Stuart, Elizabeth (35 page)

She
frowned again and thought of Alexander. So must he feel about Robert. It had
taken this nightmare to help her understand. What a strange and complicated
relationship the three of them had. And the strangest thing of all was that she
loved both men and couldn't blame either.

She
rose and moved to the window, staring out. Alexander hadn't returned to the inn
last night. He was staying up at the castle with the Douglases, but he could
tell her nothing beyond that. That and the fact that she wouldn't be returning
to England.

She
smiled, diverted for a moment. No England, no Lyle Barrow...
no Diana
Hampton
. Alexander wanted her in Scotland. And not even her hatred and fear
of the Douglases could steal the joy from that fact.

She
frowned and stared out, aware all at once that the church bells across the city
had begun to peal wildly. In the street below people were running, shouting,
hammering on doors. She watched. What the devil was going on?

There
was shouting downstairs in the inn. Footsteps pounded in the hallway, hurrying
feet and laughter sounded from the stairs. Jonet went to the door and peeked
out. Surely if something terrible had happened, if war had been declared or
Henry were marching north, there wouldn't be laughter.

She
ventured cautiously into the hallway. She'd been outside her room only a dozen
times or so, and then always with Alexander or one of his men. But there was no
one upstairs to ask, and the laughter and shouts from below were increasing.

She
moved to the stairs. There was singing now below. The common room sounded
crowded, and it wasn't yet noon. And then some words carried up: "To His
Grace the king, God bless him!"

"To
Jamie, lad, may he rule us in peace."

"Aye,
and may he send the Douglases straight to perdition!"

"Aye,
where they belong!"

Jonet
caught the rail and started downward. No one would dare voice such sentiments
unless...

She
had reached the bottom stair. People were dashing back and forth, shouting and
singing. Ale was being poured and tankards passed around. She glanced about for
someone she recognized but didn't see any of Alexander's men.

A
matronly looking woman was standing nearby. Jonet touched her shoulder.
"What's happened?" she cried. "Can you tell me what's
happened?"

The
woman caught her up in a hug smelling faintly of onions and ale. "It's the
king, lass," she shouted. "The king's come into his own at last. Gave
the Douglases the slip and made it safe to Stirling he did, bless the
lad!"

She
swung Jonet in a circle, dragging her out into the room. Jonet accepted a
tankard someone thrust into her hand. There were hundreds... thousands of men
rallying to Stirling if these people could be believed.

There
was so much noise and confusion the facts didn't register. And then Jonet
gasped. If James had thrown off the Douglases, Robert would live! By the grace
of God and a day's margin, Robert would live!

She
lifted her tankard, drinking deeply to cover her tears. And then she was
singing and dancing, rejoicing with the crowd. James Stewart had come into his
own at last. And he'd given her back her life, her uncle... all she'd ever
wanted!

Jonet
danced with millers, merchants and a farm lad or two. Then a rough hand caught
hers, swinging her to the edge of the crowd, and she was gazing up into the
bearded face of the dissolute looking character she knew as the redoubtable
Jem.

He
jerked his head toward the stairs. "Someone waitin' ta see ye above,
Mistress."

Jonet
swept up the stairs on winged feet. Alexander had come. He must have slipped in
when she wasn't looking. She wondered what part he'd played in all this.

She
flew down the hall and thrust open the door.

A
woman turned from the window. She was slim and dark with an ageless beauty of
good bone structure and flawless skin, of luxuriant hair, still black, and
large, luminous eyes.

She
smiled at Jonet and the smile was Alexander's. "And you, I suspect, are
the lass called Jonet. I've come quite a way to meet you."

The
words of greeting died in Jonet's throat. The woman staring at her so pointedly
was Alexander's mother. She knew it somehow, though the woman looked far too
young, might have passed for an older sister.

"You're
surprised," the woman was saying. "My son will be as well. I'm
Elizabeth Hepburn, Jonet. I'm Alexander's mother."

Jonet
managed to find her voice. "I'd gathered that." She entered the room
and closed the door, dropping a belated curtsy. "Forgive me, madam, I was
expecting—" She broke off. Her cheeks flushed hotly, giving her away.

"Alexander,
of course." Elizabeth smiled. "Come here, child, and tell me what you
know. Did my son have anything to do with the excitement out there today?"

"I
don't know, madam. I know little about his business. Nothing, as a matter of
fact."

"And
does that bother you?"

"I
only wish I knew he was safe."

"Oh,
I suspect that he is, though over the years he's given me an uncomfortable hour
or two."

Something
about the woman's dry tone and droll look made Jonet burst out laughing.
Elizabeth Hepburn laughed as well. They studied each other, each liking what
she saw. "I suspect he has at that," Jonet agreed, moving closer.
"But how did you know about me?"

"A
friend, Lyle Barrow, brought me a letter. Alex spoke of you. Quite a bit, as a
matter of fact. It sounded as if you were... different."

Elizabeth
smiled again. "Since I was at York, I decided I'd come in person to fetch
you from Stepton. When I learned you weren't there I brought my men and came
looking myself. Lady Lynton and I have known each other a number of
years," Elizabeth added. "She's an admirable woman in her way. But
let's just say I'd a feeling Alexander would have wanted me to discover why
you'd disappeared."

