Authors: Bertrice Small
Grizel wielded the broom with vigor, and soon the
stone floor of the hall was swept clean. “Will there be rushes?” she asked Adair.
“Nay. There were none before, and I don’t particularly like them. They attract vermin, and the dogs feel comfortable peeing in them. The hall will only stink. Go down to the kitchens and see if you can help Elsbeth. I will finish the table myself. ’Tis almost done,” Adair told her. Then she set about polishing the last end of the table. When she had finished she stepped back and smiled. The high board looked quite nice. It was old, and it had seen many a supper upon it, but it had been previously well cared for, she noted.
“I have not seen the board look as well since our mother died,” she heard the laird’s voice say. “If you are a lady, how is it you know how to polish a table so well?”
“Even England’s queen knows how to polish a table and cook a meal,” Adair replied as she turned to face him.
He moved closer to her. “How would you know
that?” he said.
“Because she is my half sister, and I spent ten years—
from the time I was six until I returned to Stanton—in the royal nursery with her, my lord,” Adair answered him.
He moved closer. “Are you telling me the truth, Adair, or is this just some flight of fancy you have concocted?”
She drew herself up and looked him straight in the eye. “I do not prevaricate, my lord. Until I was six the only father I knew was John Radcliffe, the Earl of Stanton. When our home was attacked by the Lancastrians I was sent away with Elsbeth, and only then told that King Edward was my natural father. The title of Stanton devolved upon me. I was the Countess of Stanton in my own right. Both my husbands gained the earldom through me. Andrew, my second husband, as I have previously said, was killed with King Richard. I do not lie
about who I am. It is not in my nature to lie, my lord.”
There were tears in her eyes now, but she never looked away from him, even when a single tear rolled down her pale cheek.
He stopped the tear with his finger. “You have eyes like wet violets,” he told her in his deep, husky voice. He had never met a woman like Adair before. She was so brave that it almost hurt his heart to look at her, but he would not be the first to break their gaze.
Adair swallowed back a rush of misery. “I will go and tell Elsbeth you are back, my lord,” she said in a tremulous voice. She would not cry. Not before him. Not ever again. She would not cry! She turned to leave him, but he put a hand on her shoulder. She froze. “Please, my lord, I must return to the kitchens.” She would not face him.
“You know that I want you,” he said quietly.
She shook her head wordlessly. She could not answer him.
“When I saw you among Willie Douglas’s captives your defiance burned bright. It was like a beacon beckoning me onward, and I followed. I have probably been a fool to bring you into my keep. Eventually your beauty and spirit will cause me difficulties, and I am a man who prefers peace and quiet above all things.”
She whirled about. “Then let me go! Help Elsbeth and me to return to Stanton!”
“No!”
he said fiercely, and yanked her into his arms.
“I will never release you, Adair. You are mine, and I will have you sooner than later!” Then his mouth descended upon hers in a passionate kiss such as she had never experienced. His lips burned on hers, and they demanded much of her. Her heart. Her soul. Her body.
For the briefest moment Adair wanted to succumb to the kiss. It excited her, and tempted her with a promise of something wonderful to come. Her mouth yielded to his, but then something within her cried out, warning her. This man was dangerous. She would lose herself if she let him make love to her. She had to force herself to 230
pull away from him. “You are far too bold, my lord,” she cried, and then, turning, fled the hall and down the stair-way into Elsbeth’s kitchens, where she would be safe from the laird of Cleit.
Behind her Conal Bruce stood as still as a statue, his male member hard and throbbing. He had kissed many women in his day, but none had affected him quite like this. Adair was wrong, though she might not know it. He would have her. And soon.
T
he Scotland into which Adair had been brought was not a peaceful place. Its king, the third James Stewart, was hardly beloved among his rough barony. He had inherited his throne when he was but eight years of age. His mother, Marie of Gueldres, was the niece of the Duke of Burgundy. She had been brought up in a civilized court, and brought her influence to Scotland when she had married James II, to whom she gave four sons and two daughters in the eleven years of their marriage. Her eldest son, James III, looked like her, with his olive complexion, dark hair, and fine dark eyes. Sadly she died when he was eleven, and two years later the other good influence in James’s life, Bishop Kennedy, died.
