Stuart, Elizabeth (4 page)

"Huntleigh
won't implicate me, even if he was," Alexander remarked calmly.
"Henry Tudor doesn't keep fools in his pay— not since Wolsey's been
chancellor, anyway."

Grant
remained unconvinced. "Well, did you find out anything? Who the girl is
for a start, or why she's wanderin' the borders with a king's ransom in
jewels?"

"Only
that she's a very poor liar."

"Could
she be in with the French? They're crawlin' all over Scotland these days."

Alexander
looked up. "I doubt she's anyone we need worry about. She'd no more notion
of dealing with me than a lamb."

"Jesu,
Alex, you can't think it coincidence she turned up at that spot! Not with those
two men showing up so soon after. If we hadn't hightailed it out the window and
into the brush, there might have been a whole different story to tell this
morning. I say we've a need to walk softly. At least until we find out
something about her—or until the Englishman shows up."

Alexander
rose to his feet. "We'll be careful, Grant. That's why I took this
precaution." He held up the goblet of wine. "She'll sleep most of the
day. No one but you and Madge know she's here, and it's to stay that way for
now."

"But
what do you plan to do about the meeting?"

"Which
meeting? With Murdoch or our English friend?"

"Both."

The
master of Durnam Castle shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly. "About the
English? Nothing. Huntleigh's a good man. He'll turn up when he's damned good
and ready. And in the meantime, I've my own affairs to see to. If the English
want me, they know where to find me."

He
hesitated a moment, then smiled one of his sweetest smiles. "And about our
esteemed friend, Murdoch Douglas, why, I plan to make him wait a bit longer,
Grant. The Hepburns of Durnam aren't at the beck and call of lackeys like
him."

***

When
Alexander finally joined Murdoch Douglas, over an hour had elapsed. He strolled
casually into the room, immaculately dressed in the latest fashions from
London, a slashed doublet of burgundy velvet and matching hose of finest silk.
"Ah, my lord Warden," he remarked. "So good of you to wait."

Murdoch
Douglas was pacing the floor. He paused before the window, dark eyes narrowing
in anger. "I've been waiting for over an hour, Hepburn. This is important,
man, and I've no time to waste!"

Alexander
moved to the side table where several crystal glasses and a decanter of aqua
vitae stood. He held up the powerful liquor. "May I fill you a glass, my
lord?"

"I've
helped myself already."

Alexander
stiffened. In his thirteen-year exile from Scotland, the neighboring Douglases
had controlled Durnam. Murdoch had been but a bailiff then, but he'd wielded
Douglas authority on the confiscated Hepburn estates. He'd stripped the castle
and made no demure at wringing every groat possible from the property, cutting
down forests and casting out crofters who'd worked Hepburn lands for
generations. It would be years before the place was restored to the glory of
Alexander's childhood. It had taken the last two just to make it habitable
again.

Alexander
poured himself a liberal portion of the brandy. "That's right. How could I
forget? You make a habit of helping yourself, don't you, Douglas?"

"Ancient
history, Hepburn. We're both on the same side now." Murdoch said sharply.
"You'd best remember that if you want to hold on to this place."

"True.
How quickly you make your point." Alexander raised his glass in a short
salute, then brought it to his lips. "What is it I'm to have the pleasure
of doing for you?"

"Angus
wants your help. Not that I think we need it," Murdoch put in tartly.
"We've misplaced something and your assistance might help in locating it
more quickly. It's no secret you've an army of cutthroats and outlaws working
both sides of the border. We want to make use of them."

Alexander
spread his hands wide. "All I own, I owe to our lord chancellor.
Naturally, my men and myself are at his disposal."

Murdoch
hesitated a moment. "It's Mure. We've long suspected he was in on a plot
to restore the French regency, possibly even murder young James. Now he's
finally come out in the open. He attacked the king and Angus has had him
declared traitor. We had him cornered northeast of here, but he slipped through
our net. He won't dare cross into England, and he can't have reached the coast
yet. Angus put a reward of two hundred pounds on his head."

