Stuart, Elizabeth (37 page)

"As
if something like that mattered to me!" Jonet scoffed. "For a man who
cares so little for honor, Alexander's certainly making a ridiculous fuss over
mine."

"You
don't know him very well, do you?"

Jonet
hesitated. "He's a difficult man to really know."

"Have
you never noticed how my son flaunts his reputation? How he throws it so blatantly
in the teeth of these gentlemen? Think about that a bit." Elizabeth
smiled. "You may find the key to unlock his secrets."

Jonet
frowned, trying to understand. In the silence both women heard footsteps.

The
door swung open and Robert Maxwell stood on the threshold. "I was told I'd
find you here, lass, though I scarcely credited the story. You could hardly
wait till my back was turned it seems."

Elizabeth
Hepburn had risen to her feet. Jonet rose as well. She felt surprisingly calm.
"I'm returning some clothing Lady Hepburn loaned me. I told Agnes she
might tell you. I've no desire to do anything behind your back, Uncle."

"An
odd way you have of showing it. Would I have learned of this if the rain hadn't
sent us all back? I wonder."

Jonet
couldn't remember ever being at odds with Robert. But now she was angry,
overwhelmingly so—angry for herself and Alexander, angrier still for Elizabeth.
"I've just told you I would. Do you call me a liar now as well as treating
me like a child?"

"Go
to your room, Jonet. You don't understand this. You've no idea what this woman
is doing." Robert's eyes had shifted to Elizabeth. They rested on her
contemptuously. "How she's using you for her own ends."

"I
understand enough to know you should be down on your knees begging her
forgiveness instead of behaving like an ill-bred churl!"

"Don't!"
Elizabeth caught Jonet's hand. "You'll only make it worse. Go now."

Robert's
face had gone white and then red. "Well, madam, you're pleased I suppose.
It's obvious you and that hellspawn you bore have encouraged my niece in this
wild behavior. Well, she'll not come near you again, nor will I. And don't
think to see me on my knees any time soon. Not again...
never again!
The
day I go down on my knees to a whore is the day you'll see me in hell!"

Jonet
squeezed Elizabeth's fingers helplessly. She was stunned by the fury in
Robert's face, the venom in his voice. She'd never heard him like this, never
thought him capable of such behavior.

"A
visit could be arranged. The Prince of Darkness himself has come calling."

Jonet
turned.

Alexander
stood in the doorway a study in frozen wrath, molten fire encased in glittering
ice. "You'll ask my mother's pardon. Now, if you don't mind. And,
yes," he said, smiling sardonically, "I insist it be on your knees."

Robert
had spun to face him. His hand went to his sword. "Go to the devil,
Hepburn!"

Alexander
moved into the room. "After you, my lord."

Jonet
stood, holding her breath. She'd never seen two men so eager to come at each
other.

Elizabeth
Hepburn stepped between them. "Alexander, stop it. Stop it now! These
theatrics are absurd. Robert, don't be a fool! Jonet meant no harm, she truly
came to return my things. Take the child and go."

Alexander
hadn't moved. His eyes remained locked with the earl's. "Not until he
apologizes."

"I
stand by my words!"

Brisk
footsteps sounded, then Worrell was pushing through the doorway. He took in the
scene at a glance. "God in heaven, I feared this would happen. Stop this,
you fools! What do you think the king will do if you break his peace in his own
castle?"

"Stay
out of this, Worrell," Alexander murmured. "It's between the two of
us."

"No,
it's not. Just how long do you think it'll take the court to run rife with the
kind of stories we've been trying so hard to avoid? No more than hours I assure
you!"

Alexander
looked at Jonet, frowning.

"And,
Robert," Worrell continued. "This won't just ruin Jonet. If it comes
to a fight between the two of you, it's apt to stir up a history you'd much
prefer buried."

For
a moment the atmosphere remained charged. Then Alexander's hand slid away from
his sword. "So the mighty earl of Mure is safe behind a woman's skirts...
again."

Robert's
eyes narrowed. He stepped closer to Alexander. The face that stared back was
the dark, handsome face of Gavin Hepburn, the man who had stolen the joy from
his life and left him stunned and hurting and less than a man, the enemy who
had succeeded in winning, in staining his honor with gossip... even in death.
"I don't fear to meet you, Hepburn. Perhaps we can oblige each other at a
more convenient time."

Hepburn's
odd eyes glittered coldly. Gavin's eyes. "Perhaps."

Robert
nodded and made for the door. He would speak to Jonet later. At the moment he
was far too angry, would say things he knew he'd regret. The lass didn't
realize she was a pawn, used by these two to hurt him again.

"Alex,
please... I must speak to you."

Robert
spun around. Jonet was staring up at the man with a look that made his blood
run cold. He took a step toward her, then met Worrell's eyes.

"Go
on, Robert.
Now!"
Worrell snapped. "Get out for some air. I'll
see the lass to her room."

Robert
nodded and strode out without one glancing back. If he had he would have gone
for his sword.

He
walked out of the castle, down the esplanade and into the city, moving without
a thought to his direction, without a care to the drizzling rain. He had been a
man in a nightmare these last weeks, worrying about Jonet, fearing the worst
for her at Hepburn's hands. Then all his prayers had been answered. He had been
spared certain death and the lass had been returned to him unharmed. And Jonet
had assured him his enemy had been a gentleman.

But
he'd lain awake every night, wondering what Hepburn's game was. For he didn't
believe for a moment that the man was moved to kindness on behalf of the
Maxwells. No, he believed the ax would fall, suddenly and unexpectedly. It kept
him on edge, was beginning to drive him a little mad just wondering when and
how it would happen. And it frightened him most to think Jonet might be
included in the vengeance.

