Stuart, Elizabeth (12 page)

The
man went down like he'd been cut off at the knees. Alexander stomped hard on
his hand, bending to pick up the freed sword with a satisfied smile. He had
disarmed his opponent without ever unsheathing his weapon. It was a trick Lyle
Barrow had taught him years ago, and it had saved his life on more than one
occasion.

Mure
muttered an oath and Alexander, supremely confident, jerked his head toward the
cave entrance, sending his men back on watch. "Now then," he said
pleasantly. "Perhaps we can talk."

Mure
crouched on the floor of the cave, his breath coming shallow and fast though he
nursed his smashed hand without a whimper. He glanced up, eyes narrowed with
pain. "What do you want, Hepburn? Besides the obvious."

"The
same thing I wanted two years ago when I returned from England. I wrote asking
to talk to you. A meeting—one reasonable man to another. Not only did you
refuse, but you had my man horse-whipped out your gates and threatened me with
the same if ever I stepped on your land."

Alexander
smiled grimly. "Well, I'm not asking any more, Mure, and I doubt at the
moment whether either of us qualify as reasonable men. But you're going to talk
to me. You're going to give me some answers."

Dirty
and disheveled, Mure raised his head with all the icy hauteur for which he was
known. For just a moment, his gray-green eyes reminded Alexander of Jonet.

"And
what makes you think I'll do anything to oblige a knave who's sold out his
country probably a dozen times over, a man who doesn't even deserve to draw breath?"

Alexander
stared at him evenly. "A trusting lass who for some reason thinks the sun
does rise and set in you. A lass who's sleeping peacefully some five miles from
here." He smiled. "You see, Mure, I learn from my mistakes. This time
I won't be sent away. This time I came prepared with a way to enforce my
request."

The
green eyes widened, the pupils dilating, darkening. Mure made a jerky attempt
at standing and Alexander lifted the sword. "You bloody son of a bitch!
You brought Jonet here?"

"As
it happens, she insisted on coming. She has a pocketful of jewels and some wild
idea about getting to France. She hopes to make your exile more
comfortable."

"Good
God!"

In
the flickering half-light, Mure suddenly looked far older than his forty-four
years. For the first time Alexander noticed the deep shadows beneath his eyes,
the lines of weariness etched about his mouth. It was obvious the news of
Jonet's involvement had come as a shock. That meant Gordon Maxwell hadn't made
it through. Alexander gave a fleeting thought to the problems that might
create, then filed it away to handle in the future.

"You
know I despise you, Hepburn," Mure said. "I've hated your house a
great many years. But Jonet knows nothing of this. She's innocent of the wrongs
of either side. Can we not keep her out of it?"

"So,
too, was my father innocent," Alexander responded. "He died for
it."

"Innocent?"
Mure demanded
incredulously. "Name of God, man, are you daft?" He began to laugh
and it was a wild, hysterical sound, each gasp like hot coals against
Alexander's flesh.

"Enough!"
Alexander snarled. He grasped Mure's sword tightly, aching to bury it in the
man's chest, knowing he couldn't... not yet. "Enough," he said again
softly, "before either of us does what we're like to regret."

The
laughter ceased abruptly, doused by the grim warning in Alexander's tone. Mure
met his eyes, his own alive with bitterness. "Oh, I wanted him dead,
Hepburn, I'll admit it. But I had no hand in murdering him. That I do swear on
my soul and Jonet's. And if I'd believed the rumors of murder, I'd of taken
more care to keep him alive.

"You
see, I didn't want him murdered. No, that was too easy. I wanted him and that
slut of mother of yours dragged through the mud. I wanted the Hepburn name and
all it stood for ruined along with any chance of happiness those two might ever
have had. I wanted to watch Gavin Hepburn walk to the block for betraying his
country, for selling the lifeblood of ten thousand Scotsmen to the English. And
I wanted Elizabeth to watch."

Alexander
had never come so close to killing an unarmed man. He had known he despised
Mure, but not even he had realized how deeply the hatred burned. Now his guts
were twisted with it, the acid taste of it scorching his throat. It drove him
beyond reason, beyond caution. He controlled the urge to smash his blade in
Mure's face because he knew a way to cut deeper.

"What
say you to a Hepburn bastard bred on the sweet Jonet? It could happen easily
enough... if it hasn't already."

