Stuart, Elizabeth (14 page)

He
sent a cursory glance down at her, then turned and moved away, and Jonet was
left stating after him in disbelief. Alexander had looked at her as if he
scarcely knew her, as if the past three days had never happened.

Memories
tore at her, memories made incredibly painful by the very tenderness she had
imagined. A tenderness finely calculated by Alexander Hepburn to do exactly
what it had done.

Jonet
dashed a hand across her eyes, summoning up every bit of Maxwell pride she
possessed. If she must feign respect for Murdoch Douglas, she would. At least
for the time being. But not Alexander...
never Alexander.

Th
e miserable
journey through the windswept Lothian countryside was one Jonet would never
forget. Though Robert was allowed the freedom of his hands, he was forced to
move well back in the midst of a heavy and insolent guard. When Jonet protested
the churlish treatment, she found Murdoch Douglas had scarce the patience to
hear her out.

"I've
little time for you, Mistress, even less to lend ear to a traitor's
misfortunes. .Mure's had his season of lording it over Scotland. He's a
stiff-necked fool who's made his own bed. Let him lie in it!"

He
turned away, then glanced back with a wave in Alexander's direction. "Of
course I've no need to introduce Lord Hepburn to you. The two of you being so
intimately acquainted, he can bloody well see to you the rest of the trip.
Hepburn has birth if not character, and he's the only other member of this
party even remotely resembling a gentleman." His dark eyes gleamed
sardonically, "And I doubt I've aught to worry about between the two of
you now."

Jonet
fought to keep her features devoid of expression. She had refused to look at
Alexander, refused even to think of him since he had walked away some minutes
before. Every thought, every emotion associated with him was overwhelmingly
painful, and she knew she'd not the strength to think of it now—not if she was
to have any hope of holding her head up, of passing herself off with any
semblance of dignity.

She
stood biting her lip, watching Murdoch Douglas stride away. She had never felt
so helpless and beaten in all of her life. She had never been so alone.

"The
lord warden's idea of an amusing situation," Alexander murmured from
behind her. "Come, Mistress Maxwell, I'll help you to mount."

Mistress
Maxwell. Not Jonet or lass or even the teasing John. Jonet swept around, half
expecting to see some evil, misshapen creature before her with Alexander's
voice. But nothing about him seemed different. There was nothing to show what
he was. "Is it true?" she blurted out, then despised herself for
asking.

"Since
I've no notion what
it
is, I must say I don't know. But I greatly
suspect that it is," he responded calmly.

"That
you planned this all along? That you wish Robert dead?"

He
hesitated only a moment. "Yes."

One
simple word to cause such pain, one word to cut through every illusion of
goodness and justice she had ever possessed. But at least he hadn't denied it.
Was she fool enough to have believed him if he had?

She
turned blindly away and moved toward her horse. Ignoring his cupped hands, she
dragged herself into the saddle with the last of her strength.

From
the advantageous height of the mare's back, she studied Alexander's upturned
face. Not even Lucifer himself could have appeared more outwardly beautiful.
Not even the Prince of Darkness could have been more inwardly black. "I
wonder," she said bitterly, her eyes moving over his face, "I wonder
if men are truly bred to such evil, or if it's learned through practice like
any other skill. Perhaps you might tell me sometime."

Her
voice wavered and she swallowed hard, pushing herself to go on. "You did
speak one fragment of truth last night, though. You really are an
unconscionable bastard."

Wordlessly,
he handed up her reins, then turned, swinging onto his own mount. If she had
hoped to disconcert him she was disappointed. But then she wasn't sure what she
had hoped.

He
nodded toward Murdoch Douglas. "After you, Mistress Maxwell. We'll be
riding west."

That
was the only conversation between them for the course of several hours. By the
time the city of Edinburgh came into view it was afternoon and even the men of
the Douglas party were beginning to look weary. Jonet still rode under her own
power, but it was only by virtue of a grim determination born of a mixture of
pride and hatred.

