Stuart, Elizabeth (38 page)

They
hurried through the castle, not speaking now, both caught up in the
intoxicating excitement of a long and important quest near completion. He
banged on his bedchamber door, but his man didn't answer.

With
a frowning glance at Diana, he pushed it open. The manservant who kept his
chambers now that James had given him a suite of apartments was lying
unconscious upon the floor. Across the room Robert Maxwell sat beside the fire,
a scrap of paper crumpled in one hand.

Alexander
drew in his breath, advanced slowly into the room. "What are you doing
here?"

Mure
turned. He appeared to have aged ten years in the last hour. "A bit of
reading," he said at last. He glanced down at the paper in his hand. And
then he tossed it into the fire.

Alexander
darted across the floor, but the paper was already curling into smoke. He
knelt, watching the flames, conscious of a helplessness and pain so intense it
evoked the one over fourteen years before.

A
suffocating silence filled the room. He looked at Mure, then pushed slowly to
his feet. "I'm going to kill you," he said softly. "And I'm
going to enjoy every damned second of it!"

The
earl met his eyes, his own tortured and dark. "Who..." He swallowed
visibly. "Who has the rest of the thing?"

Alexander
caught his breath, stunned by the revelation, by the blinding rage that
followed. "You bloody, fucking bastard! It was you, wasn't it? It was you
all along?"

And
then he lunged for the man.

He
was never very clear about what happened next. When he came to himself, the
chair was overturned, Robert Maxwell on the floor beneath him. The earl's face
was ravaged and bloody. There was blood on his own hands as well.

Diana
was making a futile effort to drag him back. "Stop it, Alex, for God's
sake, stop it!" she cried. "You can't kill him like this, not an
earl. They'll hang you, darling. Oh God, Alex,
stop!"

He
closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. The mindless fury began to ebb.
"You're right," he got out. "This is too easy. Too easy for
him."

He
pulled himself to his feet, amazed to find he was shaking so badly he could
scarcely stand. He leaned against the wall. "Get him out!"

He
swallowed hard, almost sick with reaction. "If he can't crawl, push him or
drag him or whatever it takes. But get him out. Get him out of my sight!"

Diana
helped the man, half carrying, half dragging him to the doorway. She pushed him
through and shut the door, turning back to Alexander. The front of her gown was
spotted with blood—Mure's blood.

"That
dress," Alexander said sharply. "Burn it!" He turned and reached
for the flask of aqua vitae, shooting down a mouthful, welcoming the liquor's
searing bite. He wasn't sure he dared trust himself to say more.

Diana
crossed the floor, eyes brilliant, shining with tears. She put her arms around
him, drawing him against her. "Oh, Alex, I'm sorry," she whispered.
"I'm so terribly, terribly sorry."

It
was
all over court. Lord Mure had been attacked while he walked about Edinburgh.
Thieves, some insisted, Douglas assassins, the most popular story ran. But
Robert Maxwell didn't comment himself. He had retired from court to Worrell's
place on the Cannongate to recuperate in peace.

And
another mystery had arisen to set the court talking. It seemed the earl of Mure
led a twice charmed life. Records had been discovered at Angus's town house
showing a warrant of execution had been issued over a week ago, a warrant that
had been misdirected somehow and then lost. Mure should have walked to the
block the day before the Douglases were driven from power. The earl should have
been a dead man.

A
miracle, people swore. The direct hand of the Almighty, reaching down to save a
Godly and honorable man, one priest proclaimed.

Alexander
smiled cynically, studying the exquisite goblet of Venetian crystal between his
fingers. He'd been called any number of things over the years. The hand of God
was certainly a first.

"What
are you thinking, my love?"

Alexander
smiled as Diana entered the room. "Only how nice it is to be away from
court. How I owe you for allowing me to run tame here."

Diana
joined him on the settle. "I've taken the house for the rest of the
summer. You may stay here as much as you like."

"And
how long do you plan to stay?"

"Oh,
I don't know. That depends, I suppose."

"On
what?"

She
brushed her knuckles playfully against his jaw. "You, my lord Hepburn, ask
a great deal too many questions."

Alexander
frowned. It had been two days since Diana had arrived, since that cursed letter
had even been mentioned between them. "It's time I asked. Did you ruin
yourself in the south over that letter business?"

Diana
lifted her beautifully arched eyebrows. "Ruin myself? Heavens no! I don't
ruin myself for anyone. Not even you, Alex. When I see Wolsey again, I shall be
a much misled lass. I was assured, you see, that James was on his way to the
border. Can I help it that you bungled and the French intervened. That he made
it to Stirling instead."

She
frowned. "Perhaps I even burned the thing myself, to keep it from falling
into the wrong hands, you know. I'll have to think on it a bit."

