Stuart, Elizabeth (16 page)

He
stood, gazing down as if trying to decide what to say. "You need to
understand something, Jonet. With or without us, Mure would never have made it
to France. And with or without you, I would have found him one day." He
hesitated again. "I'm only sorry it had to happen this way."

Unaccountably,
tears filled her eyes. She held her head high anyway. Suddenly she wanted
nothing so much as to hurt him, but Alexander seemed remote, unassailable
behind that cool gray gaze.

She
struck out blindly, childishly, her rage doubling because she recognized the
futility. "If there's any justice in this world, Alexander, you'll find
yourself in a like position one day. And I just hope to heaven you're as
helpless then as I am now!"

His
hand came up as if to touch her cheek. She jerked out of reach.

His
expression didn't change. She had the uncomfortable feeling he knew she was
falling apart. "I've already paid that price, Jonet. There's little more
helpless than a boy forced to stand outside the door listening to his father
die. That's why, believe it or not, I can sympathize so well with you now.

"But
you can rest easy for the moment," he continued. "Mure hasn't been
marched off to the block and won't be for some time at least. So don't go
mourning your lost kinsman—saint that you'd like to make him. The keys to the
kingdom won't be his for a while."

"Get
out!"
Jonet drew a deep, shaky breath. "I wish to heaven I'd never laid eyes on
you! Now get out and leave me alone."

"Very
well, lass, I told you it would be your choice." He turned on his heel and
moved toward the door. He paused, one hand on the latch. "I'll speak to
Angus about letting you see your uncle. I'm afraid that's all I can do."
He looked at her oddly. "It's all I'd want to do... even for you. Now good
day to you, Mistress Maxwell."

For
a moment Jonet stood fighting back tears. Then she moved across the floor to
the table. Picking up Alexander's glass, she stared at it a moment. Then she
turned and smashed the exquisite crystal against the hearth.

The
sunlight
was fading, the last glow of evening spending itself in crimson reflection
across the lead glass window panels of Edinburgh's elegant houses. In the
narrow, garbage-lined streets below, weary vendors counted their coins and
packed up their wares, and men and women scurried homeward through the shadows.

The
darkness deepened. New voices, different sounds, began drifting up through the
narrow wynds between houses and shops. Alone at her window, Jonet sensed the
change. The voices were more raucous, the sound of men calling to men as they
ventured out to ale shops and brothels, and the laughter was more often born of
liquor or a crude jest.

She
turned from the window. After Alexander had left she had finally had a good
cry. In fact, she had cried so much she doubted she had any tears left. She had
faced her situation squarely and come to terms with it as best she could.

There
would be no miraculous rescue. There was little hope of any reprieve. Robert
was in prison and would most likely be put to death soon. She was a prisoner of
the Douglases, her person and lands at their disposal. And the man she had
trusted to help, the man who had moved her to laughter and tears, to fear and
exhilaration, was the very one who had made it all so.

And
she
was terribly ashamed that that thought hurt near as much as all the rest.

A
good lesson on the evils of trusting strangers, especially charming ones, she
told herself. A bitter lesson in lost innocence.

"M'lady?"
A soft knock sounded against the door.

"Yes."

"M'lord
Douglas requests that ye join him for supper. D'ye need any help?"

The
maid's voice was anxious. Doubtless they all knew she'd been crying; doubtless
they all expected her to refuse. This morning she would have, but not tonight.
Tonight all the fight had gone out of her. "Thank you, no. Tell your
master I'll be along."

"Aye."

Jonet
listened to the retreating footsteps, then washed her face and hands and
straightened the skirts of her borrowed gown. She made her way down the stairs.
The gentlemen were awaiting her in the back parlor. A servant bowed her in.

Murdoch
Douglas was resplendent in velvet. She walked toward him and his face broke
into a smile. "Lady Jonet! I'm pleased you decided to join us."

She
met his gaze. "Did I have a choice?"

The
unfamiliar smile became forced. "Certainly, lass. You may always return to
your room if you choose. But since you're here," he added smoothly,
turning to a slender young man at his side. "Since you're here, I'd like
you to meet Thomas."

Thomas
Douglas. The man they would want her to wed.

Jonet's
gaze shifted quickly. The man was as little like his father as any son could
be. Where Murdoch was short and muscular, Thomas was tall and slim. Where
Murdoch's hair was coarse and dark and peppered with gray, Thomas was crowned
with sunlight. And where Murdoch's eyes were brown, Thomas's were a deep
celestial blue. The coldest blue she'd yet seen.

