The Border Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  Ned was soon sent about his business by another laughing cavalier, and as partner succeeded partner, Mary Kate kept a careful eye upon her husband. He had not danced with Megan for some time, but neither did he seem particularly interested in his wife. At one point, admittedly, he had taken a step or two in her direction, but Mary Kate had seen him coming and had quickly accepted an invitation from a handsome young man who swept her immediately into the dance that was forming at the time. She knew Megan had lodged no accusation against her, for there would have been immediate repercussions, but Douglas might still ask an awkward question or two. Or worse, she might lose her temper with him over his own behavior. It would be better, she decided, to avoid him altogether for a time.

  He made no further attempt to approach her, although his eyes met hers upon more than one occasion. When he danced again with Megan later in the evening, after some of the guests had taken their leave, Mary Kate encountered a gleam of mischievous triumph in Megan’s eyes. Turning pointedly away, she addressed a flirtatious remark to her own astonished partner, only to have him reply in kind. Recalled to her senses, she snubbed him firmly a moment later.

  As the evening dragged on, she put more effort into appearing to enjoy herself, but her thoughts kept returning to Douglas and his cousin. Was she merely jealous, she wondered, and making too much of their relationship? To be sure, Douglas himself had shown little in the way of loverlike behavior toward Megan. His attitude was friendly, but thinking about his behavior objectively, Mary Kate had to admit she had detected nothing more than friendship. Moreover, though he had made no real effort to understand her dislike for Megan, he did seem honestly confused by it, and Douglas was not a fool. Was Ned right and her ladyship only having her own devious fun? But then, with deep humiliation, she remembered that gleam of triumph in Megan’s eyes and the fact that the older girl knew about her punishment. How could Douglas have told her about that unless they were very intimate indeed with each other?

  Mary Kate gritted her teeth, calling herself a fool and childish besides, reminding herself that it did no good to speculate about such matters. To hurl accusations at her husband as she had done over Susan Kennedy would likewise be of no use. She would have to be more careful, more subtle. If all else failed, she would simply ask him outright about his feelings for his cousin.

  With these decisions made, she felt better and ready at last to face him. Since it seemed clear enough now that he believed the business with the wine to have been an accident, she decided she had nothing to fear on that score. Besides, she told herself, since she had stayed downstairs at all, there was little point in leaving him alone for Megan to do her worst.

  She found him with a group of weary guests who had decided to sit out a dance or two to rest themselves. Several ladies were sitting on benches in a window embrasure, while most of the men leaned against the wall nearby. Douglas shot her a quizzical look, but the others greeted her cheerfully, and one lilting, musical voice rose above the others.

  “Mary Kate,” Megan said, “do come sit with us and rest your feet. I have just been telling everyone the most amusing tales about your husband.”

  Mary Kate tensed at the taunting note in her voice, but the others obligingly moved over on the bench to make room for her, and with so many watching, the invitation could not with any civility be refused. As soon as she had seated herself, Megan went on with a laughing tale about Douglas’s prowess, or lack thereof, on the tennis court, followed immediately by more stories of his escapades as a child. Several others joined in these reminiscences, but Mary Kate’s attention was fixed upon Megan, who made it sound as though she and Douglas had passed years in each other’s continuous, intimate company.

  Although Mary Kate knew such a thing to have been impossible, she felt the flames of her anger begin to burn again, and by the time the last tale had come to its humorous conclusion, she had forgotten her tactful intentions and wanted only to give free rein to her temper. But she could not speak in front of them all. She was forced to contain herself until the last guest had taken his departure, by which time she believed she had herself well in hand again.

  Though Megan observed then with a sigh that it would be pleasant to relax for a time with a glass of wine to review the activities, physical exertion and lack of sleep had taken their toll and Douglas offered no objection when his wife suggested that they retire immediately instead. Lady Strachan, because of her health, had gone to bed soon after supper, but his lordship and Ned had lasted to the end. They both agreed with Mary Kate that the time had come for sleep, and no one else appeared to notice Megan’s frown of disappointment, but Mary Kate gained pleasure from it, shooting the older girl a mocking smile as they left the room amidst a warm exchange of good nights.

