Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (16 page)

Before she could answer, Malcolm
spoke to him and he released her hand. But Deirdre felt the warm glow of his
touch even after he had gone to wait upon the laird and she lay wakeful in her
bed, wondering what was to happen on the morrow.

Even as she wondered, she touched
her hand to her lips and smiled in the darkness.

"A
ll right,"
Jemmy Kirallen said. "They are an hour out of Ravenspur. What do we tell
them?"

Alistair, Deirdre, and Alyson sat
beside him in the hall. It was empty now and the weak morning sun barely lit
the tumbled rushes and stacked trestles, all that remained of last night's gaiety.

"An hour?" Deirdre
said, dismayed. "How could they get here so soon?"

"Someone sent word,"
Alistair said, then struck his fist upon the table. "Damn him!"

"I won't ask who it
was," Jemmy said. "It doesn't matter now. The question is, what do
you want me to say, my lady?"

"I—oh, my lord, the last
thing I want is to bring trouble between you and the Maxwells. But—but I do
want to go home again. And it was agreed that I might do so."

Jemmy shifted in his seat and
Deirdre wondered if he always looked like this, so gaunt and pale, or if it was
the strain of waiting upon his dying father.

"Go on," he said.

"My father made an agreement
with Brodie. I was to have widow's rights, some gold, some land, but I don't
care about that now. I only want to take Maeve home."

"Was the agreement
written?"

Deirdre nodded. "My father
showed it to me so I might know. If we'd had a son, it would have been
different, he would have had to stay. Brodie insisted upon that. He never
thought to mention what might happen to a daughter. But—" she added,
forestalling his next question. "I cannot say what became of the agreement.
If the Maxwell found it, no doubt it's ashes, though Father does have a
copy."

"There's no time to get word
to your father," Jemmy said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "Without
that agreement, my lady, Maxwell is in the right to ask for your return."

Alyson nodded reluctantly, though
her face was wrenched with pity. "Deirdre, I wish there was something we
could do to help you."

Jemmy continued to tap his fingers,
frowning. "A bit more time and mayhap we could think of something. But
with them so close—still, even if he takes you back today, I can get word to
your father. He'll come for you."

"Sure and he will,"
Deirdre said, trying to smile.

"But it will do no good if
Maxwell has you married off again," Alistair pointed out, speaking
Deirdre's own fears aloud.

"Well, then, I'll have to
see he doesn't," Deirdre said with a courage she was far from feeling. "I
thank you for your courtesy, my lord, my lady. I'll go get Maeve ready."

"Wait."

She stopped, halfway out of her
seat, and looked at Alistair.

"If you were wedded, they
could not take you back again."

"Aye, well, if I was, that
might be true," Deirdre said. "But—"

"A betrothal will do,"
Alistair went on, staring down at his clenched hands.

"Yes," Jemmy said. "That
might serve."

"But—"

"I'd do it," Alistair
said. "If it would be of any help."

"I—well—" Deirdre
stammered, completely confused. Did he really mean it?

"I think it's a very
sensible suggestion," Lady Alyson said.

"Then—if you're quite sure,
Alistair—" Deirdre said.

"Aye," he answered in a
strange choked voice. "I'm sure."

She wished he would look at her,
just once, so she could be certain he meant what he was saying. But what
exactly
was
he saying? Was this a trick or an honest offer for her hand?
She couldn't really marry him, of course, it was completely out of the question.
Or was it? She couldn't think for the sudden pounding of her heart.

"And of course it could be
broken later," Jemmy added thoughtfully.

He can look
higher than that whey-faced strumpet.
Was that what Jemmy thought? What they
all thought? But what did Alistair think?

Oh, if only he would look at her,
she was sure she could read the truth of it in his eyes! But he kept his head
bent as he waited for her answer.

"All I ask is to take Maeve
home again," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "And
if this is the way—then yes, Sir Alistair. I thank you."

