The Border Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  “Welcome, welcome, everyone!” Margaret cried as she ran down the steps to the circular drive to greet them, waving with one hand while she held up her voluminous skirts with the other.

  Mary Kate forgot all her troubles in the delight of seeing her new sister again, and Margaret hustled them all inside for refreshment, saying that Douglas, not knowing exactly when to expect their arrival, was with the king and had asked her to play hostess in his absence.

  “I am to introduce you to the housekeeper and help you choose a personal maidservant,” she informed Mary Kate, who explained that the latter duty was unnecessary, since Annie Jardine had requested and been granted permission to serve her.

  Lord and Lady Strachan departed for Ardcarach House half an hour later, taking Ned and Megan with them, and Mary Kate, alone with Margaret, found herself subjected to a searching stare. She tried to meet it but failed and turned away, biting her lip.

  “I knew it.” Margaret sighed. “Something is wrong. Adam has been either gruff or silent ever since he arrived, and now you look just wretched. He blamed his rude behavior on that stupid sword cut, but I didn’t believe him then, and seeing you now, I believe it less than ever. You may come along with me upstairs to your bedchamber, my lass, for you are going to tell Aunt Margaret all about it.” She paused only long enough to make good her promise to introduce Mrs. Comfort, the housekeeper, before bustling her protesting charge up the stairs.

  Mary Kate held a hurried mental conference with her conscience, assuring it that she would tell Margaret no more than was necessary, but she might as well have spared herself the effort. Inside her bedchamber, Mistress Douglas unhesitatingly dismissed Annie, then pulled two armchairs up to the cheerful fire and demanded to be told the whole.

  Mary Kate, attempting to evade the question, was quickly brought to remember that although she had, in her married state, somehow come to think of the unmarried Margaret as being younger than herself, such was not, in fact, the case. Indeed, Mistress Douglas was of an age with Lady Somerville and possessed besides all the authority of superior size. She would brook no nonsense, and although Mary Kate was never certain afterward how it had been accomplished, Margaret soon coaxed the whole sorry tale out of her.

  The details were tangled, of course, necessitating that Margaret ask many questions, but she managed nonetheless to put herself in possession of nearly all the facts of Mary Kate’s recent history. She shook her head over Susan Kennedy, laughed at Mary Kate’s revenge, and seemed unsurprised by Douglas’s retaliation. She expressed proper indignation at Megan’s behavior, sisterly disgust at Douglas’s blindness, distress over his demand for an apology, and horror at Mary Kate’s capture by the reivers. In fact, she exemplified the perfect audience, and Mary Kate warmed to her quickly, explaining details she would later scold herself for divulging. One such detail was her description of the frozen expression on Douglas’s face during his confrontation with Lord Strachan.

  Margaret grimaced. “I have seen that look,” she said. “Indeed, I have felt it upon my own face more than once. When my father’s temper is aroused, his voice can freeze the sun. ’Tis a thoroughly discomforting experience.”

  “I believe you,” Mary Kate said with simple sincerity. “But now you know everything. Adam set off with his men to capture the brigands, then delivered them to Roxburgh and came straight on to Edinburgh. I thought everyone would know by the manner of his arrival that something was wrong.”

  “Well, they won’t,” Margaret said flatly. “I warrant no one will think twice about it unless you go about with a long face. Everyone knows how my mother travels and how Adam abominates a turtle’s pace. But something must be done to right things between you, else there will be talk soon enough. And with my wedding day fast approaching, if they are going to talk about Douglases, I want them to talk about the beautiful bride, not about her doltish brother and his moping wife.”

  Mary Kate summoned up a wan smile. “But what can I do? He is too angry to speak to me.”

  “Let me think,” said Margaret. “I have seen this reaction before, you know. Adam generally has a sunny temperament, but when he gets angry, he needs to fire up into a good red blaze till his temper burns itself out, or else it tends to smolder deep down where no one can see it, which is not at all a good thing. ’Twould be best if he were to roar at you the first moment you and he are alone together.”