With
a feral snarl, Mure launched himself at Alexander, but his enemy was no longer
there. He'd moved sideways instinctively, raising his hand and chopping down
sharply on the back of Mure's neck as he went by.

The
man went down like a stone and it was with great difficulty that Alexander resisted
the urge to kick him where he lay. God, he was turning into a monster. But he
didn't much care.

The
threat of violence was almost palpable in the small cell. Mure rolled over and
stared up at him, eyes wide and waiting, a man under sentence of death.

"I
don't know what Mother ever saw in you," Alexander breathed. "But she
still defends you... even now."

Mure's
flushed face went ashen. His eyes, unguarded for a moment, reflected a deep
pain.

"And
I want you to know," Alexander continued softly. "I want you to know
that the only reason on earth you still draw breath is a promise she drew from
me—that slut you wanted dragged through the mud!"

Both
men were breathing shallowly, both perspiring, both silently hurting and
inflicting hurts. Neither spoke. Neither had anything more that could be said
aloud. And in the tense silence the sound of hurrying footsteps and the
careless snapping of underbrush came to them easily.

The
heavy blanket was dragged back. "Trouble, my lord! There's an army coming
and coming fast," Jem Stone panted out. "It's Murdoch Douglas."

Alexander
pulled himself together with difficulty. For a few shattering moments he had
lost his prized self-control. Rage had boiled up with such sudden intensity, it
had blotted out reason, had overtaken purpose.

Now
Murdoch Douglas was hot on his heels and he hadn't begun to question Mute about
that damning charge of treason. He'd been too angry, too eager to cause Mure
pain. Now he would pay the price. If the earl died without talking, Alexander
would have no one to blame but himself.

He
took a deep breath. "How fast, Jem?"

"Maybe
ten, twelve minutes at most."

There
was no hope of slipping away unseen. "That does narrow our options a bit
then, doesn't it? We'll wait."

He
drew a pair of leather thongs from his doublet and pitched them to Jem.
"Here, tie his lordship's hands behind his back." He sent Mure a
sardonic smile. "After so long a time my memory may be faulty, but I
believe this is the way traitors are delivered up to the lord warden."

Mure
regarded him evenly. He was once more in control; no trace of emotion showed on
his proud face. "Get your gibes in while you can, Hepburn. You'll have
your reward soon enough. Angus can't win, not in the long run. He'll go down,
and you and Murdoch and all of the rest who've sold their souls to the devil
will go down with him. Scotland won't be ruined—not by the likes of you anyway.
My only regret," he added softly, "is that I won't be alive to see
it."

In
a matter of moments, the thunder of hoofbeats was heard. The men moved outside
and scrambled to the top of the brae. The Douglases must have seen them, for
they headed directly across the open moor toward them.

Murdoch
sawed back on his reins, drawing his big roan to a sliding stop scarcely a half
dozen yards from Alexander. "Hepburn! What the devil are you doing
here?"

Alexander
swept an elegant bow. "Delivering up a traitor. I take great pleasure in
turning over Robert Maxwell, late of Beryl Castle. Almost as much as I shall
take in accepting the reward for his capture."

Murdoch
frowned. "Reward? We'll see about that. You must have gotten here just
before I did. I had him," he added. "Your precious help wasn't so
vital as Angus seemed to think. I discovered all that was necessary in my own
way. Besides, Mure wasn't going anywhere. I've had every French ship held in
Leith Harbor and a blockade keeping watch for any coming west. He could have
sat here till he rotted for all the good it would have done."

Alexander
felt a swift surge of anger, quickly controlled. Douglas was going to cheat him
out of the two hundred pounds. He should have expected it.

But
there was something at stake here far more valuable than money. Jonet didn't
deserve to be handed over to the Douglases. The very thought of it sickened him.
If only Mure would keep his mouth shut. If only he'd had the good sense to do
the same.

He
shot a swift, appraising glance at the earl. He'd have to find a way to
convince Mure to keep the information about Jonet to himself. But the earl
wasn't even attending to the conversation. He was staring past Murdoch at a man
a few paces to the rear of the group.

Alexander
followed his gaze. The man was battered and worn, obviously the worse for a
beating—or several of them. There was a long gash across his brow and his
blackened eyes were swollen and downcast, never lifting from his study of the
ground.

