Stuart, Elizabeth (19 page)

"I
know. I'm only wondering if I've the courage to face what it is. And fearing I
just might not."

All
the pain of a hard won maturity edged her words. His heart ached for her, for
the part he had played in causing that pain. He leaned toward her, his lips
following the path his ringers had just taken. She was so young and so
vulnerable—and she had no place on God's earth to look for help except from
him.

Her
cheek was warm and soft and tasted of tears. Her head shifted slightly, her
shadowy profile angling toward him. His mouth traced the corner of hers,
lingered a moment then took full possession as he drew her into his arms. He
couldn't give her what she wanted, so he offered what he had, putting every
ounce of tenderness, every bit of unselfishness his soul possessed into that
kiss.

"Don't,
Alex," she whispered at last, her voice the merest breath against his cheek.
"Don't do this from pity."

"Pity?"
He
stared at her in amazement. Incredible to believe she'd so little confidence,
so little awareness of her effect on him. "Have you learned so little from
me in all this time?" he asked, taking her face between his hands.

She
didn't answer and he drew a deep breath. "Sweet suffering Lord! Do you
think a man kisses a woman like that from pity?"

Jonet
swallowed hard. She didn't know why he was kissing her, or how she could want
him to. One minute he seemed her friend, her lover almost—the next her worst
enemy. And her need for him, her fears of him and for him were plunging her
from hope to despair and back again.

"I
don't know, Alex. I don't know why you're kissing me," she whispered.
"I know it was all a trick before, a trick to take Robert. I want you to
know that I hate you for that, that I'll never be able to forgive you."

She
hesitated, searching for words. "But you seem—I don't know, different
somehow tonight. And if it's pity, Alex, I don't want it. I'd rather have your
hatred, your contempt even. It would be easier to keep on hating you."

Catching
her shoulders, he took her backward onto the bed, wanting the feel of her
beneath him, wanting the taste of her mouth on his own. It was a desire so
urgent, so unexpected it almost took his breath.

He
swept her hair back with one hand, cradling her head, holding her face upturned
to his. "Jonet, lass, it's not pity. I only wish it were. And I've no wish
to talk of Mure or anything that's been before. Not now."

"But
Robert's life is at stake! He—"

"Not
now, Jonet. We'll only argue."

"But—"

"Hush,"
he whispered, one finger stopping her lips. He bent toward her, slowly, his
mouth taking hers for one of the deep, erotic, soul rending kisses she
remembered from two days ago. His hand traced her ear, her jaw, the fragile V
of her collarbone, making her flesh tingle and her insides quicken with a
sudden trembling awareness.

She
wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back with a passion born of two days
of hopelessness, two nights of despair, and the last three hours of deep,
breathless fear. She lived for the moment, the here and now, the feel of his
mouth on hers, his hands on her body and the beat of his heart against hers.
God help her, but she'd been so frightened she would never see him again!

His
hands slid the length of her sides and back up, caressing her hips, her belly,
the outer swell of her breasts. He cupped their fullness, brushing his thumbs
over and around their suddenly sensitive crests.

Jonet
shivered and caught her breath shallowly. Alexander's was an unhurried,
tantalizing exploration. She felt his hands, the heat and the shape of them, as
if there were no barrier of clothing between them at all.

And
then there was none.

His
fingers tested the neckline of her shift, then dipped inside for a featherlight
stroke of her breast. She gave a soft gasp, smothered against his mouth.

The
pads of his fingers were rough, but his touch was incredibly gentle. He touched
her again and this time his hand lingered, spreading possessively, taking her
fullness in the palm of his hand. For a moment he held her, then his thumb
traced lightly, ever so lightly over her breast's swelling apex.

She
breathed in sharply, the incredible sensation tightening, centering in the very
core of her being. He brushed the tight bud, drew maddening circles around it.
She arched instinctively into his hand, opened her mouth, taking him deeper.