  When Mary Kate bit her lip at the vision this suggestion produced in her mind, Margaret shook her head. “I said it would be best. I didn’t say he will do such a thing. He will not. Too much time has passed for that. He will be chilly and very polite instead. Therefore, if you want to clear the air, you have merely to enrage him once more and be willing to take the consequences. Then we can all be comfortable again.”

  17

  MARGARET SAT BACK IN her chair with an air of thorough satisfaction, while Mary Kate stared at her in dismay. “You must be mad, Margaret,” she said finally. “The last thing I want to do is to vex him further. I want to make my peace with him, to explain everything to him.”

  “By all means,” Margaret agreed amiably. “If you think you can turn the trick by discussing this muddle with him, go right ahead.” She paused, and her eyes began to twinkle. “My own experience has shown that he does not tend to be particularly reasonable when one of these moods sets in, but perhaps you will be more successful than I ever was.”

  The statement was not an encouraging one, and Mary Kate remembered it later when she sat at one end of the long, linen-draped dining table, with her husband, resplendent in gold velvet and dark blue silk, at the other. He had returned late in the afternoon, some time after Margaret’s departure, and had sent a message to her bedchamber, informing her that he would present her to the king that evening.

  The news was exciting, and she would have liked to ask him a number of questions about what to expect upon such an occasion, but the servant who brought the message added the information that Douglas would be unavailable until supper. When they met at the table, his manner was aloof and uninviting. Though he asked politely about her journey, gazed searchingly at her from time to time, and even complimented her upon the deep green velvet gown she wore over golden petticoats and a wide Spanish farthingale, he snubbed a solicitous inquiry about his wound, and his tone when he did so was barely civil.

  Mary Kate was thrown into confusion both by her excitement at the prospect of meeting the young king and by her desire to clear the air with her husband. But with the servants in constant attendance, there was no opportunity for private speech, nor did she attempt to create one, for his lack of encouragement deterred her.

  When they reached Holyrood Palace, Douglas guided her to a reception room full of chattering people. Musicians played from a gallery, but no one danced. Instead, the courtiers and ladies stared at newcomers and discussed their neighbors. Many eyes turned toward Mary Kate as her husband led her toward James VI. Self-consciously she held her head higher, knowing that she could not be faulted on her appearance and feeling proud to be seen with Douglas, whose demeanor showed no indication of his displeasure with her. Smiling, he nodded to a friend here and an acquaintance there, not pausing in his progress up the room, however, until they stood directly in front of James.

  Mary Kate sank at once into a deep curtsy, green velvet and gold skirts billowing. The noise around her faded, and her husband’s voice sounded clearly over her head.

  “May I have permission to present my lady wife, Sire?” His voice held a trace of amusement, but Mary Kate dared not glance up to see his expression. She must await his majesty’s pleasure. It was as well that she did not look up, since James was indulging himself in close scrutiny of those of her assets that were most easily viewed in her present position.

  “Christ’s blood, sir,” he exclaimed at last, “a pox on thee for denying us this pleasure afore now. Were it to our royal taste, Douglas, we’d clap thee in heavy irons for such lack of generosity. Instead, I believe I shall write
a poem to her most obvious charms.”

  “Have mercy, Sire,” Douglas said, laughing, and with no discernible apology in his voice. “I feared to bring her to your majesty’s notice before I had her safely wedded lest she succumb to the well-known Stewart charm.”

  “Rise, Lady Douglas,” the king said wryly, “and join our conversation ere his impertinence treads too heavily upon our royal sensibilities. He’d make a poor offering to our jailers at the Tolbooth.”

  “Thank you, Sire.” She arose, looking fully at him now, her clear gaze meeting one just as direct.

  She had heard much about this young man who held the reins of Scotland so tenaciously. He had recently celebrated the twenty-second anniversary of his birth, and he looked much as she had expected him to look, though perhaps a shade taller. She had heard he was short, even squat, when in fact he was of medium stature. Of course, the Stewarts were noted for their great height, so perhaps he was short by comparison to others of his clan, but his shoulders were broad enough to meet any standard.

