Stuart, Elizabeth (13 page)

His
gibe at Robert was heaven-sent. It angered her, strengthened her as nothing
else could have done. She met his contempt, and went him one better. "I
doubt a Maxwell born and bred has aught to be learned of a Douglas
lackey."

Murdoch's
dark eyes hardened. "I'd say you've a great deal to be learned, Mistress.
And you'll learn it, too, before you're much older."

She
opened her mouth for a hot retort, but he held up a gloved hand. "Take
care, girl, lest I forget those fine bloodlines and treat you like the
gutter-whelped wanton you appear. A few more ill-considered words and I assure
you it won't be difficult."

Jonet
bit her tongue. Her eyes slid to her uncle's pinched face and all desire for a
fight went out of her. For a proud man, suddenly helpless, this scene would be
agony. "I was only going to ask if I might see to my uncle," she
said. "He appears a bit the worse for his adventures."

The
warden smiled. "Much better. I didn't think you a stupid lass. And yes you
can see to him. So long as you mind your manners."

She
turned on her heel, but his sharp voice halted her. "Your manners,
Mistress Maxwell. I fear you forget."

She
looked back in surprise. "What?"

"I've
just granted your request. Certainly you've something you wish to say to
me."

Jonet
clenched her fingers until the nails dug into her palms. Alexander was standing
by Murdoch's side. For just a moment his eyes met hers and she was reminded of
that moment beside the river when the outlaws had threatened. She was
unaccountably steadied. "Why certainly," she got out. "I thank
you."

"I
thank you... what?"

Rage
surged up, almost choking her. A little more and she feared she must burst with
it. "I thank you...
my lord."

What
the struggle for composure cost Jonet, the men would never know. She turned
without speaking, an unaccustomed fury burning through her veins. Murdoch
Douglas was nothing! An assassin, a lowborn lackey hired to do Angus's dirty
work. How dare he speak to her in such a fashion. How dare he even think of
laying hands on Robert Maxwell!

Her
eyes slid to her uncle and she stepped quickly toward him. He had been dragged
roughly from his horse and was standing, still bound, between two guards.
"Release him," she said coldly.

"Nay,
I've no orders for that," one of the men responded, his eyes traveling
slowly over her.

She
forced herself to meet his gaze. It was insolent, insulting in its obvious
appraisal. Never before had she met with such a look... and from a common
soldier! Like master, like men, she thought, unconsciously repeating one of
Robert's sayings.

She
felt dangerously near the breaking point, but she drew herself up, another
voice giving her courage.

Keep
a cool head, lass... keep a cool head and we'll carry it

"Then
go and get orders.
Now!"
she snapped. "Or by God you'll regret
it!"

The
blue eyes shifted from hers and the man mumbled something unintelligible. With
a curt nod, he moved off.

With
a brief sigh of relief, Jonet turned to her uncle. He wore a strained smile.
"How fierce you've become, lass. It must be the breeches."

She
returned his smile perfunctorily. "I'm sorry I've disgraced you, Robert,
but it seemed the best way. I couldn't set out across country as I was. Murdoch
would have been down on me in an instant."

"But
your hair, lass," he said softly. "Did you have to cut your
hair?"

He
was gazing at her in such dismay that her hand went involuntarily to her head.
Impossible to believe, but she had almost forgotten it. "I... it was
necessary," she said, stumbling. "Lord Hepburn thought it best."

"Hepburn."
Mure's mouth tightened. "I might have known."

Jonet
started to explain, catching herself up just in time. There would be a better
time to explain Alexander's part in this, a time when there were no interested
Douglas guards standing by. She wasn't sure what had taken place, but she was
shrewd enough to observe that Alexander wasn't a prisoner. Until she learned
what tale he'd given Murdoch, she dared say nothing for fear of betraying him.

"I'm
sorry, Robert. I meant it all for the best. My only thought was to do anything
I might to help you."

His
taut face relented. Something of the old warmth returned to his eyes. "I
know, lass, but it'll be the devil to pay to get you safe out of this. Fool
that I was, I actually asked Douglas to put you under the king's
protection." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I might have known he'd
already a scheme in mind."

Try
as she might, Jonet couldn't keep the catch from her voice. "He's taken
Beryl."

Mure's
eyes half closed. " 'Twas only to be expected." Then, after a moment,
"There's a great deal we need to speak of, Jonet. If there's time."

