The Border Trilogy (8 page)

With a twinkle, Mary Kate said, “I begin to think I will like your father wondrous well, sir.”

Douglas laughed. “A fine thing to say!”

“Well, I will like him. And I hope he beat you often.”

“Not often, perhaps, but thoroughly. Aye, I thought that would please you. What a little fiend you are. That time I just mentioned it wasn’t even my fault. The lady—a young cousin of mine—instigated the whole affair.”

“I don’t believe you. I know well how you border men take advantage of your women, and you should be ashamed to malign your poor cousin like that.”

He grimaced. “Duncan warned me that you’d acquired some highland prejudices, and I’ll warrant our first meeting did naught to allay them, but you might at least meet Megan and ask her about it before you say I’ve maligned her. She was young then, of course, and not yet married. Indeed, ’tis hard now to imagine her up to such mischief, so sweet as she is, but the tale is a true one.” When Mary Kate only looked skeptical, he shook his head at her, but he was smiling again when they turned back toward the house.

A brief silence followed. “Adam?”

“Aye?”

“I thought you had gone.”

He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “I did, but only to collect my gear and Lucas Trotter, my manservant. Duncan invited me to stay here until the wedding.”

“Oh.” More silence. “Adam?”

“Aye, lassie.”

“You have not said yet about speaking to Father.”

“I have no wish to stir coals.” He grinned at her sigh of relief, and they entered the house to discover Duncan impatiently awaiting his supper. Conversation over the light meal soon turned to politics and the king, and Duncan asked whether it was true that there had been disturbances throughout the country since the execution of Mary of Scotland.

“True enough,” Douglas told him, “though I am told you’ve seen little of that kind of activity here in the highlands.”

“None tae speak about. ’Twas a muckle hard winter, and men have had aught else tae fill their time. In troth, though highlanders fight amongst themselves as oft as not, political strife is niver sae troublesome here as it be in the borders.”

Douglas glanced at Mary Kate, but when she merely returned his gaze without comment, he said, “’Tis true enough to say the borders are rarely peaceful and fair to say they are in a worse state now than usual. The king ordered peace, but so far his edict has had little effect, for Queen Elizabeth has most unfortunately failed to issue a similar edict. One cannot expect our lads to refuse to defend themselves against English raiders. People are angry, and not just with the English but with Jamie. They don’t seem to understand how little power he actually had to stop the English from executing his mother.”

“And was it sae little then?” Duncan asked.

Mary Kate held her breath.

“If you would believe Elizabeth,” Douglas said slowly, “the execution was carried out without her approval. If she could not stop it, what could Jamie possibly have done?”

“Aye,” Duncan muttered, “but what fool believes Elizabeth? They say the warrant carried both her signature and her seal.”

Douglas smiled. Fortunately neither man was looking at Mary Kate, who could scarcely believe what she was hearing. How, she wondered, could Douglas pretend that the king had had no knowledge of Mary’s danger when he must have carried the news to the royal ear himself? She had her mouth open to demand an answer to that question before she realized that she could not do so without betraying herself. Admitting that she had overheard the conversation at Critchfield would do no more than to arouse both Douglas and her father to anger, for she could prove nothing if the borderer denied his part in the business. Having arrived at this depressing conclusion, she could only be grateful when they changed the subject and Douglas began to relate amusing anecdotes of life at court.

The following afternoon a group of his friends arrived unexpectedly and, adhering to highland tradition, carried Douglas and Duncan off to Parish Hill, near the
clachan
, to celebrate the betrothal over mugs of whiskey. When they all returned a little the worse for drink, Mary Kate wisely decided to let them enjoy their supper without her.

Other than that one afternoon and evening, Douglas devoted his time to pleasing her. They rode together often and held long conversations on a wide variety of subjects. She discovered that besides being gifted in the art of telling an amusing tale, he could also be an attentive listener, and the interest he displayed in her thoughts and opinions surprised her, although she suspected that he was only attempting to charm her out of her so-called highland prejudices. No doubt, she told herself, once he had her safely under his thumb in the borders, he would expect her to put her mind to nothing more stimulating than obeying his wishes and running his household. It pleased her immeasurably, therefore, when his discovery of her prowess as a chess player clearly astonished him.

