Stuart, Elizabeth (27 page)

"Thank
you, Alex, but once we reach London you'll have no need to bother with me. I'll
find my own place to stay."

He
frowned. "Don't be foolish. You've no knowledge of London and certainly no
friends there to help."

She
leaned across the table, anger lending her a courage she'd not felt in three
days. "If you think I'm going to stay with another of your mistresses,
Alexander Hepburn, you're sadly mistaken. Once has been quite enough, thank
you!"

His
eyes twinkled. "It's my mother, lass. I'm sending you to stay with my
mother."

"Oh."
Jonet leaned back in her chair, felt her face grow hot beneath his gaze.
"Oh," she repeated.

"The
two of you will get on well, I think, despite what you may have heard." He
drummed his fingers restlessly against the book. "I'd view it as a favor,
Jonet, if you'd keep her company a few weeks. I've been so busy, I've not seen
her in over a year."

"You
mean..." Jonet steadied her voice. "You mean you're not coming?"

This
time it was Alexander who studied the book. "I've important business in
Scotland. I doubt I'll make it to London before you sail. Actually, it would be
impossible."

"I
see." There was a lump growing unaccountably large in Jonet's throat.
"What's your mother like?" she asked too brightly. "Nothing like
you, I suppose."

"What
have you heard?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing.
Should I have?"

At
her bewildered look, he began to grin. "God's death, you don't know, do
you? I can see Mure not saying anything, but I'd think you'd of heard of it
somehow. Elizabeth Lacy?" he prompted. "Elizabeth Hepburn?"

Jonet
shook her head.

He
leaned back in his chair. "Well, don't faint, lass, but Mure was once
betrothed to my mother. It came to nothing, of course. She was actually five
months gone with me when he was forced to release her from the marriage
contracts. They say my father almost killed him. Twice, as a matter of
fact."

He
hesitated, stared thoughtfully at the book between them. "But then Mure
got his revenge, didn't he? He arrested my father on a false charge of treason
and allowed him to be murdered so the charge would stick." Alexander
smiled cynically. "And he put my mother and me through hell. Oh, yes, I'd
say he got his revenge."

Jonet
was staring at him in astonishment. "But I've never heard this! And your
mother was English," she added stupidly. "Robert would never—"
She broke off in embarrassment.

Alexander
began to laugh. "Robert would never have married an Englishwoman? Ah,
Jonet, but then you've not met my mother. She was, is," he corrected
himself, "the most beautiful, incredible creature."

"But
I don't understand," Jonet repeated. "Do you mind... I mean, would it
bother you to speak of it?"

He
shrugged. "That part was over and done long ago. My grandfather was an
English official dealing in matters of trade. His estates were here near the
borders so a great deal of his business with the Scots was done informally out
of his household instead of his London office.

"Mure
met my mother and fell in love. She was only sixteen and he was an earl, and
handsome so they say. She made the mistake of thinking she loved him. After six
months of cautious courting, her parents agreed to the match. Agreed, Lord,
they were overjoyed to catch an earl! They signed the contracts, and the date
was set."

Alexander
was frowning. "But in the meantime my father came south. It was one of
those things that rarely happens, I imagine. They fell in love, from the first
moment, apparently. Mother realized she'd made a mistake, asked Mure to release
her from the betrothal. He refused."

Alexander
continued staring at the book. "He continued to refuse for six long
months. Even after she told him she was carrying another man's child. A man she
loved."

"How
terrible," Jonet whispered. "For all of them."

"Aye.
I was almost a bastard in name as well as in deed. I bear an uncanny
resemblance to my father they say. I'd never have passed for Mure's get."
Alexander looked up. His cynical smile had returned. "So you see, lass,
why I hold a place of such special significance in Mure's heart."

Jonet
was frowning, putting the pieces together at last. "I can see why he hates
you," she agreed. "And why he hated your father."

"And
why he hates my mother so violently," Alexander added. "They say
great loves beget great hates as well. Odd, but she's never hated him. She
always blamed herself for what happened, even after we heard the rumors of
murder and Mure wouldn't move my father. She always told me it was her fault,
that she forgave him because she knew she had wronged him terribly."