They
were momentarily silenced as the guard returned from his master. Mure's bonds
were cut, and the two soldiers moved away, leaving Jonet and her uncle to a
small island of privacy in the turbulent sea of Douglases.

Mure
flexed his aching shoulders, then began rubbing the circulation back into his
wrists. "Your hand!" Jonet cried, staring at his swollen and bloodied
fingers. "By our Lady! What did those animals do to you?"

Mure
put his good hand on hers. "It's nothing, believe me. A bit bruised but
unbroken, God be praised."

"But,
Robert..."

He
shook his head. "It's nothing, lass." He slipped his arm about her,
uncharacteristically drawing her against his chest and holding her tightly. It
surprised her into silence. Never in all her years had she doubted Robert's
love, but words of love and overt gestures of affection had seldom been seen in
the Maxwell household, not even between Robert and Anne.

Jonet
clung to him now, trembling, more frightened by that fierce hold than by any
dire warnings he might have given her. Her throat closed up and she gave a
short, strangled sob, her fingers clutching his shoulder. Alexander had warned
her there was little chance of success, but she refused to accept it, then or
now.

The
thought of Alexander was like a saving rope to a drowning man. God wouldn't
take Robert. She simply wouldn't believe it. He'd sent her into Alexander
Hepburn's path and it had to be for a reason.

"Don't
weep, lass," Robert murmured. "It pains me more than all the rest.
Besides, I fear we're providing our audience with more entertainment than I
could wish."

The
words were said teasingly but Jonet stiffened, eighteen years of pride and
discipline coming to her rescue. Robert would hate to see her cry. Especially
before his enemies.

For
a moment longer they stood thus. Then she straightened and forced a smile.
"I've given those fools enough to gape at. I'll give them nothing further,
I promise."

"Good
lass." Mure's hand went to her cheek. He touched it gently before allowing
the hand to fall back to his side. "Are you ready for plain speaking?
It'll be difficult but there's no time to grow accustomed. I'm no better now
than a dead man and we'd both best accept it. I doubt I'll even reach Edinburgh
in one piece—not with the enemies I've got in this party. Douglas is pot sure,
but Hepburn's far worse. He wants me dead so bad he can taste it!"

"What?"
Jonet's
head jerked up. She couldn't have heard correctly.

"Hepburn.
He's wanted me dead these fourteen years and more."

Jonet's
brain was whirling. A deep, shadowy chasm seemed to be opening up at her feet.
"But why?" she got out. "Why should Lord Hepburn wish you
dead?"

"A
very good reason, so he thinks. Nearly fifteen years ago now, I had his father
charged with treason after the battle of Flodden. I went after him personally,
had him placed in the Tolbooth prison like any commoner. Unfortunately for us
all, he was murdered. Hepburn holds me responsible, not only for the murder,
but for all the misfortune that's befallen his house. Ridiculous," he bit
out. "As if the Hepburns of Durnam haven't gone to the devil fast enough
on their own account!"

"No.
He... he doesn't hate you," Jonet managed. "He was helping me...
us," she corrected desperately. "Besides, he would have told me. I know
he would."

Mure
glanced at her shrewdly. "Who do you think did this?" he asked,
holding up his injured hand. "We fought. He wanted to kill me. I'm as
certain of that as the fact that I stand here now. But Douglas rode up, so I'm
to breathe a bit longer. I never thought I'd be glad to see Murdoch, but
compared to Hepburn, the man loves me right well!"

Jonet
felt as if the ground were dropping away from under her. Alexander hated her
uncle. All at once, she knew it, sensed it. But merciful Father God, why hadn't
she realized it before this?

She
had an instant remembrance of the way Alexander's body had stiffened, changed,
alongside hers as they'd spoken of her uncle. She remembered his icy hostility
that night he'd first learned her identity. She'd been frightened of him then,
but he'd quickly won her over.

She
remembered something else as well. The way he had kissed her, touched her, and
the way she had responded. And then he had led her to reveal Robert's hiding
place.

Something
painful and ugly twisted through her. While she had been thinking of love and
loyalty, of the incredible way Alexander was making her feel, he had been
thinking of a means to an ugly and vengeful end. He had used her and she had
made it easy. And the bitter irony of it all was that she'd thought him so
wonderful all the while.

She
glanced over her shoulder, searching out Alexander's slender, aristocratic
figure. He stood with his back toward her, laughing with a group of Douglas
soldiers.