Alexander
smiled. It was a relief not to have to worry about Diana. She always landed on
her feet.

"And
what are you going to do, Alex?"

"Get
the hell out of Edinburgh as soon as I'm able. Take mother and get back to
Durnam. Manage my estates for a while."

"And
the Douglases. What of them?"

"Oh,
I'll be in at the kill. James will take care we all see his vengeance."

"The
Alexander I knew once would have been eager for such an occasion. This one
doesn't seem so inclined." Diana laid a hand on his shoulder. "What's
happened, Alex? You seem to have used up all your hate on Mure that day at the
castle."

Alexander
frowned. He had changed that day. Hating required energy, an energy he no
longer possessed. Besides, the situation and the players had changed. If his
hunch was right, they had changed dramatically.

"Perhaps
you're right," he said slowly. "I've used up the hate... or it's used
me up. I feel—I don't know—drained somehow. As far as hating the Douglases, I
can't even summon it up. Murdoch and Thomas will pay for what they've done.
They'll never cross the border alive. But Angus? I've never hated him. In an
odd kind of way, I almost feel sorry for the man."

Alexander
sighed and stared at his hands, thinking of Jonet, of the way she had looked at
him that day... as if he were about to kill Mure with his bare hands. And she'd
been right.

"This
will sound strange coming from me... but none of it seems important. I'm weary
of it, lass, bone weary of all of it. The plotting and planning, the lies and
the blood and betrayals. I'm tired of watching innocents hurt, of being a party
to it all. There's a better way to live than this. There's got to be."

He
shrugged. "Besides, there are others with a better right to vengeance than
I. Duncan Maxwell stopped me yesterday, he and his man Gordon—the man I told
you lost two sons. Gordon wants Murdoch and Thomas himself. He'd taken a notion
I was the man to help get the job done."

His
gray eyes shadowed. "That's the reputation I have. A man who knows better
than any how to bring down my quarry, especially the two legged kind. And of a
sudden it's not one I want."

Diana's
hand had slipped upward to the back of his neck. She slid her fingers through
his hair. "And what did you say to them?"

Alexander
closed his eyes. "That they could have the Douglases and welcome if I'd
any say. I just want to get away from all this and get back to Durnam. To do my
best to forget these last two months even existed."

"Have
you no thought of marriage?"

"At
this point in my illustrious career, just who the hell'd have me?"

"That
remarkable young thing I did my best to dispose of. Jonet Maxwell would have
you in an instant, Alexander. But I greatly fear it would ruin you first."

Alexander
opened his eyes and sat up. "The shoe's on the other foot. It would be I
who ruined her. I came close enough in that mad week at Stepton." He
leaned forward, raising his goblet for a slow sip of wine. "I'll let her
risk nothing further."

He
stared into the glass, twisting it absently. "The talk's dying down. I've
noticed she's surrounded by an army of gallants these days. I doubt it'll be
long now."

Diana
rose and moved to the sideboard, pouring herself wine. She didn't even ask what
he'd meant. In the silence he heard the splash of liquid against crystal.
"I want you to know, Alex, that the offer's still open. You've but to say
the word."

"What
offer?"

"The
offer to make something permanent between us. The offer to marry me, Alex."

He
frowned. "I didn't deliver the king, lass. I doubt Wolsey would
countenance us now."

"No,
you didn't, did you?" She studied him. "I could say a great deal
about that, but we stray from the point." She took a sip of wine.
"You know Lyle would help us. He'd sway the others if possible. And
actually I don't care if Wolsey approves or not. This third time I'll marry to
please myself, not that scheming Vicar of Hell."

"And
you just said you'd not ruin yourself for anyone." Alexander smiled,
thinking of the past they shared, of what this woman had risked for him. He'd
never realized she cared so much, doubted she had until now. "We've a
great deal of history between us, Diana. I care for you. Too much for
this."

She
held his eyes, her own sharp with honesty. "How much do you care? All
pretense aside. I'd like the truth."

He
didn't hesitate. "My sword is yours, Diana, my life even, if ever you need
it."

She
came back just as quickly. "And Jonet Maxwell? How much do you care for
her?"

His
gaze didn't waver. "I'd give up my life for Jonet if need be. My life and
my soul."

"I
see." Diana drew a deep breath. "Well, that's honesty with a
vengeance."

"You
deserve nothing less."

She
shook her head, sent him a wry smile. "You're the only man I know who can
refuse a woman and still make it sound like a compliment. I took you for
granted too long, my love."

She
turned away, poured more wine. "I just want you to know that the offer
still holds. Think about it, Alex."

Footsteps
sounded. A servant was hesitating in the doorway. "Mistress, the earl of
Mure is waiting downstairs. He's here to see Lord Hepburn."