His
eyes swept briefly over her. She was relieved to discover he seemed as little
inclined to her as she was him.

"We'll
be celebrating tonight," Murdoch was saying with pride. "Thomas has
received a new appointment. He'll be attached to the office of the king's lord
high advocate."

Thomas
poured three goblets of wine and handed one across to her. "Yes, it's a
multiple celebration. My appointment, the arrest of a traitor..." His eyes
met hers in deliberate provocation, "and our engagement, Mistress."
He grinned and tossed off his wine. "To my future wife and our requisite
bliss."

Jonet
felt herself stiffening. "You may celebrate the first two if you like, but
there's been no betrothal nor will there be. Nowadays a man can't forcibly wed
an unwilling woman. And I assure you I'll never be willing."

"Oh,
I don't know." Thomas poured himself another goblet of wine. "My
appointment gives me certain privileges. I can give orders regarding the
welfare and treatment of state prisoners, for instance. Mure might be brought
to appreciate your cooperation even more than I."

Jonet
felt her whole body flush with outrage—and on the heels of the outrage, fear.
She rounded on Murdoch. "I know you hate my uncle. You've seen to it that
he's ruined. But God in heaven, you're a sworn officer of the Crown! I can't
believe you'd stoop to this kind of blackmail."

Murdoch
shifted uncomfortably and sent Thomas a frowning glance. "There's no need
for this unpleasantness. I'm sure with time we'll all get on much better."
He turned back to Jonet. "Give yourself a chance, girl. Get to know my son
and I'm certain you'll feel differently."

Thomas
gave a short bark of laughter. "No need to waste time sugarcoating it,
Father. The three of us know she'll not change her mind just like we know what
it'll take to bring off a wedding. The girl had best learn a little
complaisance.

"Angus
has trouble enough on his hands without her becoming a rallying point for his
enemies. He warned you this afternoon there'd best be no public unpleasantness
over this marriage. I, for one, don't plan to let a headstrong little fool ruin
my chance of making something of our family."

"Oh,
by all means, let's keep our unpleasantness private," said a new voice.

Jonet
swung around. Alexander was standing just over the threshold, arms folded, back
against the closed door. She wondered how long he'd been listening.

With
an unconscious feline grace, he moved across the floor to join them. Pouring
himself wine, he lifted his goblet toward Thomas. "My compliments,
Douglas. That new post, a worthy piece of strategy if I may say so." He
sipped his wine. "By the way, we haven't met. I'm Alexander Hepburn."

The
narrowed blue eyes inspected Alexander with exquisite care. "Hepburn, yes.
I've heard of you."

Alexander
grinned. "I should think that you have."

The
grin awoke a reluctant laugh. "I guess everyone has at that." Thomas
downed the rest of his wine. "By the way, I hear I've you to thank for
returning my runaway bride."

"No
trouble," Alexander responded. "We were headed in the same
direction."

It
was all Jonet could do to keep from flinging her wine in his face. These men
were despicable, and they had the power of life and death over Robert. Worse,
they had the power of making what was left of that life unendurable.

And
she
very much feared she was going to have to do what they wished.

Willing
her hand not to shake, she set down her untasted wine. "If you'll excuse
me, my lord Douglas, I'll take advantage of that choice you assured me I had.
You gentlemen have so much in common, I'm sure I should feel out of place here tonight.
Good evening." Turning she forced herself to walk toward the door.

"Think
on what I told you," Thomas called. "We'll need to set a date for the
wedding. No need for haste. A week will be fine with me."

Thomas
chuckled, but his father was frowning. "I told you to leave us, Hepburn.
That's an order."

Alexander
was still watching Jonet. A week. But a week might become forever. And it had
come to him, suddenly, that he should take a hand in making it so.

He
waited until the door swung shut, then glanced up. "You mean I'm not
expected for dinner, Douglas? Now Angus assured me he was going to speak to you
about extending his hospitality."

He
raised his goblet for a leisurely drink, hard gray eyes meeting Murdoch's over
the rim. "And not that I've any intention of being rude, but you'd best
check the extent of your authority. I doubt you've the right to give me any
orders at all."

Murdoch's
face went red. "We'll see about that."