"A
man of Mure's standing and reputation a French agent? Whatever is Scotland
coining to?" Alexander took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. "Oh, by
the way, you tell that well, Douglas. Without so much as a stumble. You must
have rehearsed."

"Come
off it, man!" Murdoch growled. "Will you help us find the bastard or
not?"

Alexander
smiled bitterly. "Of course I'll help. There's no love lost between my
family and Mure."

Murdoch
began to grin. "I'd almost forgot. Mure was the one who brought in your
father after that treachery at Flodden. No wonder Angus was so sure of
you."

Alexander
calmly finished his drink. "Suspected treachery," he corrected.
"Ironic isn't it, but our lord chancellor is right. I'll do what I can to
find Mure. It'll do him a world of good to see how easily the term traitor is
applied."

If
Murdoch noticed the sarcasm he ignored it. "There is one other thing. A
girl. Mure's ward. She slipped out of Beryl Castle three nights ago. I've no
doubt she's set out to meet him, and I want her as well as the two men we've
learned helped her. She's heir to David Maxwell's estates. Mure's too, if
things fall into place as they should."

"A
girl?" Alexander frowned. "Seems I've heard of her. Held to be a
beauty too, though Mure hasn't yet married her off if I remember correctly. Too
busy enjoying the rents from her lands to give them over to a husband I
suspect. Jean or Jenny or something like, isn't it?"

"Jonet,"
the warden said stiffly. "The lady Jonet Maxwell. And when you find her
you're to bring her to me. There's another hundred pounds in it from me if you
do it quickly and quietly. Very quietly. Just remember she's a lady and keep
your hands off her."

Alexander's
long lashes swept down. "I've an excellent memory, Douglas. I promise I'll
remember it well."

Moments
later Murdoch Douglas had departed to continue his search. Alexander remained
where he was, pensively nursing his empty glass. The door behind him creaked
slightly. "Well, Grant, what do you think?" he asked without turning
around.

The
man opened the door and moved into the room.

"You
heard, I suppose?"

"Aye.
Kept my ear to the door as you bade me, Alex."

"I'll
wager anything you care to name that we've the lady Jonet Maxwell upstairs
decked out in my best shirt."

"No
matter the odds, I'd not take that up."

"But
whatever shall we do with her?" Alexander tapped his glass thoughtfully.
"There are so many interesting possibilities."

"Good
Lord, give her to Murdoch!" Grant exclaimed. "It's only two years
since Angus reinstated your lands. He can take 'em away again just as
easily."

Alexander
went on as if the man hadn't spoken. "I've long had the feeling Mure knows
more about what happened to my father than he's told, but I've never had a way
to make him talk to me."

He
arched one dark eyebrow at Grant, his voice chilling. "Did you know he
threatened to have me whipped like a common lackey if I ever set foot on his
lands?" A bitter smile twisted his mouth. "Maybe now he'll change his
tune."

"It's
been nigh on fifteen years," Grant murmured. "For the love of God,
can you not let it lie?"

Alexander's
fingers constricted, his knuckles whitening against the glass. "They
murdered my father! Do you think a man ever forgets a thing like that?"

He
swung around, eyes blazing. "He was no more a traitor than Mure, probably
less. But he was an easy target, a scapegoat after Flodden. He was married to
an Englishwoman and had spoken openly against that stupid sortie across the
border. Christ's love, Grant, the battle of Flodden should never even have
happened!"

The
older man held his tongue.

Alexander
took a deep breath, struggling to regain control of himself. It was seldom now
he lost his temper. He'd been well schooled in thirteen long and bitter years
in England, thirteen years of being despised because he was half Scots, reviled
because his father was a known traitor.