Diana
slammed down her glass. "Tell him to—"

"It's
all right, Diana. I've been halfway expecting him," Alexander interrupted.
"Show him up, Francis."

Diana
turned. "You won't do anything foolish. Promise me, Alex."

"No
murders in your parlor. I promise."

She
studied him shrewdly. "You know something, don't you? You're not even
angry anymore. God, have you lost your hate for Robert Maxwell as well?"

Alexander
looked away. "Let's just say I've come to pity him a bit these last days
as well. We'll see which galls him the worst, my hatred or pity."

"Lord
Mure," the servant announced.

With
a last brief glance at Alexander, Diana moved toward the door. Robert Maxwell
bowed stiffly, but she ignored him and swept out. His eyes met Alexander's.
"I've come to speak to you, Hepburn. About a matter that concerns us
both."

Alexander
didn't rise. Mure looked bad but it had little to do with the bruises marring
his face, the split lower lip. His eyes were green, vivid still, but staring
out of the puffy flesh surrounding them as if they were trapped in hell. Oddly
enough, Alexander felt no satisfaction.

"You're
surprised, I'm sure," Mure began. "Believe me, if there'd been any
way around this—" He broke off, took a deep breath.

"Actually,
I'm not," Alexander responded. He motioned for the man to take a chair.
"I'm just wondering which way you'll play this."

"Play?"
Mure
ground out. "That's all this is to you. A game, a cursed game! Well, you've
got me where you want me all right, but the cat's toyed with the mouse long
enough. I'll have no more of it!"

Drawing
a scrap of paper from his doublet he crossed the room, flinging it to the floor
in front of Alexander. "There. Do your worst, damn you!"

For
a moment Alexander's eyes remained fixed on Mure's face, then he glanced down.
The paper was old and stained, torn across one end. "This," he said
softly, "this does surprise me."

He
reached down and caught it up.
To
my Lord Surrey,
the salutation
began. His eyes scanned quickly down the page. The words were as damning as
he'd hoped, listing troop movements, gun placements, the interesting fact that
the best gunners had all been sent off to France. It was everything he'd wanted
and more.

And
he couldn't believe Mure had brought it to him.

He
readjusted his assessment of his enemy's mettle. "Just what in the hell
did you burn, man?"

"I
don't know. A love letter from your mistress I suppose. Christ, do you think I
read it?"

Alexander
couldn't help it. He began to laugh. They were talking about treason, the
betrayal of a king and the murder of ten thousand men. And God help him, Robert
Maxwell was insulted by the idea of reading another man's correspondence!

"I
suppose a man like you might find humor in the situation," Mure said
coldly. "I certainly don't."

Alexander
sobered abruptly. "The situation, no. I find it damnable." He rose
and went to the sideboard, reached for the flask of aqua vitae Diana had
procured. He poured two glasses. Taking a stiff drink of one, he brought the
other to Mure. "Take it," he snapped, when the other man hesitated.
"It's not poisoned, I assure you."

Mure
met his eyes squarely. "I want you to know I'd nothing to do with that.
Yes, I arrested Gavin and put him in prison. I thought he was guilty. God's
mercy, man, I truly thought he was guilty! I've no idea who killed him!"

Alexander
still held the glass outstretched. "I never thought you did."

Need
won out. Mure took the brandy, swallowed down half all at once. "And
regardless of what I let you think three days ago, I'd nothing to do with this
letter. But when I saw it I..." He swallowed. "I... I recognized the
handwriting."

"I'm
sure you did. It would be odd, indeed, if you'd not known your own brother's
hand."

Mure
closed his eyes. "You've known all along, haven't you?" he breathed.
"You've left me in hell all this time trying to decide what to do. And you
had the other half all along!"

Alexander
sipped his brandy. "No, I don't have it. It's in England, man, and safe
enough from the both of us. But I make it a practice to know my enemies. I've
studied you fourteen years. You'd damn your soul for all eternity before you'd
commit such an act. I remembered that after the blood-lust had cooled."

Alexander
stared down into his glass. "The rest was deduction based on what I know
of you, on what happened between us that day. God's death, man, you didn't even
try to defend yourself!"

"No.
I was still too... shaken." Mure swallowed. His throat worked painfully.
Slowly the pride and self-righteousness crumbled. "That my own brother
had... had—"

He
broke off and swallowed the rest of the brandy, sloshing a little from between
his swollen lips. "That I let an innocent man die because of a personal
vengeance. That..." He closed his eyes.
"Dear God!"

Alexander
slipped Mure's glass from his hand. Moving to the sideboard he poured them each
more brandy. He felt strangely detached, as if he were merely watching this
drama unfold. "Here," he said, returning to the settle.