Stuart, Elizabeth (22 page)

"You
don't understand. That's Baron Hepburn of Durnam!" Murdoch snapped.

James
frowned. His eyes raked Alexander assessingly. "Then I suspect he handles
a sword very well."

Alexander
released his breath, a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.
"It would be the greatest honor for me, Your Grace... with my lord Angus's
approval."

Angus
was frowning. "I don't know, James. Hepburn's busy on important business
for me. For now you'd best be getting back to your apartments. And I want the
guard doubled. There may be assassins in the castle."

Alexander
caught the flicker of rage, quickly veiled. "Of course," James said,
turning away.

The
king was escorted from the room and, within minutes, Angus had cleared it of
all save himself, Murdoch and the French ambassador, d'Estaing. The Frenchman
glanced at Alexander and smiled. "Perhaps your time has run out, my
friend. Five thousand crowns. A powerful incentive, no?"

Angus
glanced up. "What's that?"

D'Estaing
turned. "But certainly you knew. This Alexander Hepburn of yours is wanted
in France. To face justice for his little intrigues on behalf of the
English."

Alexander
returned the Frenchman's false smile. "I did nothing you don't do every
day, d'Estaing. I got information... in whatever way I could manage."

"Ah,
but then I haven't won the wrath of a king."

"What's
this? What's he talking about?" Angus snapped.

Alexander
met the chancellor's eyes blandly. "His Most Christian Majesty, the King
of France, wasn't pleased to be taken prisoner at the battle of Pavia. He knew
I was involved, an English advisor, if you will. He put a reward of five thousand
crowns on my head. Ever so often some Frenchman is fool enough to try to claim
it."

"No.
No, I didn't know." Angus's face had gone red. "And I'm amazed you
didn't see fit to tell me!"

"Honestly,
I didn't think your need for funds quite so pressing."

Angus
wasn't amused. "And just how many attempts have been made?"

"Over
the past two years, three... four if you want to count this one. The men were
French. No doubt about that." Alexander glanced at d'Estaing. "Fine
swordsmen too. My compliments."

The
Frenchman smiled. "Not fine enough, it seems."

Angus
rounded on the ambassador angrily. "If I discover you were a part of this,
d'Estaing, I'll see you're sent from my court in disgrace!"

The
Frenchman's eyebrows rose. "
Your
court? No civilized nation recognizes
a Douglas court, sir. I fear you betray yourself."

Angus
was furious. "Get out.
Now!
I'll speak with you further about
this...
after
I've written Francis about your abominable conduct!"

D'Estaing
bowed. "As you will." And then he strolled out.

"Damn
the man!" Angus said under his breath. "He's nothing but a spy, a
damned perfumed, pimping French spy. I'd get rid of him if I didn't know they'd
send another just like him. Worse probably!"

Alexander
nodded. "At least we know this one. I've had him watched, discovered three
of his contacts. Send him away and we'll just have to start over."

Angus
was still frowning at the floor. "Damn, I hate this! Sometimes I almost
wish I'd never wed that bitch queen. Sometimes..." His words trailed off.

Alexander
held his tongue circumspectly.

Angus
looked up at last. "Your arm. Get it seen to," he ordered wearily.
"We'll talk more tomorrow."

Alexander
bowed, accepting his dismissal gratefully. But it wasn't until he was out in
the street, Grant beside him, that he was free to ponder the implications of
the evening.

"So
the king wants you now," Grant muttered. "Couldn't have turned out
better, I suppose. Damn, if I don't wonder sometimes if you've made contract
with the devil himself!"

Alexander
smiled but walked on in silence. The evening had worked to his good. The king
wanted him for a fencing partner. It was an advantage he would press, an entree
he could exploit for his own purposes.

He
was only sorry Jonet had been present... or rather he wasn't sorry, not really.
He had enjoyed those dances far more than he wanted to admit. But the girl had
enough worries without wondering if the French were going to murder him out of
hand. He wished he could go to her, tell her that all would be well. But the
hell of it was that he wasn't quite certain himself.

Reaching
into his doublet, he drew out a handful of coins. "Here," he
murmured. "Get a man to Gordon Maxwell's jailor. Let the knave know he's a
great deal to be gained if he treats his prisoner well."