Over
the years he'd learned a number of bitter lessons: to do whatever he must to
fit in, to deflect the barbs with a graceful word, a witty comment. And when
all else failed, to use his fists or a length of steel to put his opponent in
the dust.

"No,
I'll not let it lie," he repeated softly. "It's been my reason for
living the last fourteen years."

When
Jonet awoke for the second time that day she was less confused. It was
obviously late afternoon. The corners of the large room were dim, but warm,
spring gold light still spilled through the open window.

In
the nearby window seat sat a woman with a shirt-length of fine cambric cloth in
her lap. Jonet frowned. This must be the woman Alexander had sent.

Alexander
. She named the
man easily enough in her mind. But God's truth, how could she forget him? He
had threatened her, terrified her and crowned it all by drugging her. And she
still didn't even know who he was.

She
decided to remedy that. "Where am I?" she asked.

The
woman turned. Countless wrinkles cascaded down her cheeks, but her bright blue
eyes were cheerful. "Why, you're here, child, in Lord Alex's room. And
pleased I am to see you awake at last."

So
he was a lord. "Lord...?" Jonet waited expectantly, but no answering
surname came.

The
woman smiled. "He'll be tellin' you the rest when he wants you to know,
I'm thinkin'."

And
that was that. "I imagine you must be my jailor then," Jonet remarked
crossly.

"Jailor?
God's mercy, no. My name is Madge. Alex bade me stay close so you'd not be
afraid when you waked. I'm to fetch you food or drink or whatever you've a mind
to."

"I
don't suppose a horse would be possible."

Madge
laughed. "Lord, child, I'd never get it up the stairs."

Jonet
smiled. The woman had a sense of humor. "Then I suppose I must settle for
something to eat."

Madge
put down her sewing. "I'll fetch it, but don't go gettin' impatient now,
and be seeking after that horse. You took a bad hurt and must stay in bed till
all danger's past."

"All
right. No horses."

Jonet
watched the woman bustle from the room. She tried to recall what Alexander had
said—something about thinking herself in the devil's clutches when she learned
who he was. Well, that would be nothing new. She'd thought that since last
night.

She
glanced about. He'd also said her things were in the chest. All at once she
needed the reassurance of wearing her own gown —Syble's gown. She wouldn't face
this Alexander a second time wearing nothing but his shift.

She
sat up and leaned forward experimentally. Nothing terrible happened. She felt
sore and weak but the intense throbbing in her head didn't return. Tossing back
the covers, she swung both legs over the bedside. She sat for a moment
gathering her strength, then caught the bed curtains for balance and eased
herself to the floor.

The
room shifted and whirled, then settled into place. Her head ached, but it
wasn't the fierce pain of this morning. Resolutely, she moved across the floor.

But
the bedchamber was much wider than she had anticipated, her steps more
difficult to take. Halfway there her surroundings slipped out of focus. She
detoured two shaky steps to a chair, catching the back to keep herself upright.

"What
a fetching sight. I'm amazed what you do for my shirt, lass."

Jonet
froze.

Alexander
stepped across the threshold and closed the door. "A pity it's so large,
though. I imagine the view could be even more fascinating."

Jonet
didn't look at him. She couldn't. The huge shirt fell to her knees covering the
most essential parts of her anatomy but leaving her bare legs exposed.
"Get out!" she managed. "Can't you see I'm not dressed?"

"Oh,
I see that quite well. I was always a quick-witted lad. But I'm not about to
leave. This is my room, and I believe I did warn you about staying in
bed."

Jonet
looked up then. Alexander was watching her, a lazy, half smile on his face as
his gaze traveled slowly, thoughtfully, down her body to rest on her bare feet.

Jonet
clutched the chair back, wondering what the man must be thinking. But then it
was obvious from that smile what he was thinking.

Her
face burned, the heat sweeping downward through her body and taking her breath.
"If you have even a trace of decency, sir, you'll leave here at
once," she got out. "I was..." She took a shaky breath.
"...about to get dressed."

