The Border Trilogy (35 page)

“But my own actions caused it. And Adam’s. Oh.” Megan stopped short with a grimace. “Adam will want to know how his father found out about all that, won’t he? I don’t suppose he would believe that one of the servants told him or that my uncle deduced the whole from any voluntary confession of mine. Adam knows me too well to believe that I would willingly submit myself to my uncle’s displeasure.”

“Of course, he would not believe such things. Nor would he believe that his father had had some sort of a prophetic dream. Moreover, no matter how carefully we wrapped it up, he would still suspect that we have been discussing his behavior amongst ourselves, and I know he would dislike that.”

“Oh, Mary Kate, he must know we talk about him,” Margaret protested. “He would have to be a witless coof not to know it.”

“Perhaps he does know,” Mary Kate agreed quietly, “but I’ll warrant he thinks any such conversation must be complimentary. Only consider Sir Patrick’s reaction. He wasn’t surprised to learn that you had said nice things about him. He even admitted to having faults. But I’ll wager my best jeweled cap he’d not have been so pleased to hear that you had already described those faults to me.”

“But I haven’t!”

“Of course not, nor would you do so. I wouldn’t discuss Adam with anyone else either, but Megan was there when everything happened, and you badgered the bits and details out of me yesterday. Besides, I need help from someone who knows him. I don’t like him to be angry with me.”

“Well, I told you what to do,” Margaret said, “and I still don’t see that it would hurt all that much for Megan to speak to him. After all, he’s angry partly because of your behavior toward her. When he realizes that the two of you have become friends, he ought to relent a little at least.”

Her suggestion sounded almost plausible. After all, Lord Strachan did not seem to have made clear the fact that she and Megan were truly friends now, only that they were no longer enemies, which was not at all the same thing. And she had told Douglas only that an apology had been made. She knew that there was something amiss with Margaret’s logic, but she could not for the moment think what it was.

“It won’t hurt for him to realize that we are friends,” Megan said slowly, “but he will see that much for himself. And I don’t think he is truly angry because of any particular action of hers toward me. The transgression strikes closer to himself than that.” She paused, collecting her thoughts, then went on musingly, “I think he was angry first because she hit him with some truths about his own behavior. Add to that the fact that she disobeyed him, frightened him senseless by being captured by brigands, then dared to be present when my uncle scolded him like an unruly schoolboy, and I think she has the right of it. I must not become involved.”

Silence greeted this assessment of the situation, and all three young women turned for a moment to their own thoughts. Margaret spoke first. “Megan’s argument makes sense, Mary Kate, but that doesn’t alter what I told you yesterday. The longer you allow this situation to smolder, the worse it will be when it—that is, when Adam ignites.” She paused, and a gleam lit her eye. “Of course, if you go on behaving like you did last night, it won’t be long before you discover, will you or nill you, that you have followed my advice to the letter.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Margaret?” She had said nothing to them about her conversation with Douglas the previous night. Even Megan looked puzzled.

“Jealousy, my dear.” Margaret waved a hand airily. “You don’t think my brother will sit patiently by whilst you indulge yourself with a host of flirts like Ned Lumsden or Kenneth Gillespie, do you? Particularly Mr. Gillespie.”

“What nonsense is this?” Mary Kate was stunned. “If Adam even noticed who my partners were, which I take leave to doubt, how would he dare to take exception to any one of them?” she asked hotly. “Especially in view of his own behavior!”

“Don’t be daft, Mary Kate,” Margaret said flatly. “What he does himself has never entered into the matter. What you do is all that counts with him, and it always will be.”

Silenced; Mary Kate knew she was right. Douglas expected his wife’s behavior to be above reproach. Had he not said so again only the night before? And his expectations would no doubt be even higher now that an earldom was in the offing. But, by the same token, he clearly intended to continue doing just as he pleased. She glanced at the other two, now arguing between themselves. They meant well, but in this instance she would have to depend upon her own wits, for no matter how much she wanted to make her peace with Douglas, he still had to learn that he could not dictate her behavior. Not unless he agreed to set a standard or two for himself.

