The Border Trilogy

by Amanda Scott

  Margaret grinned at his look of dismay. “Pay her no heed, sir. I told her only good things, so she scarcely knows you at all.”

  Sir Patrick laughed, delighted, and said to Mary Kate, “She is in the right of it, you know, my lady. I have many faults.”

  “I believe we all have faults, sir,” she replied, “but I like what I have heard, and I like what I see.”

  Not at all taken aback by her frankness, he returned her smile and asked if she would care to dance. She danced a good deal that night, enjoying several dances with Ned Lumsden, who acquitted himself well, and one more with Kenneth Gillespie. The latter seemed to assume that they were old friends, but he did not infringe overmuch, and her pleasure in the evening would have been undimmed had it not been for the behavior of her husband.

  When Douglas returned, he did not seek her out as she expected him to do but joined a group of his friends instead. In fact, Mary Kate was unaware of his return until she saw him lead a beautiful young redhead into the dance. It had not occurred to her until that moment to wonder how he would conduct himself in public now that he was married. With shock, she soon realized that his behavior was exactly what it had been at Critchfield Manor. He laughed and flirted and played the gallant, leading first one, then another adoring damsel onto the floor. It seemed to his wife that a veritable bevy of dazzling beauties clamored for his attention. Clearly his injured arm no longer troubled him, but he did not once ask her to dance. Watching him, her eyes soon began to glitter with suppressed anger, and she threw herself into the merrymaking with frenetic energy. What she really wanted to do, she told herself, fuming, was to comb his hair with a joint stool. Lacking one, she would serve him as he served her instead.

  By the end of the evening she was exhausted. She was able to say nothing of consequence to him on the way home because of the chairmen, but she was determined to have it out with him the moment they were safely inside their own house, where they could be private.

  When they reached the Canongate, Douglas dismissed the chairmen and followed her into the house. She turned to face him in the hall, saying coldly, “Adam, I would speak with you.”

  His mouth tightened at her tone, and he glanced at the gillie who was closing the door behind them. “Now?”

  She nodded, her face set with determination.

  “Very well, come into the parlor. Fetch me ale, lad.”

  The gillie hurried off to do his bidding, and Mary Kate pulled off her cloak, tossing it onto a nearby chair in a heap. She promised herself she would remain calm if it killed her, for she had no wish to arouse his temper, but she had to let him know she would not tolerate such treatment from him again. And she had to make an effort, too, to clear the air between them. She waited until the gillie had returned and departed again.

  Douglas quaffed his ale and set down the mug on a side table. “Well?”

  She swallowed. Once again, the opportunity had come and she didn’t know how to begin. Perhaps, she mused, it would be better not to make any hasty accusations, not until his displeasure with her had abated. “I…I wanted to tell you that I have made up my quarrel with Megan,” she said finally.

  “I know. I spoke with my father tonight.”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she shot him a searching look. What if Lord Strachan had made good his threat to tell his son what he thought of his behavior? “Wh-what did he say to you?”

  “Naught of any particular import.” His eyes glinted enigmatically. “He merely gave me the impression that you have at long last learned to get on with Megan. I assumed that she had accepted your apologies.”

  Mary Kate nodded, breathing more easily. She had been foolish, she thought, to fear that Lord Strachan would say anything critical of his son on such a night as this had been. But she could tell by the searching expression in Douglas’s eyes that she had stirred his suspicions, and she didn’t want him to know about the things she had told his father. Therefore, she decided she would be wiser not to expound upon her new relationship with Megan. In fact, it would perhaps be safer to change the subject altogether. “Did he tell you I was not running away when those dreadful men caught me?”

  “No,” he replied evenly, “and if you have convinced him of that, it is more than you will accomplish with me.”

  “But I wasn’t, Adam, I swear it. I wanted only to get out of my bedchamber into the fresh air. I gave Sesi her head and paid no heed to the direction she took. The time passed more quickly than I realized.”