It was then that the Boyd family staged a political coup, seizing the boy king at Linlithgow, and taking him to Edinburgh. There Lord Boyd dispensed with those who had aided him in his endeavor, forced the young king to stand with him, and for the next four years con-trolled the government. He arranged a marriage for the king with Margaret of Denmark, daughter of King Christian. The union officially brought into Scotland those islands that had been virtually Scots anyway, the Shetlands and the Orkneys. The marriage took place in
1469, and while the king had been deemed by Parliament capable of ruling four years earlier, it wasn’t until his marriage that James III took up the reins of government. One of his first acts was to drive the Boyd family from their power base.
But James III was not a man who gloried in martial endeavors or rough ways. He was artistic in temperament, and unsuited to rule over the rough northern land into which he had been born to rule. And Scotland was a lawless country beset by economic troubles. Its nobles were constantly fomenting trouble with the king or with one another. And the powers in England and Europe were always interfering with Scotland’s government, and subverting its earls either against the king or against one another.
The king’s passions were for the arts. Matters of state interested him but little. He surrounded himself with a group of artists, poets, writers, intellectuals, architects, and craftsmen, even excluding his nobility from his council. Those few nobles who understood something of James III’s personality nonetheless resented his attitude. As for those nobles who were less sensitive, they disliked the king and were jealous of his friendships with others. Still, they did not object to his weakness when it came to punishing them for their lawlessness.
James was always willing to be bought off for hard coin.
It helped him to pay for his extravagances.
Scotland was beset with famine and depression, yet the king did not see it. He collected beautiful jewelry and exquisite manuscripts. He purchased a fine altar-piece by the artist Hugo van der Goes that showed James and Margaret at prayer. The king supported a group of poets, and oversaw the minting of beautiful coinage. He had the great hall at Stirling Castle built by his favorite architect, Robert Cochrane. As James was very particular about his royal prestige, the addition to this castle pleased him greatly. He loved entertaining there once it was finished. And he could not have been
more delighted than when the pope elevated St. Andrews from a mere bishopric to an archiepiscopal status in 1472.
All of it, however, meant little to Scotland’s nobles.
This king with his flair for beautiful clothing and acces-sories, this royal Stewart who spoke perfect French but knew nothing of the Gaelic language of the Highlands, was an anathema to them. And yet the one area of government in which the king would involve himself was diplomacy. He worked very hard in 1478 to arrange a marriage between his sister, Princess Margaret, and the English king, Edward IV’s brother-in-law, Lord Rivers.
Unfortunately the match could not go forward, as the princess, who had been having an affair with Lord Crichton, found herself pregnant. And after that the king’s reign began to descend into chaos.
Convinced his younger brothers were plotting against him, he ordered them arrested. The elder, the Duke of Albany, escaped. The younger, the Earl of Mar, did not, and died under suspicious circumstances in the king’s custody. Their supporters were naturally angered. Albany had fled to England and sought help from Edward IV, who declared him King Alexander IV. The border fighting, usually sporadic, turned into a war, with Richard, Duke of Gloucester, leading the English armies into Scotland accompanied by Albany. James moved to meet his brother, but his nobles turned on him, murdered his favorites, and took him back to Edinburgh a captive. Then, to the complete puzzlement of Richard of Gloucester, Alexander, Duke of Albany, became his older brother’s closest adviser and friend.
Gloucester returned to England having regained the town of Berwick.
But Albany’s about-face was a short one. He had always believed he could be a better king than James. He rebelled a final time against his sibling, joining forces with a Douglas before fleeing to France. The following year he was killed in a tournament accident. Now the
nobility turned its eye to the king’s eldest son, James, a tall boy with flowing red hair and great charm. Jamie, as his father called him, was equally at home in a rough Highland hall and in his father’s great hall. And the ladies adored him. He was the Scots nobility’s kind of man, although he was also his father’s son. Highly educated, as befitted a Renaissance prince, he spoke several languages, including Gaelic. He was a great athlete. And he was ready to be king. But he was not yet ready to rebel openly against his father. It would have upset his mother, and the boy loved her deeply. The young prince bided his time.
