Authors: Without Honor
He
glanced up, met Thomas's eyes. "Angus is angry... really angry. He feels
he's been played for a fool. We rode down here hell for leather. He even talked
of stopping the wedding, giving the lass to someone else."
Thomas
grinned. "A little late for that, don't you think."
"Aye.
But not for an annulment."
Thomas's
smile died. "You don't think he'd do it. Damn, he promised!"
Alexander
leaned over the table, voice low. "If I were you I'd take the lass and get
upstairs now. Everyone's eating and there's no one to stop you. It'd be a shame
to whistle a fortune down the wind for lack of a bit of blood on the
sheets."
For
a moment Jonet didn't believe what she'd heard. Her eyes met Alexander's, wide
and stunned and totally disbelieving. But there was no mistaking that grin, no
wondering any longer whose side he was really on. And coming on the heels of a
rough, midnight ride and a day of fear and physical abuse, this last betrayal
was beyond bearing.
She
rose from her chair, scarcely even aware of her actions. She had trusted him,
loved him! Rage swept her, rage and humiliation.
"You lying cur!
You..."
She searched for words and found none. Not for what he was.
The
wine sat between them. She saw it and grabbed for the flask, wanting to hit
him, needing the release.
But
Alexander anticipated her, catching her wrist as she swung, snatching the flask
away.
Thomas
rose. "Devil take you, woman! Are you mad?" He caught her arms,
dragging her back against him. Jonet struggled, cursed them both.
"A
bit of spirit, Thom? Do you wager you can ride it out?"
Alexander
was laughing. Merciful God, he was
laughing!
"Five
pounds says the lass unmans you! Here, let's drink to it." Alexander
poured wine into a goblet and held it up.
Thomas
began to laugh too. Jonet ceased to struggle. She was only making a fool of
herself.
Thomas
took the goblet with one hand, the other still anchoring her firmly against
him. He downed the wine. "Here, madam wife, I think we'd best take Lord
Hepburn's advice. I've no intention of losing a fortune, much less that five
extra pounds."
Alexander
was still grinning. "I'll walk you to the stairs. Just call if you need
any help."
The
three moved across the floor. Jonet stumbled blindly, but Thomas dragged her up
hard against him, one arm riding her waist. She had never hated anyone so
violently as she now hated Alexander. Every word he'd ever said, everything he
had ever done was a lie!
At
the foot of the stairs they halted. "Here, Thom, our first battle
trophy." Alexander held up the flask. "To a houseful of lusty sons!
Drink up, man. You may need it."
With
another laugh, Thomas turned up the flask. Then he pushed Jonet ahead of him up
the stairs.
***
The
corridor was dark, with few cressets of light flaring along the walls. Thomas
halted before a narrow doorway. Lifting the latch, he shoved Jonet inside.
Candles
burned on a coffer chest, and the coverlet and sheets on the bed were already
turned back. Jonet spun away, fighting the sudden trembling that had taken
possession of her.
Thomas
took a long pull at the wine and closed the door, watching her with eyes that
were hooded and thoughtful. "Perhaps this won't be so bad after all.
You're young, slim. There's really nothing about you to disgust a man."
He
took another drink and began to laugh. "And you're a Maxwell. God, I'll
enjoy that! Mure thought I wasn't good enough for you. Well, we'll just see if
you're good enough for me." He grinned. "And won't Mure writhe when I
tell him the details."
Jonet
stared back, her breathing rapid and shallow, her heart slamming painfully
against her ribs. She was treading the verge of hysteria and knew it. And once
over that edge she wasn't certain she could get back.
She
glanced over her shoulder, searching desperately for a weapon. If she could
keep Thomas talking, if she could keep him drinking, perhaps she could knock
him out.
Thomas
turned up the flask for one last drink, then set it down on the chest.
"Enough talk now. Let's get the job done before anyone's the wiser."
He moved purposefully toward her and Jonet backed toward the wall.
Suddenly
he hesitated, swayed unsteadily. Lifting a hand to his forehead, he sent her a
puzzled frown. "What the devil?" He tried to walk, stumbled forward a
few steps.
Jonet
pressed herself to the wall. Sweet merciful God, he was drunk! She glanced
toward one of the heavy pewter candlesticks. If she could just get past him...
Thomas
grabbed at the small writing table beside her, sending a welter of quills and
papers to the floor. He reached for her, both hands gripping her shoulders, the
weight of his body dragging her toward the floor.
Jonet
cried out and tried to twist away. Then, miraculously, his strength dissolved.
He groaned once, then slid to the floor at her feet.
