by Amanda Scott
“Dinna fash yerself, lass. I wasna asking ye tae go.”
“No, I know, but everything is upside down. You probably ought not to be here at all.”
“What’s this, then? Ye’ve only just said—”
“I am to be married,” she said bluntly.
“Married!” He sat up, gaping in disbelief. “But your father said ye was too young. Amang other things, he said that,” he added with a grimace.
“I knew he must have been horrid to you after he sent me into the house that night.”
“Och, weel, he was that, but it could ha’ been a deal worse. He didna say anything tae m’ father.”
Mary Kate nodded, understanding his relief. “I feared he would say rather too much to him for comfort.”
“Aye, but he did tell me ye was too young for marrying.”
“Well, he changed his mind,” she said grimly. “The wedding is to take place in a fortnight’s time.”
“A fortnight!”
“Aye, a fortnight. To Sir Adam Douglas of Tornary.”
“Sir Adam Douglas!”
“Aye!” she snapped. “Do for goodness’ sake, stop repeating everything I say, Kobbie. You’ll drive me daft.”
But he was following his own train of thought. “Then ye’ll be Lady Douglas.”
“I suppose I shall,” she answered dismally, “but I do not want to be Lady Douglas. Indeed, I hate the notion, for Douglas is a borderer, and I do not wish to marry him, though in his impudence, he chooses to believe otherwise.” Her voice began to rise as she recounted her ills. “He’s truly the most arrogant, loathsome, dictatorial man I have ever met. He began by insulting me, then he laughed at me, and today he made me walk home from Braelairig in my boots. He’s not a proper husband for me at all, Robbie. Like any borderer, he will expect me to curtsy and smile and kiss his feet.”
“Kiss his feet! Why would he want ye tae do sae daft a thing as that?”
“Oh, you don’t understand. I meant that he has no respect for what I want or what I think. He has not been bred to it, and he seems to have a Calvinist streak in him into the bargain, for he thinks I ought to submit to all his wishes, whatever they are, merely because he is a man and I am a woman. And my father, though usually a sensible man, thinks the sun rises and sets by him just because Douglas is a friend of the king and has lots of money and may be an earl one day.”
“But then ye’d be a countess. Would ye no like tae be a rich countess, Mary Kate?”
She gritted her teeth. “You are just like them both. Men are so stupid. I tell you, I don’t concern myself with such stuff. I hate him and I must marry him anyway and…oh, Robbie, I am so unhappy.” The confusion and stress of the past twenty-four hours suddenly overwhelmed her, and to the young man’s consternation, Mary Kate burst into tears.
“Dinna greet, lassie,” he pleaded awkwardly. “I canna bear it gin ye weep.” He knelt beside her and put a clumsy arm around her shoulders, at which encouragement she cast herself upon his thin chest, sobbing gustily. However dumbfounded, Robin kept his head to a sufficient degree to hold her and to make soothing noises in Gaelic, and her sobs finally began to abate. He was no doubt on the brink of congratulating himself for deft management of a distressing situation when a powerful hand clamped down upon his shoulder and thrust him aside to sprawl all aheap on the hard ground.
At the same moment, Mary Kate was jerked rudely to her feet by a grip of iron. When she looked up in dismay to see the furious face of her betrothed looming over her, her tears ceased as though a tap had been turned.
“Sir Adam!”
“Aye, Sir Adam, indeed. And what the devil is this?”
“I was only telling Robbie about our betrothal.”
“I see.” His expression remained grim, but a glimmer of amusement replaced the cold fury in his eyes. “So you are young MacLeod,” he said, adding in Gaelic as fluent as their own that the boy might as well pick himself up off the ground.
Robbie nodded and got to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Douglas while he brushed himself off.
“It was not like you think!” Mary Kate cried indignantly.
“Hold your tongue, lass. We will speak of this later.” Ignoring her outrage, he directed his piercing gaze at the hapless Robin. “Do you speak English, lad?” When Robin nodded, he added brusquely in that language, Then, if you have the details of her betrothal clearly, I’ll thank you to keep your hands off her.”
