The Border Hostage (7 page)

“We anchored next tae a Kennedy merchant ship. Ye'll likely run into yer father's wife at the party. Why don't ye wear a
Kennedy
plaid and shock the shit outa her ladyship?” Gavin said gleefully.

“I would never put Lady Elizabeth in the position of explaining one of Lord Kennedy's bastards,” Heath said gallantly. Though he meant it, the Douglas brothers thought him most droll.

On Friday, as promised, Lancelot Carleton arrived at Carlisle Castle. When he greeted his second cousin, Lady Elizabeth Kennedy, he found her in a rather petulant mood. “Your son, Heron, has been monopolizing my daughter. He has deliberately elbowed Christopher Dacre aside each and every time that young man has tried to pay attention to Beth.”

Lance Carleton tried not to laugh in Elizabeth's face. Young Dacre was the wrong sort of man to let anyone elbow him aside, and the only female to whom he was likely to pay attention was Raven. “Surely Rob will want a Scots noble for your daughter?”

“Over my dead body! Beth has too sweet and gentle a nature to be sacrificed to a coarse Scot. I have no intention of returning to Doon. Next week Beth and I plan to move into the old family home in the Rickergate, here in Carlisle.”

“Elizabeth, I cannot believe you would jeopardize your marriage to the Lord of Galloway. It is unthinkable.”

“It was unthinkable to have married him in the first place. Beth shall not be sacrificed as I was.”

Lance Carleton was shocked. His second cousin Elizabeth had somehow managed to snare one of the wealthiest
lairds of Clan Kennedy, so blood-proud they claimed they were descended from the Kings of Carrick, and the foolish female was now risking it all by setting herself against Rob Kennedy. It was like pitting a flea against a wily red fox.

In the afternoon, when Thomas Dacre and Lancelot Carleton were drinking whisky, the subject of betrothals came up. Dacre seemed open enough to consider Raven Carleton and her dowry, but he would not agree to a firm commitment between her and his son, Christopher.

“Your relative Elizabeth Kennedy makes no secret of the fact that she seeks a match between Christopher and her Beth,” Dacre informed Carleton.

“Lizzie likely makes a secret of the fact that she has separated from Lord Kennedy, however.” Carleton did not need to point out that Kennedy controlled the purse strings of his family; Dacre's mind was seldom far from money matters.

“I see,” Thomas Dacre said thoughtfully. “Well, neither of us is in a hurry, Carleton. Next week, when we return to Bewcastle, I shall sound Christopher out about a future marriage with your lovely daughter Raven. In the meantime, the young people can enjoy getting to know each other better.”

Sir Lancelot knew his wife, Kate, was hoping against hope that a betrothal would be finalized, so that it could be announced at tonight's ball. He tried to cushion her disappointment. “Kate, it's better this way. Dacre and his son return to Bewcastle next week, so it will give Raven more time. I want her to be sure about her feelings before a commitment is made.”

“She
is
sure!”

“No, Kate, you are the one who is sure. You have made it clear you expect her to marry someone titled, and you have pushed her relentlessly toward Christopher Dacre.”

Kate Carleton laughed. “Lance, if you think Raven can be
pushed
toward anything, you are deluding yourself. Raven will always do exactly as she pleases.”

Before the Carleton ladies dressed for the ball, Kate sought out her daughters in the bedchamber they were sharing. “Your father is in negotiations with Lord Dacre for your betrothal, Raven. I have every reason to believe that we will hear wedding bells before the year is out.” Kate touched the material of a gold tissue cape Raven had laid out on the bed. “Very pretty. I've been thinking that it has been a long time since you have visited with your grandmother. You have neglected her shamefully.”

Raven's eyes widened. Her mother had been trying to wean her from her grandmother's influence for years. Then suddenly Raven realized her father hadn't been able to make Thomas Dacre commit to the betrothal yet, and that Christopher and his father were returning to Bewcastle. Raven hid a smile. Her mother was trying to manipulate her! “I shall do my duty and visit my grandmother next week. Would both of you like to come with me?”

An identical look of horror crossed her mother's face and her sister's at the same time. “You know we never saw eye to eye on anything in our lives! You are the one she loves, Raven.”