"And
if I've a trace of common sense, I'll stop listening to this nonsense and get
you to bed," he murmured, moving forward abruptly and sweeping her up in
his arms.

He
stared down at her and Jonet met his eyes. His arms tightened, but for several
long moments he didn't move.

Jonet
was acutely aware of the strength of the arms wrapped around her, of the warmth
of his skin against the bare backs of her legs. His scent was clean and fresh
this time: peat smoke and heather and some rich, masculine smell distinctly his
own. It enveloped her, like his arms, with an odd feeling of intimacy and
warmth.

"You
could have fallen and injured yourself again," Alexander said softly.
"I suppose I shall have to take the shirt as well to keep you safe in
bed."

It
took a moment for the words to sink in. Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't
dare!"

"No?"
His silvery gaze was mesmerizing. "Lass, you've not the imagination to
think up the things I'd not dare."

Somehow
Jonet had little trouble believing that. She swallowed hard, trying desperately
to retain some shred of Maxwell dignity. "If you're done humiliating me,
put me down," she said quietly. "I will stay in bed."

"That's
more like it." Alexander turned and placed her on the bed, lifting the
covers over her bare legs as impersonally as she could wish.

She
stared resolutely away. How had she come to this? Half-naked in a room alone
with a man who obviously wasn't a gentleman. She had planned to join her uncle,
to send the Douglases riding in circles while the two of them sailed for
France. It had seemed so easy from the safety of Beryl, but Duncan had known
the rights of it. She should never have come.

"You've
no cause to look so desperate," Alexander remarked conversationally.
"You've not been ravished, nor are you about to be."

She
sent him a glance brimming with bitterness. "And should I thank you for
that?"

His
lips twitched. She could tell he was fighting a smile. "Well, you might,
lass, unless it's not your preference. If I've been guilty of a sin of
omission, I'll most promptly and happily remedy it."

Jonet
lay back on the pillow and rolled away from him. She knew precious little of
men, but she could tell Alexander was teasing. She wasn't afraid, just
embarrassed and resentful. "Go away, please. Just leave me alone."

In
a movement she should have predicted, he sat down on the bed. "I think
not. It's time we talked. As I recall from this morning, you'd a burning desire
for my name."

That
caught her attention. She turned back expectantly.

"I'm
Alexander, Baron Hepburn of Durnam."

She
drew her breath in sharply. The name Hepburn of Durnam was known the length of
Scotland as a traitor's name, a name rife with scorn.

"I
see you've heard of me," Alexander said dryly.

She
stared at him, wide-eyed. She had heard the story, as all in Scotland must
have. Gavin Hepburn of Durnam had been accused of treason, of giving
information to the English before the battle of Flodden. Unfortunately the man
had died before he could be brought to trial, and some had whispered poison,
others suicide. The family had fled to England where they lived for
years—continuing their services for the hated English if gossip was to be
believed. But two years past, in his self-imposed role of chancellor, Archibald
Douglas, Earl of Angus, had unexpectedly and unexplainedly returned their
lands.

Jonet's
mind was working furiously now. This man must be the son of that traitor and
the new Hepburn of Durnam. She strained to recall what she'd heard. Robert
seldom spoke of unpleasantness before her, but she recalled one
conversation—her uncle remarking Hepburn sat in Henry of England's pocket. And
dear God, he'd gotten back Durnam! He had to be working for Angus.

"There,
aren't you glad you had a few good hours of rest before learning that?"
Alexander murmured. "I can see you're close to swooning from the possible
contagion."

The
easy humor in his face was gone. His eyes were incredibly bitter. Jonet felt a
sudden and unexpected sympathy. Those years had been hard.

"I
don't swoon," she said evenly. "At least if I do it's pain that causes
it, not fear of sitting next to a man of questionable reputation. That or
drugged wine," she amended.

"Questionable
reputation. How carefully you put that. Did Mure teach you such niceties?"

