he boasted. “My willpower is strong.” The hand on her face slid down into the neckline of her gown to cup a breast. His thumb encircled the soft nipple, which hardened almost instantly. “Eve was the weak one, madam,” he taunted her. His lips brushed hers again.
Dizzy though she was, Cicely managed to kick him in the shins. “I am not Eve!” she said furiously. “If men are so strong, why did not God make them carry and bear the babies, my lord? I will obey you all: the king, Sir William, the Church. I will wed you in October, and I will be a good wife to you. But until then, my lord, it is war between us. Now release me! I must attend to my daughter.”
He let her go, but as she stamped away, he said, “What is this need you seem to have to constantly score me, madam? You have surely bruised my shin in your temper, my back is raw with your scratches, and I have the marks of your teeth in my shoulder yet.” But he was smiling, although she did not see it. He was going to get strong sons on this fiery woman, he decided.
Cicely blushed at the words he flung after her, but she never turned.Blessed Mother!Were Artair and Tam grinning? Were Effie and Sine, their two heads together, giggling? Of course they had overheard, and soon it would be all about the kitchen, and next the village. Then Cicely laughed softly to herself, seeing the humor in the situation. The gossip her servants told would, oddly enough, comfort their clanfolk. The new laird was settling in. He would wed the lady in the autumn, and there would be sons for Glengorm sooner than later.
Cicely was relieved, however, when her female courses came upon her a week later. She was not ready to be with child quite yet. The summer came. The hillsides about Glengorm were green and dotted with the laird’s sheep and cattle. The Grahames were nowhere in evidence. The rumor was that that Ian’s unforgiving assault upon them had decimated their ranks to the point of weakness. They could notraid without allies, and right now the other English border families considered the Grahames unlucky.
Each day but for the Sabbath, Kier trained the men-at-arms in the art of warfare. Eventually they would be called upon to accompany the king into the Highlands. But for now the king satisfied himself with strengthening his hold on the lower half of Scotland. Most of the Highland chieftains had not sworn their fealty to James Stewart yet. If they did not within another year, James would have to call for a gathering of the clans in Inverness to accomplish that goal. Kier was relieved. No matter what Father Ambrose said, Kier needed to be with the king when he went north. Every border lord with an eye to his family’s future would want to go—wouldgo. A man’s loyalty was judged by things like that. And with luck, by next summer he would have a son.
Cicely both intrigued and fascinated him. He had never known such a strong and independent woman. Yet she could hardly be called forward or bold. Still, her dedication to her duty to Glengorm was to be commended. When he went to war, Kier thought to himself, he would have no difficulty leaving Glengorm in her capable hands. He was fortunate in this wife he was soon to take.
But Cicely also tempted him. After boasting so loudly about his self-control, he was finding it difficult to be near her. He had not since that fatal night entered her bed, and she was quick to tell him shortly afterwards that she was not with child. He knew how very passionate she could be. Yet their celibacy did not seem to disturb her in the least. Had he not known her so well now, he would have wondered if she was sneaking off to meet with a lover.
Cicely would have laughed if she had been aware of his thoughts. She didn’t dare get too near Kier Douglas, for she truly lusted after him. She wasn’t in love with him. She might never be in love with him, but she wanted very much to be in his arms again. Ian had been tender, and he had certainly shown her a modicum of passion. But he had loved her so desperately that he had not allowed his emotionsto overcome him but once or twice. And then his passion had never been as wild and fierce as Kier’s had been that night that they had shared.
And Cicely had been amazed by the passions he had unleashed in her. He had plumbed depths she had not known existed. He had touched her heart with fire and scorched her soul with the heat of her desire. She hadn’t realized that one could experience such emotions, and yet have no love for one’s lover. Cicely was realizing that there was a lot she didn’t know. She might have put him out of his misery but that he suddenly took to taunting her. But, realizing that his need was boiling as hotly as her own, she vowed to herself not to give in to his teasing.
It was Midsummer’s eve. The light would not fade entirely this day, just go to a lengthy dusk that would last the night through until tomorrow’s dawn. In the village by the shore of the loch a large fire was built, and its flames burned bright and high. There was food. There was ale, and as the evening wore on there was whiskey from someone’s still. Dancing about the fire began with everyone joining hands encircling the flames while Owen the piper played his pipes for them, the sweetly mournful music echoing about the hillsides. And eventually men and women, hand in hand, began disappearing from the festivities.
Cicely and Kier had come to join their clanfolk, Orva and old Mab remaining in the house watching over Johanna. Both women had declared themselves past such things as the frivolity of a Midsummer’s eve. The laird and his intended wife had briefly been civil to each other, to their mutual surprise. It would not last, of course.
“For a lass raised among the mighty,” Kier remarked, “you are comfortable among the clanfolk.” He thought she looked beautiful tonight dressed as simply as any village woman in a dark gray skirt of light wool, and a white blouse. About her waist was a sash of the gray-black-and-white Douglas tartan. Her legs were bare and her hair in its plait, although bits of her auburn locks had come loose as she danced.
“I would make a poor lady of Glengorm if I held myself apart from my clan’s folk, my lord,” Cicely told him. “My early years were spent on my father’s estates in a setting as rural as this one. Orva can tell you I played with the village children, ate in their cottages, and lifted my skirts to pee in the dirt like any other little girl there. Of course, once I entered the house of Queen Joan of Navarre I was taught to be a lady, as it was expected I would live at court one day when I was older. But I have never forgotten that earlier part of my life. Coming to live in the borders has brought those years back to me, and recalling them, I quite remember how happy I was in a simpler time.”