Alexander's
fists clenched involuntarily. "God alone knows how she could after sitting
beside my father and watching him die. After holding him while he lay screaming
and wretching with the poison. God knows I can't! And I'll tell you this,
Jonet, since we're speaking the truth at last. I'd have killed Mure years ago
had she not wrangled a promise from me to the contrary."

Jonet
sat very still. Alexander was staring at his fists, but a spasm of anguish
crossed his face so terrible, so uncontrollable, she was sure for a moment he
would weep.

She
stumbled to her feet and stepped around the table. "Oh, Alex, I'm
sorry," she whispered, catching him against her. "I'm so sorry."

He
leaned into her, closing his eyes. "You know, I once saw my father put a
knife blade through his leg. It was a terrible accident but he never cried out.
Not once."

His
arms had crept around her. He pressed his face against her waist. "He was
screaming in that cell, Jonet. Horrible screams. They let Mother go in, but I
sat alone in the corridor. Listening. Not the thing for a boy my age to see, so
they said."

He
made a choking, inarticulate sound, and Jonet held him tighter. "I... I
used to have such horrible nightmares about it. Have you any idea the pain it
must have taken to make him scream like that? Sweet Lord God, I've wondered!
I've wondered so many times."

Jonet's
throat constricted. A warm salty wetness trickled past the corners of her
mouth. She was weeping for Alexander and Elizabeth, for Robert and Gavin
Hepburn. And she was weeping for herself and for all who loved and weren't
loved in return and for a world where people hated and killed and hurt indiscriminately.
"I'm sorry, Alex," she whispered again. "I know it doesn't help,
but I am."

"Aye,
so am I." For a moment he held her close, then his breathing began to
steady. "So you see there's nothing in this bloody hell of a world I can
offer you, Jonet. I've a ruined name and too many memories and a hate that'll
never be put to rest. And I'd not lift one finger to save Robert Maxwell if
Christ Jesus himself came down and ordered it."

"I
know," she whispered miserably. "I understand now."

Alexander
took a deep breath and eased her away. "It's well that you do. Now get out
of here, lass. Else I might just forget who you are and dishonor my name a bit
more."

Jonet
leaned into the narrow window slit, staring thoughtfully out into darkness. Far
to the east, lightning flickered briefly against the heavens, but all about
Stepton was warm and still. No breeze stirred, no welcome current of air moved
to lighten the oppressive atmosphere.

She
brushed a hand across her forehead, almost wishing a storm would materialize.
This kind of weather was rare. A good blow would clear it.

But
Jonet had far more on her mind this evening than lightning and thunder. It was
difficult reconciling the Robert Maxwell whom Alexander had spoken of with the
one she had loved and respected since she was a child. Robert was an honorable
man, a wonderful man. She couldn't picture him holding a pregnant and reluctant
girl to a betrothal contract. Even less could she imagine him hounding an
innocent man and allowing him to be murdered.

Robert
would have a side to tell if only she could see him. But then Robert had been
wronged as well, and in a way Jonet was only beginning to understand. He had
loved a woman and pledged his heart and his name, only to have that love and
that pledge flung back in his face.

And
he must have loved Elizabeth Lacey deeply to have overcome his prejudice
against the English, to have wanted to marry her and tried for months to hold
onto her even after she refused him. Even after she revealed she'd been with
another man. And if she were five months pregnant, she would have been showing.
There would have been gossip—something Robert abhorred.

Jonet
frowned and tried to picture Alexander's mother. Why, by all the saints, had
she lain with one man when she was pledged to another? She closed her eyes, and
the memory of lying with Alexander so intimately swept over her with an
intensity that made her ache. She could understand what Elizabeth had done, for
she had almost done it as well. She had almost given herself to a man she
couldn't wed.

The
desire had been so sudden, so unexpected, she hadn't even considered the
consequences. And the wanting was with her still, a taut heaviness in the
depths of her belly, a deep, physical ache that rose up every time she saw
Alexander, every time she even thought of him.

But
it was more than mere wanting. It was a longing to be with Alexander, to care
for him and comfort him, to laugh with him and love him and banish the
bitterness forever. But Alexander didn't care enough to try to overcome what
lay between them. And in all honesty, Jonet wasn't certain herself that it
could be done. Her love for Robert hadn't changed just because she loved
Alexander. And from what she had learned today, those two loves would be
irreconcilable.