She
forced herself to focus on a tiny snag in the coverlet. "I don't know what
you mean."

"Oh,
I think you do."

"No.
I told you I was a maidservant. I've heard of Lord Mure certainly, everyone
has. But I'm not—"

"Quiet!"
Alexander snapped. "For the love of God, save your lies for someone a
little less experienced. You've not yet learned the way of them..." He
used the word deliberately, "Jonet."

She
stared at him in a panic, her sympathy gone, if indeed it ever had been.
Alexander Hepburn was a man without honor, without common decency even. And he
would give her up to Murdoch Douglas. She'd no doubt of that. "Have you
known then, all along?"

"No.
If you'll remember, I had guests this morning while you were taking your nap.
One of them is an admirer of yours and most anxious to get you back."

Jonet
felt her stomach twist sickeningly. Somehow she knew what was coming.

"Our
lord warden is turning the countryside upside down, not only for Mure, but for
you as well. Heavens, lass, he couldn't be hotter if he'd seen those long,
exquisite legs of yours." His eyebrows rose sardonically. "Or has
he?"

Jonet
felt ill, physically ill. The man's clever words rained down on her like blows.
She hadn't the wit to match him, but she still had pride. And despite her
predicament, she wouldn't yield her honor—two things Robert had taught her were
more important than life.

She
raised her eyes to his. "Not all of us live in the gutter, my lord. You've
been in it so long, you've probably forgotten that. But you've no cause to
spread the stench of it wherever you go."

Seconds
ticked by. His eyes narrowed, a muscle flexed involuntarily in his cheek.
"You're right, lass," he said softly. "I beg pardon."

The
ensuing silence was awkward. Jonet felt a strange emotion spreading through
her—oddly enough, it felt like pity.

A
knock sounded, and Madge bustled in bearing a tray of food and wine. Alexander
rose to his feet, but Jonet rolled over, turning her face to the wall. She felt
bruised somehow and battered from the engagement. She wished the man and the
old woman would just go away.

But
the woman was determinedly cheerful. "Sit up now, child. You'll be feelin'
better once you've eaten." She placed the tray on the bed and began
plumping the pillows behind Jonet. "It's food you'll need to hold your own
with this devil."

Jonet
shot a glance at Alexander, but he hadn't taken offense. Instead he was
smiling, one of the few genuine smiles Jonet had seen. It eased the tension
from his face and made him seem young and decidedly less dangerous.

"She's
holding her own quite well, Madge. And don't be giving her any ideas." He
put his hand on the woman's shoulder affectionately. "My thanks for all
the trouble you've been put to."

"Ah,
'twas a pleasure. She's a lovely slip of a lass, don't you think?"

Alexander's
eyes met Jonet's over the woman's shoulder. "Aye, Madge, I think. Get
yourself off now to supper and bed. I'll send Grant if I've need of anything
further."

Jonet
leaned forward and forced a smile. "My thanks, Madge —even if it wasn't a
horse."

The
woman chuckled and patted Jonet's hand. With another cheery smile for her lord,
she ambled from the room.

Alexander
stared after her. "Madge was my nurse," he explained. "And it's
next to impossible for me to get around her now. Whenever I get on my dignity,
she reminds me how often she swaddled my backside when I was a babe." He
turned. "And what was that about a horse?"

"A
joke," Jonet said nervously. Bending over, she began examining her supper.
There was enough food here for an army, and she was amazed to discover that her
mouth was watering and she was almost painfully hungry.

Alexander
poured two goblets of wine. Jonet stared at him suspiciously when he held one
out to her. Extending the other as well, he grinned. "I give you my word,
it's safe. But you choose. I'll take the other."

Jonet
took the wine. She sniffed it, then took an experimental sip. It tasted like
ordinary wine to her. A good quality too.

Alexander
sat down on the bed and began helping himself to the food. She gazed at him in
surprise. "Are you eating here?"