The Border Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  She obeyed, leaning back against silk-covered pillows, still tense but breathing less raggedly until he began to remove his breeks. Then, turning away in dismay, she screwed her eyes tight shut and remained so, concentrating on the light scent of herbs wafting from the heath padding beneath the feather bed, until she felt his weight beside her. Hardly daring to breathe at all, for she realized at once that there was nothing now between his bare skin and hers, she slowly, reluctantly opened her eyes when he commanded her to do so.

  He had snuffed all but the one candle beside the bed, and now he gathered her into his arms, holding her quietly for some moments until her heart had ceased to pound so thuddingly against her ribs. She was grateful for his patience until she realized that such patience no doubt came from vast experience. Even then, she was glad that he knew more than she did. She could trust him to initiate her, properly and without awkwardness, into the mysteries of the marriage bed.

  Raising himself onto one elbow, he smoothed her hair gently away from her forehead, and she was astonished to discover how her body reacted to even this light touch. She was intensely aware of his presence. He seemed bigger, more masculine, more powerful than ever. He stopped stroking her hair and gently drew a single fingertip along her left cheek. The color ebbed and flowed in her face, making it appear first ghostly, then rosy, in the golden candlelight. He watched her closely, and Mary Kate looked back at him, her eyes wide and wary.

  “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, and to her amazement she felt her body relaxing, obeying his command whether she wished it to do so or not. Douglas’s finger moved along the line of her jaw to the point of her chin, then gently up to outline her lips.

  Suddenly, she wanted to kiss his finger, but she resisted the impulse, fearing to break the spell that she was under. His finger moved back to her chin and then down the left side of her throat, lingering momentarily where her pulse throbbed. Ever so gently, he lowered his head and began to kiss her.

  At first his kisses were but flickering touches of warmth upon her lips, but soon they became firmer, more demanding, and she found herself responding with a passion that astonished her. Her body had discovered a life of its own, ungoverned by her mind, and every nerve ending shouted for more stimulation. When, with his lips still in firm possession of hers, Douglas began to push the sheet and blankets away from her body, she moaned in brief protest, but when his teasing finger brushed gently against the tip of her breast, she gasped at the new sensations that flashed through her. Her body began to strain toward his touch, moving sensuously beneath his skillful hands, and her moans became sobbing cries of pleasure. Hearing herself, she thought briefly that such behavior must be improper, even wanton. What must he think of her?

  At that moment, he lifted his head, and he was smiling, his eyes atwinkle in the candlelight. “This is only the beginning, sweetheart,” he said, “but I begin to believe I have discovered how best to tame you.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but the words died in her throat when his hand moved lightly over the soft mound of her stomach, then lower, pushing the blankets further down, caressing her intimately, possessively. Clearly, protest was useless. He was too strong, too much in control of her body. She could do nothing to stop him, so she watched his eyes, fascinated, as Douglas’s warm gaze followed the movements of his wandering hand.

  The candlelight gave her skin an amber glow and glistened upon titian highlights in the tawny, silken triangle at the fork of her legs. His fingers skimmed over the silk.

  She trembled again when she felt a single finger touch midway down the inside of her thigh, then slowly tease its way back up. The action was repeated along the other thigh, and then he began to trace the outer lips of the secret place itself. This firmer touch sent a fiery wave through her, awakening new feelings, introducing her to yet more incredible sensations. She was lost to it all. She had closed her eyes and was mentally submerged in the flood of her awakening sexuality. Her breathing was faster. Her body made more overt gestures of its own, urging him on, and Douglas saw the signs. She knew he did, for when she opened her eyes, he was smiling more broadly than before.

  He began to speak in a low, caressing tone as he explained in detail what he meant to do next. His hand continued to move as he spoke, and since her body insisted upon responding to his lightest touch, Mary Kate found it difficult to attend to what he was saying, but she went still with shock when he took her hand and drew it toward himself, explaining that he would soon penetrate her body with his own. She tried to snatch her hand away, but he held it firmly.

  “There is naught to fear, sweetling,” he said quietly. “’Tis only flesh.”

  “You will hurt me,” she protested, eyes wider now than ever.

  “Not very much, and only for a moment this one time, I promise. Afterward it will be pleasant.”

  “I daresay you know that for a fact,” she replied tartly.

  Douglas chuckled and, moments later, had rendered her helpless once more. Still, he did not rush things but continued to build her passions to fever pitch with his kisses and caresses, so that she scarcely realized his intent when he moved at last to possess her.

  She cried out at the brief pain, but if what followed was not quite as pleasant as he had promised, there was enough in the wonder of it all to offset the discomfort. The second time he took her was better, and later, as she lay in his arms, drifting languorously into sleep, the thought crossed her mind that there were certain advantages to marriage, advantages of which she had not previously been aware.

  7

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, MARY Kate awoke with a flood of memory from the night before, accompanied by a brief but sharp stab of shame and embarrassment. She was lying on her side, facing away from Douglas, and she couldn’t decide whether she dared to turn toward him. His breathing came lightly, evenly, so she knew he still slept, but someone had opened the curtains. It would not be long before he awoke.