The
party clattered past the royal residence of Holyrood, through the city gates
and straight up High Street to draw rein before the Tolbooth. The forbidding
building of native gray stone was quiet this afternoon, with only a few stiff
guards standing about. Neither the Parliament nor the courts were in session,
for Douglases ruled the land and justice was swift and arbitrary.

Murdoch
Douglas called out an order and two of his men dismounted, dragging Mure from
his horse. Jonet urged her horse alongside the warden. "What are you
doing?" she demanded. "If my uncle is to be held in custody it should
be up at the castle. You certainly can't house him here!"

"Mure
attacked the king's party and was charged with treason because of it,"
Murdoch responded. "A cell here is as good a place for a traitor as
any."

Jonet
stared at him angrily. "If there's treason here it's not on Robert's part.
It's you who planned this. You've planned it all from the start!"

"If
he's innocent the courts will decide it. If he's not they'll decide that as
well." Murdoch's mouth curled up. "I do the bidding of the court,
lass. Nothing more."

"Nothing
more? Do you take me for a fool?" Jonet drew a deep breath, struggling to
keep herself together. It was hopeless to appeal to Murdoch, hopeless to expect
any kind of justice from a Douglas-appointed court. This plot against Robert
had been carefully planned and Murdoch was obviously enjoying his part in its
execution.

She
swung her horse about, nearly trampling two soldiers as they scurried out of
her path. She made her way toward Robert, slipping from the saddle to stand
beside him before anyone could stop her. "If Lord Mure remains here then
so do I," she announced firmly. "I'll not be leaving without
him."

"Jonet,
no." Robert put a hand on her shoulder. "This'll do no good, lass. No
good at all." He gazed down at her, doing his best to smile.
"Remember what we talked of this morning. You must go along with the
Douglases now. I'll be fine."

"No,
you won't. They'll kill you and both of us know it!"

Robert
drew her against him. "I've made it to Edinburgh, Jonet. I'm safe for the
time being," he whispered against her hair. He touched her face tenderly,
awkwardly with his swollen hand. "They must keep it legal now. They won't
kill me before my trial."

Murdoch
barked out an order and one of the guards stepped forward, seizing Robert by the
elbow. Jonet clung to him, closing her eyes. They felt hot and bright as if
from a fever, and her throat ached from the effort of holding back tears. She
would never see Robert again. Somehow she knew it.

"Come,
Mistress, this is no place for you. Allow me to help you to mount."

Jonet
stiffened. It was Alexander's voice, but clipped and sharp as she had heard it
sometimes in anger. She straightened and swung around and something inside her
snapped. Drawing back her arm she struck him across the face.

There
was a moment of stunned silence and then a round of laughter rippled from the
watching soldiers. Jonet's palm stung, and she watched in horrified fascination
as the print of her hand reddened across Alexander's cheek.

Robert
shook off his guard, drawing her back against him, but Alexander never even
acknowledged the blow. "This is no place for you," he repeated
evenly. "You'll be staying at Angus's town house. Murdoch has the loan of
it. He's given me leave to take you there now."

"Not
you!" Robert snarled. "I'll not have her anywhere near you!"

Alexander
looked at him, eyes cold. "And would you prefer that she stay to witness
this? Murdoch may be a fool, but I never took you for the same."

The
little drama was beginning to attract interested passersby. It was the last
thing Murdoch wanted. "Get Mure inside," he growled. "And get
that damned girl on a horse if you have to tie her there."

A
guard took Robert's elbow and began to drag him away. Jonet tried to follow,
but Alexander caught her arm. "Is this what you want Mure to remember? You
can't hope to cause him anything now but pain, Jonet. For God's sake, don't
play into Murdoch's hands! Don't you understand by now he enjoys it?"

Jonet
blinked hard against the tears. For a moment she stood, watching Robert
disappear through the doorway. Then she turned to Alexander. "I wish to
God I'd let that man shoot you!"

"Doubtless,"
he agreed, releasing her. "But then you'd have been dead too."

"It
would have been worth it!"

"I
can assure you, you'd not of thought that yesterday." Alexander turned to
one of the soldiers. "Fetch the lady's horse and mine. Be quick about
it."