The
kiss continued a very long time. Jonet gave herself up to it, was totally lost
in the overwhelming pleasure of it.

"Ah...
lass," Alexander whispered, lifting his head at last. "Does this feel
like pity or hatred or contempt?" He hesitated. His breath came unevenly
in the silence, and she realized with wonder that he was almost as shaken as
she. "I think not. For either of us."

His
face was pale against the shadowy cloud of his hair and there were twin pools
of darkness where his eyes should have been. She put one hand on his chest,
sliding it up to caress his throat, curling her hand behind his neck to draw him
down to her again. She had never felt like this, had never imagined what it
could be to want a man... to really want him.

But
she wanted Alexander. She wanted him beside her like this if only for a night
or an hour or a few precious moments in the darkness. "I've no idea what
moves you, Alex. I've no notion whose side you're really on. I only know that
when I'm with you I'm not afraid, that when you touch me I feel everything and
more that a woman could want to feel."

She
lifted her head, brushing his lips with her own. "I only know that I want
you to touch me," she whispered. "Please, Alex, touch me again."

She
felt a tremor run through his body where it rested against hers. His hands went
to her shoulders, catching her shift and dragging it down. She felt the air,
cool against her heated flesh, and knew he was staring at her.

She
heard his indrawn breath, felt his fingers tighten reflexively against her
arms. A shiver swept her. And then his mouth was against her throat, his hands
at her breasts. "You're so beautiful, Jonet. You've no idea what you do to
a man... what you do to me," he breathed. "But you should be telling
me to get the hell out, not inviting me to stay."

"I
know, but I don't want to. I want you to stay. I don't think I've ever wanted
anything so much."

"Christ...
" He
breathed again, a deep, ragged sound, then buried his face against her
shoulder. "Jonet, lass, do you even know what you're asking? Do you know
what men and women do? Another few minutes of this and I'm going to be inside
you. I won't be able to stop. I won't even try."

Jonet
took a shuddering breath, fighting for control, for some semblance of reason.
Alexander was telling her he was going to make love to her, telling her she
could still stop it if she wished. And she should wish, but she didn't. She
wanted only to know that he loved her, only to be in his arms. It was the one
sweetness in this ugly world she had entered, her one anchor in a terrifying
flood.

"Alex,
I want to know if you meant what you said earlier tonight. Is this a trick,
too, or... or do you care for me even a little? Because..." She caught her
breath. "Because I don't think I'd survive another betrayal."

For
a moment he lay still. Then his hands stroked her body, his mouth trailing over
her shoulder, her throat, her mouth for one last kiss. He had nothing to give
Jonet, nothing but a few moments of pleasure that would turn to disgust when
the wanting was satisfied and she remembered who he was, what he'd done.

"Much
as I want you, lass, I'll not deceive you a second time," he said softly.
"Yes, I do care for you. A man would have to be made of stone not to. But
it isn't the kind of caring you'd like it to be. It isn't love, lass."

He
sighed again and sat up. "You're alone and afraid and I'm taking advantage
of the situation because I want you. I'm the wrong man for you, Jonet, the
wrong man at the right time."

Jonet
closed her eyes. So he didn't love her, not even a little. And the worst of it
was that he'd guessed how she felt. Dragging the sheet about her, she sat up,
pretending a dignity she was far from feeling. "I thank you for your
honesty then, Alex. You'd best go now."

"Jonet..."
Alexander ran a hand through his hair. "Everything I do seems to hurt you,
doesn't it? Believe me, lass, that's not what I want. It's just that—" He
took a deep breath. "It's just that there's something about you that makes
it damned impossible to stay away."

"Alex,
please." Jonet bit her lip. "Please don't say any more. This was
wrong. I was wrong. There's too much between us. Far too much."

The
name Robert Maxwell rose between them in the darkness. Neither spoke it, but
both knew it was there.