For
a long moment, Jonet stood trembling, scarcely daring to move. She closed her
eyes, leaning back against the wall. Thomas had passed out, but she couldn't
just stand here shaking. She had to do something. But somehow she couldn't even
bring herself to look down.
"Jonet?"
Her
eyes flew wide.
Alexander
stood framed in the doorway. He stepped inside and eased the door shut, holding
himself very still. "You gave me a bad moment downstairs, lass. God be
praised, we didn't lose the wine. I'd have been hard-pressed to think of
another quiet way to dispose of the bastard."
And
suddenly everything swung into focus. Thomas wasn't drunk, he'd been drugged,
she realized. Alexander had drugged him. But she couldn't seem to stop shaking,
she couldn't even bring herself to speak.
"I'm
sorry to put you through that, lass, but I had to get the two of you away from
the others. I tried to warn you. I tried to tell you what I planned to
do."
Alexander
still hadn't moved. His voice was soft, reassuring. "As soon as you think
you're up to it, I've Grant waiting outside with the horses."
Jonet
drew a shuddering breath. Alexander obviously thought he had a hysterical woman
on his hands. Another few minutes and he might have. "Speaking of bad
moments..." She bit her lip, fought for a smile and lost. "I wonder
when I'll learn to stop doubting you, Alex."
"When
I stop giving you reason, I'll warrant."
He
moved toward her then, pausing to catch her waist and lift her easily over the
body between them. And then she was in his arms, her face against the leather
of his jacket, his strong hands holding her close and safe and secure.
"Name
of God, Jonet, I near killed two horses getting here!" He pressed his face
against her hair. His arms clasped her so tightly she could scarcely get air.
"Ah, sweetheart, did you really think I'd let Thomas hurt you?"
The
leather against her face was slick and wet. She realized she was crying and
tried to stop. "I thought you were dead," she got out. "And
then... you... you..." All the hurt and fear of the last few days, the
last few minutes swept her. "I've never felt so alone in all my
life!"
He
crushed her tighter. "Well, you're not, lass!" he said harshly.
"For as long as I do draw breath, you're not alone, Jonet Maxwell. Don't
ever doubt that. No matter the facts to the contrary."
She
shifted her head, staring up at him in amazement.
For
a moment he gazed down at her and then he cursed softly under his breath. And
then his mouth covered hers, possessing it, possessing her body and soul.
Jonet
melted against him, opening her mouth hungrily for the wet, slick thrusting of
his tongue. She wanted his kiss, wanted the feel of his hands on her body. They
banished every memory of Thomas Douglas, every fear of the last few hours.
Alexander's
hands slid up her back, catching roughly in her hair, cupping the back of her
head to hold her face against his. He kissed her with a deep urgency, an
intensity she'd never sensed in him before. There was no holding back, no
gentleness in his hands or mouth, no softness anywhere in the hard body pressed
against hers.
Jonet
welcomed it, reveled in it. The intensity wasn't frightening, the roughness
more than welcome. Alexander had finally lost his maddening self-possession,
his icy control. And she was the reason.
She
pressed hard against him, slid her arms about his waist. Her mouth gave and
took in unison with his, the language so primitive, so promising, there was
nothing left but the overpowering urge to possess and be possessed.
"Sweet
Jesu, lass, I'm not made of stone! Keep kissing me like that and Murdoch'll
find us both here in the morning."
Alexander
was still holding her tightly, still gazing at her with a look in his beautiful
silvery eyes that left her breathless and hungry and shamelessly bold.
"I've a feeling it might just be worth it," she murmured.
She
sensed his smile before it became one, felt the pleasure of it flare through
her. His eyes narrowed. Something tantalizing and provocative flickered in
their depths. "I've been told there were women worth dying for. Are you
saying you're one of them, lass?"
"I
suspect you'd know more about that than I."
"An
intriguing discussion I'd like to continue, though in a safer locality if
you've no objection." He smiled. "What say you to thumbing your nose
at the Douglases and a fast tide south?"
"Are
you coming?"
"Most
assuredly."
She
nodded. "Then let's go."
Alexander
released her and reached into his jack. "Then slip into this," he
ordered, holding out a badly rumpled pair of breeches and shirt. "You'll
do better as John than Jonet for the rest of the night."
He
grinned and stepped back. "While you dress I've some notes to compose. And
despite the state you've put me in, lass, I do swear on my honor to keep my
back turned till you're done."
Jonet
took the clothing, watching as Alexander shoved Thomas over with a boot that
was none too gentle. She moved to the far side of the room and turned her back.
It was little enough for modesty's sake, but at the moment she couldn't care
less.
She
thought of Alexander watching and an odd little shiver went through her.