  “Don’t lie to me,” he warned her. “Remember that Willie Jardine reads track better than other people read books. We know exactly how far south you were when they caught you, madam, so it will do you no good to profess your innocence to me now.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but realized immediately that to do so would be useless. She must have been farther from Strachan Court than she had realized. Bracing herself, she asked steadily, “Adam, do you still intend to punish me?”

  “It would be pointless to do so at this late date, don’t you think?” he replied with a sigh, adding, “It would be wise, however, for you to give careful attention to your conduct whilst we are here in Edinburgh.”

  She frowned. This conversation was hardly clearing the air. Perhaps it would prove necessary, after all, to heed Margaret’s advice and make him angry. Reluctantly gathering her courage, she forced herself to look up at him boldly. “And what of your own conduct, sir? I did not think well of it tonight.”

  His initial expression indicated genuine surprise, but she could not be certain, for his eyes narrowed quickly. “You did not appear to be concerned at the time, madam,” he retorted, “and you will soon find that at court a man is not expected to dance attendance upon his own wife.”

  “And what of wives, Adam? Don’t they demand similar freedoms?”

  “My wife will conduct herself in a proper manner,” he replied shortly. “Now, if this conversation is finished, I suggest we go to bed.”

  He had kept a rein on his temper, but his expression was forbidding, and Mary Kate’s courage failed her. If she could have made herself believe that to goad him further would eventually put them back on a comfortable footing with each other, she might have dared to do so, but at the moment there was too much distance between them to be certain what the result of such pressure would be. Anticipating his reactions was proving to be difficult. Margaret was right. He was unreasonable in his present mood, and unpredictable besides.

  She slept in her own bed that night, and the next morning Douglas informed her that they would attend Sunday services with the king. It seemed to her that the entire day was spent at devotions, except what time was passed in quiet, very dull conversation with courtiers who would rather have been engaged in merrier occupations. That night she slept alone again, awakening late Monday morning to learn that Douglas had gone hunting with James. Sighing with frustration, she arose and dressed, then decided to break her fast downstairs before asking the housekeeper to show her over her new home.

  Mrs. Comfort, wearing her courtesy like a polished shell, was pleasant but different in every way from the amiable Mrs. Jardine. Mary Kate could not feel as easy with her as she could with Annie’s mother and was not at all tempted to confide in her. They had seen the vast, colorful gardens at the rear of the house, all the primary rooms, the linen press, the gallery, and the chief pantry before Mrs. Comfort turned toward the kitchens. Mary Kate was wondering how she could politely decline to continue without offending the woman when, turning a corner, she came smack up against Ellen Kennedy. She exclaimed, and the pale young woman dropped a hasty curtsy.

  Ellen was much improved since Mary Kate had last seen her, but her complexion was still colorless and her light-blue eyes were dull. “I hope ye willna be vexed, mistress,” she said, looking up. Her voice was soft, not unlike Susan’s, but it too lacked animation.

  “Of course I am not vexed, but what are you doing here in Edinburgh?” When the girl hesitated, Mary Kate realized th
at she was uncomfortable in the housekeeper’s presence. “Here, Ellen, you must come with me. You will excuse us, Mrs. Comfort. Ellen surely has news of Tornary, and I confess to a longing for word from home. I will see the kitchens another day.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” the housekeeper said graciously.

  Mary Kate quickly took Ellen into the parlor and insisted that she be seated. The girl obeyed without comment and folded her hands placidly in her lap.

  “Now, Ellen, first of all, how are you, and how do your mother and Susan fare?”

  “As well as might be, mistress,” she answered. “Susan hadna yet birthed her bairn when I left, and I still be taking Dame Beaton’s powders now and anon when I canna sleep, but we’re all of us as well as might be, thank ye kindly.”

  “But why are you here?”

  “’Twas thought I might be useful gin any odd thing need doing wi’ yer dress for the wedding. Mr. Graham suggested it, said I might prove useful.” She spoke in a monotone, and it was as though she repeated a lesson.

  Mary Kate regarded her closely. “I am grateful, Ellen,” she said quietly, “but I thought you would be preparing for a wedding of your own by now.”