H
AVING MADE THE DECISION
to handle the situation herself, Mary Kate had not the least notion of how to begin. Margaret’s plan of making Douglas angry seemed self-defeating, and Megan’s plan meant she must meekly submit to his every whim. She needed time to think, and to get that time, she decided to avoid any immediate confrontation. She would be as distant and polite as he was himself, giving him no further cause to complain of her behavior, at least not until she was ready to meet his demands with a few demands of her own. For once, she would not be impulsive. She would think everything through carefully before she acted.

Therefore, two days later, when he announced that he wished to give a supper party the following week, she agreed without a blink so that he would not suspect the panic rising beneath her surface composure. Never before had she arranged anything beyond a gathering or two in her father’s house, yet Douglas expected her to arrange one fit to be graced by the king’s presence. Determined not to disappoint him, she hastily sent a messenger to Ardcarach House to request the immediate assistance of Lady Somerville and Mistress Douglas.

Margaret came alone, saying that Megan was indisposed but would be up and about in no time, since her affliction did not seem to be a serious one. She laughed when Mary Kate explained her problem, and said, “If that isn’t just like Adam! I suppose you ought to be grateful that he gave you a few days’ notice. He might just as easily have sent a message at noon to say that Jamie would arrive to sup at five.”

Mary Kate was unnerved at the thought. “Godamercy, I don’t even know how to prepare for next week!”

“That should not be difficult,” Margaret said. “Is Johnny Graham anywhere near at hand?”

“Why, I don’t know,” Mary Kate admitted. “He has scarcely ever been around before, so I never gave him a thought.”

“Well, give him one now, because very likely he is the solution to your predicament.”

A gillie was dispatched at once to discover Mr. Graham’s whereabouts, and that young man entered the parlor in person five minutes later. Mary Kate had no sooner put the question to him than her worries were over.

“I shall see to everything, my lady,” he said. “You need trouble your head about it no longer. I shall present all my lists to you for your approval, of course, including the guest list and the menu, but beyond that you may trust everything to my judgment.”

Mary Kate thanked him, conscious of a wish that all her troubles might be resolved so easily, and in the days that followed, Johnny Graham and Mrs. Comfort organized all the details of her supper party with experienced ease. She had only to approve the results of their industry and to choose what she would wear.

Graham left a tentative menu for her perusal the very next morning, and she had just decided to give it her enthusiastic approval when the parlor door was thrown open with more flourish than usual.

“Lady Aberfoyle, mistress!” The gillie’s announcement barely preceded the entrance of a quick, little, gray-haired woman in a rustling, lace-trimmed, puce-silk dress cut high to a wide ruff and long to her lace-covered wrists. Her full skirt billowed over pink petticoats and an immense French farthingale, and the layered-leather heels of her mules clicked a tattoo beneath it as she crossed the hardwood floor toward Mary Kate, who scrambled to her feet with more haste than grace.

“Aunt, wherever did you spring from? Adam told me you were out of town.”

“
Sir
Adam, my dear, not ‘Adam’ when you speak of him to me,” Lady Aberfoyle reproved briskly. “You might have said ‘my husband’ or perhaps simply ‘Douglas,’ but never only ‘Adam.’”

Mary Kate smiled fondly. “I beg your pardon, Aunt.”

“That is not necessary, my dear. ’Tis merely that polite society demands certain conventions of us all, and there are those amongst us who continue to insist upon observing the proprieties despite the unhappy tendency at Holyrood to ignore them. How do you fare, child? Are you in an interesting state of health as yet?” Her ladyship ignored the fiery blushes caused by her question and seated herself with little heed for her voluminous skirts, her bright blue eyes fixed steadily upon her niece as she waited for her reply.

Mary Kate fought down her blushes. “We have not been married very long, Aunt Aberfoyle.”

“Long enough. And ’tis best to begin the business as quickly as may be. In point of fact, getting married in such a scrambling fashion might give some folk pause to think—”

“Aunt! Surely, you never—”

“Of course I did not, but I had to make mention of it, did I not? Now I can put the long-noses in their places with a clear conscience. Are you going to offer me refreshment?”

