The Border Trilogy (27 page)

Emotionally drained by her efforts to remain silent, Mary Kate stood where she was until the sound of his footsteps had faded into the distance. Then she sank down upon a stool near the window and brushed angry tears from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She could still feel where his fingers had bitten into her shoulders, and there was an ache at the back of her throat from the harshness of his anger. But her thoughts did not linger upon these ills. He had ordered her to throw herself upon Megan’s mercy, to abase herself to a woman she loathed.

How Megan would rejoice at her humiliation, she thought bitterly. An apology would have been difficult enough, God knew, but for Douglas to have demanded one of her would have been perfectly fair, for she had committed a grave offense by calling his cousin a bitch in heat to her face. Gaelic words, she mused, were always so much more graphic than their English counterparts. By calling Megan a
saidhe
, she had no doubt placed herself in
mortshainn
insofar as her husband’s good opinion of her was concerned. She decided she had to do what she could to put things right, but to humble herself completely, as he had commanded, was out of the question. He might say she had not behaved as a Douglas must, but he himself must still think of her as a MacPherson or he would never have issued such a command. A Douglas humbled himself to no one.

The thought stirred some of her old spirit. Douglas had much to learn of MacPhersons, did he not? Did not the Clan Chattan motto warn against touching the cat without a glove? But the mental image of herself clawing at Douglas’s hand consoled her but briefly, for she knew only too well that at this point, he would deal short shrift to rebellion of any kind. He had left her no alternative but to obey him.

She stood up, suddenly restless, anxious to have the hateful business over and done. Damn him, she thought, for ordering her to keep to her bedchamber, for forbidding her presence at the table. They were probably just now going in, smelling delicious smells, wondering where she was. No doubt he would provide her with a headache or some such thing as he had done at Tornary, but whatever the excuse, they would see right through it. Probably Megan was clinging to his arm at this very moment and would sit beside him, looking long-suffering and noble while he served her from the dishes they shared.

Mary Kate glanced out of the window, hearing the birds’ chatter now. Sunlight sparkled invitingly on the gentle fountain spray, creating a host of dancing rainbows. The day was lovely. At least, out there it was lovely. A thought teased at her mind. He had not precisely ordered her to stay where she was. He had perhaps assumed that she would do so, once he had made it clear that she was not to inflict her presence upon the family at dinner. But he had not actually forbidden her to go outside.

Telling herself that she needed fresh air to relax her before her ordeal, she began searching for her safeguard, and less than a quarter hour later, she hurried from the house. Encountering no one on her way to the stables, she was fortunate enough to find the same dour groom who had helped her before. Once again he showed not a trace of curiosity, saddling the mare as ordered and accepting his dismissal without comment. Mary Kate had no desire for company, believing that Annandale was too far north of the border for her to be in any danger so long as she remained on Lord Strachan’s land.

Forcing all thought of the forthcoming interview with Megan from her mind, she gave the mare her head. Sesi was well pleased to have such freedom and chose to stretch her legs upon a southbound track. Mary Kate concentrated her attention upon the terrain. Hatless, letting the warm breeze blow her hair and loving the caress of it across her face, she rode until Sesi began to slow of her own accord. She had no idea how great a distance they had covered, but they had kept to the rough track, so she knew she could easily find her way back.

They reached the crest of a low hill. Off in the distance, perhaps half a mile or so, lay a thickly wooded slake that looked as though it followed a river or stream, and Mary Kate realized that she was thirsty.

Ten minutes later she rode into the peaceful shade of the wood. It was silent there, and soon she was able to hear the babble of water coursing over stones. She turned Sesi toward the sound. Sunlight played innocently through green branches, daubing lush and fragile ferns with spatters of gold. Surely, she thought, the silver glint just ahead was the same sunlight sparkling on water, for the sound of the splashing brook came to her ears clearly now with a nearly metallic jingle. She froze on the thought, her hand jerking the rein with a suddenness that stopped the mare in her tracks.

Sesi whinnied in nervous protest, but Mary Kate heard the sound again, not an odd note in the brook’s song at all but the jingle of spurs and clink of harness. Before she could wheel the mare, however, the woods erupted with horsemen who quickly surrounded her, and a rough hand grabbed her bridle.

Sesi shied.

“Let her go at once!” Mary Kate cried.

