Authors: Without Honor
Jonet
stared at the floor, struggling to steady herself. This news on the heels of
that last was almost more than she could bear. "Then... I may never see
Robert again."
For
a moment Alexander was silent. "Aye."
Tears
clouded her vision. She blinked against the flood.
"Would
you prefer becoming a bride to Thomas Douglas?" Alexander asked gently.
She
shook her head, not daring to speak.
A
buzz of noise and confusion had begun near the doorway. Alexander turned.
"My, how Angus loves these grand entrances."
Jonet
followed his gaze. A richly clad Angus stood to the right of a slim youth with
dark auburn hair. But Jonet didn't spare a glance for the crowned king of
Scotland. "How can any man be so brutal? So... so cruel?"
"Angus?
No, lass. Just a man caught up in something that's become more difficult than
he anticipated. I've no doubt he'd have stopped Murdoch had he been there at
the time. Angus isn't a child murderer."
Alexander
smiled cynically. "But then Angus doesn't pry too closely into his
warden's methods. What he doesn't know he doesn't feel guilty about. It's the
way of the world, lass." He hesitated. "Ah, and speak of the
devil."
Jonet
turned. Murdoch Douglas was making his way toward them, bearing the countess of
Lynton on one arm.
"Remember
what I said about the Douglases. Don't make them angry," Alexander
murmured. He sent her an odd look. "And don't fret, lass. I've your future
in hand."
Jonet
nodded, steeling herself to endure the Douglases knowing now what she did. But
there was one more thing she would ask, something she should have asked days
ago. "Alex, if the chance comes along, do what you can for the Maxwells.
Gordon and Duncan I mean. They're good men."
He
paused. "Certainly. If the chance comes along."
That
was all they had time to say, then Murdoch Douglas was upon them. Alexander
presented Jonet to the beautiful countess of Lynton, and Jonet was surprised by
the frank appraisal in the woman's eyes. And then Alexander was walking away.
Murdoch
took her arm. "Come along, Mistress. Angus wants you presented to
James."
Jonet
glanced back. Lady Lynton was speaking to Alexander. They stood together in the
manner of old friends, easily the most handsome couple in the room.
Jonet
breathed in sharply. By all the saints, she was the biggest fool in Scotland.
***
"You
were right, darling. A lamb instead of a hen. A lovely child, but not your type
I'd say."
Alexander
smiled. "Perceptive as always, Diana. Though I can't resist the desire to
plague Murdoch."
"Oh?
And what other desires can't you resist?"
She
was gazing at him, her smile seductive, dazzling. It was good to be with
someone who knew him, someone who understood him through and through. Perhaps a
marriage might work —if things went according to plan. "Nothing you don't
already know, my sweet."
Diana
threw back her head, exposing the lovely curve of her throat. "So tell me,
Alex. No more suspense. You've not mentioned our offer once and I notice Lyle's
not even here to talk. You've made up your mind, I take it."
"Aye."
"And?"
Alexander
put a finger to his lips and smiled. Taking Diana's arm he drew her out the
door of the crowded room and down a long hallway. He tried a door and found it
open.
An
empty room yawned before them like the one they'd just left. It was shadowy and
echoing, the noise of the court silenced by stone walls. Across the back, tables
were pushed together, benches stacked against the wall. The room had obviously
been the scene of an earlier feast.
"And?"
Diana prodded as Alexander closed the door.
"And
I've raised the stakes," he said softly.
"What?"
He
led her away from the door, checking to make certain they were alone. "I
met Lyle this afternoon. I agreed to his proposal but added one
condition."
It
was difficult keeping the excitement from his voice, but Diana knew him. She
would understand. "There's a letter I want, Diana. It's locked away in
some musty little casket somewhere. Most likely at York House."
Diana
wrinkled her brow. "What could Wolsey have that—"
"It
was written almost fifteen years ago," he interrupted. "From the
real
traitor of Flodden. I only learned of its existence this morning."
"Oh,
Alex, that was all so long ago. Are you certain of the information?"
"Aye."
Alexander smiled then and gave her a brief account of his visit with Mure.
"Alex,
darling, don't get your hopes up," Diana warned. "You tried so hard
to discover something those first few years you worked with us, and you know
Lyle moved heaven and earth trying to find any scrap of evidence. There was
nothing. Nothing anywhere. If a letter had existed, don't you think he'd have
heard of it?"
Alexander
shrugged. "Who knows the deep games Wolsey plays? But he needs something
now, needs it desperately if Lyle can be believed. And I'm calling the tune
this time, Diana. If Wolsey wants me to play, he's going to have to come up
with that letter."
Diana
swayed toward him, putting her hands against his shoulders. "Speaking of
play, love, perhaps we should. I doubt Wolsey will be neat so much fun."
Alexander
smiled, anticipating the taste of Diana's full lips, the feel of her body
against his. But at once the vision of Jonet rose before him. As she'd looked
laughing up at him, as she'd felt lying last night in his arms.
Diana
rose on tiptoes and found his mouth unerringly. He wrapped both arms around
her, catching his wrist against her spine and squeezing her closer, parting his
lips for her skillful tongue. He enjoyed this woman, enjoyed her as lover,
equal and friend. It was a combination he'd not found before and doubtless
wouldn't again.
So
why was he comparing this to last night?
Diana
broke off the kiss, gazing up quizzically. "You know, this is better with
two."
More
than a little chagrined, Alexander forced a smile. "You're doing just
fine, believe me."
The
noise of a door closing ever so softly came to his ear. He turned his head.
Three masked men had slipped into the room. In the second it took to note, they
drew long, gleaming swords.
"Expecting
anyone?"
"What?"
Diana spun around. "Damn! What now?"