  She had also heard it said that he was deformed, which was nonsense. His legs in their silken trunk hose were slightly bent, and one foot appeared to be turned slightly outward, but there was no great deformity. Of course, the worst that was said was that he was no Stewart at all, or Stuart, since he used his father, Lord Darnley’s, English spelling of the name.

  Mary Kate gazed at the face in front of her and promptly dismissed such tales as fabrication. She had seen more than one portrait of his parents, and there before her were Darnley’s sad, hooded eyes and thick light brown hair, as well as Queen Mary’s tiny mouth and long nose. As she watched, the mouth turned down and tucked in at the corners.

  “Do we meet with thy approval, Lady Douglas?”

  Flushing, she caught her breath and spoke hastily. “I beg your pardon, Sire. ’Tis only that I have never met a king before. Pray forgive me for gawking like a peasant girl.” She glanced helplessly at Douglas, but although his expression was warmer than she had expected to find it, he made no move to assist her.

  James chose to be generous, chuckling when he followed the direction of her gaze. “’Tis no use looking to that scoundrel for aid, for he is no chivalrous knight. He has greater aspirations than mere knighthood. He looks to join the rogues of our land who call themselves ‘noble.’”

  Douglas grinned at him. “Sire, cease your jesting. My lady wife is unacquainted with Your Majesty’s sense of humor. He knows right well, madam,” he added, turning his smile upon her, “that I am the king’s man through and through and have no wish to join with any others, whatever they choose to call themselves.”

  “So you say,” James replied, his voice tinged with cynicism, “but we have learned, Douglas, to trust few who wear the badges of nobility.”

  Douglas dropped to one knee, and his voice was gruff with sincerity. “My Lord King, believe me your trusted servant, come what may. I have sworn fealty, Sire, and time will prove my oath trustworthy, Douglas or no.”

  “Oh, get up, damn you,” James said irritably. “Christ’s sandals, Adam, have done!”

  Obediently Douglas got to his feet, but he showed no sign now of his earlier amusement. His expression was so serious that it seemed to make James uncomfortable.

  He glanced first at Mary Kate and then back at her husband. “Damn you, Douglas,” he said softly. “Very well, then. You shall judge whether we trust you.” He turned away and lifted his hand in an imperious signal to Lord Hamilton, a small and slender man who approached with quick, short steps and listened intently while James whispered in his ear. Mary Kate had met Hamilton and knew him to be one of the most powerful members of the court. She watched now as he listened to James’s whispers. He glanced at Douglas and grinned, then nodded and stepped away from the king, clapping his hands loudly.

  “Silence in the room!” he bellowed in a voice that seemed entirely too big and deep for him. “Silence for His Majesty.”

  The king turned to face the now silent, curious gathering and, with a graceful gesture of his hand toward the stunned Douglas, began to speak. “Much of the power of the state,” he said, his voice carrying easily and with no apparent effort to the far corners of the vast chamber, “lies in the wisdom and eminence of its counsel. In particular, the throne of this realm is elevated and strengthened when there are many loyal men of noble status. Therefore, in our wish to enhance the order of the Kingdom of Scotland, to secure the safety of its borders, to add to that number of loyal nobles by whose counsels we are directed, and for our support in times of adversity, we do intend to invest Sir Adam Douglas of Tornary with the county of Teviot, to him and to his heirs of his name for all time henceforward. The ceremony shall take place here at our palace of Holyrood on the first Sunday of September so that he may take his proper place at the meeting of our lords of the borders two days thereafter.” James stepped back, grinning his triumph while the people around them cheered. “Art satisfied, my lord?”

  The question was nearly drowned out by the other noise, but Douglas heard it and dropped again to one knee, taking James’s hand and pressing it to his lips. “Indeed, my liege, I am more than satisfied. I am deeply honored.”