Raven heaved an inward sigh of relief. She would have a free hand in bringing Christopher Dacre to his knees with a proposal! Dressing for tonight's masquerade, however, presented more of a problem. She had to put on the red Gypsy dress, then cover it with the gold tissue cape that would disguise her as a goddess to her family. “Lark, why don't I help you with your costume? Then you can go along and help Mother while I dress.”

It took the better part of an hour to ready Lark for the ball. She had decided to be Princess Elizabeth of York, since she already owned a gown embroidered with white roses. It was her crown of silk roses that took up most of the time; it seemed to Raven that she would never succeed in anchoring it securely to her sister's fair tresses. Lark's eye mask was on the end of a wand, so she could wave it about; she looked more like a fairy princess than a real one.

“Lark, come along and help me with my Queen Guinevere costume. The steeple headdress needs more veiling attached, I believe,” Kate Carleton declared, “but I shall take your advice in the matter.”

The moment they left her chamber, Raven undressed, slipped into the red Gypsy dress, fastened golden hoops in her ears, then also decided to wear the black silk stockings. She carefully covered all with the golden cape and donned her gold-colored eye mask. Tucked into the waistband of her dress were a couple of red paper poppies she had bought at the fair. She would put them in her hair later, once she summoned the courage to remove the gold cape and become an enticing Gypsy girl for the night. Raven couldn't wait to see the look on Christopher Dacre's face when he discovered her identity!

H
eath Kennedy, garbed in a Douglas dress plaid, tore a strip from his old Douglas plaid, cut two eye slits in it, and fastened it across his eyes as a mask. The short kilt rode on his hipbones, exposing muscular thighs. He wore no shirt but instead draped the dark green and blue plaid across one broad, bare shoulder and tucked it into his belt along with his knife and his dirk.

Heath deliberately arrived late at the ball so that a good crowd would be gathered and he would not receive too close a scrutiny. He had reckoned without the young ladies, however. Word spread amongst them like wildfire that one of the handsome and powerful Douglas lairds was in attendance. They gathered in a group and followed him at a discreet distance, whispering and giggling.

Heath strode over to them and bowed before Beth Kennedy. “May I have this dance, mistress?” He saw the look of dismay on his half-sister's face, so before she could refuse, he swept her into a reel. “It's me, Heath,” he said low when they came together.

“Heath Kennedy, I cannot imagine
your
being invited here.”

He grinned. “I'll bet you are relieved I'm not a Douglas.”

“In truth, I am,” Beth admitted ingenuously. “I shall never know how my sister Valentina found the courage to marry Ramsay Douglas. He frightens me to death!”

“Valentina does have an overabundance of courage, and a good thing too. She's about to have twins.”

Beth went pale. “Oh dear, please tell her how sorry I am.”

“Sorry? She and Ram are celebrating this as if it were a gift from the gods. Anyway, you can let our father know. He'll be like a dog with two tails. He already thinks the sun shines out of Tina's arse, so this will put a halo round her head too.”

When Beth didn't reprove him for his coarseness, he knew something was wrong. “What's amiss, lass?”

“I cannot tell Father; Mother has left him,” she whispered. “She wants me to marry an Englishman, and he won't tolerate such a thing. We are moving into her family's town house next week.”

“Whom does Elizabeth have in mind for you?”

“Christopher Dacre,” Beth whispered again. “He frightens me as much as the Douglases.”

Heath Kennedy wanted to choke his father's wife. Dacre's heir was no fit match for his sheltered half-sister. Chris Dacre would take her dowry, then wipe his feet on the passive girl as if she were a doormat. “Under no circumstances must you allow your mother to push you into a betrothal. You must assert yourself as Tina has always done. You need a backbone, not a wishbone, Beth.”

“There
is
someone here I like,” Beth confided with a blush. “His name is Heron Carleton; he took me to the fair.” Her hand covered her mouth quickly, as if she had said something wicked.

Heath was surprised. She was talking about Raven's brother. It was a small world! “Sir Lance Carleton, who
used to be constable here, is related to your mother. Though English, he's a man of honor and integrity. If you want Heron Carleton, go after him!”

Heath felt a tap on his bare shoulder, and looked through the mask and into the eyes of the man cutting in. It was Christopher Dacre. Since the dance had ended and partners were being sought for the next reel, Heath relinquished Beth without a word.

