Stuart, Elizabeth (17 page)

"I've
never known you to have trouble with unwanted friends. Just use that blistering
tongue of yours. He'll get the message."

Alexander
smiled, but it was a particularly humorless smile. "I've a feeling I may
have a use for him. He's perfectly healthy for the moment, though it's costing
a small fortune to entertain him in suitable style. He's down the hall either
having the time of his twisted life or sleeping off a bad drunk."

"Good.
I can't risk being recognized by anyone connected with court." Lyle swept
one arm before him in a flourish. "Behold the chief aide to our lord
ambassador. Come up in the world, haven't I?"

"Destined
for greatness. I always knew it. But is this a permanent appointment or the
expediency of the moment?"

"The
latter I'm afraid. I've been sent to needle Angus a bit. To see which way he's
prone to jump."

"He's
jumpy all right, and already weighing his options. If the question isn't
impertinent, just what did Wolsey ask to so stir him up?"

"Only
control of several of the border fortresses."

Alexander
didn't blink.

Lyle
grinned. "Not that we expect to get them, of course, but we hope to
negotiate something. We ask, we bribe, we threaten, and the game proceeds.
Either Angus gives in to Henry's demands in the south or he takes the bit and
makes a bolt for the French. There's no way he can hold on much longer alone.
We know that and so do the French."

"If
he throws in his lot with France, England has an excuse to attack."

Lyle
nodded.

"And
if he gives in to Henry, England will be in a strong position on Scotland's
border."

"Well,
that's what we hope. Naturally the French will try to block it." Lyle
frowned. "Wolsey's in France right now, spreading honey and poison and
doing his best to keep the treaties together and drum up support for Henry's
divorce. Katherine's still being obstinate, God rot her. Refuses either to
enter a nunnery or cock up her toes and die. Lord knows why, but Henry's still
determined on that Boleyn creature."

"So
that's it, then?" Alexander queried. "You're here to pressure
Angus."

Lyle
nodded. "And to see you, of course."

Alexander
rubbed his chin. "Forgive me, Lyle, but offhand I'd say you're lying.
Wolsey wouldn't have risked sending you if there wasn't something major
brewing. And since they've sent you, it's my guess that they want it from
me."

Lyle
jerked off his white wig, abstractedly running a hand through disheveled, honey
gold hair. "Actually, I hadn't intended bringing this up yet." He
hesitated, looking at his friend. "Wine, Alex? I brought my own along.
None fit to drink in this stinking hole."

"Just
tell me the bad news, Lyle."

The
older man wiped out an ale cup, pouring himself wine. "Perhaps it's just
as well. Actually, Alex..." He paused. "Actually, we want you to
kidnap the king."

Alexander's
eyes held Lyle's. "You're joking, of course."

"No.
We want you to get James away from Angus and bring him south into
England."

Alexander
smiled thinly. "I believe I'll have that wine after all."

Lyle
grinned. "Thought you might. I brought your favorite just for the
occasion. Damn Scots don't know good wine," he added in the time-honored
jest between them.

He
poured out a cup and handed it to Alexander. "Wolsey would make it worth
your while, Alex. You can ask what you will. He's a desperate man and his power
is waning. This Boleyn creature is leading Henry about by the nose and Wolsey's
enemies are gathering. He needs some brilliant coup to bring him back into
favor."

"Like
kidnapping the Scots king?"

Lyle
smiled. "Exactly."

Alexander
took a long satisfying drink. "You'll forgive me if I don't give a bloody
damn about Wolsey's problems."

"Don't
be hasty, Alex. This could be good for England and Scotland as well. James is
half English. Christ, his mother is sister to the king! Henry has no legitimate
son so the lad's got a claim to the English throne in his own right. A short
stay in England could only make that claim stronger. I assure you he'd be feted
and entertained and treated to the time of his life."

Alexander
glanced shrewdly at Lyle. "And politely detained when he wants to come
home?"

"He
wouldn't want to. Lord, what is the boy? Sixteen last month and never been out
on his own. You know how charming Henry can be when he chooses. He'd deny the
lad nothing." Lyle grinned. "You know for yourself what a city like
London, a place like Henry's court, can offer a hot-blooded young cub!"

"Yes.
He wouldn't come back until he was English inside and out. Wolsey's people
would see to that."

"Would
that be so bad?"

Alexander
hesitated. "For England or Scotland?"

"Well,
it'd be a damn sight better than this constant bloodshed between the two."

"You
have a point." For a moment Alexander sipped his wine. "Have you
considered that the plan might miscarry? The lad's been held in a gilded cage
since he was eighteen months old, first Albany, now Angus. He's royal Stewart,
Lyle. That fierce pride's got to have taken a beating."