  Even as she formed the thought, the rhythm of his breathing changed. He stirred. Then he was still. Too still. She knew he was awake. Very conscious of the fact that she was lying naked beside him, she knew also that she would have to turn over, that she could not bear not to see the expression in his eyes.

  Accordingly, she moved slowly onto her back, slowly so that if she was mistaken and he still slept, she would not waken him. She turned her head to look at him and felt the warmth rush to her cheeks when her gaze met his twinkling eyes.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, grinning. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye.” The word was no more than a whisper.

  His eyes were practically overflowing with amusement, but she refused to avoid his gaze, hoping thus to conceal any further discomfiture on her part. It occurred to her that what she really wanted to do was to dive under the covers, never to face him or anyone else again. But then he reached for her, his hand lightly brushing against the curve of her breast, sending tingles of pleasure through her body, and once she was in his arms, all thought of shame vanished and her previous embarrassment was forgotten as she submitted eagerly to his will.

  The interlude was a brief one, for Douglas had no intention of spending the day in bed. Nevertheless, when they arose, Mary Kate’s body was aglow with the warmth of spent passion and she gave no particular thought to her nudity as she moved to look for her clothes. A simple gown of gray wool with a narrow white lace ruff and matching lace at the cuffs had been pressed for her and lay now across the back of a tall armchair. She assumed that Lucas Trotter had seen to it and sent him a silent thank you.

  They dressed quickly, and then Mary Kate followed her husband downstairs to the great hall, a vast and chilly chamber, to break their fast. As soon as they had done so, Douglas introduced her to the household servants. Their number amazed her, but her eyes rounded in further astonishment when he laughingly informed her that she had met only the upper servants.

  “You’ll come to know them all in time, lass,” he said, still c
huckling, “but come along now. I’ve got a wee surprise for you.” Drawing her arm through his own, he led her out to the stable yard, where he shouted for Geordie Elliot.

  A small, gray-haired man, bowlegged and weathered of face, emerged from the stables leading a sleek dappled mare, which stepped daintily, tossing her silver mane and tail. When he brought her to a standstill before them, Mary Kate turned to her husband, eyes shining.

  “Oh, Adam, she is beautiful! What is she called?”

  “Sesi,” he replied, “though by the look of her, it ought to be Saucy. An appropriate bride gift, I believe.”

  “She’s mine? Truly?”

  “Aye, I thought she would stir a few fond memories of our courtship.” He grinned, mocking her, and Mary Kate blushed. But she was too pleased with her gift to respond to his teasing with anything but pleasure. Sesi nuzzled her shoulder.

  “Is she swift?” she asked Elliot.

  “Aye, mistress. Good speed and a bonny temper.” He eyed her small figure skeptically, adding on a note of doubt, “Master says ye’ve a good seat on a horse.”

  Douglas laughed. “She rides like thistledown on the wind, Geordie. Do you like her, lass?”

  “Oh, Adam, how can you ask? May I ride her now?”

  “Aye, I’ll take you out myself when you’ve changed. But mind, lass,” he added in a sterner tone, “you are not to leave the stable yard without a groom or go beyond the main gate without an armed escort. You mind that, too, Geordie.”

  The older man nodded in agreement.

  “But, Adam, why not? I am not a child, and I have often ridden alone at home.”

  “This is not Speyside House, lass, nor yet Clan Chattan land, and since the queen’s execution, the borders are more dangerous than ever. The Scots are bad enough, the English even worse, and wife stealing is a favorite practice for both, despite the fact that it is a hanging offense. You will obey me in this, Mary Kate, or you will soon wish that you had.”

  Fear that he might forbid her riding altogether was all that kept her from arguing, for she believed that he exaggerated the danger and was merely taking another opportunity to exert his authority over her. He couldn’t know much about life in the highlands, she decided, if he thought there was never danger there. She could take care of herself. But she stifled these rebellious thoughts and nodded submissively, glad when Douglas appeared to be satisfied.

  They had their ride, escorted by twenty of his men, and the district certainly seemed peaceful enough. Mary Kate loved the rolling green, nearly treeless hills with their vivid splashes of colorful wildflowers. The people she saw were busy with planting, lambing, and other spring chores, making it difficult for her to imagine any of them engaged in either battle or foray. Surely, she told herself, her husband had magnified the risks in order to frighten her into obedience.

  There were more rides in the days that followed, and each passed without incident, until even Douglas could no longer deny the prevailing atmosphere of peace. No news came to the castle of raiding parties or other disturbances, for even the English were quiet for the moment. Like the Scots, they had spring planting to see to and sheep to be tended. The men on both sides of the border were too much occupied to indulge in other, more dangerous activities. Accordingly, the daily escorts were reduced in number until finally, two weeks after their arrival, Douglas offered to take his wife alone to old Torr na Righe, pleasing her greatly because she had not yet explored the village or the ruins of the castle above it and preferred to see both without an armed escort.

  On the day chosen for their expedition, Douglas ordered out the horse cart, a light two-wheeled vehicle with a fur-covered seat and room behind for parcels and supplies. The cart was drawn by a sturdy border horse, and they rattled along in fine style, heading west across rolling, barren hills, down into green and grassy dells, then up a more thickly forested hill and down again into the narrow valley formed by Borthwick Water as it wended its way to join the White Esk.