  Lucas Trotter was waiting for Douglas, and Mary Kate went to her own chamber, her mind working rapidly. She was determined to speak to Douglas, but she did not wish to antagonize him and hoped that this time she could control her temper and remain reasonable, calm, and controlled. She waited only until Annie and Trotter had been dismissed before approaching him.

  He was standing near the hearth with its low-glowing embers, draining a mug of mulled wine. His chin was tilted up, and she could see the muscles work in his throat as he swallowed the last few drops. He put the mug down on the mantle shelf and, aware now of her presence, turned to face her, stifling a yawn. He looked tired, almost vulnerable. “Ready for bed, sweetheart?”

  “Aye.” He held out a hand to her. “First I have something to say to you, sir.” Her voice was stiff with determination.

  His eyes narrowed, but he said calmly, “Do you wish to speak here or may we go to bed first?”

  She hesitated, experiencing a sudden sinking feeling that perhaps she had been mistaken, that perhaps he was expecting a confession of some sort from her.

  Fortunately, he answered himself. “Here, I think. If I lie down, I shall probably fall asleep, which is never a wise thing to do in the midst of a curtain lecture.” When her eyes flew wide, he chuckled, pulling up a pair of stools near the hearth. “Don’t look so amazed, sweetheart, You’ve been shooting dagger looks from your pretty eyes these past two hours and longer, making it only too obvious that I have done something to vex you. Whatever it is, tell me.”

  She sat down opposite him, trying to compose her thoughts. The fears were calmed again, but they had caught her off guard, disturbing her careful poise.

  “Well, what is it, lassie?” There was an overtone of impatience now. He was tired. “Let’s have it.”

  “You told her,” she blurted, forgetting her decision to lead up to the subject gradually and with tact.

  “I told what to whom?”

  “Her! Your precious Lady Somerville.” She looked away as she spoke, to stare grimly into the embers, and so did not see him stiffen at her tone. “You told her about…” She paused, swallowing hard. “About when you…when I…about what you did to me.”

  He understood at once and cursed fluently. “Is that what has been troubling you?”

  She nodded, thinking that would do for a start.

  “Megan’s been flapping her tongue again, I see. I will have something to say to her about that, believe me.” When she looked up at him accusingly, he admitted sharply, “Oh, I told her, but it was not as you think. You were in one of your sulks, and she asked me—in jest, mind you—if I was not sometimes tempted to smack you. I tried to laugh it off, but she asked point-blank if I ever had done so, and though I told her it was no concern of hers, she knew the answer by looking at me. I swear that’s all, lass. We have not been discussing you behind your back.”

  She was far from satisfied, but the thought occurred to her that if she were to press the issue, he might well ask how Megan had come to mention her knowledge. Such a question would lead inevitably to a much more awkward discussion. Even now, if he were to take Megan to task for talking too much, the truth of the spilled claret would no doubt be divulged to him.

  �
�Is that all, Mary Kate?”

  “You kissed her!”

  For a moment he looked puzzled. Then his brow cleared and he shot her a direct, unrepentant, even a challenging look. “Aye, you’re right, I did. An innocent kiss in front of a roomful of friends. What about it?”

  “You spend all your time with her.”

  “Women!” He snorted. “I do not spend all my time with her, and you know it. I don’t know what has got into you, madam, but if you are angry because I danced often with her tonight, I’ll tell you to your head that I did so only because you seemed determined to avoid me and I preferred dancing with my cousin to being accused of flirting with any of the local wenches. You are jealous without cause.” He paused, glaring. “If anyone has reason, it is I, the way you were leading all those damned fellows about by the nose. And what about Ned Lumsden, eh? He was never far from your side that I could see.”

  He was building up a good healthy anger, and she stared at him, amazed. “You are jealous.”