Alexander
took another sip of wine. "Oh, he'd be grateful for the rescue all right.
But I doubt he'd appreciate being detained in England, politely or
otherwise."

"That's
a chance England's willing to take." Lyle smiled ruefully. "I don't
make policy, I just follow orders. You used to," he added pointedly.

"Yes,
but I don't work for Wolsey anymore. Not like that, anyway." Alexander met
Lyle's eyes. "I pass along what I learn about Angus and his pirates. It
feeds my people, helps you, and keeps the Douglases in check."

The
frown deepened and Alexander put down his cup. "Angus isn't Scotland, but
that boy is. This isn't the kind of work I've any liking for even if I did
think it possible."

Lyle
studied him narrowly. "You know I wouldn't ask anything you're
uncomfortable with, Alex, but you might think on this. James is reaching an age
to rule on his own. Angus and his people know that. Just what do you think that
boy's life will be worth in a year or two, say... once it's impossible to
pretend Angus is governing for the lad?"

"Angus
may be ruthless but he'd stop short of murdering his stepson."

"Angus
might not be willing, but would you care to hazard a bet Murdoch wouldn't be up
for it?"

Their
eyes met and Alexander drew a deep breath. "I'll think about it, Lyle. But
I've few real fears for the boy. Nobody could get through the guard Angus
keeps." He smiled. "Nobody could get in to James and back out with
him. You're crazy, Lyle. You and Wolsey both!"

"The
right man could do it. You could if you wanted to badly enough." Lyle
began to grin. "But just for that remark, I'll not tell you the surprise I
brought with me. Get yourself to court. You'll find out soon enough."

Alexander
rose to his feet. "I'm too tired even to wonder." Reaching out, he
snuffed the candle and the men stood together in darkness.

"Be
careful," Lyle warned. "Angus is nobody's fool. And the French are in
the city in force, so watch yourself, lad. A lot of people are depending on
you."

Alexander
nodded, then realized Lyle couldn't see. Yes, there were people depending on
him—one in particular that Lyle would never know. And the irony of it was that
she thought him her worst enemy. But perhaps it was better that way after all.
He liked the girl... too damned much.

A
short time later, Alexander was letting himself into Angus's house on High
Street. It was only three hours till dawn, but Lyle had started him thinking
and all desire for sleep had evaporated.

He
moved lightly up the stairs and down the corridor to his bedchamber. Opening
the door, he stopped short, all his senses on the alert. Someone had been in
his room. And that someone was still there.

His
hand slid reflexively to his dagger. Then a hint of scent swept him and the
cold, impersonal darkness became warm and alive with memories. He closed the
door. "Diana, love, don't wear that perfume. Not if you want to surprise a
man."

A
low, provocative laugh rippled like music from the direction of the bed.
"Alex... so you did remember. I hope you're alone, darling, because that's
all I am wearing."

With
a smile, Alexander dropped the bolt. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd just
discovered Lyle's surprise. And he wasn't even going to have to wait till he
got to court.

Alexander
stretched and shifted position, smiling a little as the woman in his arms
pressed back against him. "Diana, sweet, it's only an hour till dawn.
Unless you'd like to join me for breakfast and an introduction to the
household, we'd best be going." His hand slid familiarly along the swell
of her hip. "I'll even make a pretense of being a gentleman and see you
home."

She
raised his hand, kissing each individual finger. "No need, darling. I've a
man waiting just up the way. After two years I didn't know whether to count on
your gentlemanly instincts or not." She ended with a throaty chuckle and
bit down hard on his finger. "But I find your instincts are—blessedly—the
same as ever."

"Oww!"
He
caught her chin and rolled her over, staring down into wide, mischievous blue
eyes and a face at least one man had died for. Diana Hampton, twice married,
twice widowed, now countess of Lynton, agent for Wolsey when the mood struck
her... and the most exquisite woman he'd ever made love to. "Don't start
something unless you want me to finish it," he said briefly.

With
a characteristically fluid movement, Diana sat up, her tawny hair a glorious
golden veil in the candlelight. "Is that a threat or a promise?" Her
hand rose, her long, delicate fingers tracing his lips. "As you said, it
is almost dawn."

Alexander
smiled. In the six years of their on and off relationship, Diana was the one
woman he'd never grown tired of. With the sharp, analytical mind of a man, the
face of a goddess, and the body of a high-priced whore, she pleased every part
of him. And she knew exactly how to drive a man to distraction. She'd learned
more than deportment growing up in the Continental finishing school known as
the court of France.

He
caught her hand and held it against his chest. "How long are you going to
be in Scotland?"

"That
depends. Officially I'm here consoling my late husband's newly widowed
cousin." Diana chuckled. "I think she was astounded to learn I knew
of her existence."

"And
unofficially?"