One
of the men dropped a bolt, locking the heavy double doors of the entrance. The
other two spread out and began moving toward them.
Alexander
slid his sword from its sheath. "A fight, by the looks of it, love. Get
behind me. Make for the tables and that stack of benches against the
wall."
Diana
complied without a word.
The
men advanced. Alexander continued his rapid steps backward. "Can you run
in that getup?"
"Watch
me!"
He
smiled. "Then run for help as soon as I say the word."
The
men were close enough now to engage. One pushed forward, testing, probing. The
other two followed. Alexander's blade hissed out, blocking, slashing, weaving
an impressive wall of steel that kept the men back. But it wouldn't last long.
He couldn't last long. Not one against three and not with a woman at his back
to protect.
He
had reached the edge of the long plank table. He backed around the end, got it
between himself and the door. He continued backing up one side toward the wall.
If the men would just follow...
They
did, eyes glittering eagerly above their masks. He was backing into a dead-end
trap, doing their work for them, so they thought.
So
he wanted them
to think.
The
men were pressing him. The sharp clatter of steel rang now without pause. From
the corner of his eye, Alexander caught sight of the benches.
"Now!"
Diana
dropped like a stone. Rolling under the table, she was up in a scramble of silk
and petticoats and long, shapely limbs. Two of the men turned, distracted. One
caught the edge of the table, preparing to vault after her.
Alexander
hurled himself against the benches, tumbling the stack against the men with a
soft thud of flesh meeting oak. Two of his assailants went down, but the third
was already up onto the table and after the fleeing woman.
Alexander
vaulted the tangle of benches. He hit the table and rolled, then was down and
sprinting after the man.
Diana
had reached the door. The man grabbed for her but she twisted away. Alexander
threw himself forward, and the man was forced to whirl and brace himself,
weapon raised for a fight.
Swords
met, slid, grated together. Both men strained for mastery but their strength
was well matched. They disengaged, met again just as swiftly.
Alexander
spared a glance for Diana. She was struggling with the heavy bar. Then the
doors swung wide and she was gone. He heard her screaming from the corridor.
With
a snarl of rage the man lunged at Alexander, striking swiftly, expertly.
Alexander parried, struck, danced back, maneuvering to get his back against a
wall, to protect himself from the two men hurrying to join in.
The
struggle was swift and brutal. It took every bit of strength and resiliency,
every shred of concentration Alexander possessed to hold off his attackers.
And
then with the sound of running feet, of angry shouts, it was over. The castle
guard came crashing through the doors, and the three men fled for a curtained
alcove masking a side servant's entrance. The guards followed in pursuit. Then
there were more men shouting outside in the hallway as help was summoned to
search the castle.
Alexander
leaned on his sword, struggling to drag air into his lungs. Blood welled from a
stinging cut on one arm, and his right wrist felt numb with strain. That had
been close, terribly close.
A
host of curious, excited people began thronging through the wide double doors.
Angus entered the room, Murdoch and Thomas trailing behind with Diana and Jonet
in tow. The lass was white-faced and shaken, her eyes trained on him.
Alexander
looked toward Jonet and then away as Murdoch Douglas approached. He didn't dare
look again.
"What
the devil's going on here, Hepburn?"
"Odd
you should ask, Douglas. I was just wondering if perhaps you couldn't tell
me."
"What?"
Murdoch's eyes narrowed. "Don't be insolent!"
Angus
stepped forward. "Shut up! Both of you. I'll ask the questions. Hepburn,
what's happened here?"
Alexander
recounted the attack. As he came to the end of the brief recital, Diana moved
up beside him. "They were French, my lord. I heard one curse quite
clearly. Perhaps you should be asking the French ambassador about this outrage.
Lord Hepburn and I might have been murdered!"
Henri
d'Estaing pushed through the crowd. "Ah, but we have only your word on
this, madame, do we not?" he asked smoothly. He glanced from Alexander to
Diana and back. "Perhaps this whole affair was staged. I'd not put it past
you English to do such a thing to discredit us. Most particularly Monsieur
Hepburn. He is most staunchly of the English faction,
n'est-ce pas?"
Murdoch
was smiling. "Perhaps you had better tell us just what the devil you were
doing here, Hepburn? You've no leave to be wandering the castle nosing into
empty rooms."
"I
was warm from the dance," Diana interjected. "Lord Hepburn offered to
escort me out for some air."
With
a rustle of movement the crowd behind Murdoch parted. A slender, auburn-haired
boy in burgundy velvet moved languidly to the fore, a phalanx of guards behind
him. His eyes swept Diana appreciatively. They were a cool secretive gray and,
for all his youth, knowing. "Just what would you be doing alone in a room
with such a companion, Douglas. But then perhaps you're the wrong man to
ask."
Laughter
rippled from the crowd and Diana, confident as always, swept the king a low
curtsy. "Your Grace."
James
turned to Alexander. "One man against three? My guards tell me you were
having quite a time when they arrived." His gaze slid to the sword in
Alexander's hand, to the swept hilt, the novel finger guard. Interest caught,
flared. "That weapon, sir, Italian... Milan, isn't it?"
Alexander
had gone down on one knee. "You've an eye for a blade, Your Grace. It
is."
"And
do you fence in the Italian manner or the Spanish?"
Alexander
smiled. James was noted for his avid interest in fencing, in sport of all
kinds. "In whatever manner I can best defeat my opponents. But I prefer
the Italian, Your Grace."
James
returned the smile. "Rise up, sir. What is your name?"
"Hepburn.
Alexander Hepburn."
"Very
well, Alexander Hepburn, I wish you to fence with me. There are few here expert
in the Italian school. It's something I wish to learn better."