“Aye, sir, ye’ve the right,” Robin acknowledged gruffly, “but like she says, ’twas no like ye think. I didna ken what else tae do when the poor lassie begun tae weep.”
Douglas chuckled, his customary good humor completely restored. “I believe you, lad. You don’t look as though you’ve had much experience With distraught females.” When Robin shook his head, he added in a confiding murmur, “You box their ears.”
“Nay!” The boy’s eyes rounded in disbelief.
“Aye, you will find that it answers the purpose admirably well. Try it. You’ll see.”
“I couldna strike Mary Kate.”
“Then it is well that you are not going to marry her. She’d rule the roast for certain. You get on home now,” he added kindly. “We look to see you and yours at the wedding.”
Mary Kate followed Robin’s rapid progress through the gray shrubbery, wondering what Douglas would say to her. He had leaped a trifle more quickly to anger just now than he had earlier, she decided. No doubt that was due to the borderer’s natural inclination to protect his chattel. She could think of no other reason for the difference, especially since this time his anger had dissipated so quickly. However, she couldn’t be certain that it had dissolved altogether, so she decided that it would be foolish to annoy him further by venting the remains of her indignation. When she realized that he still had not said anything, she wiped a lingering dampness from her cheek with the back of her hand and turned to face him.
He was regarding her thoughtfully, as though wondering where to begin.
“It truly was not what you thought,” she insisted.
“I know that, lass.” His voice was gentle. “But you should have taken him into the house as soon as he arrived. For all you may say, this place is too private.”
She hadn’t thought about that. She shot him a slanting look from under her lashes. “No one condemned private meetings between us when Robbie and I were eleven and ten. That such meetings must now be considered improper only because eight years have passed seems hardly fair.”
He chuckled, as she had intended, and she began to relax. There was one more item, however.
“Will you speak of this incident to my father?”
“Should I not?”
“If you please. If you thought our meeting clandestine—by heaven, what a dreadful word that is! But if you thought it, then so will he, and if he thinks such a thing has happened again, he will speak to Ian MacLeod.”
“The lad’s father?”
“Aye.”
“A harsh man?”
“Fearsome when he’s crossed.”
“And you feel sympathy for Robin?” When she nodded, he grinned. “Will you sympathize with me if I tell you my father is cut from the same bolt as yon MacLeod?”
“I wouldn’t believe you,” she retorted flatly.
“Well, he is. Mind you, most people think him no more dangerous than any jovial sporting man, though he was known in his youth to be one of the finest swordsmen to come out of the borders. In a good temper, he is the sort of man who cracks a jest and claps one heartily on the back. But when he is angry, he can still make me tremble in my boots, just as he did when I was twelve years old and had managed to enrage him.”
“You tremble? Never.”
“Scoff if you must, but bless you, lassie, I was like any other active lad.” A reminiscent gleam lit his eyes. “Once I dabbled in just such a relationship as that betwixt you and yon MacLeod, though mayhap not quite so innocent as that. After my father discovered us, I was sore for days
.”
With a twinkle, Mary Kate said, “I begin to think I will like your father wondrous well, sir.”
Douglas laughed. “A fine thing to say!”
“Well, I will like him. And I hope he beat you often.”
“Not often, perhaps, but thoroughly. Aye, I thought that would please you. What a little fiend you are. That time I just mentioned it wasn’t even my fault. The lady—a young cousin of mine—instigated the whole affair.”
“I don’t believe you. I know well how you border men take advantage of your women, and you should be ashamed to malign your poor cousin like that.”
He grimaced. “Duncan warned me that you’d acquired some highland prejudices, and I’ll warrant our first meeting did naught to allay them, but you might at least meet Megan and ask her about it before you say I’ve maligned her. She was young then, of course, and not yet married. Indeed, ’tis hard now to imagine her up to such mischief, so sweet as she is, but the tale is a true one.” When Mary Kate only looked skeptical, he shook his head at her, but he was smiling again when they turned back toward the house.