For
a moment she was silent. "You've seen Lyle, of course." She sent him
a sidelong glance from beneath carefully darkened lashes. "Well, are you
going to do it?"

It
was impossible not to know what she meant. But Alexander played his own game.
"What?" he asked innocently.

"Dance
naked with the queen down the aisle of St. Giles. You know perfectly well what
I mean."

He
lifted her hand, pressing a kiss against her palm. "I don't know, love.
I'm considering it. Dancing naked at St. Giles, that is." He glanced up to
find her smiling. "I'm a little surprised Lyle's told you."

"Surprised?
But of course I had to be in on it or—"

She
broke off and studied him. All at once she began to laugh. "Damn, Lyle
Barrow! He hasn't told you everything, has he?"

"Obviously
not. Why don't you tell me just what everything is."

"Oh,
Alex, always so careful. We are discussing, or rather not discussing, the
journey of a certain exalted individual to the south. You've been picked to do
the job and, knowing your independent temperament, all the obedient,
industrious little men have been scurrying around for months trying to decide
how to make you run in harness. Well, I'm it." Diana smiled. "I'm the
prize, the bait, the whatever you will."

Alexander
caught up a strand of her hair. It slid through his fingers like the most
expensive of silks. "Forgive me, love, but while a night with you might
make even a condemned man feel blessed, it's not going to make me do what I
don't choose to do."

Far
from being offended, Diana laughed. "Not a night, Alex, a lifetime. Once
you attend to this little job, they're going to arrange a wedding. You and I,
Alexander, you and I! They're going to make you the Earl of Lynton with all the
wealth, all the power that entails. We've the promise of those forfeited lands
of Buckingham's and a sizeable pension from the Crown.
For life."

Alexander
kept his face expressionless. Wealth, power, the ever-illusive
respectability... and the countess of Lynton for a wife. For a moment he
continued toying with her hair, then he smiled. "Yes, Diana, but the men
you marry have such short— albeit pleasant—reigns as your husband. A rather
daunting thought to a young man like myself."

She
chuckled. "My husbands were both old men. They both died in bed. Happily,
I might add."

"Rich
old men," he put in, looking up.

"Yes,
wasn't I lucky? Now, let's both be lucky."

Alexander
frowned. "Diana, you don't expect me to believe this. Even if we were of a
mind to be wed, you're the countess of Lynton, for God's sake! You've important
lands in the north, several castles crucial for defense of the borders. And while
you don't trouble yourself personally with such trifles, you can bet the Privy
Council won't hand a plum like that over to Alexander Hepburn. Can you imagine
Northumberland's face or Norfolk's, once they learned of it? If they actually
allowed us to marry, I'd be dead within the week."

"No,
Alex, everything's been taken care of." She put both hands on his chest,
then slid them behind his neck. "Lyle's been working on this a long time.
He wants you to come home, and he's come up with a damned good way to make it
happen. You'd be a hero in England. In Scotland, too, if things work out with
James like we hope."

She
leaned closer, her mouth teasing the sensitive spot at the base of his throat.
"And you'd be so powerful those damn fools who've scorned you wouldn't
dare open their mouths. Oh, Alex, think!" she whispered. "You could
thumb your nose at the lot of them! Wouldn't it be wonderful?"

He
slipped one arm about her waist, drawing her against him. Diana signaled her
readiness by wrapping long, incredible legs about his own. "Hmm... I am
thinking," he murmured, his face giving nothing away. "I'm thinking
about any number of things that would be wonderful. But, Diana, sweetheart, it
is almost dawn."

She
raised her head, eyes narrowed. "The sun isn't the only thing that's
coming up, love. There's time."

And
for the second time that night, all desire for sleep dissolved.

***

It
had been a day of rain and cold, a day not unusual for May in Edinburgh, and
with the coming of night, heavy mists crept in from the Forth. The rain had
finally stopped, but a chill settled into the house. An unobtrusive servant
entered the room and built up the fire. It was burning brightly now, its golden
flames reflected in the dark and the glass. Jonet stared into the night, seeing
the flames, seeing a strained face and a pair of large frightened eyes staring
back at her.

Turning
away from the window, she paced once about the room. The Douglases would take
delight in using her to hurt Robert and Robert to hurt her. They would stop at
nothing; she understood that now. She might not be able to save Robert, but if
she were gone...

She
frowned and began her pacing once more. She still had her jewelry. She was
amazed Alexander hadn't taken that. But even if she could bribe someone to
help, she had no place to go. She couldn't get to France alone. Lord, she'd be
doing well to make it safely down the street!

That
thought had helped her to make up her mind. She could get down the street, and
the queen was at Holyrood Palace. She had discovered that much this morning.
She was going to try to reach Margaret—the one woman who must hate the
Douglases even more than she did herself.

