Authors: Without Honor
"No.
And while I'm grateful for Henry's backing, I'll be damned if I'll ever
be!"
Alexander
waited a moment. "Of course if Henry really has deserted you, Margaret
would be the ideal choice for a regent. What would be more natural than for him
to back his own sister. Now that she has her divorce."
"All
right, Hepburn. What do you know?" Angus demanded.
"Very
little, really. But I'll tell it once we're rid of our audience."
Angus
glanced at Murdoch. "Douglas is my man. I trust him as I do my own
brother."
"Do
you?" Alexander inquired politely. "How very sad for George."
Angus
frowned. "Oh, very well. I'll speak with you further, Murdoch, once I'm
done here."
Murdoch
sent Alexander a swift look brimming with enmity. "Certainly, Angus. I'll
have a great deal to say to you too... later."
Alexander
watched the man go with a sweet feeling of satisfaction. It was a tiny victory
but every one against Murdoch went down like honeyed wine. Besides he owed the
cur this much at least for what he'd put Jonet through out there in the street.
"Is
it really so wise to provoke him?" Angus was asking quietly.
"Murdoch's a powerful man in his own right."
Alexander
met his eyes. "Despite the fact that he forgets it oft enough, Douglas is
only as powerful as you make him, my lord. But then, the man has large
ambitions."
"Meaning?"
Alexander
smiled and veiled his gaze. It was enough for the time being. "Only that
he has large ambitions."
"Don't
we all." Angus frowned and drummed his fingers against the desk. He was
obviously impatient, but it took him a moment to come to the point. "Look,
Hepburn, I'm ready for plain speaking. I need to know what Henry intends.
You've important contacts in England. You must know something. For Christ's
sake, it was at Henry's insistence that I reinstated your lands!"
He
hesitated a moment and his look hardened. "You've been helpful to me; I
happen to need the information you and your people provide. But I'm well aware
you're probably doing the same thing for that infernal spymaster Wolsey."
He
leaned forward over the desk, his voice dropping. "But let's get one thing
clear. You owe your lands, your position, the very air you breathe to me,
Hepburn, and me alone. If ever I find you've betrayed me, you're apt to lose
all three quickly—so quickly your English friends won't be able to stop
it."
Alexander's
voice sharpened. "I've done my time in England. Thirteen years to be
exact. I happened to be at the right place to do her a service in that little
war with France three years ago. That's what got my lands back. Not any
high-placed friends you suspect I might have. And regardless of what you and
the rest of these pigheaded Scotsmen think, I consider myself Scots
first."
Angus
straightened. "I'll take that at face value for now. But just remember
this little talk if ever you're tempted by promises from the south." He
drew a deep breath. "Now. What news do you have?"
"Not
much. There's been a good deal of correspondence passing between Margaret and
her brother. Arguments mostly. Her need for money's grown pressing."
Alexander took the time to study his hands. "Actually, the woman's
developed a veritable passion for writing letters. She's been corresponding
with half the French court."
"What?"
He
glanced up to find Angus watching intently. The handsome face had grown lined.
There was a hint of gray in the beard. The strain of holding his own against
far more seasoned political opponents was beginning to tell.
"Margaret's
written to court, to Francis himself, and to Albany requesting aid in getting
her son back. Nothing new in that, but with the altered political situation,
the French might just be considering it.
"If
the treaties fall through, the French will fare better with Margaret at the
helm than you. They've even resurrected the talk of marrying her to Albany. The
duke's a widower now, you know."
Angus
frowned but said nothing and Alexander continued. "I know for a fact
they've agents here. Rumor has it there's been an abundance of French silver
poured into the Scots economy. Some of it in high places." He grinned.
"Not that we couldn't all use it, but I'd take care whom I called friend,
my lord."
"I
take your meaning," Angus said grimly. "Now what do you know of our
friends to the south?"
"Northumberland's
been bribing and threatening everyone within reach of the borders. Some of the
lairds are getting restless. They're beginning to wonder how much longer you
can hold on—and whom it would be prudent to back. Incidentally, the warden will
be pleased to learn what's happened to Mure. No one hates the English more than
Robert Maxwell and, of course, the feeling's mutual."
He
hesitated a moment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "But you might consider
keeping Mure alive for the time being. He's a personal friend of Albany and
Albany's a personal friend of the French king. If things get too warm with
Henry and you decide to court the French..." He let his words trail off
and ended with a shrug.
"Yes,
I've thought of that. But at the moment I'm tied to Henry and plan to stay that
way, God willing."
"God
and Wolsey," Alexander murmured. "You know, they say it's the same
thing."
For
the first time Angus smiled. "God, I hope not!"
"As
for what Henry really intends, I doubt even he knows for sure," Alexander
continued thoughtfully. "I do know that if there's any man Henry hates
it's Francis of France. This insufferable banquet of love and good will between
the two of them is as believable as it would be between the proverbial spider
and fly. The one thing I can't decide is which of the two is the spider. But
we're not like to have to wait long to find out. Henry's not known for his
patience."
"In
other words, you think I should sit tight and wait to see who's left
uneaten."
Alexander
smiled. "Exactly."
"God,
I hate this! Why can't we all just say what we mean?" Angus sat down as
abruptly as he had risen. He drummed his fingers against the desk, then asked.
"Where are you staying, Hepburn? On the off chance I've need of you."
Alexander
hesitated for effect. "Some inn I suppose. I've little money on me so
it'll probably be a short stay."
Angus
reached into the desk and drew out a chamois bag. "Here. The first installment
on Mure's reward," he remarked, pitching it across the desk. "You'll
be sharing it equally with Murdoch."
