Tapestry

by Fiona McIntosh

  Terregles was part of the frontline of proud seats that straddled the invisible line dividing Scotland and England. It was from these border counties that raiders moved either into England or out of it, and the Nithsdales were expected to police these southern raids and deal with any daring Englishmen who wanted to steal livestock, chattels … or even women.

  William had remarked to Winifred more than once that while the highlanders had a popular reputation for being the hardiest of the Scots, few realised how fearless and tough the border lords had to be in dealing with the regular skirmishes they were involved with. But William never disrupted her running of the household with news of the scuffles connected with the ‘border reivers’ and she made no fuss when bandaging his wounds, or helping to set a broken bone sustained in the fighting.

  In the main she had to admit that life at Terregles had moved to a slow and happy rhythm, especially with the help of her Welsh friend and lady’s maid, Cecilia Evans … Until now, that was. For William to speak of his misgivings so openly told Winifred that everything about this fight ahead was different from any her husband had fought previously.

  It was only last year that the Hanoverian dynasty had staked its claim and George I had left Germany to sit on the English throne. Stirrings of rebellion had been simmering in Scotland ever since.

  Now Winifred tried again to reassure him. ‘News from my friends in the south suggests the Protestant king is lacking in conversation and appears “dull and wooden”. He seems unhappy to be in London, misses his homeland.’

  ‘George may not be a glamorous monarch, but my dear, I fear he is a fervent one … and so strongly Protestant that he will not countenance Catholic rebellion. My sources at Whitehall suggest the dutiful, often unanimated public mask belies the sharp intelligence of the private man.’

  ‘Intelligence does not always go hand in hand with warmongering, surely?’ Winifred wondered as she allowed William to help her through the doorway that would lead them off the rooftop, beneath the low lintel and down the creaking flight of stairs. She lifted her embroidered silk skirts and he assisted by gently crushing the hoop of her gown.

  It was comforting to hear him chuckle. ‘These rooftop openings were clearly never designed for women, my dearest.’

  ‘Ah, but I am unlike most women.’

  ‘This is true. Your heart is surely as stout as your petticoats.’

  Winifred enjoyed being able to release her tension through amusement. She paused on the creaky steps. ‘You could always make me laugh, William, no matter what.’ She regretted how sad she sounded despite her smile.

  William kissed her hand and his expression matched her tone. ‘Our German monarch is determined to keep Scotland tightly manacled to England.’

  Winifred nodded, feeling as though a fist of ice were closing around her heart. ‘Then you must do as our true king asks, my beloved. He has called you to arms and your tenants and vassals will follow you into battle. I told you last spring that the curious eclipse of the sun Master Edmond Halley reported was surely of great portent for London that it darkened for several minutes. Maybe it is written in the stars that our family must follow this dangerous pathway if it is to remain spiritually true and rid Britain of the Protestant king. Never forget you have your family’s pride and blessing and love at all times.’

  Winifred took his hand again and led him down the narrow corridor, the timbers sighing beneath their tread. At a small landing beside the door that gave access into the house proper, she paused. They shared a glance, understanding that the entire household — including their daughter — waited beyond to hear his decision.

  ‘Our Jacobite supporters in London may conspire, but they are indecisive. They will lead the clans to slaughter if their vacillating continues. And I am troubled over Lord Mar’s battle prowess. He is not the right leader for the clan chiefs.’ He sighed, looking deeply anxious. ‘Oh, he’ll unite everyone, of course. Scotland is a long way from London and it’s easy to sound brave when highland lords are yelling their battle cries.’

  ‘Will they rally?’

  He nodded. ‘We all will, because our king demands it. But Mar isn’t Scottish nobility. The highlanders will struggle to follow him.’ Will shrugged. ‘It comes to naught; I will be required to raise my standard no matter who leads us. Alas, I fear we lowlanders know far better what we’re taking on than do the highland chiefs.’

  ‘I have faith that you will prevail, William.’