  “Huh? Nonsense!” he snapped. “If I thought there were cause to be jealous, you’d have heard me say so long since.” He controlled his temper with visible effort. “This discussion is pointless, Mary Kate. I am too tired to argue. If you would set aside your own foolish jealousies and your ridiculous highland prejudices long enough to make an effort to like Megan, I believe you would find the task not so difficult as you think.”

  She glared at him. “It is not mere jealousy that I feel, sir, and as for my prejudices, as you choose to call them, I have found little to prove they are not simple truths instead. Indeed, your failure to consider that there must be two versions to any tale does much to strengthen my opinion of border men. And if you are so tired,” she added tartly, “perhaps I had better sleep in my own bed.”

  “Don’t be absurd.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “You overreact, sweetheart, see demons where they don’t exist. Now, cease your deaving, and come to bed.”

  She obeyed reluctantly, annoyed that he could still think her beliefs only foolish prattle and certain, too, that she was too keyed up to sleep. Nevertheless, she was exhausted and fell into deep slumber almost the moment her head touched the pillow.

  The next morning, when she awoke with vague memories of wakefulness and disturbed dreams, she did not feel at all rested. Her eyelids were heavy with sleep, and she would have liked to remain right where she was, but she could not lie abed, for the family meant to attend service at the nearby village kirk.

  Douglas made no attempt to cheer her, and she decided he must still be vexed with her. She was sure of it when some perverse spirit caused him to greet his cousin enthusiastically, complimenting her looks, her gown, her cheerfulness. If he mentioned anything to Megan about her flapping tongue, Mary Kate saw no sign of it.

  She glowered at them both. So much for plain speaking. Obviously, she thought, her criticism had only spurred Douglas on to more outrageous behavior. That opinion was bolstered later by his actions on the way to the village. They waked in pairs along the dusty road, and with Mary Kate silent beside him, he had no qualms about carrying on a conversation over his shoulder with his cousins. Ned tried once or twice to draw Mary Kate into the discussion, but her responses were brief and unencouraging.

  Douglas and Megan were in high spirits, their chatter punctuated with bursts of hilarity. When a courageous toad made a sudden appearance in the roadway and an equally sudden retreat back into the bordering scrub, they roared with laugher.

  “Oh, Adam, do you remember when you put the toad under Mr. Browder’s lecture notes at Tornary kirk?” Megan’s lilting voice was full of merriment.

  Douglas chuckled. “Aye. How the poor man jumped when he turned his page and the wee beastie flew out at him!”

  “I remember, as well,” put in his lordship wryly from up in front of them, “that someone else jumped a bit once we got back to the castle that day.”

  Douglas grimaced and cast a speaking glance over his shoulder at his cousin, making her laugh again, and although the two of them had to affect more sober demeanors when they reached the little stone kirk, they were still in excellent spirits when they took their places in the family pew. Lord Strachan entered first, followed by his lady. Then Megan gave smiling precedence to Mary Kate, allowing her to enter behind Lady Strachan, and Mary Kate found herself seated between her husband’s mother and Lady Somerville before she recognized the latter’s purpose. Douglas took his place next to Megan with Ned on his other side.

  Several times during the service Mary Kate heard her husband and Megan whispering and thought angrily that Parson MacDole, back in the clachan, would have made short shrift of their lack of attention to the lesson. She well remembered more than one occasion when the dour man of the cloth had halted his sermon midsentence until some disturbance had been stifled. Once he had actually remonstrated with an errant soul right then and there, recalling him to the proprieties in no uncertain terms.

  After a curious glance at Mr. Cory, the local parson, who also appeared to be a stern man, she sat quietly with her eyes properly downcast. Even the irritating whispers failed to arouse her enough to look up. But suddenly the minister’s voice took on a new note, one more in keeping with her own feelings.

  “Rose MacReady!” he bellowed. “Thou art condemned! Step forth and confront thy neighbors in thine infamy!”