Grant
took the money without comment.

"And
the next courier that rides for Durnam is to carry a message to Scott. Duncan
Maxwell is to be treated with all honor, though he's still not to learn where
he is."

Grant
said nothing and Alexander walked on. By the cross, the man had the most
eloquent silences in all Scotland.

The
elegant stone front of Angus's town house loomed ahead and the two men parted.
Grant continued on to his place in the stables while Alexander let himself in a
side door. He was surprised the house was in darkness. With Murdoch out,
candles should have been burning. He made for the darkened stairway, one hand
groping for the newel post.

A
whisper of sound reached his ear. He twisted instinctively, but not fast
enough. The blow caught his temple.

"Christ..."
He
stumbled, felt the stair take his knees. Then he felt nothing more save the
warm, smothering folds of a deep velvet blackness.

The
earls of Arran and Worrell to see Mistress Maxwell."

Murdoch
didn't look up. "Refuse the door."

The
servant ducked his head nervously. "I beg pardon, my lord, but the
gentlemen are downstairs. I was hard-pressed to keep them from coming up."

Murdoch
jerked to his feet. "Fool! You should have asked first."

"I...
I didn't have the chance! They're big men, my lord. I couldn't keep them
out."

Murdoch
glanced across the room at Jonet. She lifted her head, her heartbeat
quickening. Patrick Galbraith, Earl of Worrell was an old friend of Robert's
and known to be at odds with the Douglases, while Arran favored whichever
faction was uppermost at the time. She wondered why they were here to see her.

"This
is the result of that damned appearance at court," Murdoch growled.
"I knew no good would come of it, but Angus insisted. Said it would quiet
the gossip if people actually saw you were safe."

So
there had been talk. Jonet smiled. She and Robert hadn't been forgotten.

"You
may wipe that smile from your face, Mistress." Murdoch turned to the
servant. "Give us five minutes, then show the men up."

The
man nodded and hurried out.

Murdoch
moved across the floor toward her. "Listen carefully, Jonet, for your
well-being and that of your uncle depend on these next few minutes. You are
well treated and enjoying your visit to Edinburgh. You are pleased with my son
and looking forward to your wedding. Anything more and you will be sorry."

Jonet
put down her embroidery with deliberate calm. "And do you think they will
believe that?"

"It
doesn't matter what they believe. It only matters what you say."

"Oh?
And what will happen if I say differently?"

"Before
God, I swear I'll have Mure put to the rack! I can wring a confession of
anything I wish."

Jonet
stared at him, thinking of two small boys who'd been murdered. "How do I
know that you haven't already? Or that you won't even if I do what you
say?"

"I'm
a man of my word, Mistress, and I tell you Mure hasn't been touched. Regardless
of what you may think, I don't enjoy cruelty for its own sake." Murdoch
smiled. "On the other hand, I don't mind using it as a tool if need
be."

Jonet
sent him a smile that was equally humorless. "For once I've no trouble
believing you."

Footsteps
sounded outside. Murdoch sent her a warning frown. And then Jonet was curtsying
to the earls.

"Mistress
Maxwell."

"My
lords."

Murdoch
stepped forward. "What may we have the pleasure of doing for you
gentlemen?"

"Why
nothing, Douglas, I've come to renew an old acquaintance with Lady Jonet."
Worrell smiled. He was a tall man with kind eyes, but they were intent now and
searching. "I've not seen you in a year or two, lass. I must say you've
changed a great deal."

They
sat down, Jonet and Worrell talking polite commonplaces for a moment. Then the
earl leaned forward. "I was sorry to learn of that charge against your
uncle, lass. I've always admired Robert."

"It
was a mistake, as all who know Robert will swear." Jonet met his eyes.
"I'm sure the courts will set it to rights."

Worrell
sat back. "Certainly. Yet I've heard there are a great many
witnesses."

Arran
looked nervously to Murdoch. "Well, I was there, of course, and swore Mure
ambushed the king's party. Still, I suppose there could have been a mistake.
They say Mure's telling some tale of following a band of reivers. It didn't
sound likely at the time, but—"

"As
Mistress Jonet most reasonably pointed out, the court will decide," Murdoch
interrupted. "And now I regret that you gentlemen must excuse us. The lady
and I were about to go out."