  ‘You know this, do you?’ he teased, arms reaching around her. He kissed her softly.

  ‘I think I have seen it in my dreams. I promise you, you will not give up your life for James but, forsooth, you will offer it, beloved.’

  Winifred watched the lines around his eyes crease as he smiled and felt the wintry fist squeeze her heart a little harder.

  ‘Are you a stargazer, my sweet? Can you read the puddles, or the lines of my hand?’

  She shook her head. ‘I know only that I love you without limit, William Maxwell. I always have. I always will. And you will live a good life and die in old age when called. I feel it with a deep and true knowledge.’

  He clapped his hands. ‘My wife’s a soothsayer!’ he exclaimed, and she giggled.

  ‘By Saint Mary, hush!’

  ‘You shall have to find a way to hush me, then,’ he said, treacherous fingers reaching for the laces that closed the front of her dress.

  She batted away his hand. ‘William, really!’ But there was no heat in her voice and her movement was as harmless as the beat of a butterfly’s wings.

  ‘I can be very quiet if you distract me,’ he continued, deftly loosening the laces now.

  ‘You’re not jesting, are you?’ She chuckled, and then looked at the door. ‘They’re all waiting.’

  William sighed, reached over and locked the door from the inside. ‘There. Let them wait. Now we’re alone, trapped in our tower, where no one can see us or reach us.’

  ‘You would have me here?’ she asked, amused.

  ‘I would have you anywhere, Win, my love. But why not in my private tower, where you are now imprisoned and at my mercy, and where we can forget the woes of the Jacobites and Scotland?’

  She laughed, looking down to see the sides of her dress fall away and her husband expertly undoing the clasps that held the exquisitely embroidered stomacher in place.

  ‘I remember this dress. You were wearing it the first time I met you at the palace in Saint-Germain-en-Laye.’

  ‘I’d spent many moons with my needle and thread making it perfect,’ she said, watching the last of the clasps give way beneath his urgent fingers. She sighed with soft pleasure as he placed the embroidered panel reverently on a small table nearby.

  ‘A stolen moment together,’ he whispered, and she could feel his warm breath on her neck. ‘Romantic, don’t you think?’

  ‘Up against a wall, my love?’ she said, smiling, half surprised that she was permitting it, half delighted by his daring. ‘You make me feel like a strumpet,’ she told him, loading her tone with promise.

  William grinned, fully loosening her undergarments so her breasts, still full and firm after two children, were bared. He groaned, bending to kiss each nipple. ‘The sight of you like this chases away my demons, Win.’

  She could feel his hard urgency, could hear it in his suddenly throaty voice. Her own desire matched his, and without another thought she surrendered to their combined lust and began helping him to raise her skirt and undo her hoop. All the while they shushed each other’s laughter, lest they be discovered.

  Later, as they sat on the floor like children, their backs against the dark panelling of the timber, holding hands, with her head resting on his shoulder, Winifred dared burst the amorous bubble they’d built around themselves in these last stolen minutes.

  ‘Will you speak to our son in France?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll write to Willie today,’ he said, standing and offering a hand to help her up. ‘Let’s get you back into your fasteni
ngs. I don’t know how you women do it. Frankly, I think going to war is easier!’

  ‘Don’t jest, Will. I’m frightened for you.’

  He lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly. ‘Don’t be. I will ride on your confidence and love. And you admit you saw it in the stars. I will not give up my life for my king, but I will offer it.’ As she began to reply, he gave her a rueful look. ‘Your words,’ he reminded her.

  ‘Which I stick by,’ she said.

  ‘And which I trust.’ He stopped her from saying anything more with a final lingering kiss. ‘Thank you for this. It helped to remind me about what is important. Not king or country … but family. I love you, Winifred Maxwell. And when I am confronted by our enemy and all looks hopeless, I shall remember our stolen lust against a wall at Terregles and I will think of us as carefree, reckless souls who dared to dream that a Scottish king will one day rule over Scotland.’