Jonet
lowered her eyes. She had an idea Elizabeth Hepburn was as perceptive as her
son. "I'd a notion Alexander was in danger from a quarter he'd not
expect," she said. "Fortunately, that didn't turn out to be the
case."

"I
see."

Jonet
dared a slanted look upward. Elizabeth Hepburn was watching her thoughtfully.
"You must love him a very great deal to have risked coming back here,
Jonet."

Jonet
raised her head. There was something about this woman that made evasion seem
pointless. "I do."

Elizabeth's
slow, beautiful smile dawned, so much like Alexander's it made Jonet's heart
twist.

"I've
sent Jem Stone out to fetch us some decent wine and something to eat. He should
be back soon. I hope you'll join me in taking refreshment."

Jonet
stared at her in amazement. "You sent Jem? Alexander's Jem?"

Elizabeth
chuckled. "Yes. I can be quite a bully in my own way. Jem's learned that
over the years. Besides, this gives him a chance to finish whatever he was
doing when I ran into him. We caught sight of each other as I was riding into
Edinburgh. He informed me that I couldn't go up to the castle. I'm on my
deathbed at Durnam, or so my rascal of a son has informed everyone."

"You
appear to have made a marvelous recovery, madam."

"So
it would seem." Elizabeth reached out and touched Jonet's hand.
"Please, call me Elizabeth."

***

Alexander
bent and cupped water from the basin, splashing it over his face. He'd had four
precious hours of sleep after the better part of two nights and a day
barricaded into a section of Edinburgh Castle. Together with Grant and a
handful of servants loyal to the king, he had managed to keep the Douglases
from destroying or stealing several roomfuls of records and the pitiful
remainder of the treasury before they fled. He turned to Grant. "What time
is it?"

"Just
before noon."

"James
is here?"

"Aye.
He rode in from Stirling just after breakfast with Worrell and Arran and a
dozen other lords. His army is swarming over the city and for miles beyond.
Angus is holed up at Tantallon. He won't dare come near Edinburgh."

Grant
yawned widely. "The king's been askin' for you since yesterday. You'd best
show your face. There's been a deal of gossip flying about, you know."

Alexander
toweled off and began changing his clothing. "I can imagine."

Grant
hesitated. "And you'd best know, Mure's been released. Worrell had him out
of prison by the time the horses were stabled good."

Alexander
didn't look up. "I'd expected it."

"One
other thing. Jem sent a man up from the inn. Your lady mother is in
Edinburgh."

Alexander
swung around.
"What?"

"Seems
she rode up from London to make Jonet's acquaintance. When she found the lass
gone from Stepton, she followed, searching for word along the way. Jem
recognized her coming into town and took her to the inn. She's been there ever
since."

Alexander
was smiling. "It took something like this to get her back into Scotland. I
suppose Diana did me a favor without intending it."

He
thought of Jonet, of the fact that she was safely in Edinburgh now instead of
halfway to London. "Two favors as a matter of fact. And Lord, wouldn't I
have loved being a fly on the wall at Stepton when Mother swept in!"

Grant
grinned. "Aye. The Lady Elizabeth can hold her own with the best of 'em.
Even Diana."

Alexander
turned and pulled on his boots. "Get to the inn. Tell Mother and Jonet
I'll be there as soon as I can to explain what they're to do next."

"Aye,
lad."

Grant
left and Alexander stood for a moment staring at the ruby on his hand. But how
would he make Jonet understand what had to be done? And how would he ever tell
her good-bye?

He
stepped out into the corridor. He had almost made the large audience chamber
where James was holding court, when a man walked out of an intersecting
hallway. The man looked up. Robert Maxwell.

Both
men stopped, stared.
"You!"
the earl snarled.

"Ah,
Mure, back from the dead so I see. But you smell a bit better than you did as a
corpse." Alexander sent him a glittering smile. "You must have had a
bath."

Mure's
eyes narrowed angrily. "I'd heard you were here somewhere. Well, don't
think to stay. James is repudiating everyone who's had dealings with Angus.
He's thrown most of them out this morning already. And despite that stunt you
pulled changing sides at the last minute, you'll be lucky to be thrown out on
your eat. If I have my say, you'll end up below in a cell!"

"Still
anxious to throw Hepburns into prison, I see. Tell me, Mure, does no one
besides me find you a dead bore?" Alexander started to push past, but the
earl caught his arm.

"Jonet...
where is she?"

Alexander
jerked away. He straightened the sleeve of his doublet, trying to hold onto his
temper. "She's safe enough. About to sit down to her dinner most like.
She'll be returned to you soon."

Mure
was staring at Alexander's hand. "That ring! It belonged to my brother.
How the hell did you get it?"

"Payment
for services rendered." Alexander glanced from the ring to Mure's red
face. "A business arrangement, you fool! Getting the lass out of Douglas
hands and safe into England."

