return.
“Ce-ce, do entertain the laird. I see the king is looking about for me,” Queen Joan said, and then, before Cicely might protest, she moved away across the hall.
“Do you think the queen is a matchmaker, my lady?” Andrew Gordon asked her.
Cicely blushed, to her dismay. “Why would you say such a thing, my lord?” she asked him, her hands going to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her surcoat.
“She has left me with undeniably the prettiest girl in the hall,” he replied gallantly. “You surely saw that I have been staring at you all evening, my lady.”
“I had not noticed,” Cicely lied, and then blushed once more, for he surely knew that she was lying. “I thought you looked at the queen,” she finished.
“The queen is lovely, but you, my lady, are fairer by far,” the laird of Fairlea said. “Will you walk with me?” He offered her his arm.
Cicely hesitated a moment, but then she took Andrew Gordon’s arm. He was very handsome, and he did not seem as rough-spoken as so many of the Scottish lords were. And there was no odor or smell of heavy scent about him either, which meant he was clean. His clothing was certainly fresh, and even stylish.
“Look, Jamie! Look! Ce-ce is walking with Huntley’s kin,” the queen whispered to her husband. “Don’t they make a handsome couple, my love?”
James Stewart looked and smiled. “He would be a good match for her, sweetheart. He stands high in Huntley’s favor, and has lands of his own. And he spent two years at the university in Aberdeen. He’s not crude and strident, like so many of my lords. We must encourage this possible match.”
“She has to love him, Jamie. You promised her father that she would have the right to make her own choice. I know Huntley would be beholden to you if Cicely decided to wed his kinsman. And I know you need all the allies you can find, but I will not allow you to sacrifice my best friend if it does not please her.”
“I know what I promised her father, sweetheart,” the king said, “and I will keep my pledge to him. But it cannot hurt any if we encourage Cicely to consider choosing this young man, can it?”
The queen laughed. “Nay, my lord, it cannot hurt to encourage them.”
And in the days leading up to the coronation of King James I and Queen Joan, the young royals did indeed manage to see that Cicely Bowen and Andrew Gordon kept each other company more times than not. It would be a good match. Andrew had lived in France briefly, studying at the Sorbonne for a few months. He loved poetry, which of course gave him something in common with King James. The king loved writing poetry, and had even written a poem about the day he had seen Joan Beaufort for the first time, calling her “the
fairest or the freschest young floure that evir I saw.” And if the queen and her husband were encouraging the match, so too was the Lord Huntley, who better than his besotted kinsman saw the value in the laird of Fairlea marrying the queen’s close confidante and childhood friend. Any close tie with the king was all for the good, although Huntley until now had always thought his kinsman’s education a waste, and poetry for fools.
James Stewart, the Gordon of Huntley had quickly learned, was no fool. Where his late father, King Robert, had been a good but weak man; and his late uncle, the Duke of Albany, a rapacious and ambitious man; James Stewart was intelligent enough to win friends among the border lords and the people. The great lords, Huntley included, were quickly coming to realize that this king would be a strong king. Now the question remained whether they could live with him better than without him.
And while Huntley conferred with his fellow earls, his kinsman began to court the queen’s lovely friend. One afternoon the two rode to a nearby meadow, where a picnic had been set up for them. It was early May, and the hillsides were abloom with yellow and white flowers. Seated upon a white cloth they
“Ce-ce, do entertain the laird. I see the king is looking about for me,” Queen Joan said, and then, before Cicely might protest, she moved away across the hall.
“Do you think the queen is a matchmaker, my lady?” Andrew Gordon asked her.
Cicely blushed, to her dismay. “Why would you say such a thing, my lord?” she asked him, her hands going to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her surcoat.
“She has left me with undeniably the prettiest girl in the hall,” he replied gallantly. “You surely saw that I have been staring at you all evening, my lady.”
“I had not noticed,” Cicely lied, and then blushed once more, for he surely knew that she was lying. “I thought you looked at the queen,” she finished.
“The queen is lovely, but you, my lady, are fairer by far,” the laird of Fairlea said. “Will you walk with me?” He offered her his arm.
Cicely hesitated a moment, but then she took Andrew Gordon’s arm. He was very handsome, and he did not seem as rough-spoken as so many of the Scottish lords were. And there was no odor or smell of heavy scent about him either, which meant he was clean. His clothing was certainly fresh, and even stylish.
“Look, Jamie! Look! Ce-ce is walking with Huntley’s kin,” the queen whispered to her husband. “Don’t they make a handsome couple, my love?”
James Stewart looked and smiled. “He would be a good match for her, sweetheart. He stands high in Huntley’s favor, and has lands of his own. And he spent two years at the university in Aberdeen. He’s not crude and strident, like so many of my lords. We must encourage this possible match.”
“She has to love him, Jamie. You promised her father that she would have the right to make her own choice. I know Huntley would be beholden to you if Cicely decided to wed his kinsman. And I know you need all the allies you can find, but I will not allow you to sacrifice my best friend if it does not please her.”
“I know what I promised her father, sweetheart,” the king said, “and I will keep my pledge to him. But it cannot hurt any if we encourage Cicely to consider choosing this young man, can it?”
The queen laughed. “Nay, my lord, it cannot hurt to encourage them.”
And in the days leading up to the coronation of King James I and Queen Joan, the young royals did indeed manage to see that Cicely Bowen and Andrew Gordon kept each other company more times than not. It would be a good match. Andrew had lived in France briefly, studying at the Sorbonne for a few months. He loved poetry, which of course gave him something in common with King James. The king loved writing poetry, and had even written a poem about the day he had seen Joan Beaufort for the first time, calling her “the
fairest or the freschest young floure that evir I saw.” And if the queen and her husband were encouraging the match, so too was the Lord Huntley, who better than his besotted kinsman saw the value in the laird of Fairlea marrying the queen’s close confidante and childhood friend. Any close tie with the king was all for the good, although Huntley until now had always thought his kinsman’s education a waste, and poetry for fools.
James Stewart, the Gordon of Huntley had quickly learned, was no fool. Where his late father, King Robert, had been a good but weak man; and his late uncle, the Duke of Albany, a rapacious and ambitious man; James Stewart was intelligent enough to win friends among the border lords and the people. The great lords, Huntley included, were quickly coming to realize that this king would be a strong king. Now the question remained whether they could live with him better than without him.
And while Huntley conferred with his fellow earls, his kinsman began to court the queen’s lovely friend. One afternoon the two rode to a nearby meadow, where a picnic had been set up for them. It was early May, and the hillsides were abloom with yellow and white flowers. Seated upon a white cloth they
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