Halting
before the fireplace, Jonet studied the flames. Murdoch and Thomas had left for
court over an hour ago and Alexander had disappeared who knew where. She was
alone in the house with the servants. And if she was going to go, it had to be
now.

She
caught up the fire tongs. There were numerous servants about and no hope of
simply walking out alone. She needed something to distract them, something so
important no one would think of looking for her for quite some time.

Drawing
a glowing coal from the fire, she maneuvered it carefully from the hearth and
onto a piece of embroidery. Her breath quickened, her heartbeat accelerating as
the square of linen smoldered into flame.

She
blew against it gently, then shifted the burning cloth onto the rug. A tiny
spiral of smoke began to rise, a heavy acrid smell assaulted her nostrils.
Small, orange flames flickered up and she stepped back, watching as they began
inching their way across the floor.

She
glanced at the door. How long should she wait? This was the only chance she was
likely to have. If she failed to escape, Murdoch would see to it she was kept
under lock and key until she was married to Thomas.

Forcing
herself to breathe evenly, she watched as wavering orange fingers began
spreading in all directions. It was only when they began licking at the legs of
a chair, climbing greedily up a velvet curtain, that she thrust open the door.

"Help,"
she shouted.
"Fire!"

Catching
up her skirt, she raced for the stairs, shouting for help as she went. Men
rushed toward the parlor and serving girls stumbled over each other and the
stairs in their haste to fetch water. Jonet sent a swift look about. No one was
paying her any mind. With a quick backward movement she ducked out into the
night.

For
a moment she stood collecting herself after the chaos inside. Then she turned
and stepped into the street.

"
Jonet
...
wait!"

She
whirled. Alexander and his man Grant were approaching up the cobbled
thoroughfare. With one frightened glance, she turned and fled down the street.

"Jonet,
wait, for God's sake!"

Alexander's
shout only made her run faster. She heard the sound of racing feet just behind
and knew she hadn't a prayer of outrunning the men. Not unless she could lose
them in the maze of Edinburgh's mist-shrouded streets.

She
was past the first intersecting street before she realized it was there.
Darting across the roadway, she turned left at the first opening between the
line of houses.

She
raced on through the fog, past houses and shops and empty market stalls. Once,
she crashed into three men leaving an ale shop. Drunken curses rent the air as
she stumbled away and ran on.

Breathing
was becoming impossible, but still she ran on. Her sides ached and her arm
throbbed where she had fallen on the cobbles. She heard voices ahead and dodged
away just in time to avoid another group of gentlemen. Then she rounded a corner,
ducked under a stair and stopped.

Her
breathing was loud in the silence. She tried to quiet it, but she couldn't stop
dragging the heavy, wet air into her lungs. Her heart was thundering in her
chest, and her legs and arms were shaking. She clung to the stairs and waited.

Seconds
slipped by. The mist condensed on her face, mingled with her sweat and trickled
downward. Her warmth began to evaporate, the evening chill striking through her
clothing and making her tremble.

And
surely as any nightmare that stalked her dreams, Alexander Hepburn came
silently out of the fog. At first she didn't see him, she didn't even hear
footsteps. But all at once he was there.

With
a small cry she dodged sideways but his hand closed on her wrist, spinning her
around and back against him. She struck out with all her might, only to find
her other wrist caught and held as he dragged her against him.

"Damn
you!"
she
gasped, fighting with every ounce of strength she could summon. "Damn you
to hell!"

"Jonet,
stop this!" he ordered. "Hold still and let me talk."

"No!
I won't ever listen to you again!"

"Jonet,
stop it! Don't make me hurt you."

"Hurt
me!" she repeated. "Oh, but you'd enjoy that. You and the Douglases,
you're all the same! You enjoy beating up on anyone weaker than yourself!"

"Normally
I do, but it's become a trifle boring... along with torturing children and
tearing the wings off flies."

She
caught her breath and stared up at him.

"And
now that we're done being ridiculous, I want you to listen," he said
sharply. "Yes, I lied to you, Jonet. Yes, I planned to take your uncle all
along. My father died because of him, died with an accusation of treason
against him. A charge taken for fact simply because the almighty Mure
proclaimed it so. Because of him, I spent thirteen years cast out of my
country, returning to find my home ruined and my name a byword for dishonor.
Yes, I hate him, I've every reason to. I'd dance on his grave this minute if
the opportunity offered."

Drawing
a deep breath, he stared down at her. "But I've nothing against you, lass.
The very opposite, if you want the truth. I don't want you suffering, and I'm
still bound to help you as I promised in the beginning. That part was true and
still is."

Jonet
was breathing hard, her heart still hammering. She didn't believe him, she
couldn't let herself. She gathered herself for one last struggle only to find
she was suddenly free.