"I
see you've one of my men, Douglas," Mure remarked. "May I ask how you
forced him to lead you here?"

"Oh,
it wasn't too difficult. Your people aren't so loyal as you like to
think." Murdoch smiled. "A little persuasion, a bit of pressure
brought to bear and the thing was done."

"I
see." The earl appeared to be holding himself together with difficulty. He
seemed suddenly and inexpressibly weary, as if this last betrayal was more than
he could bear. "May I ask what your plans are for me?"

"Certainly.
We'll rest a short while then head for Edinburgh. Your trial will be arranged
and the sentence executed as quickly as possible."

"Arranged?"
Mure smiled
bitterly.
"Executed?
How aptly you put that. Matters always seem to
be being arranged and executed in Douglas Scotland."

"Will
you never learn, man?" Murdoch scoffed. "Treason on the eve of your
trial! This is Stewart Scotland."

"And
does our young king agree?"

"His
Grace is pleased to be guided by his stepfather," Murdoch replied.
"He loves Angus, looks on him like his real father."

"To
be sure," Mure responded wearily. For a moment he stared bleakly across
the empty moor, then his gaze fell on Alexander and the blankness smouldered
into life.

Mure's
head came up. His mouth twisted with bitterness. "Do what you will with
me, Douglas. My fate matters little." His voice dropped, came as close to
pleading as a man like him ever could. "I've but one request, and I ask it
now, one gentleman to another."

Alexander
controlled the urge to step forward, to silence Mure once and for all. He knew
what was coming. Indeed he had set this in motion himself with a few too-clever
words. He'd revealed a critical card too early. Now he knew a sudden regret for
an important hand misplayed. And the worst of it was that Jonet would be the
one to suffer for it.

Murdoch's
eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "So you can be brought to sing a new tune.
Very well. What is it you ask—one gentleman to another?"

"This
bastard..." Mure got out, jerking his head toward Alexander. "This
son of a whore and a traitor has my niece. He's dragged her here, possibly
ruined her. All with the sick idea of hurting me. And somehow..." He took
a deep breath. "Somehow I doubt even you would stoop to that. I ask now
that you take her under the king's protection."

Murdoch
swung around, eyes blazing. "Damn you, Hepburn! Damn you and your
vengeance! You were to bring the girl to me. So help me God, if you've laid one
hand on her I'll see you die by inches!"

Alexander
shrugged his shoulders in apparent unconcern. "The lass has taken no hurt
from me. When I learned she knew Mure's hideaway, I made it a point to win her
trust. She thought I planned to help them. Led me to Mure straight as an
arrow." He grinned. "You can't fault me there, my lord. If you hadn't
shown up, I'd have delivered them both up to you. Not on a silver platter,
perhaps, but with only the best of intentions."

Mure
was staring at him in revulsion. "Just what kind of a creature are you?
What kind of low, dishonorable—"

"One
sorely in need of a little reward money," Alexander interrupted. He met
Mure's gaze evenly. He would have to brazen this out. "A little reward
money and a bit of revenge."

"Well,
if you've used that girl for any personal motives—revenge or otherwise, I'll
see you regret it," Murdoch bit out. "Bad enough if word leaks out
and sets people talking. I'd best not find the girl breeding!"

"Oh,
for Christ's sake, Douglas, do you take me for a fool?" Alexander snapped.
"I think with my brain, not what I keep in my breeches! Besides, my taste
doesn't run to innocents and never has. I buy my horses well trained and my
women experienced."

He
sent the warden a glittering smile. "Less time wasted that way, you know.
But I wish Thomas joy of her and you of her dowry. I doubt not the size of that
will soothe your concerns for any overly tender handling on my part."

Murdoch
took a deep breath and began to grin. "Very well. A fool I've never
thought you, Hepburn. You're quick to gauge which way the wind's blowing and
use it to your advantage. It's the thing that makes you the most useful... and
the most dangerous. Just take care you don't misjudge that wind. It might prove
fatal."

Alexander
forced himself to keep smiling. "And you, my lord, have a care to
yourself. Like the favor of kings and princes, the wind is a fickle
thing."

***

The
rough hands were insistent. The voice wouldn't leave her alone. "Wake up,
lass. There's trouble."

Slowly
Jonet opened her eyes, the shadowy memories of the last few days spinning and
clashing and whirling in her brain. Sleep. All she wanted was sleep.