"Aye.
It's best that I go." Alexander swung his legs from the bed, then stood
for a moment framing his words. "Jonet, I did mean what I told you
tonight. You'll not marry Thomas Douglas. That I do swear on my honor."

She
stared up at him, hurting, wanting to hurt back. "What honor?"

He
didn't answer, and she wished suddenly with all her heart she could take the
words back.

But
Alexander was gone.

Jonet
awoke, heavy-eyed from misery and lack of sleep. Dressing quickly, she hurried
downstairs to the breakfast parlor. She'd had little to eat in the last few
days and nothing at all last night, and despite all she'd been through, she realized
she was amazingly hungry.

Pushing
open the door, she found herself facing Thomas Douglas. He stood with a mug of
ale in one hand, a short riding whip dangling negligently from the other.
"Good morning to you, Mistress, I pray you come in."

Jonet
hesitated, but he caught the door with his boot, grinning as he gestured her
inside. She stepped across the threshold, stopping short at the sight of
Alexander.

He
sat at the linen-draped table; long booted legs stretched out, completely at
ease. A mug of foaming ale sat to his right and, as she watched, he dragged off
his leather gloves, raising the mug for a leisurely draught, gray eyes meeting
hers coolly above the rim.

A
servant hovered at a nearby side table covered with silver dishes. The men had
obviously returned from an early ride and were about to be served breakfast.

Jonet
met Alexander's eyes, then looked quickly away. She couldn't stand to be here
with him, not after last night. She turned to Thomas. "I fear my appetite
has deserted me. Pray excuse me, and go on with your meal."

"What,
no appetite again? You begin to alarm me, madam. You will sit with us at least
and give us the pleasure of your company."

"Thank
you, no. Perhaps later." Jonet started toward the door, but Thomas stepped
in front of her.

"But
I insist. You'll have Lord Hepburn and I thinking you've no wish for our
company. And I'm sure you don't want that."

Jonet
stared at him angrily. She would sit with the men if only to prove she was
equal to it. But she would take care not to be caught in this manner again.

Thomas
nodded to the waiting servant who quickly brought up a chair. Jonet moved
toward the table.

"We
won't be needing you further, Walt. You may go."

The
man glanced from the laden side table to the empty plates in surprise. "But,
sir..."

"Go.
The lady will serve us."

Jonet
swung around.
"What?"

"I
want you to serve us," Thomas said softly. "As my wife, you will
serve me often. It's as well you learn now."

Jonet
met his eyes. "You may go to the devil, sir!"

Thomas
laughed. "Not before Mure, I assure you. Admittedly, the food in prison
isn't what he's accustomed to. But I doubt he'd want it stopped."

Jonet
stood for a moment, weighing the threat. God, how she wished she'd gone on to
Margaret last night. She should never have come back here, never!

"Serve
us now, Mistress. Lord Hepburn and I are sharp-set after our ride, and I
warrant he fancies a Maxwell servant as much as I."

Jonet
moved woodenly to the table and began ladeling up the rashers of eggs and
collops. Behind her, Alexander said something to Thomas and the two men
laughed. Jonet's face burned. Doubtless the joke was on her.

She
spared one glance at Alexander, then slammed a plate before him. She shoved the
other across to Thomas, knocking his whip to the floor. "You've had your
game, sir. With your leave, I'll go now."

"My,
but you've a lot to learn about being a servant." Thomas glanced down,
nudging the whip with his boot. "Pick it up, Jonet."

"Pick
it up yourself." she snapped, anger scattering all thought of prudence to
the winds. "I've served you breakfast—you and your guest. And if you
threaten me again, I'll go to Angus and tell him just how his officials conduct
themselves!"

Thomas
rose. "If I have to pick it up," he said in the softest of tones.
"I assure you I will use it."

Thomas's
eyes were blue and cold, and something in them warned Jonet he would welcome
her refusal. Slowly she knelt, catching the whip handle and lifting it up. She
was beaten and knew it. And she was suddenly very afraid.

