The Border Trilogy (34 page)

She danced with Gillespie and found him as charming as she remembered. If his gaze was occasionally a shade too intimate for her taste, she attributed that to the difference in manners at court, where she had heard that men indulged in vulgar behavior and women allowed liberties otherwise unheard of in polite company. Certainly she would not allow liberties herself, and she had seen nothing else to account for such tales, but if the tales were told, she knew there must be a grain of truth somewhere, and Gillespie’s attentions were marked. She did not spend all her time with him, of course, but allowed Margaret and her parents to introduce her to their friends, including, at long last, Sir Patrick Ferguson.

He was taller than Margaret and solidly built with broad, strong-looking shoulders, solid, muscular thighs, and a trim waist beneath his light-blue-and-white satin doublet and lavender trunk hose. Tight blond curls were cropped close around his ears, his blond beard was short and pointed, and even his eyebrows were pale blond above ocean-blue eyes that twinkled like sunlight on water. The planes of his face were smoothly chiseled, and when he smiled the lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes deepened into the weathered creases characteristic of an outdoorsman. She knew from Margaret’s chatter that he loved farming and all manner of sport, but he seemed equally at home here in Holyrood Palace.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Sir Patrick,” she told him, smiling, “though I have heard so much about you that I already feel as if I know you well.”

Margaret grinned at his look of dismay. “Pay her no heed, sir. I told her only good things, so she scarcely knows you at all.”

Sir Patrick laughed, delighted, and said to Mary Kate, “She is in the right of it, you know, my lady. I have many faults.”

“I believe we all have faults, sir,” she replied, “but I like what I have heard, and I like what I see.”

Not at all taken aback by her frankness, he returned her smile and asked if she would care to dance. She danced a good deal that night, enjoying several dances with Ned Lumsden, who acquitted himself well, and one more with Kenneth Gillespie. The latter seemed to assume that they were old friends, but he did not infringe overmuch, and her pleasure in the evening would have been undimmed had it not been for the behavior of her husband.

When Douglas returned, he did not seek her out as she expected him to do but joined a group of his friends instead. In fact, Mary Kate was unaware of his return until she saw him lead a beautiful young redhead into the dance. It had not occurred to her until that moment to wonder how he would conduct himself in public now that he was married. With shock, she soon realized that his behavior was exactly what it had been at Critchfield Manor. He laughed and flirted and played the gallant, leading first one, then another adoring damsel onto the floor. It seemed to his wife that a veritable bevy of dazzling beauties clamored for his attention. Clearly his injured arm no longer troubled him, but he did not once ask her to dance. Watching him, her eyes soon began to glitter with suppressed anger, and she threw herself into the merrymaking with frenetic energy. What she really wanted to do, she told herself, fuming, was to comb his hair with a joint stool. Lacking one, she would serve him as he served her instead.

By the end of the evening she was exhausted. She was able to say nothing of consequence to him on the way home because of the chairmen, but she was determined to have it out with him the moment they were safely inside their own house, where they could be private.

When they reached the Canongate, Douglas dismissed the chairmen and followed her into the house. She turned to face him in the hall, saying coldly, “Adam, I would speak with you.”

His mouth tightened at her tone, and he glanced at the gillie who was closing the door behind them. “Now?”

She nodded, her face set with determination.

“Very well, come into the parlor. Fetch me ale, lad.”

The gillie hurried off to do his bidding, and Mary Kate pulled off her cloak, tossing it onto a nearby chair in a heap. She promised herself she would remain calm if it killed her, for she had no wish to arouse his temper, but she had to let him know she would not tolerate such treatment from him again. And she had to make an effort, too, to clear the air between them. She waited until the gillie had returned and departed again.

Douglas quaffed his ale and set down the mug on a side table. “Well?”

She swallowed. Once again, the opportunity had come and she didn’t know how to begin. Perhaps, she mused, it would be better not to make any hasty accusations, not until his displeasure with her had abated. “I…I wanted to tell you that I have made up my quarrel with Megan,” she said finally.