“Nay, lass, she’s like tae bolt, gin I do anything sae daft.” He was broad-shouldered, thickset, and heavily bearded.

“You have no right! Release her!”

The man holding Sesi shook his head, his blue eyes sparkling with uncouth insolence. He grinned at the others. There were fifteen of them, she saw now, perhaps more. It was difficult to tell amidst the close-growing trees, but they were a motley lot, bearing arms ranging from calivers to broadswords, daggers, and dirks. They were not gentlemen, nor were they ordinary peasants or farmers. Their leader regarded her closely, his roving eyes drinking in every detail of her trappings and the rich gown beneath her safeguard.

Embarrassed by his effrontery, she was nevertheless glad for once that she did not indulge in the border wife’s practice of sporting every jewel she owned. She had even taken off her watch before she left, for it had a habit of bouncing uncomfortably when she rode. It lay now safely in the trinket box on her dressing table.

“What might a bonny wee lassock like yerself be a-doin’ allanerly in a place such as this ’un, me lass?”

“That is no affair of yours,” she retorted.

“Lass has spirit,” the leader observed in an aside to his men. Then his voice hardened. “Answer me, lass.”

“You have no right,” she insisted. “I ride upon my husband’s father’s estate, and ’tis no business of yours whether I ride alone or otherwise.”

Her words seemed somehow to arouse the whole group, to electrify the very air. The leader eyed her sharply. “Your husband’s father?”

“Aye,” she said, glad he seemed to know where he was. “I am in Lord Strachan’s care, and I’ll warrant that you do not wish to incur his displeasure.”

The leader shook his head sorrowfully. “Och, but ye’ve gone and left his lordship’s acres behind on yonder ben, lassie. ’Tis a greetin’ shame, I grant ye, but I fear ye mun abide a wee wi’ ourselves.” He cast a sly wink at his men. “Methinks, lads, we’ve collected more than we thought tae find. ’Tis herself, I’m thinkin’. ’Tis Douglas’s ain bonny lassie.”

The note of triumph in his voice sent shivers racing up and down her spine. They were raiders. Why had she not realized it at once? Because, she told herself bitterly, she had foolishly thought herself too far north, of course. They must be Scots, though, not English. Even as the thought crossed her mind, the leader confirmed her worst fear.

“The Douglas owes us, lass. He’s got five o’ our ain lads locked up in Roxburgh Tolbooth, and we want them back afore yon assize court meets.”

“But they forced themselves upon an innocent girl,” Mary Kate protested without thinking, “and they nearly killed a man.”

“Nearly?” exclaimed the leader. “Was he no dead, then? God’s nails, but I thought certes he was wi’ his Maker.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “But yon lass wasna sae innocent as ye might think, me lady. Eh, lads?” He leered, and the others chuckled appreciatively.

“She was nice, Uncle Rupe,” declared a great hulking fellow near the leader. He seemed younger than the others and spoke in a slow, careful voice. “I remember her.”

“Do ye now, Wee Ranald? Well, that’s a guid lad,” replied the leader, grinning. “But just ye hush yer gab now, afore ye frighten the bonny lady. Dinna mind his gab, lass. He be gowkish, ye ken, just a wee bit wowf.”

The news that Wee Ranald was of unsound mind was scarcely encouraging. Mary Kate had been frightened from the moment the men had shown themselves, but now her fear was painful, as though every muscle in her body had tensed in an involuntary gesture of defense. Breathing was difficult, and although her heart was pounding, it seemed to strain to do so. Had these terrible men all had their way with poor Ellen? Would her own fate be the same? Oh, why had she not remained safely in her bedchamber?

The leader reached out to draw a rough finger down her cheek, making her jump and bringing on a fit of trembling. “Dinna fash yerself, lassie. We’ve nae wish tae do ye harm. ’Twould be tae damage the prize, gin ye take me meanin’.”

“What do you want with me?” The words came in a harsh whisper, for her voice had lost itself in her throat.

“We aim tae mak’ a wee trade, lass—yerself fer our ain lads in Roxburgh. O’ course, we’ll ha’ tae ask fer boot as well, Douglas bein’ gilded enow tae share wi’ them as is less fortunate than himself. But he willna give a souse fer damaged goods. Now, be sae kind as tae hand me yer rein, unless ye’d prefer a warm, comfortable place on me saddlebow.”