  It was easy to fit her wide skirts through the doorway that led to one of the wings of the Scottish manor. The lowering sun farewelled itself through a large window looking out over the western moorlands, drenching the broad hallway in which they stood with a soft golden pink light. ‘And when do you depart Terregles?’

  ‘Early autumn, mayhap,’ was all he would say.

  Winifred flinched inwardly, but betrayed nothing in her expression. William always said she had the perfect face for ‘trictrac’, a game of strategy they had played regularly together in France throughout one particularly bitter winter.

  ‘Just leave me a few people so I can run the estate.’

  ‘Nay, my lady. This is an act of war we make. You and our daughter shall not remain at Terregles and be easy pickings for the government hounds. They will not use you or our children against me. We’re fortunate that Willie is schooling in France, but we should warn your sister of my troubles in case we need her help. I’m sad that they’re our troubles, darling Winnie.’

  ‘I am ready for the task, William. Where will our daughter and I go?’

  ‘To my sister Mary. Stay with my family at Traquair House and be safe.’

  Will kissed her again, lingering against her lips, heedless that a servant might see them.

  She must not weep. She swallowed her fear, and with it went any tremble in her voice as she pulled away from his kiss. ‘Take pity on the family that will worry about you.’

  ‘Be as stout of heart as I have come to know you. I would that you’d leave before the month is out.’

  ‘Come, we must tell our daughter and send word to your sister at Peebles,’ she whispered, her cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking.

  She led her husband away from the tender sunlight, and toward an uncertain future of rebellion against the English Crown.

  TWO

  London, December 1978

  William knew only one way to kiss her, she realised. Deeply, as he did now — the sort of kiss that made her see stars like a cartoon character, and trapped her attention in such a way that not even the grey drizzle of a freezing London morning could penetrate her awareness.

  ‘Oh, get a room, would you!’ a woman muttered as she pushed past them, breaking the spell.

  Jane grinned awkwardly. They were standing at the Seven Dials intersection in Covent Garden, outside their hotel and very close to their lovely room.

  ‘I’m going to marry her!’ Will called to the woman, who was dashing off in the direction of Monmouth Street. They had been a momentary annoyance to her, already forgotten. If she heard, she didn’t turn.

  ‘Will, shh!’

  ‘I want to tell the world,’ he said, kissing the top of her head as he pulled her close.

  Sharp guilt pierced the gossamer cocoon she’d allowed Will to build around them. It seemed that with each day they spent together he had spun a new layer of love and commitment … ownership, even. She wasn’t really sure what to call it. But whatever it was, it was strong and binding, drawing her closer and closer, until the invisible, unspoken bonds had morphed into something tangible: a promise of marriage. Now she wore a crazily expensive diamond ring attesting to what he had just openly declared. So why did she hesitate? Why wasn’t she showing the usual traits that a newly engaged woman might? How come she wasn’t picking everything up left-handed all of a sudden? And why, when she caught sight of the glittering jewel, did her breath catch dully with a faltering anxiety … to the point where she found it hard to look at the spectacular ring?

  Is Will the right one? The question finally burst through the silken bubble as her happily chatting fiancé led her to a café for breakfast. She barely followed his conversation as questions mounted like obstacles before her. Is there enough between us to sustain a marriage, children, adversity, middle age, old age? She swallowed the tumult of uncertainty that had leaped into her throat.

  Maybe it was her old foe: that need to take control and to keep control of any situation. Her surrender to Will’s innocent query had afterwards felt like a loss of control. ‘Be mine,’ he’d whispered, and his words had been filled with affection and tenderness. Yet now she heard those words in her head as proprietorial. At the edge of her mind, Jane knew it was paranoid to think like this, but still she was hesitant and unsure of him.

  Until this moment, it had been only while he slept and she could steal utterly private time that she had allowed herself to confront her dilemma: was marrying Will wise? She’d decided to put it down to the natural nervousness of any bride. Even though Will exhibited none of the same hesitation, she told herself he would surely be vacillating as the enormity of this commitment began to dawn on him … particularly as family and friends were already celebrating.