“I know. I spoke with my father tonight.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she shot him a searching look. What if Lord Strachan had made good his threat to tell his son what he thought of his behavior? “Wh-what did he say to you?”

“Naught of any particular import.” His eyes glinted enigmatically. “He merely gave me the impression that you have at long last learned to get on with Megan. I assumed that she had accepted your apologies.”

Mary Kate nodded, breathing more easily. She had been foolish, she thought, to fear that Lord Strachan would say anything critical of his son on such a night as this had been. But she could tell by the searching expression in Douglas’s eyes that she had stirred his suspicions, and she didn’t want him to know about the things she had told his father. Therefore, she decided she would be wiser not to expound upon her new relationship with Megan. In fact, it would perhaps be safer to change the subject altogether. “Did he tell you I was not running away when those dreadful men caught me?”

“No,” he replied evenly, “and if you have convinced him of that, it is more than you will accomplish with me.”

“But I wasn’t, Adam, I swear it. I wanted only to get out of my bedchamber into the fresh air. I gave Sesi her head and paid no heed to the direction she took. The time passed more quickly than I realized.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he warned her. “Remember that Willie Jardine reads track better than other people read books. We know exactly how far south you were when they caught you, madam, so it will do you no good to profess your innocence to me now.”

She opened her mouth to protest but realized immediately that to do so would be useless. She must have been farther from Strachan Court than she had realized. Bracing herself, she asked steadily, “Adam, do you still intend to punish me?”

“It would be pointless to do so at this late date, don’t you think?” he replied with a sigh, adding, “It would be wise, however, for you to give careful attention to your conduct whilst we are here in Edinburgh.”

She frowned. This conversation was hardly clearing the air. Perhaps it would prove necessary, after all, to heed Margaret’s advice and make him angry. Reluctantly gathering her courage, she forced herself to look up at him boldly. “And what of your own conduct, sir? I did not think well of it tonight.”

His initial expression indicated genuine surprise, but she could not be certain, for his eyes narrowed quickly. “You did not appear to be concerned at the time, madam,” he retorted, “and you will soon find that at court a man is not expected to dance attendance upon his own wife.”

“And what of wives, Adam? Don’t they demand similar freedoms?”

“My wife will conduct herself in a proper manner,” he replied shortly. “Now, if this conversation is finished, I suggest we go to bed.”

He had kept a rein on his temper, but his expression was forbidding, and Mary Kate’s courage failed her. If she could have made herself believe that to goad him further would eventually put them back on a comfortable footing with each other, she might have dared to do so, but at the moment there was too much distance between them to be certain what the result of such pressure would be. Anticipating his reactions was proving to be difficult. Margaret was right. He was unreasonable in his present mood, and unpredictable besides.

She slept in her own bed that night, and the next morning Douglas informed her that they would attend Sunday services with the king. It seemed to her that the entire day was spent at devotions, except what time was passed in quiet, very dull conversation with courtiers who would rather have been engaged in merrier occupations. That night she slept alone again, awakening late Monday morning to learn that Douglas had gone hunting with James. Sighing with frustration, she arose and dressed, then decided to break her fast downstairs before asking the housekeeper to show her over her new home.

Mrs. Comfort, wearing her courtesy like a polished shell, was pleasant but different in every way from the amiable Mrs. Jardine. Mary Kate could not feel as easy with her as she could with Annie’s mother and was not at all tempted to confide in her. They had seen the vast, colorful gardens at the rear of the house, all the primary rooms, the linen press, the gallery, and the chief pantry before Mrs. Comfort turned toward the kitchens. Mary Kate was wondering how she could politely decline to continue without offending the woman when, turning a corner, she came smack up against Ellen Kennedy. She exclaimed, and the pale young woman dropped a hasty curtsy.

Ellen was much improved since Mary Kate had last seen her, but her complexion was still colorless and her light-blue eyes were dull. “I hope ye willna be vexed, mistress,” she said, looking up. Her voice was soft, not unlike Susan’s, but it too lacked animation.

