The Border Trilogy (13 page)

“Aye.” The word was no more than a whisper.

His eyes were practically overflowing with amusement, but she refused to avoid his gaze, hoping thus to conceal any further discomfiture on her part. It occurred to her that what she really wanted to do was to dive under the covers, never to face him or anyone else again. But then he reached for her, his hand lightly brushing against the curve of her breast, sending tingles of pleasure through her body, and once she was in his arms, all thought of shame vanished and her previous embarrassment was forgotten as she submitted eagerly to his will.

The interlude was a brief one, for Douglas had no intention of spending the day in bed. Nevertheless, when they arose, Mary Kate’s body was aglow with the warmth of spent passion and she gave no particular thought to her nudity as she moved to look for her clothes. A simple gown of gray wool with a narrow white lace ruff and matching lace at the cuffs had been pressed for her and lay now across the back of a tall armchair. She assumed that Lucas Trotter had seen to it and sent him a silent thank you.

They dressed quickly, and then Mary Kate followed her husband downstairs to the great hall, a vast and chilly chamber, to break their fast. As soon as they had done so, Douglas introduced her to the household servants. Their number amazed her, but her eyes rounded in further astonishment when he laughingly informed her that she had met only the upper servants.

“You’ll come to know them all in time, lass,” he said, still chuckling, “but come along now. I’ve got a wee surprise for you.” Drawing her arm through his own, he led her out to the stable yard, where he shouted for Geordie Elliot.

A small, gray-haired man, bowlegged and weathered of face, emerged from the stables leading a sleek dappled mare, which stepped daintily, tossing her silver mane and tail. When he brought her to a standstill before them, Mary Kate turned to her husband, eyes shining.

“Oh, Adam, she is beautiful! What is she called?”

“Sesi,” he replied, “though by the look of her, it ought to be Saucy. An appropriate bride gift, I believe.”

“She’s mine? Truly?”

“Aye, I thought she would stir a few fond memories of our courtship.” He grinned, mocking her, and Mary Kate blushed. But she was too pleased with her gift to respond to his teasing with anything but pleasure. Sesi nuzzled her shoulder.

“Is she swift?” she asked Elliot.

“Aye, mistress. Good speed and a bonny temper.” He eyed her small figure skeptically, adding on a note of doubt, “Master says ye’ve a good seat on a horse.”

Douglas laughed. “She rides like thistledown on the wind, Geordie. Do you like her, lass?”

“Oh, Adam, how can you ask? May I ride her now?”

“Aye, I’ll take you out myself when you’ve changed. But mind, lass,” he added in a sterner tone, “you are not to leave the stable yard without a groom or go beyond the main gate without an armed escort. You mind that, too, Geordie.”

The older man nodded in agreement.

“But, Adam, why not? I am not a child, and I have often ridden alone at home.”

“This is not Speyside House, lass, nor yet Clan Chattan land, and since the queen’s execution, the borders are more dangerous than ever. The Scots are bad enough, the English even worse, and wife stealing is a favorite practice for both, despite the fact that it is a hanging offense. You will obey me in this, Mary Kate, or you will soon wish that you had.”

Fear that he might forbid her riding altogether was all that kept her from arguing, for she believed that he exaggerated the danger and was merely taking another opportunity to exert his authority over her. He couldn’t know much about life in the highlands, she decided, if he thought there was never danger there. She could take care of herself. But she stifled these rebellious thoughts and nodded submissively, glad when Douglas appeared to be satisfied.

They had their ride, escorted by twenty of his men, and the district certainly seemed peaceful enough. Mary Kate loved the rolling green, nearly treeless hills with their vivid splashes of colorful wildflowers. The people she saw were busy with planting, lambing, and other spring chores, making it difficult for her to imagine any of them engaged in either battle or foray. Surely, she told herself, her husband had magnified the risks in order to frighten her into obedience.

There were more rides in the days that followed, and each passed without incident, until even Douglas could no longer deny the prevailing atmosphere of peace. No news came to the castle of raiding parties or other disturbances, for even the English were quiet for the moment. Like the Scots, they had spring planting to see to and sheep to be tended. The men on both sides of the border were too much occupied to indulge in other, more dangerous activities. Accordingly, the daily escorts were reduced in number until finally, two weeks after their arrival, Douglas offered to take his wife alone to old
Torr na Righe
, pleasing her greatly because she had not yet explored the village or the ruins of the castle above it and preferred to see both without an armed escort.