"Certainly,
I'm sure a lass has a great deal to do on the verge of her wedding."
Worrell frowned. "Forgive me, lass, but that is the gossip. Are you truly
to wed Thomas Douglas next week?"

Jonet
forced a smile. "I am."

"And
are you pleased?" the earl asked bluntly.

"I
suppose every girl looks forward to her wedding."

Worrell
studied Jonet. "That's not what I asked, but I suppose it's all I
expected." He rose to his feet, sending Murdoch a challenging frown.
"You might as well know there are those of us questioning this, Douglas.
At the moment, we can't do much about Mure. You've too many witnesses. But in
Scotland a woman can't be wed against her wishes and those of her lawful
guardian. And I know Mure would be against this body and soul."

"Well,
I'm the girl's guardian now. And as for Jonet's wishes—" Murdoch smiled.
"Just ask the lass."

The
men looked toward Jonet and she caught her breath. "My lord, I'm grateful
for your interest, but it truly is as I said: I am well treated here and
looking forward to next week. I'm sure Robert will be proven innocent at his
trial. In the meantime, Thomas Douglas assures me he is taking every care of my
uncle in his duties with the king's advocate."

She
stared up at the earl with a tight smile. "So you see, despite your
concerns, I've really no complaints to make of my treatment here."

"Of
course you've none, Mistress." Worrell studied her a moment in silence,
then turned to Arran. "We'd best be going. I've no wish to keep
Douglas."

The
men were shown out, and Jonet picked up her embroidery. She tried to set a
stitch, but found her hands trembling.

"I'm
no fool, Mistress," Murdoch said softly. "I suggest you think of Mure
and continue to guard your tongue."

Jonet
kept her eyes carefully on her sewing. A sudden, irrational longing for
Alexander swept her. A longing to be free of the Douglases. Free at any price.
"I did what you said. Spoke only what you told me," she murmured.

"So
you did. Just see that you continue to do so."

The
nervous servant had appeared again in the doorway. "The countess of Lynton
to see you, my lord. Should I say you're not in?"

"That
would be useless, would it not?" Lady Lynton brushed past the surprised
man. She dropped a swift curtsy, as ravishing in a gown of peach silk as she
had been last night in blue. "I trust you'll allow me a few moments. It's
important. To me and possibly to you as well."

"Of
course, Countess." Murdoch frowned at the servant. "My man's a fool.
Be gone, wretch!"

The
man scurried out and shut the door.

Murdoch
gestured toward Jonet. "You recall my ward, Jonet Maxwell."

The
countess nodded, but was already making for the settle.

"Now,
just what is it that's so important?"

Lady
Lynton seated herself, taking time to respond as she smoothed her skirts.
"I was wondering, my lord, if you were aware that one of your household is
missing?"

"What?"

"Lord
Hepburn."

Jonet's
head snapped up. The countess was fingering an exquisite necklace of diamonds
and pearls. "He's disappeared, you know. Hasn't been seen all day. After
the experience of last night, you can understand my concern."

"And
is this official English concern or only personal?"

The
countess smiled. "I have no official standing here."

"No,
of course not... officially. But just why do you think the man missing?"

"He
didn't keep his appointments this morning. Not with me, not at court..."
She hesitated, met Murdoch's gaze coolly. "And I've learned he hasn't been
seen here since last night. I'm sure you'll wish to investigate."

Murdoch
joined the woman on the settle. "I doubt there's any reason to be alarmed.
Hepburn's just off on business for Angus. He'll turn up in the next day or two.
He always does."

"You're
aware he's wanted in France?"

Murdoch
nodded.

"While
we're waiting for him to turn up, it's quite possible Lord Hepburn is sailing
for France in the hold of some ship..." She hesitated, "Or
worse."

Jonet
stared at her embroidery... at the red stain now spoiling it. She'd pricked
herself. But she wasn't even aware of the pain. "Lord Hepburn has a man
with him in Edinburgh," she got out. "Grant should know his master's
whereabouts."