  “There is an ancient Roman fort where the waters meet,” Douglas told her once they had rattled across a plank bridge and turned north onto the well-rutted Roman road that followed the west bank of Borthwick Water, “but we won’t go so far as that today. Would you like to take the reins for a while?”

  She accepted them with delight, confiding that she loved to drive. “My father built me a pony cart when I was twelve. Morag was used to make up baskets of food whenever anyone was ailing, and I delivered them in my cart.”

  He let her drive until they reached the entrancingly picturesque village that squatted upon a narrow, semicircular piece of ground between the smoothly running water and the foot of the steep hillside rising from its western bank. The roadway, cobbled and narrow, was flanked on one hand by a low stone parapet overlooking Borthwick Water and on the other by several cottages, an alehouse, a smithy, a carter’s, and a number of shops, including a drapery and chandlery.

  Taking the reins from her, Douglas drew the horse to a halt at the near end of the village in front of the drapery, and once he had helped her descend to the cobbles, they walked to the top of the street and worked their way back toward the cart, visiting each shop in turn. Mary Kate purchased ribbons and a pair of lace mittens before they entered the drapery and she met Michael Scott, who astonished her with the news that he could order fabrics and other materials for her from as far away as London, Paris, or even Venice.

  “We don’t know how he manages it,” Douglas confided when they returned to the cart, “and we don’t ask. What with all the sumptuary laws and restrictions, ’tis my belief he traffics with English smugglers.” He chuckled at her look of astonishment.

  The ruins of Torr na Righe topped the hill above the village, and as they wandered up the narrow path to take a closer look, Douglas tried to draw a word picture for her of the once mighty though primitive fortress. Mary Kate, seeing little more than a pile of rubble, privately thought it looked more romantic from the road.

  Their return journey was uneventful, and she hoped Douglas would lift his restrictions regarding her own excursions beyond the castle gates, but that hope vanished the following week when he announced that he had received orders at last to rejoin the king in Edinburgh.

  “Jamie himself sent for me, or I’d bide here a while longer,” he assured her. “I’ve no wish to leave.” He was pulling on a pair of leather riding breeks as he spoke, and he missed her expression of disappointment.

  Mary Kate was surprised by her own emotions. She didn’t want him to go. Of course, she told herself, it was only that she was new to the castle and its people and might be lonely. Otherwise, she certainly wouldn’t miss him.

  Lucas Trotter handed him his rawhide boots, and he began to drag them on, saying, “I’ll stay at my house in the Canongate, lass. Send word there if you have need of me.”

  “Take me with you.” The words were out before she knew she was going to utter them, and he shot her an amused, speculative look from under his heavy brows.

  “What’s this? Never confess you will miss me.” When she wrinkled her nose at him, he shook his head, that mocking gleam still lighting his eyes. “Not this time, lassie. I will have to make speed, and I have no knowledge yet of what’s been happening whilst I’ve been away or what the king’s plans are, or even if he means for me to remain any time in town. There’s an earldom awaiting me if naught occurs to fling me out of royal favor, because Jamie wants powerful men whom he can trust here in the borders. How would you like to be a countess?”

  “Wouldn’t I still be Lady Douglas all the same?”

  “Nay, that you would not. The Douglas earldom was forfeited by my ancestor, James, the ninth earl, better known as the Black Douglas. Our family was then the most powerful in Scotland, far more powerful than the crown in many ways and therefore too powerful for our own good. After the forfeiture, another branch, the Red Douglas, gained power, but their prestige is on the wane now, thanks to Morton.”

  Mary Kate nodded wisely. She knew
that the treacherous James Douglas, fourth Earl of Morton and the last of several regents suffered by the young king, had been executed some years before for contriving the murder of the king’s father, Lord Darnley. “But is not the Earl of Angus also a Douglas?” she asked, remembering what little Margaret had told her of the Douglas family history.

  “Aye, sweet Archibald.” Douglas grinned at her look of puzzlement. “Ours is a complicated clan, sweetheart. Angus is a Douglas, sure enough, but he is also Morton’s nephew, which is a strong point against him. And although he contrived to retain power for some time by making himself useful to Jamie in London,” he added confidingly, “I fear that he has recently fallen a wee bit out of favor.”

  “He was the king’s emissary to Queen Elizabeth before Queen Mary was murdered, was he hot?”

  “He was, and a rare muck he made of that business, too. Jamie believes Angus ought first of all to have been able to stop them from trying a Scottish queen for treason against England, and secondly he thinks Angus ought to have supplied him with better, speedier information. Here, Trotter,” he called over his shoulder, “take this gear down to the yard.”

  Mary Kate bit her tongue, thankful for the brief respite while his attention was diverted. Knowing as she did that King James must have had all the information he required in October and that he had done nothing about it, she thought it hard on Archibald Douglas to be out of favor for such reasons. Although she could not question the matter without risking Douglas’s asking a few embarrassing questions of his own, she could certainly admit to confusion. “Since Angus is an earl already, why cannot the king make you the Earl of Douglas?”