Then, at last, he did look at
her, but his expression told her nothing. "Of course, my lady," he
said formally. "That is what we all want. Isn't it?"

And with the question still
hanging in the air, he went to fetch the priest.

"A
h, Christ,
Jemmy," Kinnon Maxwell said, running one hand through his thinning hair. "This
is a proper mess. My father will not take it well."

"Aye, Kinnon, I know,"
Jemmy said sympathetically. "But what are we to do? It is all signed and
witnessed, if you care to look..."

"Nay, there is no
need," Kinnon said gloomily. "I'm sure 'tis all in order."

They were once again in the hall,
though now it held a dozen Maxwell men and the same number of Kirallens. Deirdre
stood to one side of Jemmy's chair, her cold hand held fast in Alistair's grip.

Kinnon glanced their way. "Damn
you, Alistair," he said without heat. "So this is how ye return our
hospitality?" 

"Och, Kinnon, since when is
it a sin to fall in love?" Alistair said, just as though he meant it. "The
lady is free and so am I, so where's the trouble?"

"My father is the trouble,
as well ye ken. But—"

There was a scuffle in the lower
hall and Jemmy rose from his seat, a spasm of pain passing quickly across his
face. "Sir Calder, stand back," he called in ringing tones. But the
knight either did not hear or chose to ignore him. Calder drew back his arm and
struck one of the Maxwells—and the hall erupted into a brawl.

"God
damn
him,"
Jemmy muttered, starting forward. "Kinnon, call your men off—"

Before Kinnon could move, the men
tumbled forward and one drew a dagger from his belt, springing with terrifying
speed from the fray toward Jemmy, who stood alone before his chair.

Alistair let go Deirdre's hand
and leaped forward. Even as Alyson cried out a warning that would have come too
late, Alistair seized the man's wrist, but was carried backward by the force of
his charge. He stumbled into Jemmy and the three of them went down.

In a moment Alistair was on his
feet again, turning to pull Jemmy upright. The Maxwell man lay still in a
widening pool of blood.

Now, at last, Kinnon spoke. "Stop!"
he cried, his voice shrill with fear. "I order ye to halt!"

"To me!" Jemmy cried. "At
once!  Sir Calder—the rest of you—
enough!
"

He pulled Calder back by the neck
of his jerkin and the crack of his hand across the knight's face rang through
the hall. "I said stand back," he said into the sudden silence. "All
of you."

The men obeyed, each side drawing
to an opposite corner of the hall. "Jemmy, are ye all right?" Kinnon
asked anxiously, peering into Jemmy's ashen face.

"I'm fine. He didn't touch
me. I think it's best you take your men and go."

"Aye, all right,"
Kinnon said, glancing down at the still form lying on the floor. "I am
sorry—I canna imagine what Duran was thinkin'—come on, men, take him up."

Jemmy stood until the Maxwells
were gone, then fixed his knights with a stern eye. "Every one of you was
at fault here today," he said. "I will—" he staggered a little
and groped for the back of his chair, missed, and collapsed face down on the
floor.

Alyson ran forward and fell to
her knees with an anguished cry.

"Turn him over—it's all
right, he's just fainted—Conal, Donal," she ordered. "Get over here. Lift
him—gently now—and get him to his bed."

Deirdre was beside her in an
instant, her hand firm on Alyson's elbow. Together they followed Jemmy from the
hall. Alyson turned when she reached the doorway, her eyes going over each of
the knights in turn. More than a few bent before her searching look, staring at
the rushes covering the floor.

When the women had vanished
through the doorway, Alistair stood and faced the knights, arms folded across
his chest. "Now," he said. "Someone tell me what just happened
here."

"I will," Calder said,
rubbing his cheek where the mark of Jemmy's hand showed. "The rest of you
get out."

When they were alone, Calder
perched on the arm of Jemmy's chair and scowled.

"What the devil are ye
playing at, Alistair?" he demanded. "What were ye thinkin' to get in
the way as ye did?"

