Stuart, Elizabeth (34 page)

He
headed up the stairs and pushed open the bedchamber door. Jonet was just waking
up. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

Jonet
sighed and stretched. For a moment she wasn't sure just where she was. But
Alexander was smiling and she smiled as well. She couldn't remember the last
time she'd slept so hard or so well. And then she stiffened. "Oh, Alex, I
went to sleep, didn't I? I'm sorry."

He
was still smiling. "If you think that's the only reason I stayed, I wonder
you took the risk of riding here at all."

Jonet
thought of the last week with Diana, of her pitying, amused look. She sat up,
tugging the sheet about her shoulders. "I do wonder sometimes. I wonder
just what I am to you, Alex." She stared up at him. "Diana said she
was going to be your wife. I hate to think what that makes me."

Alexander
put down the tray and crossed the small room to the bed. He was silent for so
long, Jonet swallowed and looked away. "My God, it's true, isn't it?"

"No,
Jonet, it's not. Not now. I'm just trying to decide what to tell you about
it."

"You
might try the truth."

He
sat down. "It's true a marriage was discussed. A business arrangement
between old friends. I agreed to the proposal so long as certain conditions
were met."

She
met his eyes, trying hard for composure. She couldn't believe she was actually
listening to this. "What conditions?"

"The
English have something I want, Jonet. Something I've spent the last fourteen
years trying to get." He hesitated. "It's a letter from a Scots
traitor sent just prior to the battle of Flodden. It would be pretty compelling
proof of my father's innocence." He hesitated again. "To sweeten the
deal they offered an earldom and a wealthy widow. Diana Hampton."

Jonet
studied the sheet in her lap. There were two flaws in the woven linen. She ran
her finger over them, concentrated on them. "They wanted something quite
large in return, I suspect."

"Large
enough."

"I
suspect," she added carefully, "that it's something that would ruin
you here if it came to be known."

"I
was ruined long ago, lass. In Scotland anyway. In England I'm not thought of
quite so ill."

She
studied his hand on the bed beside her. He wore the ring, her father's ruby.
Reaching out, she traced the gem's bold, square lines. It was a beautiful ring
and sat well on his large hand. She caught his fingers, tucking her own around
them. "Don't do it, Alex. Whatever it is, for God's sake, don't do
it!"

He
squeezed her hand. "Interestingly enough, lass, I'd already decided I
couldn't."

"And
the earldom?" She looked up. "The marriage?"

"Little
chance of them being offered now."

Jonet's
gaze dropped to the sheet. "The truth then. You owe me that much, I think.
Are you disappointed?"

His
fingers slid from beneath hers, lifting to catch her chin and tilt it toward
him. A smile curled his mouth. His eyes held that narrow, smoky look they took
on when he wanted to make love. "Do I look," he asked softly,
"like a man suffering disappointment?"

She
met his lips. They were warm and hungry and reassuring. Her arms slid around
him, holding him, unable to get enough of him. "I've little to offer in
compensation," she whispered. "No secrets, no earldoms, no wealth.
But whatever I have is yours if you want it. For as long as you want it. I'll
belong to no other man."

"I've
no right to ask that, Jonet, no right even to accept it. And no matter how hard
I try, what I do from here on, that right may never be mine." He pulled
her close. "But whatever I have is yours if you want it. For as long as
you want it. I'll belong to no other woman."

Tears
entered her eyes. "I love you, Alex. I..." She swallowed, tried
again, "I...
oh God!"

And
then the words ceased, for the words weren't enough. But for a few moments at
least, there was something that was.

***

A
few miles away in a stark Tolbooth courtroom a tall, tired man rose to his
feet, listening and then trying not to listen as a long list of charges was
read, focusing instead on a cryptic message he'd received days ago. Some valued
merchandise was safely out of the country.

He
closed his eyes and prayed, prayed to the God of the damned that for once his
enemy had told him true.

And
a few miles over the border at Stepton, Jonet's London escort arrived. Diana
had readied herself for a distraught explanation of the girl's disappearance.
Then the door of her parlor swung open and a woman swept in. A woman with cool
gray eyes that looked through her, a woman who could shake even the unshakeable
Diana.

"I've
come for the lass," the woman said softly. "You may tell me now just
what you've done with her."

Alexander
frowned over the letter he was writing. On the off chance things went ill next
week, he wanted one last letter to reach his mother. Not that he could explain
what had happened, or his part in the intrigue with James. He couldn't even
speak of Jonet by name for fear eyes other than Elizabeth Hepburn's might scan
the pages.

But
he wanted his mother to know what she'd meant to him all these years. And he
wanted her to know that he understood, finally, what she and his father had
enjoyed—two people sharing the same joy and laughter, the same passion and
pain.

He
and Jonet had shared a surfeit of each in the short time they'd known each
other. Especially the pain.

He
frowned again, remembering Jonet's face two evenings ago when he'd summoned the
courage to face her with news of Mure's trial.

"The
verdict. It's guilty, isn't it?"

"Aye,
lass."

"Dear
merciful God...
"
She swallowed and turned away.