The
two on the settle turned to stare. "I've spoken to Grant already,"
Lady Lynton responded. "He left Lord Hepburn here last night. He didn't
think his master had any plans to go out after that."

"Obviously
he did. Hepburn's just sleeping off a night of debauchery somewhere."
Murdoch stood. "And now if you'll forgive me, Countess, I've no more time
for this nonsense."

Lady
Lynton rose too. "It might be worth your while to make time," she
said softly. "I've more to say but it's best said in private."

Murdoch
studied the woman, then turned to Jonet. "Leave us," he said curtly.

Jonet
nodded and rose from her chair. It was all she could do to gaze calmly back at
them, to cross the room steadily under both pairs of watchful eyes.

"A
lovely girl," the countess said, as Jonet moved through the door.
"It's a shame, but I won't be in town next week. I understand there's to
be a wedding."

Jonet
closed the door and leaned back against it.
Alexander was missing.

***

By
the following morning it was official. Alexander Hepburn had disappeared.

Angus
questioned the French ambassador and all of his retinue, angrily sending them
from court when they swore to know nothing. Thomas Douglas rounded up all of
his father's men, sending them scouring every winding street and suffocating
close of the city. Rewards were promised for information, but no word came.
Alexander had disappeared.

Jonet
moved woodenly through the day. Alexander had told her not to fret, and somehow
she'd thought him invincible. She had been so concerned about her own problems,
so caught up in Robert's plight, that she hadn't thought much about Alexander's
precarious position.

And
now he was missing. Or worse.

She
forced herself to consider the facts. If Alexander were dead, she would become
Lady Douglas in less than a week. She tried to focus on that, tried to stir her
mind to some plan of action. But an overwhelming numbness stole over her,
robbing her of all of her energy, of all of her fight.

If
Alexander were dead, she wasn't sure that she actually cared.

She
closed herself into her bedchamber. She expected to cry, but no tears came.
There was only a great aching emptiness in her heart, a burning dryness behind
her eyelids.

She
buried her face in her pillow. She had lain here with Alexander just three
nights ago. He had touched her and she had wanted him. She had wanted him
enough to forget her upbringing, her pride, all her notions of honor and
loyalty.

A
vision of Alexander rose before her and the sharp ache cut through her again.
She was in love with the man. Despite what he was, what he'd done, she loved
him. But even now, she hated what he'd done to Robert... to her. Even now, she
wasn't sure she had ever completely trusted him.

She
had loved him, but he had only wanted her... and not even enough to help
Robert.

Jonet
closed her eyes. "Let him be alive," she whispered. "No matter
where he is, what he's done, dear God, please.
Let him be alive."

***

The
sound of galloping hoofbeats echoed back from the darkened stone buildings of
High Street. Murdoch Douglas cursed as he rode, spurring his horse forward
angrily. Reaching Angus's torch-lit town house, he sawed back on the reins.
"You, boy, is my son at home?"

A
slender youth bounded forward, seizing the reins Murdoch flung at him. The
restive bay danced sideways, dragging the lad several paces. "Aye, m'lord,
I think so."

"He
damn well better be!" Murdoch entered the house, dragging off his gloves
and shouting for Thomas as he went. He was in a foul mood, but he hadn't lost
yet. It was personal now—just like with Mure. He'd beat these men who held
themselves better than he. He'd show them. He'd show them all!

"Thomas!"
he shouted again and his son appeared in the hallway. "In here," he
added grimly, jerking his head toward the door.

Thomas
followed him into the parlor. He shut the door. "If you still want a
Maxwell bride, we must ride for Whitestone tonight. She's like to slip through
our fingers else."

"What?"

"It's
Worrell!" Murdoch snarled. "He and a dozen others have petitioned
Angus to stop your marriage. They claim the girl's being forced. Of course,
it's the Maxwell lands they're all so damned worried about."

"Does
Angus stand by us?"

"How
do you think I learned of it?" Murdoch spat. "Of course he stands by
us privately. But Worrell is rallying the opposition behind this stupid cause.
Angus warned me tonight that he may have to give in to them. He can't risk
rebellion. Not over something as ridiculous as this. Not with both Henry and
the French giving him trouble!"