The Border Trilogy (41 page)

“Be that as it may,” Sir Patrick replied firmly, watching Mary Kate, “it is her duty to prepare him for what trouble lies ahead, and so she must. I do not know how you will manage it, my lady, but truly, you must.” He turned then to his wife. “Stay with her, lass. Ned and I will return as quickly as we may. Perhaps, if we can get back before Adam does—”

“He can then have the pleasure of pitching us all out into the street before he deals with poor Mary Kate,” Margaret interjected with an ironic laugh.

“Mistress!” Ellen called from the front hall, sending a chill of anticipation racing down Mary Kate’s spine. The maid appeared upon the threshold, twisting her hands and glancing in anxious dismay at the open antechamber door, where Gillespie’s leather-shod feet were clearly visible. “Mistress, ’tis your aunt’s coach! Her manservant be a-coming up yon steps the noo. Whatever will we do?”

Sir Patrick murmured irrepressibly, “A pity we cannot ask her to lend her coach to us to transport Gillespie’s carcass.” Then, when a knock at the door goaded both men to hasty action, he added reassuringly over his shoulder, “We’ll take him out the back way, my lady. Have no fear. Just attend to your visitor. Little though you may think it now, she may well prove to be a blessing in disguise.”

Mary Kate thought both his levity and this last odd notion of his completely irrelevant to the matter at hand, but she dared say nothing to delay him. Instead, trying desperately to compose herself, she told Ellen to admit Lady Aberfoyle at once. How, she wondered as she moved swiftly to take her seat again, had Gillespie ever thought he could have his way with her in a house as busy as a village square on market day?

Looking down quickly, she saw that the tear in her bodice was noticeable again and tucked the ragged edges under, tightening the lacing with a hope that her sharp-eyed aunt would fail to notice the damage.

Sounds of bumping and thumping in the antechamber had barely died away into the distance when her ladyship entered briskly with her usual silken rustle and clicking heels.

“Good morrow, good morrow, my dear ones. What a pleasure to see you, Lady Ferguson, but where is that handsome new husband of yours?” Presenting her cheek to each of them, she allowed them to kiss her as they rose to make their curtsies, then seated herself with a swirl of her huge farthingale. Her sharp, birdlike gaze settled closely upon Margaret as she waited with parted lips for that young lady’s reply.

Margaret smiled sweetly. “It is pleasant to see you, my lady. We scarcely had an opportunity to exchange words with you yesterday. I regret that Sir Patrick was unexpectedly called away, but he did not believe his business would occupy him overlong. My brother will also return soon, I believe.”

“I did not think we should enjoy the pleasure of your company today, Aunt,” Mary Kate put in quickly, knowing that if she were not diverted, Lady Aberfoyle was perfectly capable of demanding to know the precise details of any business that could occupy Sir Patrick on the Sabbath.

The old lady nodded at Margaret. “I came hoping to see the bride, of course. I knew they would not choose to include a dreary old woman in their first bride visits, but they were certain to call here, so not being so high in the instep as to take offense where none is intended, I came here to await their arrival with you. ’Tis my pleasant good fortune to find Margaret here with you now.”

“My dear lady,” Margaret exclaimed, laughing, “had we but known you wished it, we would certainly have included you and Lord Aberfoyle in our visits. Sir Patrick and I are very fond of you both.”

Mary Kate thought her aunt blushed, but the old lady recovered rapidly, snapping out her next words. “Pish tush, let us have none of your butter sauce, miss. I know your cozening ways well enough. And why, may I ask,” she added tartly, turning a gimlet eye upon her niece, “am I always kept waiting for refreshment in this seemingly well-appointed house?”

Mary Kate smiled at the familiar reproof and called through the open doorway to Ellen, still on guard in the front hall, to fetch Lady Aberfoyle a cup of her favorite spiced ale. Ellen bobbed a curtsy and left, coming back into the room a short time later, just as sounds from the antechamber heralded the imminent reappearance of Sir Patrick and Ned. Mary Kate was astounded by the speed with which they had dispatched their errand, for they had been gone less than a quarter hour. They entered as Ellen was about to take away the tray.

“Good afternoon, Lady Aberfoyle,” Sir Patrick said cheerfully, adding, “Hold there, Ellen lass. If that’s ale you’re serving, Ned and I would be right glad of a cappie.”