On the day chosen for their expedition, Douglas ordered out the horse cart, a light two-wheeled vehicle with a fur-covered seat and room behind for parcels and supplies. The cart was drawn by a sturdy border horse, and they rattled along in fine style, heading west across rolling, barren hills, down into green and grassy dells, then up a more thickly forested hill and down again into the narrow valley formed by Borthwick Water as it wended its way to join the White Esk.

“There is an ancient Roman fort where the waters meet,” Douglas told her once they had rattled across a plank bridge and turned north onto the well-rutted Roman road that followed the west bank of Borthwick Water, “but we won’t go so far as that today. Would you like to take the reins for a while?”

She accepted them with delight, confiding that she loved to drive. “My father built me a pony cart when I was twelve. Morag was used to make up baskets of food whenever anyone was ailing, and I delivered them in my cart.”

He let her drive until they reached the entrancingly picturesque village that squatted upon a narrow, semicircular piece of ground between the smoothly running water and the foot of the steep hillside rising from its western bank. The roadway, cobbled and narrow, was flanked on one hand by a low stone parapet overlooking Borthwick Water and on the other by several cottages, an alehouse, a smithy, a carter’s, and a number of shops, including a drapery and chandlery.

Taking the reins from her, Douglas drew the horse to a halt at the near end of the village in front of the drapery, and once he had helped her descend to the cobbles, they walked to the top of the street and worked their way back toward the cart, visiting each shop in turn. Mary Kate purchased ribbons and a pair of lace mittens before they entered the drapery and she met Michael Scott, who astonished her with the news that he could order fabrics and other materials for her from as far away as London, Paris, or even Venice.

“We don’t know how he manages it,” Douglas confided when they returned to the cart, “and we don’t ask. What with all the sumptuary laws and restrictions, ’tis my belief he traffics with English smugglers.” He chuckled at her look of astonishment.

The ruins of
Torr na Righe
topped the hill above the village, and as they wandered up the narrow path to take a closer look, Douglas tried to draw a word picture for her of the once mighty though primitive fortress. Mary Kate, seeing little more than a pile of rubble, privately thought it looked more romantic from the road.

Their return journey was uneventful, and she hoped Douglas would lift his restrictions regarding her own excursions beyond the castle gates, but that hope vanished the following week when he announced that he had received orders at last to rejoin the king in Edinburgh.

“Jamie himself sent for me, or I’d bide here a while longer,” he assured her. “I’ve no wish to leave.” He was pulling on a pair of leather riding breeks as he spoke, and he missed her expression of disappointment.

Mary Kate was surprised by her own emotions. She didn’t want him to go. Of course, she told herself, it was only that she was new to the castle and its people and might be lonely. Otherwise, she certainly wouldn’t miss him.

Lucas Trotter handed him his rawhide boots, and he began to drag them on, saying, “I’ll stay at my house in the Canongate, lass. Send word there if you have need of me.”

“Take me with you.” The words were out before she knew she was going to utter them, and he shot her an amused, speculative look from under his heavy brows.

“What’s this? Never confess you will miss me.” When she wrinkled her nose at him, he shook his head, that mocking gleam still lighting his eyes. “Not this time, lassie. I will have to make speed, and I have no knowledge yet of what’s been happening whilst I’ve been away or what the king’s plans are, or even if he means for me to remain any time in town. There’s an earldom awaiting me if naught occurs to fling me out of royal favor, because Jamie wants powerful men whom he can trust here in the borders. How would you like to be a countess?”

“Wouldn’t I still be Lady Douglas all the same?”

“Nay, that you would not. The Douglas earldom was forfeited by my ancestor, James, the ninth earl, better known as the Black Douglas. Our family was then the most powerful in Scotland, far more powerful than the crown in many ways and therefore too powerful for our own good. After the forfeiture, another branch, the Red Douglas, gained power, but their prestige is on the wane now, thanks to Morton.”