Repressing an urge to be flippant, Mary Kate quickly begged her pardon again and sent for ale and biscuits. During the next half hour, on her best behavior, she managed to hold her own against her aunt’s fond inquisition, issued a personal invitation to the forthcoming supper party, and even remembered to ask after her uncle.

After Lady Aberfoyle had departed, Mary Kate found Johnny Graham behind a huge, battered, old desk in the room he called his office. Having formally approved his menu, she told him that her aunt had accepted their invitation.

“Thank you, my lady,” he responded cheerfully. “Perhaps, you will just cast your eye over the guest list now, to see that no one has been forgotten.”

She agreed and discovered only one name that caused her any dismay. “Sir Reginald Somerville? Surely, he has not yet arrived in Edinburgh?”

“No, my lady, but Sir Adam expects him any day now, so his name must be included.”

“Of course.” But she was thinking frantically that he was arriving too soon. The days had flown by since their arrival in town, and she had no idea yet what Lord Strachan meant to say to Megan’s husband. That afternoon she discussed the matter with her two confidants, who had come to bear her company while she finished the embroidery for her ruff for the wedding.

The roses were back in Megan’s cheeks, and she appeared to be completely well again. She nodded when Mary Kate warned her that Somerville was expected to attend their supper party.

“I had a message from him this morning,” she said with a little sigh. “He thinks I have imposed upon my uncle’s hospitality long enough and gave instructions to open Somerville House at once. I shall remove there tomorrow.”

“My father has said nothing about what he means to do,” Margaret put in, answering Mary Kate’s unspoken question. “I have not the least notion what he will say to Sir Reginald.”

“Nor do I,” said Megan.

“Well, I think you ought to ask him,” Mary Kate said practically.

The other two stared at her in blank dismay.

“You’re raving,” Margaret said. “You don’t know my father very well yet or you would know better than to suggest such a course of action.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask him,” Megan said, adding with an odd little smile, “I don’t believe matters will be so bad as I had feared, though.”

The others gazed at her expectantly, but she would say no more. Lord Strachan, too, kept his own counsel, so that by the evening of the Douglas supper party, the young ladies were no wiser than they had been before.

That evening came all too soon, and shortly before five o’clock, Mary Kate descended the main stair to the front hall with her husband. Douglas looked sleek and elegant in a beige velvet doublet and hose slashed with emerald silk. A tawny, shanks-trimmed cloak was thrown back from his shoulders; the hilt of his dress sword, worn at his left side, was decked with jewels; and he wore a gold-and-emerald disk on a heavy gold chain around his neck.

He was in a good mood, and Mary Kate, her right hand resting lightly upon his forearm, felt more at ease with him than she had felt since her arrival in Edinburgh. His arm was warm beneath her fingertips, and she could not resist giving it a gentle squeeze. When she looked up from under her thick lashes to find him smiling down at her, she felt a stirring in her body that made her wish she had the nerve to ask him to take her back upstairs. Not that he would, of course, she reflected. Not with the king expected at any moment. But perhaps later, after everyone had gone…perhaps then he might be receptive to enjoying some conversation with her.

Having discovered beforehand what he meant to wear, she had chosen a purled velvet gown of lustrous dark gold that emphasized the golden highlights in her hair. The dress was adorned with a collar of magnificent emeralds, and she wore matching bracelets upon her wrists. Her cap was likewise decorated with emeralds. Perhaps, she mused, it was still not so much jewelry as he would have liked her to wear, but she need not worry too much about that, for his eyes had lighted at the sight of her and she knew she looked magnificent.

The hall was still empty, so she excused herself to oversee preparations in the dining room. The white cloth had been laid upon the long table, and two pantlers were busily laying out square trenchers of fine pewter, silver-handled knives, and silver spoons. No guest in the Douglas house would have to supply his own utensils.

The smell of roasting meats wafted to her from the kitchens when another servant entered with two huge platters of cold delicacies for the first course. He set them on the sideboard, and Mary Kate was tempted to help herself to a marchpane ball or a slice of Italian soft cheese, but she decided against it, knowing Douglas must be wondering what was keeping, her.