Chess was nearly the only indoor pastime to interest Duncan, so having discovered when Mary Kate was seven that she possessed innate skill at the game, he had taught her the finer points and encouraged her to play. Douglas readily admitted that she was an opponent worthy of his better efforts, and they played often. On one such occasion, a rather dismal and rainy afternoon, she once again nearly betrayed her knowledge of the meeting at Critchfield. They were discussing pawns.

“I used to think them but minor pieces,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed. “Most players ignore them. But the end game is nothing without them, so a skillful player protects his. ’Tis much the same in real life. A king needs the support of his subjects, his pawns if you will. In wars they make up his armies. Remember that in Gaelic the pawn is called
fiann
, the soldier. Like soldiers, pawns are expendable in small numbers, but if the king loses them all, he will lose the war. In the more complicated business of statecraft, the same holds true. Look at Jamie now. He scurries from castle to castle trying to avoid public condemnation of his lack of action on Mary’s behalf. He is afraid of losing his pawns—their loyalty at least—over the matter of her execution.”

“Well, the people are right to be angry.” Mary Kate paused to consider her next move and, in light of their conversation, decided to remove a pawn from mortal danger. “She was his own mother, after all.”

“Not really a relevant point, since he scarcely knew her,” Douglas observed dryly. “He was but ten months old the last time he laid eyes upon her. Then, too, an extra monarch running around Scotland, and a Catholic monarch at that, might have proved as much of an embarrassment to the Scottish people as to their king. No one objected very strenuously to her long imprisonment, after all. Thank you for moving that pawn, by the by.” The bishop that had threatened her piece now swooped across its erstwhile position to a place behind Douglas’s king. Mary Kate thought she could detect a weakness in his defenses, however, and with her mind on the board did not choose her words carefully.

“But the king couldn’t have wanted her to be murdered, and he just let it happen. Why, as soon as he heard—” Good God, she thought, what was she saying? In a flustered attempt to cover the slip, she pushed her queen forward, attacking the weakness. “Your king is in check, sir.”

He chuckled gleefully. “I was afraid you wouldn’t succumb to that gambit. Guard your own, lass, for the tables are turned.” With that he interposed a pawn in the space between her queen and his king, thus opening a threatening pathway from his bishop to her king. Mary Kate was left with two choices. She could move her king or interpose her queen. The latter move would sacrifice the queen merely to delay the inevitable.

“Damn your eyes, sir, I believe I must resign. If you cannot achieve
mortshainn
within three moves after this villainy, you are not the player I judge you to be.”

“Aye,” he agreed, smiling, “and I have always thought the Gaelic term far more colorful than its English counterpart. Your king finds himself not just checkmated but in a ‘fatal predicament.’ You were too impulsive, lassie. I have noted the tendency a time or two before. You play a remarkably fine game for a woman, but your strategy is instinctive, and you tend to forget while you concentrate upon your devious schemes that your opponent has plans of his own. But don’t look so glum. Some of the best players fall victim to that fault from time to time, putting you in excellent company.”

“Thank you, but I wanted to win, and it makes me feel stupid not to have guarded my queen more wisely.”

“Like Jamie? What did you mean a moment ago when you said he let it happen?” His gaze was singularly penetrating, and she had the feeling, in her guilt, that he would read her mind. He had been gentle and kind for the past few days, and she knew he meant to please her. Still, there had been a time or two—like the previous evening when she had let a hint of sauciness color a reply to her father—when Douglas had surprised her with a reproving glance, reminding her uncomfortably of that overbearing manner she so disliked and, if she had to be honest, even feared a little. All too soon now, he would be responsible, legally, for her behavior, and she had not yet determined how she would manage to hold her own against him. She knew she had been unwise to challenge him so defiantly that day near Braelairig, and she had no wish to arouse his temper now. Nor could she doubt that a confession of her ill-gained knowledge would arouse it.

“Do you not mean to tell me, mistress?”

Her face reddened, but she answered steadily enough, “I lost the thread of our conversation along with my queen, sir. I was but trying to remember. I think only that the king ought to have been able to intercede to stop the execution. He is the king, after all, and must have known of the death sentence against her.”