  Color suffused the girl’s cheeks, and her hands clutched at each other in her lap. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “He didna want me.” Despite her efforts, the words came in a whisper.

  “Oh, Ellen, how dreadful for you! But surely Ian Baird doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

  “As to that, I canna say, but there was talk—a deal o’ talk,” she added bitterly. “I never saw Ian, mistress. He sent the message wi’ his brother that we’d best not see each other again.”

  Mary Kate could imagine the sort of talk there had been. She herself, knowing of Douglas’s association with Ellen and then hearing the brigand’s comments, had begun to form an unflattering opinion of the girl’s character. But now, face-to-face with her again, all such thoughts dissolved in a wave of compassion.

  “I am truly sorry,” she said; “but perhaps ’tis for the best. If he could give you up so easily, he cannot be much of a man. I am very glad that you are here.”

  “Thank ye, mistress. Happen ye’ve the right of it.”

  “I have,” Mary Kate said firmly, adding, “They caught those reivers, you know.”

  “I heard, mistress. The master told me. He saw the last o’ them hanged at Roxburgh. Somehow he prevailed upon yon magistrate tae believe that the first lot had conspired wi’ the second tae steal yer ladyship. That mun ha’ been a frightful experience fer ye, mistress.”

  “It was,” Mary Kate agreed. “I don’t mind telling you, they frightened me witless, but fortunately, Sir Adam found me before they could do more. What they did to you was worse.”

  “Aye. ’Tis glad I am that they be gone.”

  They talked a while longer before the housekeeper interrupted them to announce that Mistress Douglas and Lady Somerville had come to call and Ellen excused herself.

  The three friends were soon comfortably occupied with an exchange of tales about the previous evening’s activities. Megan had retired early with a sick headache and had missed the king’s announcement; however, Margaret had described it to her later in detail. It appeared that they had had other conversation as well, for Margaret accepted the friendship between her cousin and Mary Kate without question, despite the fact that, in all her confidings the day before, Mary Kate had said nothing that might betray Megan’s present difficulties with her uncle. They had also apparently discussed Mary Kate’s marital problem.

  “Megan disagrees with me,” Margaret announced suddenly. “She doesn’t believe you ought to enrage Adam at all. She thinks you ought to be extra good and loving instead.” She wrinkled her nose, plainly expressing her low opinion of such a notion.

  Megan smiled at her. “’Tis a better plan than yours, for heaven’s sake. But perhaps it would help more if I were to speak to him.”

  Something deep within Mary Kate rebelled at the thought of Megan pleading her case to Douglas. “Please don’t,” she begged. “That would only make matters worse.”

  “I promise I wouldn’t do that. He is not an inflexible man, you know. He simply has too many things to think about just now. To know that you helped me would please him.”

  “I know you wouldn’t mean to cause trouble, but only consider for a moment.” Mary Kate pushed a straggling curl away from her left eye and attempted to put her feelings into words that would make sense. “If you discuss the matter with him, how can you tell him about his father’s anger without telling him what caused it?”

  “But my own actions caused it. And Adam’s. Oh.” Megan stopped short with a grimace. “Adam will want to know how his father found out about all that, won’t he? I don’t suppose he would believe that one of the servants told him or that my uncle deduced the whole from any voluntary confession of mine. Adam knows me too well to believe that I would willingly submit myself to my uncle’s displeasure.”

  “Of course, he would not believe such things. Nor would he believe that his father had had some sort of a prophetic dream. Moreover, no matter how carefully we wrapped it up, he would still suspect that we have been discussing his behavior amongst ourselves, and I know he would dislike that.”

  “Oh, Mary Kate, he must know we talk about him,” Margaret protested. “He would have to be a witless coof not to know it.”

  “Perhaps he does know,” Mary Kate agreed quietly, “but I’ll warrant he thinks any such conversation must be complimentary. Only consider Sir Patrick’s reaction. He wasn’t surprised to learn that you had said nice things about him. He even admitted to having faults. But I’ll wager my best jeweled cap he’d not have been so pleased to hear that you had already described those faults to me.”