Yet
he cared for her, he cared deeply she realized now. Hating Robert as he did,
wanting her as he had shown her so graphically, he had refused to take her
either for lust or revenge. He had risked his life and no doubt created endless
difficulties for himself back in Scotland, and he had done it to bring her to
safety. And the end of it was that she would soon be bound for France.

And
knowing Alexander, he would simply disappear one day. The escort from London
would arrive, and Diana would tell her that Alexander had been called away,
that he sent his best wishes for a comfortable journey.

The
image was so vivid, it brought tears to Jonet's eyes. It was exactly what
Alexander would do. He would send her away and go back to his business in
Scotland. And he would never look back.

She
closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying hard to still a rising fear that
almost amounted to panic. She would never see him again, never feel the hot,
wild wanting of his kisses nor the heat of his hands against her skin.

And
he hadn't been at supper tonight. What if he'd already gone? Diana had remarked
vaguely that he was somewhere about, but in one of his moods. Jonet thought
she'd understood. Alexander wouldn't have liked revealing so much of himself
this afternoon.

But
what if he'd
already gone?

She
took a deep breath, and then another. And then an idea came to her—one so
ridiculous it was beyond rational consideration. Yet she found herself
considering it.

Come
to me when
it's me you want and not Mure.

"Dear
Lord..." She felt herself flush in the darkness. She couldn't go to
Alexander. No decent woman would do such a thing. Besides, what if he laughed
and sent her away?

She
thought of the way he had looked at her, the way they had touched when they'd
been together. No, he wouldn't send her away.

Her
heart began to race, a rising warmth swept her. She wanted Alexander and he
wanted her and what had life to offer them anyway? She was legally wed to a man
she hated, would soon be traveling to an exile that might stretch into dreary
years, while he had a ruined name, a drained estate, and powerful enemies who
might bring him down at any time.

And
all at once, Jonet was moving toward the door. She didn't wait to think for
fear she would lose her nerve. She didn't think about Robert, nor did she
wonder what any decent woman would do. Obviously she wasn't a decent woman.

Opening
the door, she stepped out into the dimly lit corridor. She loved Alexander, she
hadn't any doubt about that. And just once before she left she wanted to know
what loving him, really loving him, was like. Even if it was only for a night.

She
reached the door to the room she remembered as Alexander's. Her heart was
hammering in her throat, her palms felt clammy. What could she say that
wouldn't sound brazen, that wouldn't be too hopelessly humiliating?

But
she found she could think of only one thing.
Please
God, don't let
him he gone.

She
opened the door and stopped short. Across the candlelit room, two figures
occupied the bed. Diana reclined against the pillows, her glorious hair
unbound, her sapphire robe open to the hem. Alexander's shirt was off and he
was leaning toward her, one sun-browned hand resting against the white flesh of
her waist.

In
an instant the scene was scorched into Jonet's consciousness. And then
Alexander looked up.

Their
eyes met, but she didn't wait to read his expression. Whirling, she slammed the
door and leaned against it. For a frozen, humiliating eternity, she stood
there, unable to move.

And
then, "What a fool," she whispered. "What a damned, stupid
fool!"

***

A
brilliant flare of light illumined the room, followed by an intense and waiting
darkness. Jonet flinched as an earsplitting crack of thunder sounded almost
directly overhead.

A
chill wind gusted in through the window, whipping the bed curtains and slapping
the tapestried hangings against the wall. It had already extinguished the
candles, but Jonet hadn't bothered to relight them. Somehow darkness was more
appropriate just now.

The
lightning came again, the nerve-shattering thunder just after. She cowered in
bed, listening, as the rain began to beat against Stepton's walls with a
vengeance.

She
thought of Diana, snuggled against Alexander in that velvet-curtained bed. It
had been an hour or more by now. No doubt they were done with their lovemaking
and enjoying whatever it was men and women did after. And Diana wouldn't be
frightened by the storm. A woman wouldn't be frightened of anything with
Alexander.

With
a soft groan, Jonet pressed both fists to her eyes, wishing she could block out
the images. But her mind continued its torture, conjuring other more explicit
scenes.

And
she was going to have to face them, Alexander and Diana. She was going to have
to live through tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. She was
going to have to meet them and hold her head up no matter how foolish she felt.
Because there was nothing else to do.