  Mary Kate heard the exchange, noted the quaver in her husband’s voice, and knew he was much moved. She smiled down at him, but then, as James drew him to his feet, the full significance of what had just transpired struck her. Sir Adam Douglas had been a powerful man before because of his friendship with the king. But Adam Douglas, Earl of Teviot, would be a greater power in his own right. How disappointing that his parents should have missed such a moment, she thought.

  But they had not. Even as the thought crossed her mind, Margaret approached, laughing, her parents close behind. With everything happening so quickly, Mary Kate simply had not seen them in the crowd.

  “Shall you demand now that I curtsy whenever we chance to meet, my lady countess?” Margaret demanded.

  Mary Kate’s senses whirled. For the first time she recognized her own change of status. Countess. She, Mary Katharine MacPherson Douglas, would soon be the Countess of Teviot. My lady Teviot. She tried the sound of it in her imagination and let it echo through her mind. Whatever she had said to the contrary in the past, the sound was nice. Very nice. Lady Teviot, Lady Teviot—

  “Lady Douglas!” Jolted from her thoughts, she realized that His Majesty was repeating himself. Confused, she dropped a curtsy, nearly overbalancing herself in her haste.

  “Forgive me, Sire, I was not attending.” She heard Margaret chuckle behind her, and James’s voice when he responded also contained a note of amusement.

  “Arise, madam. We merely asked how you will like to be Countess of Teviot. Art proud of thy husband, lass?”

  “Aye,” she replied, glancing at Douglas, who was presently deep in conversation with Lord Hamilton. “I shall like being a countess, too, Sire, very much.”

  The other guests had moved in upon them, laughing, talking, and offering congratulations, when suddenly Mary Kate’s attention was diverted by a hand laid familiarly upon her shoulder. Turning, she found herself face to face with Kenneth Gillespie, whose handsome face she was certain she remembered only because she had been dancing with him at the very moment she had first laid eyes upon Douglas.

  “Well met, sir,” she said.

  “Greetings, my lady.” He grinned down at her. “I should congratulate your husband upon his good fortune as the others do, I suppose, but I confess to having a decided preference for your company.”

  “I am honored, sir.”

  “Nay, madam,” he replied. “’Tis I who am honored, and I would be the more so should you accept my invitation to dance.” Indeed, the musicians had struck up again, and James had evidently given permission for the dancing to begin, for a circle of dancers was forming for a Spanish pavane. Mary Kate hesitated, not knowing whether it would be seemly to accept Gillespie’s invitation. The decision was made for her.

  “Go along with thy cavalier, Lady Doug
las,” James said. He stood behind her and had evidently overheard Gillespie speaking to her. “Don’t trouble about thy husband. There are arrangements to be made and the revenues to discuss. If my lord Hamilton will but come to bear witness?” Hamilton, still standing beside Douglas, agreed, and the three men left Mary Kate to enjoy the merrymaking.

  She danced with Gillespie and found him as charming as she remembered. If his gaze was occasionally a shade too intimate for her taste, she attributed that to the difference in manners at court, where she had heard that men indulged in vulgar behavior and women allowed liberties otherwise unheard of in polite company. Certainly she would not allow liberties herself, and she had seen nothing else to account for such tales, but if the tales were told, she knew there must be a grain of truth somewhere, and Gillespie’s attentions were marked. She did not spend all her time with him, of course, but allowed Margaret and her parents to introduce her to their friends, including, at long last, Sir Patrick Ferguson.

  He was taller than Margaret and solidly built with broad, strong-looking shoulders, solid, muscular thighs, and a trim waist beneath his light-blue-and-white satin doublet and lavender trunk hose. Tight blond curls were cropped close around his ears, his blond beard was short and pointed, and even his eyebrows were pale blond above ocean-blue eyes that twinkled like sunlight on water. The planes of his face were smoothly chiseled, and when he smiled the lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes deepened into the weathered creases characteristic of an outdoorsman. She knew from Margaret’s chatter that he loved farming and all manner of sport, but he seemed equally at home here in Holyrood Palace.

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Sir Patrick,” she told him, smiling, “though I have heard so much about you that I already feel as if I know you well.”