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.
“And the lady?” James Stewart said.
“With Your Highness’s permission I should like her to wed my son, Kier,” Sir William answered. “You should know that his mother was a Stewart.”
“I did not know,” James Stewart said, surprised again. This was the result of being out of Scotland for so many years. There was much he did not know, but was learning.
“A distant kinswoman of Your Highness’s. She was a widow. Albany forbade our marriage, but our son was born nonetheless. He is a good man. You may rely upon him,” Sir William told the king. “I hope you will entrust Kier with Glengorm, should it be necessary. He will not disappoint you.”
To his surprise the king nodded. “It would be a good solution.”
Then Sir William surprised himself. “And her dower?” he asked. “Will you restore it to her? This time she weds with your approval and your permission.”
“I will restore the portion remaining,” the king agreed. “Perhaps then her father will stop hounding the goldsmith in London who sent it to the goldsmith in Edinburgh from whom I obtained the lady’s monies. The goldsmith dares not offend me, but he is frightened because his English counterpart says he should have given the monies only to Lady Cicely; the Earl of Leighton is threatening him. I had promised the queen when she gave me my son that I would restore Cicely’s dower portion to her, but while she is with child a third time, she has birthed only two daughters. Still, they are healthy, praise God. I mean to match my eldest, Margaret, with the dauphin of France. One day she will be a queen, Sir William. Aye, you may tell Cicely that when she weds with your son I will turn over a dower to him.”
“It is too soon, of course, for Kier to even approach the lady,” Sir William said. “She mourns my kinsman, and Ian is scarce gone two
months. May I speak with the queen, Your Highness? I should like to tell her of these developments.”
“Nay, go back to the borders before the snows become heavy,” James Stewart said. “I know that is where you would rather be. I will inform the queen of what has happened. And you may carry our affections to Lady Cicely. But keep in mind that I will expect fighting men from both Drumlanrig and Glengorm when I am ready to go into the north against the lord of the isles. You will be summoned then. Remember my kindness to you this day. Speak with my secretary, and he will give you the patents to Glengorm to carry back to your son.” Then, with a nod, he turned and went from the alcove.
Sir William Douglas was relieved that his journey had been so successful, and that he had accomplished exactly what he had wanted to so easily. But, of course, now he and his son would owe the king a favor, payable upon demand. And kings never asked for little favors. He would instruct Kier to begin training men for battle, so that when the call came, Douglas clansmen would march forth from both Drumlanrig and Glengorm to do the king’s service. He remained the night at Scone Palace, sleeping in the stables with his horse. The following morning before departing he found the king’s secretary, and was given the patents to Glengorm neatly enclosed in a thin leather pouch. He rode directly for Glengorm. It was almost Christmas.
Kier was glad to see his father, as was Cicely. “I have brought back the patents for Glengorm,” Sir William told her. “They have been approved and authenticated by the king’s men. And I bring you the greetings and the affections of James Stewart.”
Cicely gave a small laugh. “I suspect you would have brought neither of these things, my lord, had my husband been alive. But I am glad to have my child’s inheritance substantiated and approved. And it is comforting to know my child will have royal favor.”
“My son will keep the patents safe,” Sir William told her with a smile as he handed the pouch to Kier.
“Of course,” Cicely replied. So that was how it was to be, she
thought. Well, there was little she could do about it. But one thing concerned her: Would they allow her unborn son to claim his rightful inheritance? But now was not the time, she sensed, to broach such an issue.
“There is no Christmas in the hall,” Sir William noted.
“We are in mourning,” Cicely reminded him. “Will you come to the board now and eat, my lords?” she invited.
Later in the evening, when Cicely had left the hall, Sir William chided his son. “Do not allow her to make a saint out of her late husband, Kier. Ian was far from that. You will soon be the master here. Glengorm’s people should not have their loyalties divided. Even if she births a male, you will still be the lord in fact until the lad reaches his majority. She must put all unnecessary mourning from her by the time her bairn is born. And you will need to take her for your wife as soon thereafter as you can. I want no chance of another courting her, or misunderstanding the situation here.”
