Elizabeth English - The Borderlands 02 (23 page)

Jemmy stood directly opposite
her, hands fisted at his sides, and said nothing. But at least he didn't look
away. Usually they did that, just like Kinnon was doing now, staring down at
his feet as though they were the most fascinating things he'd ever seen. And
later, when the
talking
was all done and she came back to the hall, they
wouldn't look at her directly. They glanced at her sideways—asklent, they
called it here—pretending that nothing had happened. Pretending they didn't see
the bruises.

She stood rooted to the floor,
head held high, as Brodie approached. She had married him, had stood up in the
church and said the vows. And by the laws of Scotland and Brodie's God, she had
become his property, to do with exactly as he pleased.

I didn't know
, she wanted to
cry out.
It isn't like this in Donegal! There a woman counts for something
.
But she held her tongue. If justice was denied her, she would not beg for pity.
That would accomplish nothing but to demean her even further, for she knew from
long experience that no one in this place, no matter how well intentioned they
might be, would interfere between a man and his wife.

"I don't think so,
Brodie," Alistair said quietly, stepping from behind Deirdre. "Whatever
ye have to say, ye say to
me
."

"Get out of my way,
Alistair," Brodie said, sounding more surprised than angry at this turn of
events.

"No."

"Jemmy," Brodie said,
his eyes never leaving Alistair. "Call him off. The woman is mine and the
bairn, as well. I have my rights."

"And I have mine,"
Alistair shot back swiftly, before Jemmy could reply. "Deirdre and I were
married yesterday."

Jemmy's mouth shut with a snap.

"Married?" Brodie's
heavy face looked completely blank for a moment, then he threw back his head
and laughed. "Ye daft bugger, ye
canna
be married, for she has a
husband living."

"Well, we didna know that
then, did we?" Alistair said reasonably. "And now the deed is
done."

The Kirallen men-at-arms looked
dumbfounded as they stared at Jemmy, who shook his head briefly, cautioning
them not to move.

Kinnon cleared his throat. "Who
witnessed this marriage?"

"I did," Ronan answered
quickly.

"And the other?"

Silence descended on the hall and
Deirdre bit her lip. Alistair might mean well, but his story had just made
everything worse. And now it was about to be exposed for the lie it was.

"'Twas I."

All heads turned toward Alyson. "Forgive
me, my lord," she said to Jemmy. "I have grown so fond of Lady
Maxwell that I could not refuse her."

Brodie shook his head like an
oxen throwing off a cloud of flies. "It makes no matter who was there!
Kirallen, we've been allies until now, but before God, if I don't leave here
with my woman, I'll tear this place down stone by stone."

Deirdre caught her breath. Brodie
would do it, she knew he would. Or at least he would try. After all the
kindness the Kirallens had shown her, she would not bring war upon their heads.

"Alistair, we cannot—"
she began, but he rounded on her with a furious scowl.

"Hold your tongue,
woman," he snarled and she stepped back a pace, too shocked to voice a
protest as he turned back to Brodie with a shrug.

"She talks too much, but for
all that I would keep her. She warms my bed quite nicely," he added in a
low, suggestive voice. "She's sweet, Brodie, verra sweet, and so
eager...but then, ye know that for yourself. Or," he added with silken
malice, his gaze flicking down and up again, "perhaps ye don't. Why not
give her to a man who's... capable of enjoying her?"

Brodie went first white, then
red, and shot Deirdre a look of such concentrated hatred that she felt the
blood drain from her face. Had Alistair gone mad? Or did he
want
to see
her dead?  For nothing he could possibly have said would have sealed her fate
as completely as the words he had just spoken.

Brodie's lips drew back from his
teeth and the veins corded on his brow, a sure sign that he was in a killing
rage. Without meaning to, Deirdre took a step back, holding Maeve more tightly.

"Ye had her, did ye?"
Brodie said, his voice strangled.

"Several times." 
Alistair flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve and smiled slowly. "Each
finer than the last."

"By God, I'll kill ye—"

"You? Do you really think
you're man enough?" 

With an insolence that took
Deirdre's breath away, Alistair turned his back.

"I'll kill ye with my own
hands!" Brodie screamed. "I'll cut you into ribbons, ye swiving churl.
I'll slice off your balls and stuff them up your—"

Alistair whirled to face him. "Tomorrow.
Kendrick's field. At midday."

"Aye!" Brodie tore the
gauntlet from his hand and flung it in Alistair's face. "So be it."

Alistair bent and retrieved the
glove. When he straightened his eyes were gleaming above the thread of blood
winding down his cheek.