  They hadn’t known each other that long. Tomorrow would make five months. In truth, there were days when it felt so right she could yell out her happiness, and these were the times she relied upon, but there were twice as many days when an inner voice demanded she search her heart. Are you sure he’s the right one?

  Or is he convenient? She was having one of those moments as Will grinned at her, muttering how hungry he was again for her body. The notion that she was cheating herself as much as Will felt suffocating. He wanted to kiss her again, she knew, as they waited to cross another narrow side street, but she pulled away casually, disguising her deliberate action by grabbing his hand instead.

  ‘Let’s try that new place up the road that the concierge told us about,’ she said. He groaned. ‘Well, you should never have planted the thought in my head about kicking off the day with a hot chocolate. I have to have it now.’

  ‘I’d like to have you now,’ he whispered, before linking his hand with hers and gauging the traffic snaking from the seven streets into the plaza, carrying people and cars into various parts of Covent Garden and beyond. ‘Now,’ he said, and they stepped out into the road, dodging cars and skipping into Monmouth Street.

  Hopping over puddles, dodging other pedestrians, they arrived laughing at the café. It was painted black and overhung by a large awning, also black, that made the doorway appear like the opening to sin itself. As they moved deeper inside, the erotic fragrance of chocolate was punctuated by the exotic aroma of coffee being ground, making them both sigh theatrically with pleasure. Behind the front counter a young woman was cutting up a slab of chocolate cake, and one slice fell apart. She laughed, chopped it into smaller pieces and put them on a plate.

  ‘Care to try some?’ she urged, holding up the plate.

  ‘Why not,’ Jane said, tearing her gaze from the shelves that housed beribboned boxes of chocolates alongside bags of chocolate-coated everything and anything … liquorice, fruit, bite-sized biscuits, assorted nuts.

  ‘Chocolate body paint?’ Will said, holding up a small jar and looking at her with a question in his expression.

  ‘Too messy for hotel guestrooms,’ she answered, lifting an eyebrow at the grinning assistant before she took a plump cube of the cake, making rapturous sounds the moment her taste buds registered it.

  ‘I’m beginning to under
stand that part of our marriage contract is that I must always keep you in chocolate,’ Will said, gesturing toward the café area at the back of the shop.

  ‘Then I shall love you forever,’ she quipped.

  As they eased into an empty booth, he fixed her with a gaze devoid of its former playfulness. ‘Be sure, because forever is a long time.’

  Jane covered her surprise at his sudden intensity by pulling his gloved hand to her cheek, then kissing it swiftly. ‘Forever’s not long enough,’ she replied, instantly hating herself for flirting vacuously with a man who was so committed to her. She desperately wanted to be just as committed to him.

  ‘A hot chocolate and a coffee,’ Will said to the fellow who had shuffled up to take their order, entirely unaware of her dilemma. ‘I’ll have scrambled eggs with toast. And she’ll have a slice of that rather decadent-looking cake, drizzled with chocolate,’ he said.

  ‘On holiday?’

  Will grinned at the overly curious man. ‘Working. I have a lecture to give in northern England. Is that the right terminology?’

  The fellow glanced at Jane; she was yet to speak, but he’d clearly already picked her as a Brit. Maybe it was Will’s bright yellow rain jacket, trimmed with blue, that marked him as a foreigner. It was far too jaunty for a Britisher in early winter, which pegged him as a tourist, and he was far too tanned or chatty to be anything but American. Of course, the southern drawl was also a giveaway.

  ‘“Up north”, we say,’ she said, dragging off her brown, waxed jacket and smiling at the waiter.

  ‘And after that I’m going to marry my beautiful sweetheart.’

  Jane blinked in annoyance when the waiter glanced at her as if dryly amused. ‘Congratulations. Busy time for you, then.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s a while yet before —’

  ‘Make it a strong hot chocolate, would you? My fiancée likes it strong.’