Actually she suspected that Alexander might teach her to care. He might teach
her to care a very great deal.
She
dressed quickly, then crossed the room to his side. He was seated at the
writing desk, folding and sealing a note. He scrawled the one word
Angus
across the back.
She
leaned over his shoulder, watching as he caught up a blank page, dipping the
quill into the ink he had found.
Your account is unpaid so I'm repossessing
the merchandise.
And at the bottom in a large, arrogant hand he added—
Hepburn
of Durnam.
Jonet
frowned. "I don't understand."
"A
little matter of a hundred pounds Murdoch promised to pay for you."
Leaning down, he positioned the note on Thomas's chest. "I assure you,
Murdoch will remember."
"Rather
disappointing to learn what I'm worth."
"A
Maxwell's quite a catch. I'm sure they'd pay more now."
For
a second Jonet's smile faltered. She was legally wed to Thomas and the
Douglases would hunt her unmercifully. "But it's Jonet Douglas now,"
she said softly.
Alexander
studied her. "Chin up, lass. We're going where the power of the Douglases
doesn't reach. A few hours of hard riding and we'll have you safe in England.
At least we will if we stop talking and get out of here."
He
moved toward the door. "Pull that cap down low on your forehead. There's a
stair at the end of this hall. It comes out near the kitchens and they give
into the courtyard. Just follow me and act like a lad."
Jonet
glanced back at the body of Thomas Douglas, remembering the hate and the fear.
"He's not dead, is he?"
"No."
"They'll
follow me, you know."
Alexander
leaned against the door facing and held out one hand. His slow, deliberate
smile dawned. "Aye. Does it frighten you?"
Jonet
moved toward him and put her hand into his. The amazing truth was that it
didn't, not when Alexander took her hand and smiled at her like this. Not when
he'd kissed her like he had, when his eyes promised more. "No," she
said, holding his gaze.
"Then
let's go, John."
For
a moment longer his eyes held hers, then he opened the door and peered out.
Then together they raced for the stairs, laughing as they broke out into the
courtyard where the damp, welcoming darkness swallowed them up.
Jonet's
feeling of exhilaration didn't last long. A drizzling rain set in, and they
rode for several hours through the wet and the mud as if all the demons of hell
were after them. They crossed the border and Alexander called a rest, but it
wasn't enough. Jonet was exhausted and soaked and chilled to the marrow, her
body refusing her brain's command to sit her mount upright.
Without
a word, Alexander shifted her into the saddle before him. She was vaguely aware
of Grant's protest, but Alexander's arms were around her, the warmth of his
body seeping into hers. She closed her eyes and snuggled against him, deciding
the rest of the world could go hang.
When
she opened her eyes again, she blinked stupidly in confusion. Torches flared
against an immense stone gatehouse, and the noisy wail of a windlass proclaimed
a heavy portcullis ascending. Walls of dark stone towered above her, lost in
the weeping black heavens above.
They
rode through the gate into a courtyard. The rain was ending, and a handful of
torches burned and fizzled along the walls, lending their feeble, smoky light
to hold back the darkness and damp. It was impossible to make out anything save
an abundance of stone walls and the guards that moved alongside them, holding
their weapons suspiciously.
Jonet
straightened. "Where are we, Alex?"
"Stepton
Castle."
The
English border stronghold. Jonet shrank against him, feeling uneasy in spite of
herself. Alexander said nothing further and they moved forward in silence.
They
drew rein before wooden stairs up to a squat, rain-wet keep. Grant helped her
down and Alexander remained in the saddle. Then with a sigh, he swung down,
sagging for an instant against his horse.
Jonet
smiled. She wasn't the only one exhausted.
"Will
they take us in?" Grant was asking doubtfully.
"I've
asked for the garrison commander, a man by the name of John Howard,"
Alexander responded. "I've only met him once. Pray God he remembers
me."
A
door opened above, spilling an abundance of rich, gold light into the night.
Footsteps sounded on the stair and a half dozen men hurried down carrying
torches.
Jonet
stepped closer to Alexander. His arm slid around her and he leaned heavily
against her shoulder. She looked up in surprise. In the yellowed wash of
torchlight, his face looked weary and drawn.
"Alex?
For the love of God!"
The
voice was musical, lilting... familiar.
"Diana,
sweet, you're a sight for sore eyes. Only tell me I'm not dreaming."
The
countess of Lynton came hurrying down the stairs. Her tawny hair rippled down
her back to her waist, half hiding the robe of sapphire blue velvet she wore.
She was beautifully, exquisitely disheveled. It was obvious she'd come straight
from bed.