"A challenge given and
accepted," he cried in ringing tones, holding the gauntlet aloft. "With
all of you as witness."

For the first time Brodie seemed
to realize things had not gone as he meant them to. He glared about, his low
brow furrowed in confusion, as Kinnon came forward and took his arm.

"Come Brodie, let's get back
home again."

"You, bitch," Brodie
said, thrusting a finger at Deirdre. "Do not think ye can hide behind
Kirallen for long. Tomorrow I will come for ye. And then—"

"Come
on
,"
Kinnon said anxiously, tugging at his brother's elbow as he cast Deirdre a
nervous, apologetic glance. "Let's go."

"
W
ell played,
Kirallen," Ronan said, leaning casually against the doorpost of Jemmy's
chamber. "Very well played."

"Well
played
?"
Jemmy repeated tightly. "God's blood, Alistair, what were you thinking? I
should kill you myself, right here and now, and save Brodie the trouble!"

"I wouldn't have let it come
to war," Alistair answered. "I would have drawn the line at
that."

"Really?" Jemmy snapped.
"I didn't think you were capable of drawing any lines at all."

"Now, Jemmy," Alyson began
anxiously and he rounded on her with a scowl.

"Oh, and now we hear from my
lady! Tell me, Alyson, when did you find time to witness this marriage? For I
was with you all of yesterday."

"If you're waiting for an
apology, you will not get it," Alyson answered sharply. "'Twas the
only thing to do."

As the argument continued,
Deirdre walked back and forth before the fire, crooning softly to Maeve. The
child clung to her with arms and legs, head buried against Deirdre's shoulder. Malcolm
and Haddon Darnley sat beside the fire, watching her with wide eyes. They
should never have had to witness such a thing, Deirdre thought, and nor should
poor Maeve. No child should be subjected to such hatred.

"It's all right,
sweeting," Deirdre said. "All is well now. No one is going to hurt
you."

The others were talking, but
Deirdre heard them with only a small part of her mind. Let them talk. It didn't
matter. Nothing mattered but the child in her arms.

As Maeve's tense form relaxed,
Deirdre drew a long breath.

"Ronan," she said
quietly. "You must take Maeve to my father right now. Don't argue with
me," she ordered as he opened his mouth to answer. "Just do as I say.
Go on, saddle your horse!" she added impatiently. "Why are you just
standing there?"

"Brodie will have thought of
that already," Alistair said. "He'll have men watching the
road."

"Then go around them,"
Deirdre said.

"He'll be expecting
that," Alistair said gently.

"I don't care how you do
it," Deirdre said with quiet vehemence. "Whatever it takes, get Maeve
out of here right now."

"My lady," Jemmy
Kirallen put in. "You are upset. Sit down and—"

"Upset?" Deirdre said,
her voice cracking. Maeve stirred and Deirdre lowered her voice with an effort.
"Aye, I am upset, my lord. As would you be in my place. Maeve cannot go
back to Cranston Keep."

"But why?" Jemmy asked.

Deirdre did not answer
immediately. She waited until Maeve was quiet, then laid her daughter on the
window seat and turned to Jemmy.

"My lord, if I return to
Cranston Keep, I go alone. I fear I will—I will not be able to protect my
daughter from Brodie's anger."

"Maeve is Brodie's daughter,
too," Jemmy said. His voice was very quiet, very reasonable, as though he
addressed a madwoman.

"She is," Deirdre
agreed, trying to match his tone, though what she wanted was to scream at him,
to shake him into awareness. "But he means to punish me for what has
happened, and he will not scruple to use Maeve to that end."

Jemmy sighed and rubbed the back
of his neck, looking uncomfortable and faintly embarrassed.

"You are distraught,"
he said. "Rest and we can talk of this again—"

"When?" Deirdre
demanded. "When it is too late to get Maeve to safety? No, my lord, we
will talk of this
now
. You do not know Brodie as I do. If I return with
him—"

"Which you will not,"
Alistair put in, but she did not even glance his way. She could not think of
Alistair. She dared not imagine what might happen to him on the morrow. If her
thoughts once started down that road, there would be no stopping the terror
that threatened to consume her. No, she would—she must—keep her mind on Maeve.

"If I return with
Brodie," she repeated firmly, "he will be angry. I accept that. And I
will be in no position to care for my daughter. Not for some time. Perhaps not
ever.
You
must accept
that
, my lord, for it is no more than the
truth."