The
man nodded, relieved someone was taking command of the situation. The horses
were brought forward and Alexander lifted Jonet onto her mare. He was surprised
she didn't protest, but then she was nearly done in. He'd felt her trembling in
the brief moment he'd held her.

He
frowned and glanced away. This was all too eerily like a scene near fifteen
years ago, and the memory of another prisoner, another tearful, trembling woman
swept over him with fresh hurt. It had been a brisk fall day, a day not unlike
this one with golden sunlight reflecting off rooftops and the nearby spires of
St. Giles. His father had disappeared through the entrance of the Tolbooth. And
Alexander had never seen him alive again.

He
kicked his mount forward, not even bothering to see if Jonet and the half dozen
Douglas guards were following. Well, his father would have this much justice at
least. The chance of proving Gavin's innocence might be next to impossible, but
Robert Maxwell was going to pay for his persecution of an innocent man. And in
an exquisitely perfect manner not even Alexander could have improved upon.

But
oddly enough, the revenge wasn't nearly as sweet as Alexander had anticipated.
Jonet's pain robbed him of much of the satisfaction he had expected to feel.
And though he'd thought himself clever enough in the beginning, he wasn't
particularly proud now of the deception he'd practiced. Jonet didn't deserve
this and she certainly didn't deserve to be used as he had used her.

He
liked the girl. It was an emotion that complicated an already complex
situation. He hadn't expected it and he wasn't sure what he should do about it.
And he didn't like the feeling one bit.

They
had reached Angus's house on High Street and Alexander swung his mount about so
sharply the animal reared. "I've business up at the castle," he
snapped to the man just behind him. "See Mistress Maxwell inside and tell
the housekeeper she's to have anything she needs." He glanced at Jonet and
then back to the obviously astonished soldier. "And mind your manners,
man," he growled, "else you'll answer to me."

***

"The
lord chancellor wishes to see you now."

Alexander
glanced up at the page, surprised Angus had called for him so quickly. He rose
and followed the man, entering an elegant, wainscotted audience chamber.
Archibald Douglas, sixth Earl of Angus, stepfather of King James, and Lord High
Chancellor of Scotland was seated at a large, carved oak desk, awe inspiring in
white silk shirt and doublet of crimson velvet. And to his left stood Murdoch
Douglas.

Alexander
swept a deep bow. "You sent for me, my lord?"

"Of
course, Hepburn, else you wouldn't be here," Angus said dryly.

Alexander
smiled. "I await your pleasure."

The
chancellor rose, a tall, elegant-figured man with auburn hair and a face that
had won him the heart of a queen and the kingdom she ruled some fourteen years
earlier. He hadn't been man enough then to keep them—the woman or the kingdom.
Now he ruled Scotland once more by the simple expedient of holding the king.
Alexander wondered if he was any wiser this time around. It didn't seem so.

"Let
me congratulate you, my lord," he began. "I understand the Pope
approved Margaret's divorce. You're a free man now, so I hear."

Angus
shot him a sharp glance. "The papers only just arrived. How did you hear
of it?"

Alexander
shrugged. "One hears things. One doesn't always remember how."

The
divorce rankled. Angus had been fighting it some eight years or more. "All
right, Hepburn. You've a finger in half the goings-on in the land. I'm well
aware of it. Now, tell me news more to the purpose. Has Henry deserted me?
These damned treaties between England and France make it seem possible."

"England
and France against Scotland?" Alexander lifted his eyebrows. "You
would know the treaties far better than I, my lord."

"Treaties
be damned! They determine little enough of what goes on. I've got the English
ambassador camped here at my door. He brought me a letter from Northumberland,
the English warden, and another from that hellspawn Cardinal Wolsey that
nearly—"

Angus
caught himself and drew a deep breath. "Well, never mind what Wolsey said.
Suffice it to say that things aren't exactly cordial at the moment between
Henry and myself. Or so Wolsey would have me believe. But then I expect you
knew that."

"Henry
wants a puppet," Alexander interjected smoothly. "You're certainly
not that."