“She will wed me, Da. You need have no fear of her finding another,” Kier said.
“I will speak with the priest before I depart tomorrow,” his father said.
Ambrose Douglas listened to Sir William’s plans for Glengorm the following morning. He didn’t disagree with the clan chieftain, and Cicely would indeed have to be married again to protect her, and to protect the child she bore. But he was concerned that, should Kier use too heavy a hand with her, the widow of Glengorm would refuse him. “If she says nay I cannot force her, my lord. Is your son a man who can court a woman and win her over? Or will he do this because he has been told to do it, and because it is the expedient thing to do?” the priest asked candidly.
“We have the king’s permission,” Sir William said.
“Aye, and therein lies the problem. The lady was given the privilege of choosing her own husband by her father. The king was supposed to relinquish her dower to that man when she did so. You know
what happened. She has never really forgiven the king for shaming her that way, despite the fact that it meant naught to Ian, and he told her so. Now, should you attempt to force her to the altar by telling her that the king has approved such a match, well, my lord, I shudder to think what Lady Cicely will do.”
“James Stewart will also return the portion of her dower remaining,” Sir William said to the priest. “Will that not make a difference to her? And he has returned the patents to Glengorm as legitimate.”
“The fact that the king will return her dower now will but anger her,” Father Ambrose said. “It is a difficult situation, I know, but if your son can make an attempt to woo the lady you may have an opportunity to make this match a reality. I will speak with him myself. And when the time comes I will encourage her to accept your son as her husband. Lad or lass, Glengorm will need more than one heir.”
“I thank you for your help, Ambrose,” Sir William said. “Your father would be proud of you, the way you always put the family first.”
“I put God first, my son. Always remember that,” the priest told him candidly.
Sir William departed.
Twelfth Night came, and the winter set in. About them the hills were white with snow. The loch was frozen over. Cicely could see it from her bedchamber window now that the leaves were gone from the trees. She worried that the Grahames might use the loch to attack the village and the hall.
“Nay, lady,” Kier assured her. “Remember the redoubt Ian ordered built. It was finished before December was half gone, and is manned day and night. If the Grahames are foolish enough to come again we are ready for them. But they will not come, for my cousin beat them badly in their last encounter. Their women will mourn for years.”
“As will I,” Cicely said.
“Did you love Ian Douglas so much then?” he asked her pointedly.
“I respected my husband, and aye, I had come to love him,” Cicely said, a trifle annoyed. She shifted in her chair by the fire, for her
belly was large now, and finding a comfortable position sitting or lying was hard.
“It is said when love is tepid and then lost it grows disproportionately,” Kier remarked wickedly. He had grown bored with her attempts to be a tortured widow. He had no doubt that she had indeed come to respect his cousin, and had even become genuinely fond of Ian. But she had not been deeply, passionately in love.
“How can you say such a vile thing to me?” Cicely raged at him.
“Because it is true,” Kier told her.
“I
loved
Ian!” Cicely insisted.
“And one day you’ll love another,” he told her.
“I shall
never
love again!” she declared dramatically.
Kier laughed aloud. “Aye, you will, madam,” he said. “I am told my cousin trussed you up like a piglet going to market, and rode you into the borders. Hardly an auspicious beginning for a love match.”
“He had to steal me.” Cicely found herself defending Ian, although it had been a rather horrible beginning. “The Gordons wouldn’t let any man but their own near me.”
“If I had wanted to court you, madam, and were being chased away by another who sought to have you, I would have found a way,” he said.
“
Indeed?
And how would you have courted me beneath the nose of the Gordons?” she demanded of him.
“I would have crept into your bedchamber at night, madam. And when you protested my boldness I should have wooed you with sweet kisses and ardent caresses until you finally agreed to be my wife. I would have made you fall in love with me, and no Gordon or king could have prevented our marriage,” he told her.