He
thought of Jonet now and cursed the fates that had brought her into this. If
only he'd gotten her safe married, none of this could have happened.

But
he had been selfish. Jonet was the one real joy he'd known, and he hadn't
wanted to give her up. His wife, Anne, had been a friend and a partner, but
they'd had no satisfying relationship in the sense he sometimes craved. He
hadn't wanted to care too deeply. He hadn't allowed himself to.

And
he hated to admit, even to himself, that she hadn't moved him physically. That
the woman whose face he'd seen in the night, whose body he'd made love to,
whose very presence still moved him with a bewildering, incomprehensible mix of
love and hatred, anger and regret, was Elizabeth Hepburn. And he hated himself
for the fool he was and the weakness he couldn't quite master.

It
had begun to rain harder and he retraced his steps to the castle. He would go
to Jonet now, tell her what had happened all those long years ago. There was no
telling what she believed, what that woman and her son had put into her head.
And he would force himself to stay calm this time, to bite back the angry
words. Jonet didn't understand. She hadn't been raised to believe men like
Hepburn even existed.

He
entered the castle and moved through the hall. Stopping a passing servant, he
took a tankard of ale to quench his thirst.

A
few feet away two servants were talking. One clinked several coins together
with a grin. "Easiest money ever earned, lad. And from a lady no less. So
braw I'd of taken the note for one of her smiles alone."

"A
lady, eh? A love note, no doubt."

"Oh,
aye. So hot I'll wager Lord Hepburn burns his fingers. And something else by
tonight, eh?"

The
men sniggered, and moved off, and Robert sat glowering. Jonet had sworn Hepburn
was a gentleman and he hadn't asked more. He hadn't needed to. Jonet was a
Maxwell, for God's sake!

But
he thought of that last moment in Elizabeth's room, of the way Jonet had looked
up at the man. And he remembered Hepburn's words.
None of my women have yet
called it hurt.

He
rose to his feet, his blood surging with hatred. He would find out the truth.
Then he and Hepburn would have it out once and for all.

***

Alexander
stared out the gallery window, frowning down into the courtyard. He'd just come
from fencing with James. He'd never realized what a nuisance it might be to
have a king's favor. The lad had refused his request to leave court and he was
damned tired of cooling his heels here.

He
was ready to leave the whispers and insults behind, to take his mother and get
back to Durnam. He'd had a bellyful of so-called honorable men, some he knew
had traded information and coin on both sides of the border. And he was afraid
if he stayed he would do what his mother had feared for so long. He would fight
Robert Maxwell.

He
thought of Jonet, of the way she had looked at him such a short time ago. He
had frightened her. That look on her face had cooled his blood-lust more than
Worrell's words. He had given Mure's life to her once, though the lass would
never know. Today he had done it again.

He
frowned. It was difficult living here, watching Jonet from a distance, knowing
he could never talk with her again in the easy way they had shared, never laugh
with her, never make slow delicious love to her, never feel her body convulse
with pleasure against his. She would belong to some other man, young John
Galbraith, if he were any judge.

He
shifted and drew a deep breath, neither body nor mind comfortable with the
image the thought evoked. It would be a good match for the lass, though. Far
better than one with him might have been, even with a king's favor.

John
was heir to the earldom of Worrell and a good man, slow and soft-spoken, even
friendly to Alexander in his own quiet way. Yes, it would be a good match for
Jonet. He couldn't let her go to anyone less. He only hoped to hell he wouldn't
be forced to watch it happen.

A
bustle of movement below caught his attention. A woman was crossing the
courtyard, several attendants hurrying after her. A gust of wind caught the
hood of her cloak, sweeping it back to reveal an exquisite profile he knew
well.
Diana!

And
then he was up and sprinting for the door, determined to catch the woman before
she disappeared.

"Diana,
wait!"
he
shouted as he made the courtyard.

She
swung around, her cloak belling out in the wind. She was smiling, sure of her
welcome. It made him furious.

She
came toward him, one hand outstretched. "Well, Alexander, are you
surprised?"

He
thought of what she had done, what she had schemed to send Jonet into. It was
difficult keeping his temper in check. "Surprised isn't the word I'd
choose, my sweet. After what you did, I'm half tempted to break your bloody
neck! Is that what you call keeping a promise?"

She
threw back her head with a laugh, eyes meeting his with no hint of contrition.
"You obviously haven't been to your apartments, my love. I come bearing
peace offerings."

She
stepped up to him then, catching his arms with both hands, her rich voice
throaty with excitement. "I have it, Alex! I've sold my soul with a dozen
lies for you. But I have it. I have Wolsey's letter!"

He
met her eyes, the questions swirling but unimportant.
"Where?"
He
uttered the one word sharply.

"I
had it sent up to your chamber as soon as I arrived, along with a most demure
and contrite little note I devised. I was hoping it might ease the way a
bit." Diana grinned. "I've grown quite attached to my neck. I was
hoping you wouldn't be so terribly angry once we met."

Alexander
stared at her. "Diana, love, with that particular peace offering, I'd
welcome you even if you had sold me out to Murdoch and the French!"

Her
rich laugh rippled out. "You guessed, of course. Well, if it makes you
think any better of me, I changed my mind near a score of times before I sent
Douglas that note. And tell me, darling, is your spy in my household or his?
Though now I think on it, I suppose it's both most like."

Alexander
caught her up with a laugh, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around in
his arms. He had the letter. He had it, praise God! Now would begin the tedious
business of attempting to match handwritings.

But
he had a place to start: the men who'd been at Ford Castle, the men who'd sat
on the council refusing to trade this very letter for the life of an English
spy.

And
now it was his.

"I'd
rather go inside and take a look at that peace offering," he said softly.