  Startled, Mary Kate looked up as a pretty young woman, barefoot and wearing sackcloth, was led up the aisle by the bailie and forced to climb the steps to a raised dais near the parson’s lectern, to sit there upon a high stool. The young woman’s cheeks burned scarlet with shame as she gazed steadfastly at her hands, clenched tightly in her lap.

  “Our Lord,” continued Cory in stentorian accents, “condemneth whoredom in deed or thought, Rose MacReady! Thou knockest at the gates of hell! Adultery, though it be committed only in thy mind, be yet a grievous sin. Repentest thou, Rose MacReady, before it is too late!”

  The harangue continued, and it became clear that poor Rose MacReady, having been accused by her own husband of secretly lusting after another man, had been condemned without right or recourse to the cockstool, as highlanders called that seat of repentance for offenders against chastity. Mary Kate had never actually seen the stool put to use before, but she knew that poor Rose must sit there through at least one entire service, maybe even two or three, to suffer the agonizing humiliation of formal, public reprimand from the parson, after which she must confess her crime and repent of it before the entire congregation.

  Mary Kate felt sorry for the girl, but the other witnesses did not seem to share her feelings. Several nodded in stern-faced agreement with Mr. Cory’s searing words. Others hid smiles of derision behind lifted hands. One—a man with a bristly red beard—sat stiffly, staring straight ahead with no expression at all upon his face, and Mary Kate wondered if he was Mr. MacReady or even the “other man.”

  Her attention was diverted by a giggle, quickly stifled, from the young woman next to her. She glanced at Megan reprovingly, but the older girl paid her no heed. She was batting her lashes at Douglas and grinning mischievously, mocking Rose MacReady. Even Douglas appeared to be shocked by her behavior, but when he cast a speaking glance in the direction of his parents, his frown was more amused than angry. Megan subsided, but Mary Kate glared disgustedly at the pair of them.

  When the long morning service was done, they walked out again into the open air. Instead of remaining with Lord and Lady Strachan as Ned did, Megan chose to attach herself to Douglas and Mary Kate while they moved from group to group of friends and neighbors. Every now and again she would rest a possessive hand upon Douglas’s arm, playing the lady of the manor to the hilt and even going so far as to introduce Mary Kate to persons whom she had not yet met.

  “This is Lady Douglas, you know. Sir Adam’s wife.” As though the explanation were necessary, Mary Kate thought angrily the third time it happened. Indeed, considering the older girl’s proprietary air, perhaps it was necessary.
She glanced at Douglas, wondering how he would react to such outrageous behavior. He seemed only amused, however, and not at all disturbed by Megan’s antics.

  By the time they returned to Strachan Court, Mary Kate was seething. Lady Strachan had endured the walk very well and readily agreed to her husband’s suggestion that they await the announcement of dinner on the terrace. She added that she would like to have her tapestry-work in hand, in order that her fingers not remain idle, and Ned immediately offered to fetch it from the winter parlor where she had left it.

  Megan looked down at her skirts in dismay. “I cannot dine in all this dirt. The dust of the road has all but changed the color of this gown.”

  Lady Strachan laughingly remarked that although her own gown was in a like state she refused to bustle about, throwing off one costume only to replace it with another for dinner with the family. She would shake out her skirts, but that was all. Megan insisted, however, and started up the stairs.

  Impulsively, Mary Kate announced that she, too, would change her gown and, before any protest could be made, hastened after Megan, catching up with her at the top of the stairs in the window hall. “Lady Somerville, one moment, if you please,” she said in a low, insistent voice. “I would speak with you.”

  Megan turned, her head cocked a little to one side, her hands folded demurely at her waist. “What is it now, Mary Kate?” She spoke impatiently, as to a refractory child.

  Mary Kate clenched her fists against her skirts, but she was determined. “I can no longer tolerate your behavior toward my husband. ’Tis unmannerly and unsuitable.” She kept her voice low and controlled, since a servant might appear at any moment.