Alexander
smiled. "Oh, don't trouble yourself for tonight. As it happens I won't
need dinner at all. First night in the city, you know. I'm going out. No need
to wait up."

Thomas
burst out laughing and Alexander sent him a grin. Then he turned and headed for
the door.

"Wait!"

Alexander
looked back, eyebrows lifting quizzically.

"I
know the city far better than you. Let me get my cloak. I'll go with you."

For
only an instant Alexander hesitated. Then he gave the young man his most
glittering smile. "I'd be delighted."

***

The
sound of raised voices and drunken laughter spilled into the dark street.
Alexander thrust a shoulder beneath his companion's arm, hastily joining the
refrain of the lusty ditty they'd struck up. "Up a step, lad... now,"
he broke off to say, and together they lurched through the inn doorway and
across the floor into the crowded common room. High on the wall an improbable
looking feline proclaimed where they were, but Alexander doubted very much if
it had ever been white.

With
the ease of long practice, he commandeered a table, sliding Thomas Douglas onto
one of the rough benches. The song ended in a hiccough as the young man slumped
over the ale-sticky planks.

"Good
lad. I'd forgot that verse," Alexander remarked, sending a quick look
about. The White Lyon was a rundown inn and alehouse obviously catering to few
wealthy customers. Little chance of running into anyone from court but, damn
the luck, it didn't look like his man had waited!

He
glanced at Thomas in exasperation. The lad had a harder head than he'd
expected. They'd spent the last two hours gambling and drinking their way
across town. It had taken three taverns and a prodigious amount of ale. Now,
save for the coins it had earned him, it appeared the whole effort was wasted.

There
was a stir of movement at the table nearest the door. Alexander glanced back.
An elderly gentleman in grimy, much-mended clothes was making his way across
the room.

"Hold
onto our table, Thom," Alexander ordered. "I'll see if that lass I
told you about still works here."

He
followed the man, watching out of the corner of his eye as the man counted
several pennies into the tapster's waiting hand. "It's number three,"
the man was saying. "Can'y remember, d'ye ken? The ale's to be sent up by
half past five. I've an early start to be makin."

A
short time later Alexander stood alone in the narrow hallway outside the third
room from the stairs. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he eased off the
latch and ducked inside into darkness. There was a sound of flint being struck,
then light flooded a corner of the room.

"Good
God, Alex, are you daft? You must know that's Murdoch's cub out there."

Alexander
grinned. The elderly gentleman was seated on a stool. "Hello, Lyle. It's
good to see you too."

The
man took a deep breath, then laughed. "Damn it, Alex! You know it's good
to see you. But when I saw who you were with—" He broke off and shook his
head.

"A
little unexpected company." Alexander walked forward and held out one
hand. "It really is good to see you, Lyle. It's been a long time."

The
man rose. Ignoring the outstretched hand, he threw both arms around Alexander.
"Damn it, Alex, it's been nearly a year, and I don't mind admitting I've
missed you. I'd give my fight hand to see you out of this place and home!"

Alexander
returned the bone-crushing hug. "This is home, Lyle." He grinned.
"And you must admit it's convenient for you and Wolsey to have information
coming direct from Angus's own man."

"Yes,
but one wrong move and you could get that head I'm so fond of separated from
your shoulders." Lyle frowned. "I can't help but worry a bit."

Alexander
laughed.
"Lyle Barrow?
The man who taught me this business? The man
who got us into so much hot water in France we scarcely got off with out lives?
I don't believe you know how to worry."

The
man grinned and stepped away. "That's just it. If we were together I'd not
have a qualm. It's not knowing what's going on that makes it difficult. And I'm
not the only one who worries, you know."

Alexander's
smile faded. Pulling up a second rickety stool, he sat down. The older man
followed suit. "How is Mother?" he asked softly.

"Oh,
beautiful as ever. Half the men in London at her feet, of course." Lyle
chuckled. "And some of 'em young enough to call you big brother."

A
flicker of amusement crossed Alexander's face. "I'm glad she's enjoying
herself. I don't suppose..." He hesitated. "I don't suppose she's
said anything about coming back."

"I
think the sight of Durnam would be too painful."

Alexander
studied his hands carefully. "I know. It was hard for me too. But another
year of the Douglases and the place would have been ruined completely."

"Speaking
of the Douglases, where's the boy? You've not killed him, I hope."

"Not
yet, but I've been sorely tempted. Damn, but I think the cub likes me!"