A brief silence followed. “Adam?”
“Aye?”
“I thought you had gone.”
He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “I did, but only to collect my gear and Lucas Trotter, my manservant. Duncan invited me to stay here until the wedding.”
“Oh.” More silence. “Adam?”
“Aye, lassie.”
“You have not said yet about speaking to Father.”
“I have no wish to stir coals.” He grinned at her sigh of relief, and they entered the house to discover Duncan impatiently awaiting his supper. Conversation over the light meal soon turned to politics and the king, and Duncan asked whether it was true that there had been disturbances throughout the country since the execution of Mary of Scotland.
“True enough,” Douglas told him, “though I am told you’ve seen little of that kind of activity here in the highlands.”
“None tae speak about. ’Twas a muckle hard winter, and men have had aught else tae fill their time. In troth, though highlanders fight amongst themselves as oft as not, political strife is niver sae troublesome here as it be in the borders.”
Douglas glanced at Mary Kate, but when she merely returned his gaze without comment, he said, “’Tis true enough to say the borders are rarely peaceful and fair to say they are in a worse state now than usual. The king ordered peace, but so far his edict has had little effect, for Queen Elizabeth has most unfortunately failed to issue a similar edict. One cannot expect our lads to refuse to defend themselves against English raiders. People are angry, and not just with the English but with Jamie. They don’t seem to understand how little power he actually had to stop the English from executing his mother.”
“And was it sae little then?” Duncan asked.
Mary Kate held her breath.
“If you would believe Elizabeth,” Douglas said slowly, “the execution was carried out without her approval. If she could not stop it, what could Jamie possibly have done?”
“Aye,” Duncan muttered, “but what fool believes Elizabeth? They say the warrant carried both her signature and her seal.”
Douglas smiled. Fortunately neither man was looking at Mary Kate, who could scarcely believe what she was hearing. How, she wondered, could Douglas pretend that the king had had no knowledge of Mary’s danger when he must have carried the news to the royal ear himself? She had her mouth open to demand an answer to that question before she realized that she could not do so without betraying herself. Admitting that she had overheard the conversation at Critchfield would do no more than to arouse both Douglas and her father to anger, for she could prove nothing if the borderer denied his part in the business. Having arrived at this depressing conclusion, she could only be grateful when they changed the subject and Douglas began to relate amusing anecdotes of life at court.
The following afternoon a group of his friends arrived unexpectedly and, adhering to highland tradition, carried Douglas and Duncan off to Parish Hill, near the clachan, to celebrate the betrothal over mugs of whiskey. When they all returned a little the worse for drink, Mary Kate wisely decided to let them enjoy their supper without her.
Other than that one afternoon and evening, Douglas devoted his time to pleasing her. They rode together often and held long conversations on a wide variety of subjects. She discovered that besides being gifted in the art of telling an amusing tale, he could also be an attentive listener, and the interest he displayed in her thoughts and opinions surprised her, although she suspected that he was only attempting to charm her out of her so-called highland prejudices. No doubt, she told herself, once he had her safely under his thumb in the borders, he would expect her to put her mind to nothing more stimulating than obeying his wishes and running his household. It pleased her immeasurably, therefore, when his discovery of her prowess as a chess player clearly astonished him.
Chess was nearly the only indoor pastime to interest Duncan, so having discovered when Mary Kate was seven that she possessed innate skill at the game, he had taught her the finer points and encouraged her to play. Douglas readily admitted that she was an opponent worthy of his better efforts, and they played often. On one such occasion, a rather dismal and rainy afternoon, she once again nearly betrayed her knowledge of the meeting at Critchfield. They were discussing pawns.