"Jonet,
I'm sorry."

"Are
you?"

"For
your pain, yes."

"But
not because an innocent man's going to die?" She looked back at him then,
eyes wide and haunted. "I suppose he is going to die, though I can't quite
believe it." She bit her lip, steeling herself. "When?"

A
month ago he would have been shouting it in the streets, celebrating it in the
nearest tavern. Now he could barely bring himself to say it aloud. "Three
days from today. I'm sorry, lass."

"But
not sorry enough to do anything."

"There's
nothing to be done in any case."

"I
see."

She
had turned away from him then and asked to be left alone. He'd gone out,
walking the streets, but he hadn't been able to think of much save Jonet. Jonet
on the one hand, his vengeance on the other. His thoughts always came full
circle.

He'd
returned with a heavy heart, half expecting her to tell him she never wished to
see him again. But she'd wanted to be held instead and he'd comforted her,
loving her in every way he knew, giving her everything he had to give.

It
was only later that she'd finally cried, later that he'd awakened and held her
in his arms while she wept. And he'd vowed on everything he held sacred that
he'd make this up to her one day. That if ever he resurrected his name, nothing
would stop him from making Jonet his wife.

And
if he were successful with James's escape, if he won a king's gratitude...

Alexander
frowned again and blocked out the thought, stopped the dream before it could
take wing. For he knew from experience that too much hope could be vastly more
devastating than too little. And where the lass was concerned, he couldn't
afford to make a mistake.

"Alex?"

He
started. "Jesu, Grant! Can't you knock?"

"I
did. You didn't answer so I stepped inside."

He
drew a deep breath. "I was... thinking."

"Not
so pleasant a thought by the look of you."

He
shrugged. "I've a lot on my mind."

"I
just came to tell you that Angus and Murdoch left Edinburgh by the south toad
over an hour ago."

Alexander
nodded. He watched as Grant wandered away to the clothes chest and back, his
eyes distant, his usual frown more pronounced. "All right, what's on your
mind?"

Oddly
enough, his man didn't look at him. "I swung past Angus's place on High
Street, just on the chance your man inside had news." He hesitated.
"The lord warden conducted a bit of business before he left."

Grant
drew a paper from his jerkin, holding it out as if it were live coals. "I
thought this something you'd be wantin' to see."

Alexander
reached for it. The paper was heavy, a document of some type. He unfolded the
single sheet, noting the official seal of Scotland, the king's signature at the
bottom. He went very still. "
Damn you to hell, man!
You know this
is the last thing on earth I'd be wanting to see."

"Let's
say I thought you needed to see it then." And when Alexander didn't
respond, Grant shrugged. "I can send it on its way again fast enough. Just
say the word."

Alexander
stared at the paper. One simple page to end a man's life. A page, a signature
and Scotland's great seal. And Mure would walk to the block today. Today
instead of tomorrow.

It
would all be over and Jonet need never know. The lass need never know he'd held
this writ in his hand.

He
stared at the page until his eyes burned and the words blurred together,
remembering all the years he had hated Robert Maxwell, the times he would have
welcomed holding this in his hand.

But
he was remembering something else as well. He was remembering the way Jonet had
wept in his arms, falling asleep, still whimpering.

"The
Douglases were impatient to be on their way. Didn't even wait to see the
sentence carried out," Grant muttered.

"They
were in a hurry to meet the English warden at Jedburgh. Indifference,"
Alexander added softly, "the supreme insult."

"Aye."
Grant hesitated, cleared his throat. "They aren't expected back for two
days. We could move our plans up, hustle the men about tonight. We've the
clothes, the horse, and the lad's practiced and ready. All we need do is send a
few messages. It would work."

Alexander
was still staring at the writ. "You want him alive, don't you, Grant? You
want the bastard freed."

"I
doubt an innocent man's death'll sit well on you, lad."

Alexander
looked up. "It sits just fine."

Grant
met his eyes. "So you say."

Alexander
jerked his head toward the door. "Get out. I'll call for you if I need
you."

"And
the warrant?"

"You've
done what you came for. Now get out."

Grant
left and Alexander continued to stare at the page. One simple word to Grant and
Mure would walk to his death. But if he destroyed the writ or simply held it,
if he moved his plans up... if James escaped tomorrow the Douglas reign would
be ended and Mure would walk free.

Jonet
would be out of his reach forever.

He
closed his eyes briefly. For his king and his country he'd relinquished his
hope of clearing his father. What was he willing to give up for Jonet?

He
saw her again as she'd looked two nights ago.
Not sorry enough to do
anything.
It was as close as she'd come to asking.

And
he could do something. He'd known that all along. That knowledge had haunted
him, despite what he'd said to Grant.

He
frowned. Was he sorry Mure was going to die?

Not
a bit.

Did
he love Jonet enough to give her the one thing she wanted more than anything
else? To spare her the pain he'd been put through fourteen years ago? A pain
that eased with time, but never ceased entirely.

Did
he love her enough to do what was best for her? To let her go when the time
came?