It
was suddenly, blindingly clear. It was she who had betrayed her uncle. She
who'd led the Douglases straight to this place. She had allowed Alexander to
use her, even fancying herself to be losing her heart to him.

And
she had condemned Robert Maxwell to death in the process.

"Dear
God..."
The
enormity of what she'd done took her breath. The strength drained from her
limbs and she crumpled to her knees on the damp grass.

Mure
knelt and took her hand. "I'm sorry, lass. It's my fault you didn't know,
but I didn't like speaking of such past ugliness before you. Hepburn's tricked
you, I fear. He even boasted of gaining your trust in order to find me. I
wouldn't hurt you for the world, Jonet, but this you need to understand."

"Me?
You're sorry
for me?" she cried, turning an ashen face up to his. "But it's I who
betrayed you, Robert. I brought Murdoch Douglas here by trusting that...
that—"

She
floundered and broke off, scarcely able to breathe. She felt she was
suffocating, as if her lungs had stopped functioning. The vision of Alexander's
laughing face spun before her, the look in his eyes as he'd bent to kiss her.
Her stomach lurched. "I hope to God you can someday forgive me," she
whispered, "for I never, never shall!"

"Jonet,
no. It didn't happen like that," Mure said quickly. "Hepburn did plan
it that way, but Douglas found me by another method. It was Gordon Maxwell
brought him here. I'd not of believed it had I not seen the man with my own
eyes. I've no notion what they did to compel him, but I'd still not of believed
it."

"It
doesn't matter," Jonet said woodenly. "It was still my stupidity,
my—" Once again she was forced to break off, staring blindly at her hands.
"Duncan was right not to wish to bring me. I've endangered you all. I only
pray he's not dead because of me.

"If
Duncan started out with you, then I fear we must think the worst," Mure
responded heavily. "He must have been taken else he'd have been here by
now. And he'd never give in to Douglas. He was that kind of man."

There
was a stir of activity about the camp, and Mure looked up. "Jonet,
listen," he said quickly. "They've finished watering the horses and
we'll be riding soon. I don't know that we'll have the chance to talk again and
I've something I must say to you, lass."

He
hesitated. "Douglas will no doubt have you married to his son as quick as
it can be contrived. It's not what I would have wished for you, but then I've
discovered the hard way that life seldom brings us our wishes. You mustn't
fight it, lass. You must make the best of it. You're young yet, you've your
whole life ahead of you."

He
paused, glanced uncomfortably away from her white face. "You'll have a
great house to manage, there'll be... children. Things enough to busy a woman.
Young Thomas is a handsome man, and I really know little against him save his
name. He's with Angus and the king now in Edinburgh and no doubt he'll have
rapid advancement.

"I
know it goes without saying, but I do love you, child." He squeezed her
hands. "Perhaps I've protected you too much, sheltered you from things as
they are. At the time I thought it for the best, but now I don't know."

He
seemed to be having difficulty with his voice. He cleared his throat roughly.
"What I'm trying to say is this. You must stop fighting Murdoch and
accustom yourself to your altered circumstances. The Douglases are a bit...
autocratic in nature. Not all men treat their women as you and Anne were
treated at Beryl. I feat your high spirits may bring down a great deal of
misery on your head. You must treat the Douglases with respect, lass."

"You
mean after they murder you, I should seek to and favor with them."

The
ghost of a smile eased the lines in Mure's taut face. He was a serious-minded
man, but Jonet could always make him smile. "Something like that."

"Never!"

"I've
been terribly selfish, Jonet," Mure said softly. "I should have seen
to your marriage years ago, but I couldn't bear to have you leave me. You were
special to me, lass, my brother's only child, though I've long thought of you
as my own. I hated to think how empty Beryl would be without you. Now you'll
pay a heavy price for being without a man's protection. If you've any love for
me, lass, you'll do what you must to make your own life bearable. That's a
request I make and it may well be my last."

Hot
tears stung Jonet's eyes, and her throat ached so violently she wasn't sure she
could speak. If she loved him? Sweet Mother of God!

A
rustle of footsteps sounded and Jonet glanced up. Alexander Hepburn was
standing over them, holding a flask toward Robert. "Water," he said
matter-of-factly. "I doubt we'll be stopping again, so you and the lass
had best take advantage of it."

"Is
it salted?" Mure asked acidly.

Alexander's
mouth curled up in the lazy, sensual smile she knew well. "By the cross, I
wonder I didn't think of that."