From across the ballroom, Raven Carleton watched in amazement as the two handsomest men at the masquerade flanked Beth Kennedy. The Douglas laird was giving up the girl to Christopher Dacre. Raven immediately decided it was time to ditch the gold tissue cape. She removed it, scrunched it up, and stuffed it behind a potted plant. She left the gilded mask in place, then took the red poppies from her waistband and set one behind each ear. Raven was intent upon securing the notice of Christopher Dacre.

Heath Kennedy, who had been watching for the red Gypsy dress, spotted Raven immediately. He stalked around the perimeter of the ballroom until he stood before her. “May I partner you, mistress?”

His deep voice did strange things to Raven's pulse. Rather than refusing him, she quickly decided that the magnificent Scots laird might stir Chris Dacre's jealousy. “You may, my lord.”

Heath took a firm hold of her hand and led her out of the ballroom onto a stone terrace.

She felt a hint of danger. “What are you doing?”

“I asked if I might partner you,” he pointed out, tightening his hold upon her hand. “I said nothing about a dance.”

“Partner you in what?” she demanded, masking her apprehension.

“A little dalliance. A
real
Gypsy girl wouldn't object; a
real
Gypsy girl would have fire in her blood.” With the toe of his boot he lifted her skirt to reveal the black silk stockings and winked.

“You may be a Douglas lord, but you are no gentleman! I shall scream for my father if you don't let go of me immediately!”

Heath's white teeth flashed in a grin. “I don't believe you will, Raven. The last thing you want is for your parents to find you dressed as a Gypsy harlot.”

The moment he said her name, she recognized who it was. “It's
you
, you devil!” She also knew he had her trapped. “What do you want, Douglas?”

“Pay a simple forfeit and I'll let you go.”

Raven tossed back her hair, pulled a scarlet poppy from behind her ear, and held it out to him.

Lust shot through him swiftly as a sword thrust. “If the males of your acquaintance are satisfied with paper flowers, it is time you learned what a real man desires.” He swept her into his arms and took possession of her lips in a long, slow kiss that was deliberately seductive.

Raven began to struggle, then stopped. How else was she to learn what a real man desired? His hot mouth branded her as if he were claiming her as his own, now and forever. When he removed his arms and his mouth from her, she felt light-headed, slightly dizzy, and a little disoriented. She swayed imperceptibly, then drew back her hand and slapped his insolent face. “The first time we met, you left me half naked; tonight you have the temerity to manhandle me, you Douglas dog!”

Heath saw her lavender-blue eyes glittering through the mask. “The name is
Kennedy
, sweetheart, and I want you to never forget it. Next time we meet, I promise to do something even more outrageous!” He vaulted over the stone balustrade and was swallowed by the misty darkness.

Raven gasped. The wicked devil wore nothing beneath his kilt!
He said his name is Kennedy; does that mean he's Beth Kennedy's brother?
she wondered.
Nay, there are probably hundreds of Kennedys.
Raven wondered why she hadn't recognized him immediately as the Borderer who had stolen Sully. She concluded that since she had been told he was a
Douglas laird, she had believed it. She shivered. She knew he was dangerous and that she was lucky to be rid of him. She went back into the ballroom on trembling legs and came face to face with Christopher Dacre.

His glance took in the tawdry dress. “Don't think you can sneak in here through the balcony doors.”

Raven was delighted that he didn't recognize her. “You don't know who I am?”

“You're the Gypsy wench I bought for Heron Carleton last night! This is a respectable gathering; take yourself

off.”

Raven was momentarily shocked, then thought perhaps he was only teasing her. “Christopher, you do know me, don't you?” she asked tentatively. “It's me … Raven!”

A silent moment passed, then Chris Dacre said, “What the hell are you doing dressed like a Gypsy wench? Go and change before someone recognizes you, Raven.”

Her chin went up. “I don't take kindly to orders, sir.”

Dacre knew he had blundered. “I'm sorry for speaking to you so brusquely, Raven. You are too innocent to realize that this costume could sully your reputation.”

Not quite as innocent as you suppose
, Raven reflected ruefully. She sighed with resignation. She had only chosen the costume to please Christopher, but since he was clearly
dis
pleased, she might as well give up the idea of being a Gypsy girl. She took the red flowers from her hair and went to retrieve her gold tissue cape from its hiding place. When she saw that Christopher followed her, suddenly her self-confidence returned. “Perhaps you had better go and dance with Beth Kennedy,” she taunted.