He
reached for the document, folding it slowly into tiny even squares. And all at
once he realized he'd only been fooling himself. For the dream had taken wing
without his permission, the hopes had flown too high. It had happened, he knew,
because the pain of the fall was so great.

"Lord
Hepburn." A knock sounded. "Lord Hepburn, the king is calling for
you."

Alexander
cleared his throat. "Aye, I'm coming."

Taking
the small square Mure's execution writ had become, he slipped it into an inner
fold of his jerkin. A little something he'd keep in memory of the vengeance
he'd held in his hand... in memory of a sweet lass with gray-green eyes and the
weeks he had spent in the light.

***

Alexander
parried the king's savage thrust, executed a graceful riposte. "Easy, Your
Grace," he murmured. "Too much emotion and the game is lost."

The
boy dropped his blade, eyes fired with outrage. "I wish I could fight
someone in earnest. My stepfather springs to mind. I'd damn well like to kill
him!"

Alexander
took the boy's wrist, extending it, making it look to the watching guards that
the lesson continued. "You don't like the fact that he left this
afternoon?"

"I
don't like where he's going. He was headed for the border to meet
Northumberland, to negotiate Scotland away bit by bit. And I can't do a damned
thing to stop him!"

Alexander
fenced with the boy several minutes, allowing the Stewart rage time to settle.
"You might feel a bit easier knowing you can soon revoke what he's
done," he murmured at last. He smiled. "With any luck you won't be
here when Angus gets back."

James
gasped. Gray eyes shot wide and glowing, brilliant with expectation. Then the
boy caught himself, raised his sword and continued fencing. "When?"
he hissed.

"Tomorrow.
Dress in your purple doublet and that black hat you wear. The one with the
heron's feather. Breakfast as usual, then demand your morning hunt. Be sure to
ride that chestnut you favor... out toward Stirling.

"You'll
pass a broken peddlar's wagon. The man will be mending his wheel. Turn due
south. The hounds will strike fresh scent. They'll be in a frenzy, believe me.
You'll reach a thicket, an impenetrable looking wood of brush and brambles and
God knows what else. The dogs will plunge in."

Alexander
held the king's eyes. "If you wish to be free, you'll spur in after them,
briars or no. I'm counting on the others hanging back for a moment. Long enough
for a lad dressed as your double to break out to one side following the dogs.
The others should follow fast enough. Once all is quiet, ride for Stirling as
if your life depended on it." Alexander raised his eyebrows and grinned.
"For mine most assuredly will."

James
nodded and laughed exultantly. "Is that all?"

"All
you need worry about. The queen is at Stirling Castle. We dare not let the
truth slip out, but the earl of Worrell and a few other loyal lords may be
there on a pretext. It doesn't matter really, so long as you make it inside
Stirling's walls. The countryside will rally quick enough."

Alexander
drew a deep breath. "Now pray to whatever saints you favor, lad, that the
timing is right and this comes off. For if we fail, Angus'll hold you so
tightly no power on earth will set you free."

James's
eyes were shining. "It sounds easy enough. All I have to do is toss myself
into the briars."

Alexander
grinned. There was something about these Stewarts. "Aye."

"You
won't regret this, Hepburn. I swear on my honor, you won't!"

"Then
I'll take you at your word and ask my boon now."

"Anything!"
James promised rashly.

"No
one must know I was involved."

"What?"

"No
one must know. Not even your lady mother. At the moment she thinks she owes
this to her French friends, and they're perfectly happy to take credit."

"I
won't allow it!"

"I've
friends and family on both sides of the border," Alexander said softly.
"Friends who could be made to suffer if my part in this became known. This
is the reward I ask, Your Grace. No one must ever know."

"But
you don't understand! Men say you—"

"I
know what they say, but it doesn't matter," Alexander interrupted.
"Believe me, it doesn't matter. Not now."

James
frowned. "Very well, Hepburn. I'll not betray you if that's what you wish.
But I want you to join me at Stirling." The frown eased. "And that,
my lord, is a royal command."

Alexander
saluted the boy with his blade. George Douglas moved purposefully toward them.
The lesson was at an end. Alexander smiled and bowed low. "Your skill
progresses, Your Grace," he said loudly. "Until tomorrow then."

***

Jonet
frowned at the stain on her skirt, wiping at it ineffectually. She'd been able
to bring only three of the gowns she'd had made at Stepton, three of the
simplest and a few other items carried in a pack made of sheets.

Her
perpetual lack of clothing was an irritation. A minor one, of course, but it
seemed like a lifetime ago she'd had her pick of chests full of gowns and
jewels, that she'd had her freedom to come and go, to ride out if she chose...
that she'd thought such things mattered.

And
it had been a lifetime—one that had included laughter and love and normalcy,
and the sweet, predictable security of Robert Maxwell and Beryl Castle.

She
thought of her uncle now, and the familiar pain started. Without some miracle,
he would be executed tomorrow. Murdoch Douglas would win.

Jonet's
eyes narrowed with pain and anger. She would never forgive the man, would spend
the rest of her life searching for a way to make him pay. She swallowed against
the ache, wondering if time would bring ease. It must, of course, else no one
would survive such things.