“Of course I am not vexed, but what are you doing here in Edinburgh?” When the girl hesitated, Mary Kate realized that she was uncomfortable in the housekeeper’s presence. “Here, Ellen, you must come with me. You will excuse us, Mrs. Comfort. Ellen surely has news of Tornary, and I confess to a longing for word from home. I will see the kitchens another day.”

“As you wish, my lady,” the housekeeper said graciously.

Mary Kate quickly took Ellen into the parlor and insisted that she be seated. The girl obeyed without comment and folded her hands placidly in her lap.

“Now, Ellen, first of all, how are you, and how do your mother and Susan fare?”

“As well as might be, mistress,” she answered. “Susan hadna yet birthed her bairn when I left, and I still be taking Dame Beaton’s powders now and anon when I canna sleep, but we’re all of us as well as might be, thank ye kindly.”

“But why are you here?”

“’Twas thought I might be useful gin any odd thing need doing wi’ yer dress for the wedding. Mr. Graham suggested it, said I might prove useful.” She spoke in a monotone, and it was as though she repeated a lesson.

Mary Kate regarded her closely. “I am grateful, Ellen,” she said quietly, “but I thought you would be preparing for a wedding of your own by now.”

Color suffused the girl’s cheeks, and her hands clutched at each other in her lap. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “He didna want me.” Despite her efforts, the words came in a whisper.

“Oh, Ellen, how dreadful for you! But surely Ian Baird doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

“As to that, I canna say, but there was talk—a deal o’ talk,” she added bitterly. “I never saw Ian, mistress. He sent the message wi’ his brother that we’d best not see each other again.”

Mary Kate could imagine the sort of talk there had been. She herself, knowing of Douglas’s association with Ellen and then hearing the brigand’s comments, had begun to form an unflattering opinion of the girl’s character. But now, face-to-face with her again, all such thoughts dissolved in a wave of compassion.

“I am truly sorry,” she said; “but perhaps ’tis for the best. If he could give you up so easily, he cannot be much of a man. I am very glad that you are here.”

“Thank ye, mistress. Happen ye’ve the right of it.”

“I have,” Mary Kate said firmly, adding, “They caught those reivers, you know.”

“I heard, mistress. The master told me. He saw the last o’ them hanged at Roxburgh. Somehow he prevailed upon yon magistrate tae believe that the first lot had conspired wi’ the second tae steal yer ladyship. That mun ha’ been a frightful experience fer ye, mistress.”

“It was,” Mary Kate agreed. “I don’t mind telling you, they frightened me witless, but fortunately, Sir Adam found me before they could do more. What they did to you was worse.”

“Aye. ’Tis glad I am that they be gone.”

They talked a while longer before the housekeeper interrupted them to announce that Mistress Douglas and Lady Somerville had come to call and Ellen excused herself.

The three friends were soon comfortably occupied with an exchange of tales about the previous evening’s activities. Megan had retired early with a sick headache and had missed the king’s announcement; however, Margaret had described it to her later in detail. It appeared that they had had other conversation as well, for Margaret accepted the friendship between her cousin and Mary Kate without question, despite the fact that, in all her confidings the day before, Mary Kate had said nothing that might betray Megan’s present difficulties with her uncle. They had also apparently discussed Mary Kate’s marital problem.

“Megan disagrees with me,” Margaret announced suddenly. “She doesn’t believe you ought to enrage Adam at all. She thinks you ought to be extra good and loving instead.” She wrinkled her nose, plainly expressing her low opinion of such a notion.

Megan smiled at her. “’Tis a better plan than yours, for heaven’s sake. But perhaps it would help more if I were to speak to him.”

Something deep within Mary Kate rebelled at the thought of Megan pleading her case to Douglas. “Please don’t,” she begged. “That would only make matters worse.”

“I promise I wouldn’t do that. He is not an inflexible man, you know. He simply has too many things to think about just now. To know that you helped me would please him.”

“I know you wouldn’t mean to cause trouble, but only consider for a moment.” Mary Kate pushed a straggling curl away from her left eye and attempted to put her feelings into words that would make sense. “If you discuss the matter with him, how can you tell him about his father’s anger without telling him what caused it?”