Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle

by Margaret Mallory

  If George anticipated this, why did he not forewarn her? Margaret stifled her annoyance and said in a pleasant tone, “I’ll go pack my things now.”

  “This is no time to leave,” Archie said.

  “But I just told you the king wants to”—she felt herself blush—“take me to bed.”

  “Then give the king what he wants,” Archie said.

  Margaret was so shocked she could not find her voice to object.

  “’Tis unfortunate the king takes after his mother in looks, but I bedded her,” Archie said, making a face as if he had something bitter in his mouth. “We all must make sacrifices.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Margaret said. “For heaven’s sake, the king is half my age. He’s still a child.”

  “He’s old enough to want a woman,” Archie said. “No matter how unappealing he is in appearance and disposition, he is the king and will have his choice of bedmates.”

  “What Archie is trying to say is that some lass is going to be his first mistress, and her family will benefit,” George said. “Should it not be a Douglas?”

  “You want to make me a…a…whore to that boy?” She should not have been so surprised.

  “If you’re unwilling to bed him, then just give him the hope that ye will,” George said. “Keep him diverted so he doesn’t choose a lass from one of our rival families, who would be only too happy to have a royal bastard.”

  Margaret’s heart raced. She hated to argue, but this time she had to stand up to them.

  “I can’t do this,” she said. “I won’t.”

  “Ye don’t have to do anything ye don’t want to,” George said in a soothing voice, and put his arm around her.

  “You used to understand the importance of putting the family first and doing your duty,” Archie huffed.

  She looked up in time to catch the cautionary look George shot Archie.

  “Do this for the family,” Archie said, attempting a more conciliatory tone, “and I promise that after the king tires of you and moves on to someone else, I’ll find you a good husband.”

  “By good husband,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even, “ye mean a powerful man ye wish to make an ally?”

  “Of course, he must be that as well, but we’ll find a husband who will make ye happy,” George said. “You deserve that after what happened with William.”

  “After what happened with William, I never want another husband.” She’d told them that a hundred times in the last weeks, but they never seemed to hear her.

  When George attempted to put his arm around her shoulders again, she stepped out of his reach. She usually avoided confrontation and swallowed her anger. But not today.

  “William must have been a dreadful husband,” George said, “even before he left ye.”

  “William did not leave me. He threw me out,” she said. “And if ye knew he would be a terrible husband, why did ye marry me to him?”

  “Marriages are like any alliance,” Archie said. “Ye need not like your partner.”

  “I’ll not marry again.” She dug her fingernails into her palms with the effort to maintain her composure. “I will not.”

  “For God’s sake, Margaret, control of the crown is at stake, and we need allies.” Archie leaned over her as he spoke, in a way that reminded her far too much of her former husband. “I will choose a good man for you, and when I say so, you will marry him.”

  “We can discuss this another time,” George said as he drew Archie away from her and refilled his cup. “Is everything ready for our special guests and the feast tonight?”

  “King Henry’s emissaries have already arrived,” Archie said. “Margaret, make certain the food and music are the very best tonight, or they’ll tell tales in London about the inferiority of our Scottish court.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, her brothers began discussing their strategy regarding the emissaries from Archie’s brother-in-law, the English king. Margaret hid her shaking hands in the folds of her gown. She had not realized until this moment how determined Archie was to force her to marry again.

  She never realized the toll her marriage had taken on her until long after William threw her out. During her marriage, she had focused on getting through each day as best she could. Soothing her husband’s temper, coaxing him from foul moods, listening to his lying boasts, enduring his constant criticism and demands. Worst of all, suffering his invasion of her body, even when the midwife warned it was too soon after her last miscarriage.

  She might not survive another marriage. She feared she would fade away altogether until there was nothing left of her at all.

  But what could she do? She dug her nails into her palms and forced herself to keep an outwardly calm expression while she struggled to think of a plan.

  Her dowry. If she was to have any control over her life, she needed her own resources. Her dowry included lands, jewels, and gold that would provide her the independence she needed to live her life as she saw fit.

  Provoking Archie had been a mistake when she would need his help to force William to return her dowry. She chastised herself for her brief display of anger. That never served her well. She waited for a pause in their conversation to speak again.

  “I’m sorry I reacted poorly to your suggestion that I marry again,” she said, casting her gaze to the floor. “I know ye meant well.”

  “We are only trying to do what’s best for all of us,” George said.

  Archie and George did what was best for Archie and George. Though they may persuade themselves that what was best for them was also best for her or the family, she knew better from bitter experience.

  “Alison also urged me to consider remarrying.” Alison was wrong, but at least her sister truly did have her best interests at heart and wished Margaret to find the kind of happiness she had. “Perhaps I will warm to the notion with time.”

  She would never agree to remarry, but her sister Sybil said the key to lying was to not make it too far-fetched—and Sybil knew about such things.

  “You’ve always been a sweet-natured lass,” George said, and put his arm around her shoulders again. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  By sweet-natured, he meant compliant, which was what men wanted. But she was not going along with her brothers’ plans for her this time.