Alexander
was smiling. "Will you take in three weary travelers on the run from Scots
justice? I wasn't sure what your man Howard would do. I'll tell you honestly,
lass, we've no safe conduct to be over the border."
"I
suppose
it's a good thing I'm here then." Diana took a deep breath. "Sweet
Lord, it's good to see you! Now, let's get you in from the wet and you can tell
me all about it." She frowned. "You look dreadful, Alex!"
"Considering
he's been ambushed, held prisoner, and beaten within an inch of his life, he's
in damned good skin," Grant put in sourly. "Add in the fact that he's
ridden from Edinburgh this morning and insists he's still fresh as a daisy, and
you've got some kind of fool on your hands. I'll turn him over to you and
welcome. Maybe you can do something with him. I damn well can't!"
Jonet
heard Grant out in horror, her arm tightening around Alexander. Save for an
ugly bruise on his forehead, she'd never noticed anything wrong.
He
squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "It's not as bad as that, Diana,
believe me. Grant promised Mother he'd take care of me. I think he'd dandle me
on his knee if I'd let him. We could use some dry clothes and something to eat,
though, and a warm fire if you've got it."
Diana
snapped out orders to her men. In a matter of minutes everyone was being herded
through the castle and up a flight of stairs to an intimate room where a cozy
fire was burning. Despite Alexander's protest, the guards half carried him up
the stairs, depositing him at last on a comfortable settle.
He
tried to stand and swayed unsteadily. "Lord, Diana, I'll get dirt and wet
all over your things. You should have left us to drip downstairs on the
stone."
"As
if it matters." Diana wrinkled her brow. "Now sit, Alex, or I'll call
back my men."
Alexander
sat. Jonet searched for a stool. She drew it near the fire, shivering and
miserable and wondering just how badly Alexander was hurt.
Diana
moved toward the door. "I'll go order you something to eat. Grant, you've
my permission to call for help if your master makes so much as one move to get
up."
She
left the room and Jonet pulled off her cap, running tired, trembling fingers
through her hair. Alexander had been hurt— and badly, too, if Grant was
concerned.
She
realized Alexander's eyes were on her. "It truly isn't that bad, lass. I
lost some blood and my back's a bit sore, but the king's own physician has seen
to it. All I need is some sleep and I'll be good as new."
"Why
didn't you tell me?"
"I'd
a feeling you'd enough to worry about."
"So
had you."
"Aye."
He smiled. "But then I'm used to it."
Diana
came back, pausing in the doorway as her eyes caught Jonet's. They narrowed,
traveling slowly from the tangled wet hair to the rumpled boy's clothes and
incongruous slippers she wore. "Well, Mistress Maxwell. You'll forgive me
for not recognizing you. Welcome to Stepton Keep."
Jonet
raised her head. "I thank your ladyship for taking me in. I fear Lord
Hepburn's state is mostly my fault."
"Oh,
I didn't doubt it for an instant." Diana said, then turned to Alexander.
"I take it the Douglases were hot on your heels. Forgive me, Alex, but was
this wise?"
He
sent her a long look. "There's nothing to be alarmed about, Diana."
Jonet
shifted on the stool. Judging by that look, the two knew each other well. Extremely
well.
The
woman sat down on the settle, leaning so closely toward Alexander her hair
brushed his knee. She said something Jonet couldn't catch, pressing her golden
head against his shoulder for a moment.
Jonet
glanced away uncomfortably. Sitting on a stool in borrowed rags, wet and dirty
and dripping a puddle on the floor, she had never been so conscious of her own
inadequacy. The countess of Lynton was beautiful—beautiful in the heartstopping
way that made men turn to stare. And it was obvious now. She was Alexander's
mistress.
Two
servants hurried in bearing cups and a pitcher of ale and bowls of steaming
stew. Diana crossed the floor and picked up a cup of ale, delivering it
personally to Alexander.
Jonet
took the food and began to eat woodenly. How could Alexander be interested in
her when he had the lovely countess for a mistress?
She
raised her cup for a long, bitter drink. She hated to think of the most logical
answer, hated to believe she'd read too much into a kiss once again.
"Diana,
lass, if I didn't know better I'd say you've put something in my ale."
Diana
calmly removed the cup from Alexander's hand. "I have, darling. You need a
good rest, and I'm going to make sure you get one. We'll just walk you to the
bedchamber I've had made up. I'll take a look at that back and make sure it's
not bleeding again. Then you can settle yourself for a few blessed hours of
oblivion."
Alexander
frowned. "High-handed, don't you think?"
"Certainly."
Diana signaled Grant. "I doubt your master can walk unaided. I'll need
your help, Grant."