Most of Scotland’s quarrels with England over the past few years had taken place on the far east side of the countryside near Berwick, while Stanton, in its remote northwest corner of Northumbria, had not been disturbed. Adair had known little of these wars, for they had never affected her. Now she learned that Cleit was in the borders just to the east and some miles from Stanton. The countryside around them was rough and wild. Adair began to realize that returning to her home was going to be a more difficult task than she had anticipated. Perhaps she would be advised to go to Hillview and seek Robert Lynbridge’s help. And she knew she would have to leave Elsbeth behind. Her beloved Nursie could not make the kind of trek Adair would have to make. She would ransom her later on from the laird, and Margery from the wretched Willie Douglas. Conal Bruce could certainly find another older woman to cook for him.
With the addition to the keep of Flora, her son, Jack, and Grizel, there was a need for additional sleeping accommodations. A pallet was found for the boy, and he slept by the fire in the kitchen. Elsbeth shared a bed space with Adair, while Flora and Grizel shared the other. Learning of it, the laird decided that his new servants could make the keep’s attic habitable, and quarter there. But Adair would not move.
“Let Flora, young Jack, and Grizel share the attic,”
she said. “I am content with my bed space here.” As she intended making her escape soon, she decided it would be easier to slip out the kitchen door than to have to make her way from the top of the keep.
“Her ladyship likes her privacy,” Duncan Armstrong noted, amused. “I thought you would have her in your bed by now, Conal.” His blue eyes danced as he wickedly teased his sibling.
“She needs gentling, and that takes patience,” the laird told his elder brother.
“I never knew you to have a great deal of patience,”
Murdoc chimed in, winking at Duncan. “Adair is a fine, spirited woman, big brother. Are you certain you aren’t afraid of her? Fergus still has a bump on his head from where she hit him with the pitcher.”
His brothers’ taunts were irritating, but Conal Bruce wanted Adair to come to him more willing than unwilling. He instinctively sensed that they could give each other a great deal of pleasure if that were the case. He had never been a man to force a woman. He had never needed to resort to force. But Adair was not easy, and she had worked very hard to avoid him since that one time he had found her polishing the table in the hall. He had gone to the kitchen the day after and told her she was to serve the high board only. Grizel would see his men were served.
Today as she poured ale into their goblets he had managed to brush against her hand with his. The great violet eyes had met his, startled. Her cheeks had colored, but she had said nothing. Then she had brought in a bowl of rabbit stew, cheese, and bread. He had ordered her to cut him a slice of bread and cheese, and she had done so. He had thanked her as he took it from her, and their fingers had touched. Adair had bitten her lip, and, seeing it, he smiled at her. She had not returned the smile but rather backed away to wait for his orders, standing behind his chair as she had been told to do.
She would not be his whore, Adair told herself. He couldn’t make her. But, of course, he could if he wanted her. And she could see he wanted her. How long until his patience with her ran out? He was handsome. And she wasn’t a virgin. What would it matter if she lay with him? A coupling between a man and a woman was nothing special, and often pleasure could be gained by it. And men usually trusted their mistresses. She might even gain his permission to ride out eventually. And it would certainly be easier to find her way back to Stanton a-horse than afoot. But let him yearn for her first.
Let him believe he had conquered her resistance and gained a victory. Men liked victory in both war and in love.
Conal Bruce watched Adair as she cleared the board.
She was very fair. She was wearing a new garment, a simple gown with no discernible waistline, a square neckline, and long, fitted sleeves. It had been obviously fashioned using her old gown, and was the dress of a lady, not a servant. The color was discreet, a dark red.
The boy, Jack, was helping her. He hurried away with the plates and goblets as Adair bent to sweep the crumbs from the high board. He could see the faint swell of her breasts as she worked, her eyes averted from his.