Mary Kate nodded wisely. She knew that the treacherous James Douglas, fourth Earl of Morton and the last of several regents suffered by the young king, had been executed some years before for contriving the murder of the king’s father, Lord Darnley. “But is not the Earl of Angus also a Douglas?” she asked, remembering what little Margaret had told her of the Douglas family history.

“Aye, sweet Archibald.” Douglas grinned at her look of puzzlement. “Ours is a complicated clan, sweetheart. Angus is a Douglas, sure enough, but he is also Morton’s nephew, which is a strong point against him. And although he contrived to retain power for some time by making himself useful to Jamie in London,” he added confidingly, “I fear that he has recently fallen a wee bit out of favor.”

“He was the king’s emissary to Queen Elizabeth before Queen Mary was murdered, was he hot?”

“He was, and a rare muck he made of that business, too. Jamie believes Angus ought first of all to have been able to stop them from trying a Scottish queen for treason against England, and secondly he thinks Angus ought to have supplied him with better, speedier information. Here, Trotter,” he called over his shoulder, “take this gear down to the yard.”

Mary Kate bit her tongue, thankful for the brief respite while his attention was diverted. Knowing as she did that King James must have had all the information he required in October and that he had done nothing about it, she thought it hard on Archibald Douglas to be out of favor for such reasons. Although she could not question the matter without risking Douglas’s asking a few embarrassing questions of his own, she could certainly admit to confusion. “Since Angus is an earl already, why cannot the king make you the Earl of Douglas?”

“’Tis a political matter,” he said. “Jamie has no particular reason to trust any but a very few amongst his nobles, and right now he needs men he can trust in positions of influence. Without his own standing army to command, he cannot afford to grant anyone sufficient power to challenge him in the field. His liking for me is personal,” he went on, “having naught to do with clan or politics. My lady mother is cousin to the Countess of Mar, that cold-hearted bitch who was Jamie’s foster-mother, so we knew each other as children. He looked up to me because I was older and because I was kind to him, but though I have been fortunate enough to serve him in several ways before now, I doubt that our friendship is strong enough, to tempt him to restore the Douglas title with all its attendant property and power. He would not wish to face the inevitable violent objections from other members of my own clan, for one thing. If he grants me an earldom, it would most likely be that of this county. Teviotdale is crown land now, although it used to be a small portion of the Black Douglas holdings, and, too, it is ideally situated for the purpose of increasing support for himself in the borders.” He grinned. “Angus will be livid if I’m belted at all, because he’s no wish to see our branch of the clan attain power again. ’Tis bad enough from his point of view that my father is a baron. He’d be apoplectic if Jamie granted me the Douglas earldom.”

“But if Angus is out of favor—”

“Only for the moment. He’s a canny one, is Angus, and he’ll come about. I must get my business settled before he does.” He flung his cloak over his shoulder with one hand and drew her close with the other. “I will miss you, lassie. I’ll not be gone above a fortnight if I can help it, but mind you be a faithful wench.” He kissed her soundly, thus neatly stifling her indignant protests.

When she could speak again, she lifted her brows and asked, “And what about you, sir? Will you be faithful to me?”

“Aye, Mary Kate,” he replied with rueful amusement. “I’d be afraid to come home otherwise.”

“Well, you may always return to your own hearth, I suppose,” she muttered, her fingertips just touching his cloak.

He kissed her again, roughly, and moved toward the door. Before he reached it, however, he turned back with a frown. “One thing more, lass. You’ll mind what I said before about not riding out alone. I will speak to Elliot, so you’ve only to tell him when you wish to ride and he’ll provide an escort.”

“Oh, Adam, in a whole fortnight there has not been so much as a lamb stolen. You said yourself that things are quiet.”

He was implacable. “Mind me, Mary Kate. I’d not be pleased to hear you’d contradicted my orders.” Since the idea that she could countermand an order of his giving had not entered her head, it took her a moment to adjust to the notion, and his eyes twinkled in response to the changing expressions on her face. “Nay, lassie,” he said gently when she looked directly at him again, “you could not do it. Geordie knows better. And mind you play him no tricks, or I’ll be forced to warm that pretty backside of yours when I return.”