Thomas
caught the whip, slid the lash caressingly along her cheek to lift her face to
the light. "You've been described as a beauty, Jonet Maxwell, but you find
little favor with me. A pity, but there it is."

Summoning
all her courage, Jonet shoved the whip aside and rose. "It's mutual, sir,
and I thank God for it!"

He
seemed amused. "We'll be wed, nonetheless, and I shall get sons on you.
And you will be a dutiful wife..." He smiled. "Or you will be very,
very sorry."

"This
is all very entertaining," Alexander interrupted blandly from behind them,
"but could we get on with breakfast, Thom? I fear I'm like to starve to
death else."

His
words broke the tension. Thomas swung around with a laughing command to eat
while Jonet stood, trying to recover her poise.

"Could
you send the lass away," Alexander continued around a mouthful of food.
"I'm pressed for time, and we've still that business to discuss. Unless
you'd rather not, of course. I'd not like to presume on a friendship."

Jonet
scarcely heard Thomas's reply. Alexander hadn't lifted a finger to help just
now and she was beginning to wonder if he intended to. In fact, he seemed on
the best of terms with Thomas Douglas. Could she trust him to get her out of
this? How much of what Alexander had said last night was truth and how much
lies?

"Are
you deaf, girl? I said get out."

With
a start, Jonet swung around. Thomas gestured toward the door. "I've no
further need of you. Go."

She
sent Alexander a searching look, but he was applying himself to his breakfast.
With a feeling of incredible hopelessness, Jonet moved toward the door.

***

"You've
a visitor," the guard snapped out. "Now stand awa' from the
door."

Alexander
glanced at a cell a few yards away. That was the place his father had been
held, the very cell in which he had died. He remembered the day as if it were
only hours ago instead of years. Frowning, he pushed past the jailor, ducking
through the low doorway.

Mure
stood in the shadow against the far wall. A faint light filtered into the room
through a grate covering the single high window. It illuminated a narrow cot
wedged along one end of the cell. A battered table with washbasin and chamber
pot stood at the other along with a stool.

Alexander
took in the details of the scene, feeling eerily as if his father stood beside
him. Mure was silent until the guard closed the door. "I was told I'd have
no visitors. I should have known better. Come to gloat?"

"Would
you blame me if I said yes?"

It
was a rhetorical question and Mure didn't answer. Alexander paced off the
length of the cell. Six steps and then a wall. His insides twisted, the anger
and frustration of fourteen years nearly choking him. "Not much space for
a man who loved the wind and the freedom of the hills," he said softly. He
looked up. "Tell me, does it chafe you as it did him?"

Mure
stepped out of the shadows. "What do you want, Hepburn? I've little time
left and no wish to spend it looking at you. Say your piece and get out."

"Oh?
I'd think you'd prefer a flesh-and-blood Hepburn to the ghosts that must walk
here. Has he visited you? Does he come in the dark and the quiet?"

"Get
out!"

Alexander
laughed. "I'll leave, but only after we have that little talk Murdoch
interrupted. You've owed it to me these fourteen years and more."

"It's
a small pleasure to deny you, Hepburn." Mure smiled bitterly. "But
it's one I treasure."

Alexander
eased himself onto the cot's straw mattress. "Hmm, not very comfortable,
is it? A man needs a comfortable place to sleep or else a warm lass to make him
forget all desire for comfort. And speaking of Jonet..."

Mure's
eyes narrowed. "It won't work this time. You can't threaten the lass.
Murdoch has Jonet and he means her for his son. And while that's not what I'd
have wished, I prefer it to any possible alternatives."

"You
prefer the Douglas marriage to her joining Albany's household in France? What
an unnatural uncle you are, to be sure."

"I've
given up praying for miracles."

"Well,
you might take it up again. I can get the girl to France."

Mure
laughed. "Murdoch wouldn't let you near her."