Ellen bobbed and turned away, only to stop short again when the sound of the front door crashing back on its hinges froze everyone in place.

Douglas strode in rapidly, his face flushed with fury. He cast a swift glance around the room. “Begone, all of you,” he ordered harshly. “I would be private with my wife.”

“Your imminent ascension to the peerage,” Lady Aberfoyle declared in chillingly haughty accents, “has adversely affected your manners, young man. Or is it perhaps your common practice to eject your guests so rudely?”

Her chair faced away from the entry, so Douglas had not seen her immediately, and her frigid tone brought him whirling to face her. He bowed curtly. “I beg your pardon, madam, if I seem wanting in grace. I assure you that were the matter not an urgent one I should never behave so to family or to guest. I trust you will forgive me.”

“Don’t be tiresome,” she replied frigidly. “I have only this moment received refreshment, and I have no intention of allowing you or anyone else to throw me out of this house until I have drunk my ale, unless, of course, you intend to do so yourself, sir, bodily.” She glared at him, daring him to reply. “No? Then it will do you no harm to contain your soul in patience and your temper in pretense of calm until I take my leave. No good ever came of losing control over one’s emotions.”

When Douglas straightened, his jaw tightening ominously, she added sternly, “Sit down, sir, and let Ellen fetch you something to mellow your spleen. Then, when our visit has come to its natural conclusion, we shall depart with our dignity intact and you may say all that you wish to say to your wife. That, in case you have forgotten your manners altogether, is how such matters are conducted by civilized persons in this modern age of reason.”

The color drained from his cheeks as she spoke, and when she had finished, he brusquely begged her pardon for his incivility before turning away toward the front window in undisguised embarrassment and frustration.

Margaret and Ned stared at Lady Aberfoyle in awe, but Mary Kate noted that although he had turned away from the rest of them, Sir Patrick’s shoulders showed a suspicious tendency to quake with suppressed laughter. Realizing that her aunt had momentarily stemmed the tide of Douglas’s fury, she set her thoughts to racing.

“Will ye tak’ a dram then, master?”

Ellen’s question, spoken timidly, planted the seed of an idea in her mistress’s quick thoughts. Glancing at Douglas, who seemed not to have heard the maid’s question, Mary Kate gathered her courage.

“Bring Sir Adam a mug of that excellent punch we had earlier, Ellen,” she ordered, her voice shaking despite all she did to control it. “That will be just the thing to quench his thirst and calm his mind.”

Ellen’s eyes grew round with horrified dismay, but now that the decision was made, Mary Kate nodded firmly.

“Quickly! He does not wish to be kept waiting.”

She dared not look at any of the others, but she knew from someone’s sharply indrawn breath that her intent was understood in at least one quarter. The others avoided looking at her, too, although in Sir Patrick’s case this was clearly not due to shock. Though he had turned toward her again, he still had to fight to keep his merriment under control, and he showed signs now of being in dire straits.

For a long moment no one moved; then, with a shrug and a sigh, Douglas turned from the window, drew up a chair, and sat down, stretching his long legs out before him.

Lady Aberfoyle instantly engaged him in small talk, soon dragging the others into the conversation whether they wished to participate or not.

When Ellen returned with the drinks, she served her master first. Her hands were trembling and her face was chalk white, but Mary Kate noted thankfully that Douglas was too preoccupied with his own concerns to notice, and the maidservant escaped as quickly as she could to serve the other men their ale.

Douglas took the first sip from his cup. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary and swilled the drink down thirstily, as though by such an action he hoped to hurry Lady Aberfoyle.

The old lady would not be rushed, however, and the whole scene took on an oddly dreamlike quality for Mary Kate. She replied when spoken to directly but watched her husband’s growing impatience with rising alarm. Time stretched out, and what was actually less than five minutes or so seemed nothing less than an eternity. But finally, just as suddenly as Gillespie had succumbed, so did Douglas. His eyes glazed over, and he slumped in his chair, his head lolling sideways.

Lady Aberfoyle snorted. “Swine-drunk! As bad as an Englishman. I ought to have known. No wonder his manners were so disgusting.”

Mary Kate didn’t deny the accusation but watched anxiously as Sir Patrick hurried to her husband’s side.