He
hesitated, thinking of Jonet. Nothing would ruin her chances at court faster
than being linked with a man like him. "And I'd suggest you say as little
as possible about it, Mure. This court feeds on gossip. I'd not throw the lass
to them for supper if I were you. Let me do the talking, I've nothing against
her."

A
muscle jumped in Mure's cheek. "If you've hurt her," he ground out,
"if you've hurt her, I'll kill you!"

"Unlike
some we both know, I don't take out my temper on women and children,"
Alexander uttered contemptuously. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm told the
king is expecting me."

"Wait!
That ring... it's been in Jonet's family for generations. I'll buy it,"
Mure growled.

Alexander
stared at the ring, remembering the night Jonet had given it to him. "Not
a chance," he said softly.

"I'll
double what it's worth, you bastard!"

Alexander
shook his head. "It's taken my fancy somehow... the MacDonald ting, you
know. The Lords of the Isles and all that."

Then
he turned on his heel, moving down the hallway, and into James's crowded
audience chamber. Men stepped aside as he passed, whispers stopped, then began
again louder. Such it had been, such it always would be.

He
lifted his head arrogantly, moved with more of a swagger. He'd been a fool to
think he might overcome this... that he might ask any woman of honor to be his
wife.

He
swept an elegant bow before James's dais, continuing on down to one knee. The
buzz of voices stopped. Men strained to hear the king's pleasure.

James
rose from his chair, his young face impassive. "Hepburn of Durnam, you've
disobeyed a royal command. I expected you at Stirling with the rest of my loyal
lords."

Alexander
looked up. "I thought I might do you more service here, Your Grace."

"Yes,
so I've been hearing." James came down the stairs, pausing before
Alexander. "It seems I must thank you for your services..." His voice
dropped so that none but Alexander might hear, "...
again."

James
began to smile. Alexander smiled as well. He liked the lad. He damn well hoped
he made a good king.

"Rise,
Alexander Hepburn, and accept a token of our appreciation," James said
loudly. He drew a ring from his hand, holding it out. It was made of heavy
gold, engraved with the royal arms and the thistle of Scotland. "They tell
me my father wore this. I would have you wear it with my thanks... perhaps pass
it on to your son one day."

Alexander
swallowed. Behind him a swell of indignant voices was rising. He heard it,
ignored it. This moment was his. "Your Grace honors me," he said.

"Not
nearly enough. After all you did save my treasury." The king's smile
widened. "Wear it, Hepburn of Durnam. Wear it so all men may see. It's
little enough I can do."

Alexander
took the ring, slipping it onto his hand. "I'll wear it with much pride,
Your Grace. But you may need it back. Despite my efforts, there's precious
little in your treasury." He sent James a rueful smile. "I fear
you're as near to being a pauper as I."

"Oh,
but I've a remedy for that, Hepburn. One not at your disposal. The Douglases
will be put to the horn. I told you before, I'll abide no Douglases save those
in the churchyard." He grinned, a flicker of the boy showing through the
harsh words. "We're in luck, you know, man. They're a damned wealthy clan."

A
rustle of movement and excited voices had begun behind them. James looked up.
With a sharp oath of surprise, his smile turned to anger. "Who let that
woman in? Get her out, for God's sake. I'll have no Douglas at court!"

Alexander
swung around. Jonet was standing inside the door. His mother and his erstwhile
prisoner, Duncan Maxwell, behind her. Damn the luck, Grant had missed them. And
the fat was in the fire now. He spared a fleeting regret for the fact that he'd
caught a few hours sleep. If only he could learn to go entirely without, he
might keep Jonet out of trouble.

"A
moment, Your Grace. The lass is no real Douglas. Like you, she's suffered much
at their hands."

"She's
married to Thomas Douglas and has been for weeks. I'll not have her here. I'll not
have her in Edinburgh!" James added pettishly.

"It
was no true marriage, Your Grace, but secret and forced as the priest who
conducted it has sworn in writing. And contrary to what Murdoch put about,
Mistress Maxwell has not been at Whitestone with his son."

Two
guards hovered near Jonet, eyes on the king for orders. Mure was pushing
forward to speak, Worrell close at his heels. Everyone was watching. By
evening, Alexander knew, there'd be a dozen versions of this making the rounds.

He
took a deep breath. "If Your Grace will hear me out. You'll recall there
was no love lost between myself and Murdoch Douglas. The man had sold me out to
the French—that night I was attacked here at court as a matter of fact. I was
beaten, held prisoner, and about to be shipped off to France."

"Why
wasn't I told?" James asked sharply.

"I
escaped and Angus had it hushed up." Alexander smiled thinly. "But I
decided to pay our friend back. Robbing the Douglases of a wealthy bride seemed
the very least I could do. Within a few hours of her wedding, I assure you
Mistress Maxwell was safely in England. She's been there since, residing with a
good friend of mine. Your Grace will remember the countess of Lynton?"

James
had begun to smile. The story pleased him. "Most certainly. A difficult
woman to forget."

Alexander
smiled as well. Diana owed him, and despite what she'd done to Jonet, he knew
she would back him up. And Mure was keeping his mouth shut, thank God. He
looked white and shaken. For more reasons than one.