  “There is something I would ask of you,” she said.

  “What is it?” Archie asked in a clipped tone, clearly impatient for her to leave.

  “Insist that William return my dowry,” she said. “He has no right to it.”

  “Have no worry about that,” Archie said with a self-satisfied smile. “He’s already returned every last penny.”

  “God bless you!” She was so relieved she would have thrown her arms around Archie, if Archie was the sort of brother one could embrace. This meant she could have her own home.

  “We’ll need the dowry for your next marriage,” Archie said. “Until that’s arranged, I will, of course, hold your property for you.”

  Margaret rarely lost control, but she had to struggle to overcome the urge to beat her fists against Archie’s chest. He was making it plain she would never pry his hands off what should be her property until she agreed to marry when and whom he bade her. And once she did marry, control of her property would pass directly to her new husband.

  She felt her life spinning out of her control again. Her brothers were so confident they could bend her to their will. She did not want to be the meek and submissive younger sister her brothers remembered, the one who married as she was told without complaint or question.

  But how could she fight them when they held all the power?

  “I must dress for the feast,” she said, because she needed to get away from them before they saw how shaken she was.

  She hurried toward the door, but Archie’s voice stopped her when her hand was on the latch.

  “I have important state business to conduct with our guests from England,” he said. “I can�
�t have my stepson interfering in matters he doesn’t understand.”

  She waited with her back to him, knowing what he was about to say, and yet not quite believing he would have the gall.

  “Remember, I’m relying on you to keep the king entertained tonight.”

  ###

  Finn emerged from the darkness of the tavern and fixed his gaze on the imposing gatehouse to Holyrood Palace at the base of the Canongate Road. The hour was early for drinking, even for him, but his guess that the tavern closest to the palace would be frequented by palace guards had proven correct.

  A few whiskies after a long, tedious night of guard duty loosened the men’s tongues, and Finn learned the palace would be full of guests for a great feast tonight. Once he was inside, Finn could easily blend into such a large gathering. Everyone would assume he was a low-ranking member of some other guest’s party.

  The challenge, however, was getting inside.

  The palace was attached to the much older Holyrood Abbey, which was Finn’s next destination. Moray had told him more about the abbey than he needed to know. Since its founding hundreds of years ago by King David, the abbey had had a strong relationship with the royalty of Scotland. The early Scottish kings stayed in the abbey’s guest lodgings so frequently that eventually royal lodgings were built to accommodate them. More recently, James IV expanded those lodgings into a royal palace to welcome his bride, Margaret Tudor.

  As Finn entered the abbey’s church, his eyes were drawn upward to the graceful arches and intricate carvings. This was a very wealthy abbey, thanks to royal patronage and to the noblemen who joined their brotherhood, took vows of poverty, and gave their property to the abbey. And yet common people of the parish also worshipped in this church, which made it easy for Finn to enter without drawing notice.

  Like all great churches, it was built on the lines of a cross. Finn passed through the long nave along the north aisle to the transept, where a screen separated the public from the monks during services. A young novice was sweeping the floor in front of the screen.

  “I’ve a message to deliver to Brother Ansel,” Finn told the novice. “His father is gravely ill.”

  “I’ll give it to him.” The young man held out his hand.

  “I promised Ansel’s mother I would put the message into his hands myself and wait for his reply,” Finn said.

  The novice withdrew into the dim interior on the other side of the screen. A short time later, a monk appeared. He had sharp, coal-black eyes that discerned at a glance Finn was not there to deliver a message from anyone’s mother.

  When he saw the seal on the parchment Finn slipped to him, the monk darted a glance over his shoulder. “Not here,” he said, glaring at Finn.

  Finn followed him out of the church through a low side door that led into the walled area that contained the abbey’s extensive gardens. Once they were on the other side of the row of tall trees that separated the church from the gardens, the monk glanced around once more to be sure they were alone. Then he quickly broke the seal, read the message, and hid it inside his robes.

  “Moray wants me to help you enter the palace in secret?” the monk hissed in a low voice.

  “All ye need do is get me inside,” Finn said. “I’ll make my own way out.”

  “Moray asks too much!”

  “’Tis his royal blood that makes him so bold,” Finn said, shaking his head. “Truth be told, I’m not keen on the task he’s given me either. But what else can we do?”

  Finn sensed the monk’s resistance weakening with the reminder of Moray’s status, but the man needed one more push.

  “Sooner or later, there’s bound to be a cost to saying nay to the king’s brother”—Finn paused and lifted an eyebrow—“or a reward for saying aye.”

  “If you’re caught,” the monk said, “I’ll deny I had anything to do with it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Finn said. “I won’t get caught.”

  ###

  Lizzie was waiting for her outside the solar, but Margaret did not pause to talk.

  “I must warn ye—” Lizzie started to say.