“I used to think them but minor pieces,” she said.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Most players ignore them. But the end game is nothing without them, so a skillful player protects his. ’Tis much the same in real life. A king needs the support of his subjects, his pawns if you will. In wars they make up his armies. Remember that in Gaelic the pawn is called fiann, the soldier. Like soldiers, pawns are expendable in small numbers, but if the king loses them all, he will lose the war. In the more complicated business of statecraft, the same holds true. Look at Jamie now. He scurries from castle to castle trying to avoid public condemnation of his lack of action on Mary’s behalf. He is afraid of losing his pawns—their loyalty at least—over the matter of her execution.”
“Well, the people are right to be angry.” Mary Kate paused to consider her next move and, in light of their conversation, decided to remove a pawn from mortal danger. “She was his own mother, after all.”
“Not really a relevant point, since he scarcely knew her,” Douglas observed dryly. “He was but ten months old the last time he laid eyes upon her. Then, too, an extra monarch running around Scotland, and a Catholic monarch at that, might have proved as much of an embarrassment to the Scottish people as to their king. No one objected very strenuously to her long imprisonment, after all. Thank you for moving that pawn, by the by.” The bishop that had threatened her piece now swooped across its erstwhile position to a place behind Douglas’s king. Mary Kate thought she could detect a weakness in his defenses, however, and with her mind on the board did not choose her words carefully.
“But the king couldn’t have wanted her to be murdered, and he just let it happen. Why, as soon as he heard—” Good God, she thought, what was she saying? In a flustered attempt to cover the slip, she pushed her queen forward, attacking the weakness. “Your king is in check, sir.”
He chuckled gleefully. “I was afraid you wouldn’t succumb to that gambit. Guard your own, lass, for the tables are turned.” With that he interposed a pawn in the space between her queen and his king, thus opening a threatening pathway from his bishop to her king. Mary Kate was left with two choices. She could move her king or interpose her queen. The latter move would sacrifice the queen merely to delay the inevitable.
“Damn your eyes, sir, I believe I must resign. If you cannot achieve mortshainn within three moves after this villainy, you are not the player I judge you to be.”
“Aye,” he agreed, smiling, “and I have always thought the Gaelic term far more colorful than its English counterpart. Your king finds himself not just checkmated but in a ‘fatal predicament.�
�� You were too impulsive, lassie. I have noted the tendency a time or two before. You play a remarkably fine game for a woman, but your strategy is instinctive, and you tend to forget while you concentrate upon your devious schemes that your opponent has plans of his own. But don’t look so glum. Some of the best players fall victim to that fault from time to time, putting you in excellent company.”
“Thank you, but I wanted to win, and it makes me feel stupid not to have guarded my queen more wisely.”
“Like Jamie? What did you mean a moment ago when you said he let it happen?” His gaze was singularly penetrating, and she had the feeling, in her guilt, that he would read her mind. He had been gentle and kind for the past few days, and she knew he meant to please her. Still, there had been a time or two—like the previous evening when she had let a hint of sauciness color a reply to her father—when Douglas had surprised her with a reproving glance, reminding her uncomfortably of that overbearing manner she so disliked and, if she had to be honest, even feared a little. All too soon now, he would be responsible, legally, for her behavior, and she had not yet determined how she would manage to hold her own against him. She knew she had been unwise to challenge him so defiantly that day near Braelairig, and she had no wish to arouse his temper now. Nor could she doubt that a confession of her ill-gained knowledge would arouse it.
“Do you not mean to tell me, mistress?”
Her face reddened, but she answered steadily enough, “I lost the thread of our conversation along with my queen, sir. I was but trying to remember. I think only that the king ought to have been able to intercede to stop the execution. He is the king, after all, and must have known of the death sentence against her.”
“As to that,” he answered quietly, “you are entitled to your opinion, of course. I can only repeat what I said at supper the other evening. Jamie did send a delegation to London, you know, to plead against the sentence of the commission that tried Mary, but Elizabeth herself disclaims prior knowledge of the execution. She insists that she signed the warrant unwittingly amidst a pile of other papers and that the deed was done before she could order it stopped. If she refuses to accept responsibility, how can anyone blame Jamie?”