“As to that,” he answered quietly, “you are entitled to your opinion, of course. I can only repeat what I said at supper the other evening. Jamie did send a delegation to London, you know, to plead against the sentence of the commission that tried Mary, but Elizabeth herself disclaims prior knowledge of the execution. She insists that she signed the warrant unwittingly amidst a pile of other papers and that the deed was done before she could order it stopped. If she refuses to accept responsibility, how can anyone blame Jamie?”

“Oh!” She caught her tongue between her teeth and hoped the exclamation would pass as anything but the expression of scorn that it was. How could the man sit there, she asked herself, glibly talking of knowledge and lack of knowledge as though he were ignorant of the facts? Delegation indeed. James ought to have dispatched an army. And he could have raised one, too, if he had begun the task in October when he first learned of Mary’s danger. She dared a glance at Douglas. The expression on his face was quizzical, and she feared he would press her for further explanation. Instead, he changed the subject and began to help her put the chess pieces away.

Not until later, when she lay in her own bed, did she realize that Douglas could not accuse her of knowing more than she ought to know without revealing his own arcane possession of the facts. She was safe enough unless she betrayed herself completely, and she hoped she had better sense than to do such a daft thing as that.

The weather improved the next day, and by Friday the first crocus buds appeared in the garden. Douglas’s father and sister arrived shortly before noon, having passed the night with the same friends Douglas had visited ten miles to the south. They came with an entourage, for Lord Strachan had brought his own servants, of course, and was accompanied by a number of friends who had traveled with him or joined his party along the way.

Mary Kate nearly laughed aloud when she met his lordship, for he matched his son’s description exactly. He was very much the hearty sporting gentleman, and when he greeted them, he actually clapped Sir Adam on the back, causing that impudent young man to cast her a look brimful of merriment. With an effort she controlled her own amusement, allowing Lord Strachan to embrace her in a generous hug. But she did laugh when he remarked that his gay dog of a son sometimes presented the family with the most delightful surprises. In answer to an anxious question from Douglas, he replied that although Lady Strachan had not been thought strong enough yet to undertake the long journey to the highlands, she was nearly recovered from her recent indisposition.

“She sent a message to you, my little beauty,” his lordship said to Mary Kate as he searched diligently through capacious pockets in his cloak. “Made her write it down, so I wouldn’t forget what she said. I know it’s here somewhere.”

“I have it, Father,” said the dark-haired young woman who had been standing silently behind him. “Only wait, I’ll find it.” Margaret Douglas jammed her hand into her overstuffed saddlebag, withdrawing it a moment later with the crumpled note. A vivacious young lady, taller and built along more generous lines than her hostess, Margaret had the look of her handsome brother about her, particularly in her hair and eyes. She laughed when she held out the, note. “I hope you will not take offense, Mary Kate, but I have read it. ’Tis all polite nonsense, of course, and does not begin to express my lady mother’s true feelings.”

“Margaret!” two masculine voices protested in chorus.

“Oh, hush, both of you,” she retorted with a chuckle. “Mary Kate will hear the whole from Mother herself the minute she meets her. Besides, you have made her think now that Mother does not approve.”

Indeed, though Mary Kate had first been astonished to discover that neither Margaret nor Lady Strachan seemed to fit the mold for border women as she knew it, she was thinking precisely what Margaret expected. She said a little shyly, “I hope she does not disapprove.”

“Of course not,” Margaret said. “She is delighted. She practically cheered when Father read her Adam’s letter.”

Her brother interrupted this discourse, saying wryly, “Do you think you might fold your tongue behind your teeth long enough to follow the others inside. Mary Kate is shivering with the cold.”

Margaret only laughed again, but she allowed herself to be bundled into the house, nonetheless. Mary Kate was delighted with her. She had expected Douglas’s sister to be a timid creature, especially since she was also the daughter of a man who could supposedly make Sir Adam tremble in his boots. She chose to disbelieve that particular tale, however, for Lord Strachan’s gruff kindliness put her too much in mind of Duncan. Though Strachan was a border lord and therefore no doubt possessed many of the same faults as his son, there was nothing the least bit frightening about him.