After a hasty examination, he grinned up at her. “He’ll do, lassie. Just taken a wee drap over the mark, I expect, as her ladyship suggested.”

“This is no occasion for mirth, Sir Patrick,” scolded Lady Aberfoyle. “You men. All the same or worse.” She got to her feet and twitched her wide skirts into place, nodding regally to Mary Kate. “I will take my leave now, my dear. The good Lord knows you are safe enough whilst he remains in that disgusting condition, and the head he will have when he awakens ought certainly to make him more tractable then.” She turned imperiously to Ned. “You may see me to my coach, Mr. Lumsden.”

Then she was gone, leaving the other three to stare at one another, their countenances expressing a myriad of emotions, ranging from horror and surprise to unrestrained amusement.

“She stayed to protect me from Adam,” Mary Kate said in hushed astonishment. “Who would ever have thought it?” She directed her gaze at Sir Patrick. “What did you do with Mr. Gillespie, sir?”

“Rolled him in the dust, stripped him of his purse and jewelry, and turned him over to the watch for a vagrant,” that gentleman replied, chuckling. “The watchman thought much the same of him as your aunt thought of Adam, so he will no doubt leave him in solitude to sleep it off before he is questioned. Then I fear it may take the good Gillespie some time to establish his identity, though I trust he will manage to do so before they flog him out of the city at the cart’s tail.”

Mary Kate’s eyes twinkled in response to his unholy amusement, but before she could make a comment, Margaret interrupted them.

“Never mind that now,” she said. “Mary Kate, how did you dare to do such a thing to Adam? I could scarce believe my ears when I heard you order that punch. You will be amazingly fortunate now to get out of this affair with your head tight upon your shoulders, let alone with a whole skin. Ellen, too!”

With a grimace, Mary Kate admitted that her sister-in-law most likely had the right of it. “But Sir Patrick said that I must make Adam listen to me,” she said reasonably, “and you yourself admitted that I should have to tie and gag him in order to achieve such an end. I could think of nothing else to do.”

Margaret stared at her with her mouth wide open, but Sir Patrick’s laughter spilled over at last, and tears of merriment were streaming down his cheeks by the time Ned returned.

F
IRST HIS EYELIDS FLICKERED
. Then a muscle on the left side of his jaw twitched, as though he became aware of the gag before he exerted himself to open his eyes. Or perhaps he exerted himself because of it.

Mary Kate had pulled a back stool up close to the bed and sat now, hands clasped upon her knees, hunched forward so as not to miss the least hint that he was waking. And he was. With the first twitch of his eyelid, she had stopped breathing. Planning for this moment had been one thing; living it was quite another. Douglas opened his eyes.

She had been prepared for anger, or thought she had. But for a moment he was bewildered rather than angry. He frowned. Then his gaze encountered hers, and his expression hardened. He moved to sit up and became aware for the first time of the ropes that bound him to the bedposts, whereupon his expression altered ludicrously from annoyance to astonishment and disbelief. He did, in fact, turn his head first to one side and then to the other, as though his vision must confirm what his other senses had told him. Then, sharply, he looked back at her, and despite the breath she had been holding, she took in more air in a sudden gasp at the blazing fury in his eyes. He struggled at the bonds, and she knew brief terror at the thought that he might break free. But the knots held.

She gathered her courage to speak. “It would be best, sir, if you do not struggle. The bonds are tight, and you might do yourself an injury.” The sound of her voice was unfamiliar, as though she listened to someone else, someone whose heart was not thudding loudly enough to be heard in London and whose toes were not rattling in her shoes, someone who was altogether poised and indifferent to consequences. Nonetheless, the very fact that she could speak at all calmed her. She sat straighter and squared her shoulders. “Adam, I have much to say, and this was the only way I could be certain you would listen to me.”

He managed to grimace in spite of the gag, but the fury in his eyes abated somewhat.

Mary Kate collected her thoughts. She knew her voice would work properly now, though she dared not meet his gaze except for brief seconds from time to time. She twisted the ring he had given her on their wedding day.

“I know you are furious with me, sir, and I cannot blame you, but I cannot bear to have all this misunderstanding, even deceit, between us any longer. If you despise me for the things I am about to relate to you, then so be it, but I hope you may find it in your heart to forgive me instead—if not at once, which may well be too much to ask, then at least someday.” She paused, darting a glance at him.