"No?
Actually, I'm staying in the same household. Would you like to know just how
near I've come?" Alexander smiled. "Take last night for
instance."

Mure
stood very still. For a moment the two men measured each other, hated each
other. "You're lying," Mure said, "and you're a fool to think
I'd believe it. Douglas would kill you if you touched her, I heard the man say
so myself. Besides, I prefer the lass married to Thomas than traveling anywhere
in your company." Mure turned his back, propping one hand against the
wall. "Leave me now. I've nothing to say to you."

"If
that's truly what you want." Alexander rose and walked to the door.
"I doubt Jonet would agree with you, though. Our estimable Thomas has...
oh, a small quirk shall we call it." He hesitated and looked back.
"He takes his pleasures differently from most men, though I must say the
lad is discreet."

"Just
what are you saying?" Mure asked.

"Young
Thomas prefers men," Alexander said softly. "His women he uses
unnaturally for the most part. Now if that's what you choose for Jonet..."

Mure
stood as if turned to stone. "What a twisted creature you are! You
threaten me with this filth and—"

"It's
true," Alexander said evenly. "I do assure you it's true. And while
you're on your way to the block, you can think about the marriage you've sent
Jonet to. All for the pleasure of denying me the truth."

Mure
sat down, running a hand abstractedly through his hair. "I suppose you did
get through three locked doors and some dozen or more guards. You obviously
have influence. I take it you've personal knowledge of—what did you call it?
Thomas's little quirk? My, what a lot of trouble you've taken to get to me. I
suppose I should be flattered."

Alexander
lifted one mocking eyebrow. "Personal knowledge, no. For the moment I'm
playing coy. Let's just say Thomas has been a useful lad to befriend, but his
friendship is growing irksome. And now while I've still some influence, do you
want Jonet out of Scotland?" He raised one hand toward the door. "In
exactly five seconds I shall call for the guard. Tell me the truth now or lose
the chance forever."

"You
can get her out?"

"Yes."

"To
Albany?"

"To
anyone you name."

"You'll
not hurt her. Swear it."

"I
so swear."

Their
gazes locked. Mure was the first to look away. "God, I must be a fool to
believe you! But then I suppose I've little choice. What do you want to
know?"

Alexander
smiled in satisfaction. "I want to know why you're so damned sure my
father gave information to the English. Why, besides personal hatred, you had
him arrested for treason."

"There
was evidence. Physical evidence."

Alexander
schooled his features. "Tell me."

Mure
took a deep breath. "We'd known information was getting to England.
There've always been spies, of course, borderers working one country against
the other to line their pockets." He frowned. "But this was
different. High up. Someone in James's own circle was passing information
south."

Alexander's
eyes narrowed. "And you just naturally suspected my father."

"Yes.
James trusted him despite the fact that he was blatantly pro-English and always
had been. And God knows the man had plenty of contacts over the border."

"God
and everyone else!" Alexander bit out. "Which is exactly why Wolsey
would never have used him."

"Look,
Hepburn, do you want to hear this or not?"

Alexander
forced himself to relax. "Go on."

"Well,
your father was intrigued with that damned new artillery James was building.
The rest of us thought the king daft on the subject, but James and Gavin would
go on about it for hours. Christ—" He broke off. "If only I'd guessed
then."

Alexander
said nothing. After a moment Mure continued. "Two days before Flodden,
Gavin and James had a row. We'd lain the week at Ford Castle resting up after
taking several English strongholds. Half of us were urging James to march on
before Surrey could arrive with his army, but some—" he looked up
—"some including your father tried to convince him to turn back.

"Of
course, James would have no part in going back. Talk turned to those damned
guns—we'd dragged the cursed things from Edinburgh through all the rain and the
mud. We knew we'd be fighting in the next day or so and your father and James
began arguing about the placement and setting James had ordered. Gavin sat down
and sketched out a crude map of the place, insisting on some kind of change
with the guns. But James was in no mood to listen.