Silently, she handed him her reins and allowed him to lead the mare. The others fell in behind as they forded the noisy little brook and traveled further south along the slake through the dense trees. They had left the track far behind when finally they emerged from the cover of the forest and began to make their way up a narrow, rocky glen. Mary Kate had no idea where they were or even if they were still traveling south, for the sun was hidden behind the surrounding hills.

She had already been gone much longer than she had intended, and the dismal thought occurred to her that Douglas would think she had run away again. She had meant to be back in her bedchamber before he would have cause to look for her, but that was impossible now. She shuddered to think what his most likely reaction would be when he found her gone. What, she wondered miserably, if he was so furious that he refused to order the bandits released? What if he declared the ransom demand too high to pay? Would these rough borderers still not risk damaging the goods then?

She stared at the burly man on the horse in front of her. How she would have liked earlier to have slapped the smirk from his evil face. And the rest of them—slobbering over her like rams at stud. That awful one they called Wee Ranald even looked like a ram, only not so intelligent. Thank God their leader could control them, she thought, though surely they must all realize that even if Douglas didn’t want her back himself he would kill every one of them if they damaged what was his.

While these thoughts and others of their ilk were repeating themselves over and over in her mind, the party made its way through the rocky glen and came upon yet another thicket and then a small clearing. At the far end stood the sort of low, stone, thatched-roof hut known as a bourock.

Still grasping Sesi’s rein, the leader swung down from his horse and held up his hands to lift Mary Kate down from her saddle. When his hands left her waist, one of them, as if by accident, caressed her breast. Angrily, she lifted her chin high and turned away from him, pretending to watch the others dismount. With a snort of amusement he shouted at Wee Ranald and another man to investigate the bourock to be sure it was “comfortable.” Then he turned back to her and said, “Not that it will meet wi’ yer ain high standard, lassie, but it will ha’ tae do till the Douglas cooms tae claim ye.” He squinted when she made no response.

She had not spoken since their initial exchange, but when several of the men behind them burst into laughter at some jest or other, startling her, a flicker of fear revealed itself in her hazel eyes.

“The lads willna harm ye, lass,” the leader assured her again, cheerfully. “Like I said afore, whatever their instinct be fer lust, they ha’ a mickle clear notion o’ the Douglas temper and me own as weel. Ye’ll serve me purpose best undamaged since Douglas is like tae demand yer safe return afore he’ll set our ain lads free. We’ll ha’ our gelt first, o’ course, but we can trust his word fer the rest.”

Mary Kate pushed away the lingering fear that Douglas might not come for her. He had to come. Once he knew the reivers had her, he would find her. Disquietingly, another thought pressed itself upon her mind, that it might be better for her in the long run if they did harm her. Just a very little, of course—enough to mitigate Douglas’s inevitable wrath. She did not think the fact that they had frightened her witless would weigh with him. In fact, he was more likely to regard that as the one positive note, in the whole affair.

Drawing another long breath, she looked her chief captor squarely in the eye. “Does he know where I am?” Her voice was clear and steady, that of a lady of breeding, that of a Douglas or a MacPherson. Under the circumstances she was pardonably pleased with herself.

The bandit leader nodded toward the stone hut. “Get ye inside, lass. He kens the noo that we ha’ ye, but he’ll no be told where ye be till we fetch our ransom from him on the morrow.”

She stared at him, aghast. “Not until morning?”

“We want him tae stew a wee while, so he’ll do as he’s bid.”

“What if he will not?” To ask the question took nearly all the courage she had left, but she forced herself to make clear to him that such a possibility existed. “He will be angry with me for leaving as I did, for it is neither my usual custom to ride unescorted nor his to permit it.”

The man looked her up and down in a way that made her feel exposed from head to toe, and his leering grin made her wish once more for the courage to slap him. “He will play, lass. Now, in ye go.” He stood aside with mock gallantry, and she passed by him to enter the hut.

Inside, it was dry, but that was all that could be said to its advantage, for the dirt floor had not been swept for a long time, and there was no sign of recent habitation. A rickety table stood under the only window, which was no more than a hole in the wall where a few stones had been left out. The only other piece of furniture was a narrow but solid bench near the blackened fireplace. There was no hearth or hood, just a black space—no chimney, either—and Mary Kate, conscious of a distinct chill in the air, was glad they had not provided a fire for her comfort. The smoke would no doubt have asphyxiated her.