"You believe he will—"

"He has beaten me,"
Deirdre said with desperate calm. "Many times. With no cause at all. Now
he believes I have been unfaithful to him. I do not think I exaggerate the
danger."

"Then you cannot possibly go
back with him!" Alyson cried.

"If I do not, it will mean
war. No, my lady, I thank you, I will return to Cranston Keep if—if—"  She
stopped and swallowed hard. If Alistair was defeated tomorrow. If Alistair was
lying dead in Kendrick's Field, she would go back with Brodie. She felt herself
begin to shake and gripped the back of the settle hard as she continued. "But
I must know that Maeve is safe. Then...well, I will not stay to let him hurt
me."

Alistair turned to look at her.

"But, Dee, you can't!"
Ronan said. "He'll never give you another chance to get away!"

"Do not fear," she
said, and though her words were directed at Ronan, it was to Alistair she spoke.
"I will find a way."

"Not that way,"
Alistair said with instant understanding.

"Yes, that way," she
cried. "And if it comes to that, I swear by all that's holy he's going
with me!"

"Lady Maxwell!" Jemmy
said, shocked. "What are you saying?  You could never do such a
thing!"

Jemmy did not understand. How
could he? He had no idea what it was to live in constant fear, to guard every
word and action and have it never be enough. If anyone laid hands on Jemmy as
Brodie had done her, Jemmy would fight back. It was his right—the right of
every man. He would never be expected to suffer such insult, not only without
retaliation, but without complaint. To do so would mark him as a coward.

Why should a woman's dignity
leave her no recourse but silence? Why must it be assumed that if her husband
chose to hurt her, some measure of the fault was hers? How long was a woman
expected to appease her tormenter before she fought back?

"Oh, yes, my lord,"
Deirdre said simply. "I could do it. And if you were in my place, you
would do the same."

Still Jemmy did not understand. But
Alyson did. Deirdre could see it in her eyes. Whether from experience or
imagination, Alyson knew what it was to be the victim of an evil man. God send
this gentle lady would never feel the rage that had been building inside
Deirdre for four long years.

"Sure, there's no use in talking
of this now," Ronan said uncomfortably. "There's always the chance
that Sir Alistair might win."

"Thank you," Alistair
said dryly. "I intend to."

Jemmy stared from Deirdre to his
wife. Whatever he saw on Alyson's face made him change his mind abruptly.

"All right," he said. "If
it will put your mind at rest, Lady Maxwell, we'll find a place for
Maeve." 

"Thank you—" Deirdre
began.

"How?" Ronan
interrupted. "You say the roads are watched."

"The road to Annan is
watched," Malcolm put in. "But not the others. Let me take her, Uncle
Jemmy. We'll go to—to Dunforth!"

Jemmy smiled at his nephew. "Aye.
To Dunforth. Take her to Master Johnston—or no, best keep him out of this. Take
her to Tavis, the shepherd. Tell him—" he frowned, considering. "Tell
him she is under my protection. That should be enough."

"Yes!" Alyson said. "Oh,
Jemmy, that's the perfect plan. Malcolm, how clever of you to think of
Dunforth!"

The boy blushed. "I ken
Uncle Jemmy has friends there."

"And I doubt Maxwell will be
watching that road," Jemmy added, giving his lady a quick smile.

"Then you, Ronan, will take
her to my father," Deirdre said. "Brodie will be angry," she
added, "But he will not go to war over her."

Not if he has me.
She
did not speak the words aloud, but from the way Alistair stiffened, she had no
doubt he heard them just the same.

"If it makes ye feel better,
then send Maeve off to Dunforth," Alistair said. "But you are
upsetting yourself for naught."

He meant that. He thought he
would win. But Deirdre's life thus far had given her no reason to hope for such
a happy outcome. By tomorrow evening, Alistair could well be dead. Never again
would he walk into a room and set Deirdre's heart to leaping. Never again would
he make Maeve laugh with his tales of giants and dragons. And never, never in
this life would Deirdre know the joy of waking in his arms.

He would die, she thought with
sudden certainty. Had he not seen it long ago? Oh, this was not like any pain
she had ever felt before. It was cold and bitter and far too deep for tears.

"For naught? Perhaps. But
'tis well to be prepared."

Deirdre heard her own voice with
disbelief. It was so distant, so terribly detached, as if the outcome of
tomorrow's contest meant nothing to her beyond Maeve's safety. Alistair turned
quickly, but not before she had seen the expression in his eyes.

No, wait, she wanted to cry, I
didn't mean it, not like that! But even as she stood, frozen to her place, he
walked from the room without a backward glance.