The
wind raged and the rain swept the walls outside in violent, sheeting bursts.
The lightning and thunder were almost continuous now, and for several long
minutes, Jonet kept her eyes squeezed shut.

She
wished the escort from London would come, she wished they would come tomorrow!
She wanted desperately to get out of this mess, to start a new life with no
Alexander, without even any reminders of him.

She
opened her eyes, then froze against the pillows. Alexander was standing against
the door, illuminated by the white-hot glare of lightning. And then all was
blackness again.

The
hairs along the back of her neck rose up. A chill slid down her spine. She had
an eerie feeling he hadn't been there at all.

She
waited breathlessly for another flash. Prayed for one. And then it came.

He
was still
there.

The
inky blackness enshrouded them. "Alexander?"

"Aye."

At
least he was flesh and blood. "What are you doing?"

"Trying
my best to come up with something witty to say. You'll be pleased to hear I'm
failing miserably, lass."

Jonet
closed her eyes. "Just go."

"The
storm's bad. Especially on this side of the keep." He hesitated. "I
wanted to make certain you were all right."

"Well,
I am. You can go now."

"Very
well." He hesitated again. Lightning came, the thunder rolled violently
about the castle battlements. "Why did you come, lass? Was there something
you needed?"

Jonet
fought a near hysterical urge to laugh. Was there something she needed? No,
nothing but him. But she hadn't wanted to wait in line. "It doesn't
matter. You should go now. I'm sure Diana's expecting you."

"Actually,
she's not."

A
bitter recklessness had seized possession of Jonet. She hadn't the remotest
notion whence it had sprung, but it was infinitely better than the
self-punishing humiliation preceding it. "What, finished already? I'd have
taken you for a man who could stay the distance, Alex."

"For
some reason the mood had slipped a bit, lass. Diana and I said our good
nights."

"Blast,
I suppose I'll have to apologize to her in the morning then, won't I? Though I
can't picture a little thing like my walking in upsetting Diana. I'd have
thought her more likely to invite me to watch."

The
lightning flashed, and with it the thunder, so close Jonet flinched in spite of
herself.

"It
wasn't Diana who said good night. Now... why did you come?"

"Well,
it wasn't for Robert."

The
words hung between them. Jonet cringed. How could she reveal herself so
shamelessly after what she'd just seen?

Because
she
loved him, wanted him. She wanted him still.

The
rain drummed relentlessly against the walk outside, but somehow she heard the
catlike tread of footsteps padding toward her. Her pulses began to race, her
heart to hammer so violently it was painful. She strained her eyes against the
darkness and couldn't see.

And
then the lightning came, and Alexander was silhouetted against the flash. He
reached for her, his hands bruising as he dragged her onto her knees and into
his arms. His mouth covered hers and she met him exultantly, leaning into him,
relishing the possessive feel of his hands against her spine, her hips,
clasping the backs of her thighs.

And
it was as if the last two days hadn't existed. The intimacy they had shared,
the desire they had experienced washed through them again, blocking out
everything but the hot immediacy of hands and mouths and bodies aching to be
joined.

Alexander
tore his mouth from hers. "This is all I can offer you, Jonet. I can't
give you Mure. I can't give you any of the things you want and deserve. Do you
understand that? This is all there can be!"

She
felt the heat of his body, wanted it against her, inside her. Finding his face
in the darkness, she traced the sensual curve of his mouth. "If you'll
remember, Alex, I'm a bride and you owe me a wedding night. One night... one
night to remember at least."

She
heard his sharp intake of breath, felt the painful clenching of his hands
against her shoulders. It was exhilarating to know he wanted her like this. A
wild, reckless power swept her, scattering every last bit of shyness to the
winds.

Catching
his face between both hands, she lifted it, finding his mouth once more,
running her tongue along his lips, then slipping between for one of the deep,
soul-searing kisses he had taught her so well how to give.

He
caught her hips, pulling her against him, and she felt him, hard against the
flat of her belly. And then they were collapsing backward onto the bed, mouths
still joined, bodies a hot urgent tangle in the sheets.

Jonet's
night rail had bunched and twisted about her hips. Alexander lifted her,
slipping the rumpled garment up and over her shoulders and head.

And
then she was naked beside him. She heard the heavy, irregular sound of his
breathing. She expected him to take her at once, but he lay still, so still she
thought he had changed his mind.