  “Not now,” Margaret said, and hurried down the corridor to the hall. She was intent on reaching the privacy of their bedchamber before she lost her composure in the middle of the palace. “My brothers will do nothing to save me from the king’s silly infatuation.”

  Thank heaven the king would move to his next guardian in a few days. She ought to be able to keep the boy at bay that long without offending him.

  But how would she avoid another marriage? Archie had regained his power in the country—and over her. He was the head of her family, her chieftain, an earl, stepfather to the king. God help her!

  When they reached the entrance to the hall, Lizzie pulled at her arm, but Margaret could not stop. She could barely keep herself from running through the courtiers milling about the hall to reach the stairs that led to the private chambers above.

  “Listen to me,” Lizzie said in an urgent whisper. “Ye need to know…”

  Suddenly, the people between Margaret and the stairs shifted, and she saw a too-familiar profile she had hoped never to see again. It was William, the man who was her husband for seven interminable years, the unfeeling beast who threw her out in a storm in the dead of night while she was still bleeding from miscarrying his child.

  Her feet forgot how to move. She was vaguely aware that Lizzie was speaking to her in a hushed voice, but she could not hear the words. The noise and the people in the hall faded and blurred as her vision narrowed so that she saw William as if through a tunnel.

  God give me strength. I cannot do this.

  She swallowed hard when she saw a very pregnant young woman attached to William’s arm. His new wife could not be more than sixteen. The poor thing.

  For a moment, she thought she would escape before he saw her. But he turned, and when their eyes locked, memories flooded through her like a raging river threatening to drown her. The countless nights she gritted her teeth while he pushed, prodded, and grunted over her. What he said to her the day she suffered the stillbirth while the Battle of the Causeway raged outside the shuttered window.

  At least it was only a girl ye lost. Ye must give me a son. Do ye hear me, Margaret? I need a son!

  William started walking toward her with a smug look on his face. Unlike her, he was prepared for this meeting. He had known she would be here.

  “I have my dirk hidden under my skirts,” Lizzie said under her breath. “Say the word, and I’ll stick it in his belly.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Margaret straightened to her full height, pasted a serene smile on her face, and walked right past William as if he was not worthy of her notice.

  Margaret did not think they would ever reach their chamber. When they finally did, she began pacing the floor. She needed a plan. She could not stay here. But what could she do?

  “We must tell your brothers,” Lizzie said. “I can’t wait to watch them kick Wretched William out on his arse.”

  “William is too cowardly to come without the assurance he would be welcomed.” The truth was as clear to her as it was hurtful. “My brothers invited him here.”

  “They wouldn’t!” Lizzie said.

  “That is exactly what they did.”

  William would never have taken the risk unless the invitation had come directly from her brothers. Margaret tried to think the best of people, but there was no escaping the truth about Archie and George.

  Her brothers valued the support of the Lord of Drumlanrig in their play for power more than they valued her. While they may be fond of her, she was an asset first and always, a pawn they could use and discard.

  After all she had been through to further their ambitions, and the price she’d paid when those ambitions failed, they thought they owed her nothing.

  They thought they owned her.

  Hurt welled in her chest. She held her fist to her mouth as she fought back the bitter tears. Just like her husband, he
r brothers—the men who were supposed to love and protect her—did not deem her worthy of even the smallest sacrifice or consideration. She rarely got angry, but she felt it simmer and spark beneath the painful disappointment.

  After this, she would be a fool to expect them to give up any advantage for the sake of her happiness. She could have no doubt now that her brothers would ignore her objections and do their best to force her to make a marriage alliance for them.

  She could not let that happen.

  “I’ll tell my father,” Lizzie said. “He’ll make Archie do the right thing.”

  Greysteel was close to Archie and George and undoubtedly knew of this already, but Margaret did not have the heart to tell Lizzie that. Better to let her keep her faith in her father a little longer.

  “’Tis too late,” Margaret said, regaining control over her emotions. “Archie has already made his deal with William.”

  Lizzie kicked the side of the bed. “’Tis not fair!”

  Margaret could not even recall when she had expected life to be fair.

  A few hours later, Margaret looked at herself in the looking glass and tugged at the bodice of her gown while the maids did the finishing touches to her hair. The silvery blue silk gown George had the seamstresses make specially for the feast tonight was magnificent, if a bit daring.

  “I’ve never seen anyone look more beautiful,” one of the maids said.

  “’Tis the gown, to be sure,” Margaret said with a smile.

  For once, she was glad to be dressed in a dazzling gown that showed her best features to advantage. She needed all the confidence she could garner tonight.

  “Thank you for helping me dress,” Margaret told the maids, and dismissed them.

  She could not delay going down to the hall much longer. Lizzie had grown impatient and gone to wait for her downstairs some time ago. When she heard a knock on the door, she knew George had come to prod her.

  “Aren’t ye ready yet?” he said as he opened the door, then he came to an abrupt halt and gave her a broad grin. “I knew that gown would be perfect. You’ll outshine every other lady at the feast.”

  Margaret was in no mood to be flattered by her brother.