  “But I haven’t!”

  “Of course not, nor would you do so. I wouldn’t discuss Adam with anyone else either, but Megan was there when everything happened, and you badgered the bits and details out of me yesterday. Besides, I need help from someone who knows him. I don’t like him to be angry with me.”

  “Well, I told you what to do,” Margaret said, “and I still don’t see that it would hurt all that much for Megan to speak to him. After all, he’s angry partly because of your behavior toward her. When he realizes that the two of you have become friends, he ought to relent a little at least.”

  Her suggestion sounded almost plausible. After all, Lord Strachan did not seem to have made clear the fact that she and Megan were truly friends now, only that they were no longer enemies, which was not at all the same thing. And she had told Douglas only that an apology had been made. She knew that there was something amiss with Margaret’s logic, but she could not for the moment think what it was.

  “It won’t hurt for him to realize that we are friends,” Megan said slowly, “but he will see that much for himself. And I don’t think he is truly angry because of any particular action of hers toward me. The transgression strikes closer to himself than that.” She paused, collecting her thoughts, then went on musingly, “I think he was angry first because she hit him with some truths about his own behavior. Add to that the fact that she disobeyed him, frightened him senseless by being captured by brigands, then dared to be present when my uncle scolded him like an unruly schoolboy, and I think she has the right of it. I must not become involved.”

  Silence greeted this assessment of the situation, and all three young women turned for a moment to their own thoughts. Margaret spoke first. “Megan’s argument makes sense, Mary Kate, but that doesn’t alter what I told you yesterday. The longer you allow this situation to smolder, the worse it will be when it—that is, when Adam ignites.” She paused, and a gleam lit her eye. “Of course, if you go on behaving like you did last night, it won’t be long before you discover, will you or nill you, that you have followed my advice to the letter.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Margaret?” She had said nothing to them about her conversation with Dougl
as the previous night. Even Megan looked puzzled.

  “Jealousy, my dear.” Margaret waved a hand airily. “You don’t think my brother will sit patiently by whilst you indulge yourself with a host of flirts like Ned Lumsden or Kenneth Gillespie, do you? Particularly Mr. Gillespie.”

  “What nonsense is this?” Mary Kate was stunned. “If Adam even noticed who my partners were, which I take leave to doubt, how would he dare to take exception to any one of them?” she asked hotly. “Especially in view of his own behavior!”

  “Don’t be daft, Mary Kate,” Margaret said flatly. “What he does himself has never entered into the matter. What you do is all that counts with him, and it always will be.”

  Silenced; Mary Kate knew she was right. Douglas expected his wife’s behavior to be above reproach. Had he not said so again only the night before? And his expectations would no doubt be even higher now that an earldom was in the offing. But, by the same token, he clearly intended to continue doing just as he pleased. She glanced at the other two, now arguing between themselves. They meant well, but in this instance she would have to depend upon her own wits, for no matter how much she wanted to make her peace with Douglas, he still had to learn that he could not dictate her behavior. Not unless he agreed to set a standard or two for himself.

  18

  HAVING MADE THE DECISION to handle the situation herself, Mary Kate had not the least notion of how to begin. Margaret’s plan of making Douglas angry seemed self-defeating, and Megan’s plan meant she must meekly submit to his every whim. She needed time to think, and to get that time, she decided to avoid any immediate confrontation. She would be as distant and polite as he was himself, giving him no further cause to complain of her behavior, at least not until she was ready to meet his demands with a few demands of her own. For once, she would not be impulsive. She would think everything through carefully before she acted.

  Therefore, two days later, when he announced that he wished to give a supper party the following week, she agreed without a blink so that he would not suspect the panic rising beneath her surface composure. Never before had she arranged anything beyond a gathering or two in her father’s house, yet Douglas expected her to arrange one fit to be graced by the king’s presence. Determined not to disappoint him, she hastily sent a messenger to Ardcarach House to request the immediate assistance of Lady Somerville and Mistress Douglas.