"My
pleasure, lass." Grant moved to the settle. Together, they got Alexander
to his feet and in motion toward the door.
Jonet
slid from the stool and stood uncertainly. Alexander turned. "Diana, wait.
I need you to see to Jonet. Find the lass something dry to wear. See she gets
plenty to eat and a good night's sleep."
"Yes,
Alex, though it'll be dawn in another hour." Diana glanced back,
Alexander's arm an intimate weight around her shoulders. "I've a
bedchamber readied and clothes laid out for her. Now move, Alex. Quickly! I'd
forgotten how heavy you are."
Jonet
watched the trio disappear. After a moment, all was silence. She took a deep
breath and reclaimed her stool, but the food remaining in her bowl looked
distinctly unappetizing. She picked up her cup and drank deeply of the ale.
Then she rose and wandered about the room, staring at the paintings, fingering
an ornate clock... hating the countess of Lynton.
After
what seemed like forever, a young maidservant appeared. She led Jonet down a
chilly corridor and into a bedchamber where a newly kindled fire was doing its
best to drive the damp from the room. The sheets were turned back and a warming
pan had been thrust between them.
Jonet
dismissed the girl and moved to the bed. A night rail of lawn and fine Brussels
lace lay draped across the pillow. She fingered it thoughtfully, wondering how
many times Alexander had seen it.
She
was still indulging in bitter thoughts when the servant returned.
"Mistress bade me fetch you. She has need of you down the hall."
Jonet
followed the girl back into the chilly hallway, wishing she had climbed into
the warm bed instead. She was shivering and exhausted and still reeling from
the events of the day. And she was in no shape to face Alexander's beautiful
mistress.
The
girl opened a door and Jonet walked in. Alexander lay dwarfed in a large
curtained bed, his dark head nestled deeply into a plump feather pillow. His
eyes were closed, his body bared from the waist.
Jonet's
eyes stole over him hungrily. His face was drawn, the skin pale beneath its
tan. His arms were tanned and well-rounded with muscle, the hair on his chest
curling darkly against fresh bandages.
"He
refused to go to sleep till he'd seen you. I thought it best to humor
him."
Jonet
jumped guiltily. Lady Lynton was standing beside the fireplace, one hand
resting against the mantel.
"Come
here, lass," Alexander murmured.
Jonet
moved toward the bed. Alexander had opened his eyes. They were heavy-lidded and
slumberous, the hazel flecks standing out vividly against the gray. She felt
something catch in her chest, felt a flat, helpless ache in the pit of her
stomach. The urge to touch him was overwhelming.
"You're
wet still, lass. Get yourself dried out. I'll not have you catch your
death."
"I
was about to change when you sent for me."
"I
apologize again." Alexander smiled sleepily. "I don't ever remember
doing that so often. Seems to'ave become a habit with you, though."
Lady
Lynton moved to the bed and sat down. Jonet recognized the implication.
"No apology necessary," she said tightly. "I wanted to thank you
again, anyway. You shouldn't have put yourself out for me, though naturally I'm
glad you did."
A
sleepy chuckle sounded. Alexander looked up through heavy lashes. "I shouldn't
have put myself out. Is that what you call it, lass? And to think, kings pay
well for my services." His eyelids drooped again. He muttered a mild oath.
"I'll not soon forgive you for this, Diana!"
Jonet
felt a smile steal over her face, the first in hours. "Serves you right,
you know. Perhaps you'll not be so high-handed with everyone else."
"He's
always high-handed." Lady Lynton leaned forward. "Go to sleep now,
Alex. For God's sake, stop fighting it!"
"Oh,
all right. I've little choice, it seems." Alexander glanced again at
Jonet. "Get yourself changed and to sleep now, lass. And don't fret. I've
your future in hand."
He
gave her a drowsy smile, and Jonet thought she would burst with the need to
reach out and touch him. Against all her pride and her judgment she leaned
forward, resting her fingers against his hair. "Thank you, Alexander
Hepburn. I thank you with all my heart." Her hand slid forward, lingering
against his forehead. "Go to sleep now and don't worry about me. I'll be
fine."
His
eyes were shuttered. This time they remained so. Jonet straightened
self-consciously and stepped away.
"Shall
I call for Martha to see you back to your chamber?" Lady Lynton asked,
watching her.
"Thank
you, no. I remember the way."
"I'm
Diana, of course. May I call you Jonet? I've a feeling we'll soon know each
other quite well."
"Of
course."
Diana
leaned forward, covering Alexander's bare shoulders with the sheet. It was an
act of unconscious intimacy and Jonet swung away. She moved to the door,
longing for the courage to stay, wishing she had an excuse.