Alexander
sent him a sharp look, but Angus only shrugged. "You both brought him in.
It's the only way I know to keep you both happy. And I want you in Edinburgh. I
need your eyes and your ears. You can stay at my place on High Street. Can I
trust you and Murdoch not to be at each other's throats?"
"I've
no problem with it, but you'd best speak to him. I've no doubt whom I work for,
but out lord warden seems to forget from time to time."
Angus
frowned. "If you know something, Hepburn, you'd best spit it out."
Alexander
shook his head.
Angus
regarded him thoughtfully. "All right, Hepburn, I'll speak to him. Perhaps
this way is best after all. You two can keep watch on each other."
Alexander
smiled. "I am, naturally, at your service, my lord Chancellor. And that's
one service you'll get from me free of charge."
He
was still smiling when he closed the door and made his way down the hall. For
now Angus trusted him and he hadn't even had to lie... much. He'd bought Mure
time. Enough perhaps to discover a way to have that talk he'd been wanting
these last fourteen years.
He
rounded a corner just as a clerk came hurrying down the corridor. The man
crashed into him, sending an armload of ledgers flying. "Oh, I... I beg
pardon," the man gasped. "The ambassador needs these and I've had the
devil of a time finding them all."
"No
harm done," Alexander responded.
The
man bent and began picking up the leather-bound volumes and Alexander bent to
the task as well. With a distracted thanks, the man hurried on about his
business and Alexander strolled down the hallway.
It
was a full five minutes before he glanced at his cupped palm.
The
White
Lyon Tavern. Tonight
the sliver of paper read.
It
was all Alexander needed. He recognized the handwriting.
***
Jonet
paced the length of the parlor and back, scarcely noticing the fine Turkish
rugs that crumpled soundlessly beneath her feet. She had the run of Angus's
luxurious three-storied town house and was being treated like a guest. In an
odd about-face this afternoon, Murdoch Douglas had been scrupulously polite
and, for Robert's sake, she was forcing herself to respond in like fashion.
Yet
all this pretended civility was about to drive her mad. She thought of her
uncle, of the way he had looked at her before he had walked away. It had been
plain from that look that he never expected to see her again.
The
thought brought an ache to her chest, a loneliness that prompted fresh tears.
With a backhanded swipe at her cheeks, she moved to the partially screened
window embrasure, staring abstractedly into the street down below.
She
hadn't been to Edinburgh since she was a child. The excitement of city shops
and crowds, of exotic foods and unfamiliar smells had held an exaggerated place
in the memory of an incredulous ten-year-old, and she had often begged for a
return trip. But with members of Queen Margaret's party and that of Angus
clashing openly in the streets, Robert had felt the city too volatile.
The
sound of a door opening behind her made Jonet swing around. Alexander Hepburn
moved across the room, his back toward her as he made for a side table topped
with goblets and ale cups and bottles of varying shades.
She
stepped back farther into the embrasure, conscious of tear-damped cheeks and
eyes that must be glistening suspiciously. If there was anyone she dared not
face right now it was Alexander.
He
caught up a glass. After a leisurely inspection of the bottles, he poured
himself a drink. "May I get you something, Mistress?" he asked
without turning around. "The wine should be good and the liquor
is"—he took a sip—"excellent." He turned. "Angus has
impeccable taste... in most things."
Jonet
drew a sharp breath. "No, thank you, Lord Hepburn. I believe you've done
quite enough for now."
Alexander
sipped his drink, then set down his glass. His eyes moved dispassionately over
her. "You've been crying."
"With
reason, I believe. One doesn't watch one's only near kinsman marched off to
death without shedding a tear or two. It wouldn't be decent, you know."
For the first time she managed to look him straight in the eye. "But then
I don't suppose you would know. There's nothing decent about you, is
there?"
"Not
much."
The
words sent a rush of hatred spiraling through her. He said it casually, as if
tricking her, using her to trap an innocent man and send him to his death was
nothing at all out of the ordinary. But then it probably wasn't for him.
She
was no longer ashamed of her feelings. No matter how naive, they'd been honest,
at least. She was no longer loath to face Alexander and speak her mind. He was
beneath contempt and she planned to tell him so in the most scathing manner she
could invent. And then she hoped never to have to set eyes on him again.
"Men
spit when they say your name, so I hear. Now I know why." She shook her
head. " 'Not much.' Merciful God, is that all you have to say for
yourself?"
He
moved toward her. "Would you believe me if I spun you a tale? Forgive me,
lass, but I've not the creativity just now."
"Oh?
It's never failed you before. You've spun any number of tales in the short time
I've known you." She threw back her head. "God, I was easy, wasn't
I?"
He
came to a halt several inches away. His eyes narrowed. That beautiful silvery
gaze plumbed her own. "You're angry and hurt, Jonet, and rightfully so.
Yet I warned you that you knew nothing about me. You're the one who chose to
paint me all in blessed white. Well, I'm no saint, lass. I'm a man and neither
the paragon you imagined last night nor the devil you take me for now. I'm
still the man who rode with you and fought for you and slept by your
side." He hesitated. "And for whatever it might be worth to you,
lass, none of that was a lie."
"That
speech might have worked three days ago, but you've no need to waste your
breath now. You led me to trust you so that I'd betray Robert. That's all the
use you had for me. You've arranged his murder and made me a party to it! And
I'll never forgive you for that.
Never!
I just hope some day you'll pay
for the pain you've caused."
"I
told you before there were few happy endings."
"Yes.
And I can see why you think so! You're bitter and twisted and you drag
everything down to your level. You take what's good and decent and do your best
to destroy it. Well, you've done your work well this time, Hepburn of Durnam.
Now finish your gloating and get out!"