"Instinct, I suppose,"
Alistair said casually. "It all happened very fast. I'm afraid I didn't
think at all."

"Well, ye'd best start
thinkin'. Christ, man, there it was, the chance we've all been waitin' for. But
mayhap it won't matter. That shoulder is still troubling him—it may yet take
him off. Even if it doesn't, he'll no be laird after the old man is dead. I've
been busy while ye were away."

"What have ye been busy
about?" Alistair asked, forcing himself to smile as he spoke.

"Weel, it's like this. The
council is all for Malcolm—and for you, Alistair. The boy will be guided by us
every step along the way. Is that no' what ye wanted?"

This
was
what Alistair had
wanted a year ago. In that year he had changed—but everything here was still
the same. It was all going forward, everything he had put in motion.

"I
never
said I
wanted Jemmy murdered. Never that." 

And God be thanked that was the
truth, or there would be more on his conscience than he could bear.

"'Tis the quickest
way." Calder shrugged, and Alistair felt a slow chill run down his back.

"And then the council will
choose Malcolm," he said.

"Why, I've got the council
right here."  Calder laughed, holding out his hand. "Ye might say I
am
the council, Alistair, and ye wouldna be far off from the truth. But 'twould be
better for us all if Jemmy...well, if he didna survive his wound. Quick and
clean and then Malcolm is the heir with the council to guide him."

"I see ye
have
been
busy!" Alistair said admiringly.

"I have. But what of you,
Alistair?  What game are ye playing here? I thought I knew, but now...well, now
I'm not so sure. Ye seem different, somehow."

"I've been away a long
time."

Calder gave him a long,
considering look. "Mayhap that's all there is to it. Mayhap not. But know
this, Alistair: with ye or without ye, the council will rule until Malcolm is
of age. And by that time," he added, his teeth gleaming in a smile. "He'll
know who his friends are."

"And if he's doesn't?"

"That's no concern of yours.
We'll handle the lad."

Calder stood and looked down at
Alistair. "You're either in or out. Ye canna have it both ways."

"Aye. Well, you've given me
much to think about."

"Think all ye like. But do
it quick. Time is running out—and not only for the laird."

"Calder!" Alistair
called and the knight turned back. "Who gave Jemmy that wound?"

"'Twas a bit hard to tell
exactly what was happening that day—ye ken how it is in the heat of battle. Could
have been one man, could have been another."

"Or it could have been your
blade."

"Aye, it could have,"
Calder agreed blandly. "But if it was, I wouldn't be admitting it, now,
would I?"

"L
ie down, my
lady," Maggie ordered firmly, straightening from the bed where Jemmy lay. "I
can tend to this well enough."

Deirdre put a hand on Alyson's
arm. "She's right. Come and rest—" She could feel Alyson shaking
beneath her hand, and added very quietly, "'tis not only yourself you have
to care for now."

Alyson gave in without further
protest and allowed Deirdre to lead her to the tower chamber, where Maeve
played happily on the floor with the sweet-faced lady who had been set to tend
her. "Mam," the child cried. "Look!"

"Come, bairn, let's go see
the garden," the lady said, taking one look at Alyson's face and scooping
Maeve into her arms.

"Go on, love," Deirdre
said, kissing the child's upturned face. "I'll be down soon."

Alyson lay down upon the bed. "How
did you know?" she asked.

"I can't say I did
know," Deirdre answered with a shrug. "From time to time I make a
lucky guess. Do you have any pains here—or here—"

Alyson put one hand on her belly
and shook her head. "No, I think all is well." She closed her eyes
and leaned back against the pillow. "We've wanted this," she murmured.
"But now—" her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit upright. "Deirdre,
you mustn't tell anyone! Promise me!"

"I promise," Deirdre
said, puzzled. "But whisht, lie back, you
must
rest now. I'll send
for someone—who would you like?"