"There's
trouble," the deep voice repeated. "The Douglases are coming. The
warden is on his way now."

Merciful
God!
Jonet
sat up, the last vestiges of sleep clearing from her brain. She stared at
Grant, dreading the order to scramble into the saddle. "Do we run?"

He
gave her a wry smile. "The running is over, lass. At least for now. I'm
afraid things didn't go as planned. Murdoch has Alexander..." He
hesitated, his homely face softened. "He has your uncle as well. And he
knows about you. We've a dozen of his men he sent back here with Jem for a
guard."

Jonet
was scarcely able to take in what he was saying. Murdoch Douglas had Robert. It
wasn't possible. It wasn't fair! All their planning and effort for nothing.
Murdoch Douglas had won.

"I
hate him," she breathed. "God forgive me, but I hate him!"

She
wasn't even aware she was clutching Grant's arm until his rough hand closed
over hers. "Don't fret, lass. We did our best."

She
stared at him hopefully. "But what do we do now? Surely there's
something!"

"We
wait for the others. I fear it's them what'll be making the decisions for some
time at least."

A
terrifying image of her uncle at the mercy of Murdoch Douglas flashed through
her head, and with it another, equally unwelcome. Alexander was in a great deal
of trouble because of her. He might lose his lands... even his life.

Remorse
filled her. This was her fault. Alexander hadn't wanted to get involved, but
she had persuaded him. She had played on his kindness, on the softness for her
she had somehow sensed in the man. He had known little but trouble and
heartache all his life and now he might pay the most terrible price yet.
Because of her.

"Grant,
it's my uncle Douglas wants, my uncle and myself," she said in an unsteady
voice. "It's my fault Lord Hepburn's gotten involved. What can we do to
get him out of this?"

"Not
a thing, lass. Not now anyway. And save your worries for Mure. Alex don't need
'em. God knows he's got more lives than a cat. And better luck most times. He's
no fear of Douglas, more's the pity."

"But—"

"Leave
it be!" he interrupted. "Don't go puttin' your spoon in any stew of
Alex's making. You'll most likely spill the pot and get burned in the
process."

He
rose abruptly to his feet. "You'd best school your face to meet our new
master. And mind your tongue," he added. "There's Douglases
about."

A
short time later the men rode into camp. Alexander's dark head was the first to
catch her eye. He rode beside Murdoch Douglas, seemingly at ease. The warden
was laughing at something he had said, and Jonet's eyes widened in amazement.

Then
she forgot her surprise for she was staring at Robert Maxwell, his fine
clothing filthy and torn, his wrists bound behind him like those of a common
felon.

Never,
would she have dreamed he could be brought to this. He had been a hero for all
of her life, a great infallible being, a man unlike others. The sight of him
dirty and disheveled and helpless at the mercy of his enemies awoke in her a
hopelessness and despair. And fear, a fear unlike any she had known. If Murdoch
Douglas dared treat the powerful earl of Mure in such a manner, there was
nothing he wouldn't do.

She
struggled for command of herself. It was the one thing she might do for
Robert—she wouldn't disgrace him. She raised her chin and stepped out to meet
the men with a fleeting wish for her best brocade gown. It would be difficult
to appear disdainful in this getup knowing she looked a fool or worse.

"Good
God!"
Murdoch Douglas had halted his big roan. He was staring at her from the crown
of her short cropped hair to her muddy, disreputable boots.

She
shot a quick glance at Alexander. He was gazing at her impassively, his
beautiful eyes devoid of any but the most casual interest. She stared at him in
confusion. He didn't seem the least distressed by the situation.

Murdoch
reined his horse about her in a slow, humiliating circle. Despite all effort to
the contrary, Jonet felt a hot flush spread over her cheeks. In Alexander's
easy company, she had forgotten her embarrassment over the impropriety of her
clothing and conduct. Now the grinning, insolent faces of a score of unkempt
soldiers brought it home to her with renewed force.

Murdoch
swung down. "Well, my lady, you're a bold piece. First I hear of you
traveling the countryside and not even so much as a maid to bear you company.
Now I find you dressed in the most scandalous way imaginable."

His
surprise had given way to derision and he purposefully raised his voice.
"If this is the kind of behavior Mure's taught you, it's best I take a
hand in your schooling."