“I dinna think we'll be followed again, my lord.”
CHAPTER 20
When Christopher Dacre received Heron's message that he and his sister were returning home, he went straight to his father and told him he had made up his mind about marrying Raven Carleton.
Lord Dacre nodded with resignation. “I'll see Lance Carleton at the Border Wardens' Court next week and suggest a betrothal.”
“Dispatch a letter today and invite the Carleton ladies to stay at Carlisle Castle during the session. I've wasted enough time.”
When the letter arrived at Rockcliffe Manor, Sir Lancelot handed it to his wife with satisfaction. “There, I told you to stop pushing and allow matters to proceed more slowly. It looks like Christopher has been able to bring Lord Dacre around.”
Kate Carleton was pleased beyond belief. “I can't believe it! I was on the verge of writing to Rosalind, hinting that we would like to accompany you to Carlisle during the Border Wardens' Court, and like magic, Thomas Dacre himself pens us an invitation and suggests we start making plans for a betrothal!”
Kate summoned her daughters and gave them the wonderful news. Lark seemed far more excited than Raven and immediately asked for a new dress. Raven appeared to be more subdued and didn't react at all the way her mother thought she should.
“Don't tell me you're coming down with something!” Kate felt Raven's forehead, found it cool, and pronounced her diagnosis. “You have a case of the jitters. You have wished for this betrothal for so long that now it is within your reach, you are suddenly unsure of yourself.”
Raven couldn't have agreed more. She was unsure of herself and unsure of Christopher Dacre, yet she saw that her parents had no reservations whatever. Before she had been forced to go to Scotland, she had been completely sure of herself and knew exactly what she wanted for the future. Now her assurance had vanished, her thoughts were in disarray, and her peace of mind destroyed. Damn you, Heath Kennedy! Damn you!
Whenever she could, during the days that followed, Raven escaped from the endless discussions about which day dresses, evening gowns, and shoes must be packed for Carlisle. She spent many hours on Rockcliffe Marsh, flying the young merlins and reflecting upon her future. Raven found her thoughts chasing in circles, for each time she tried to think of the future, she found herself dwelling on the past.
Two days after Lord Thomas Dacre's letter arrived from Bewcastle, Raven received one from Christopher at Carlisle Castle. Her mother's face looked radiant, and her father's well pleased, when he handed it to Raven, and she saw the knowing glance they exchanged when she excused herself to open it and read it in private.
My Dearest Raven:
Words cannot express how much I miss you. I am so very sorry about what happened. It was entirely my fault; I never should have taken you riding in dangerous Border territory without an adequate escort of guards.
You were extremely brave to try to effect my escape, but I was so deeply concerned for your safety, and so hesitant about leaving you behind, that my attempt was easily thwarted.
I have told no one about your being taken against your will to Scotland, and am determined it shall remain a secret between you, Heron, and myself. Try to think of the episode as a visit with your relative, Lady Valentina Douglas.
I cannot wait to see you next week. Until then, please know that you have all my affection, devotion, and admiration.
YOURS ALONE,
Christopher
Raven read the letter again. She concluded that it was a nice letter and could find no real fault with it. Christopher had both apologized and taken the blame upon himself for what had happened. Raven had seen little of his concern for her safety or his hesitancy in leaving her behind on the night of his thwarted escape, but to give him the benefit of the doubt, she could not possibly know his thoughts or the extent of his fears that night. She read it one more time, then burned it, because she knew that Lark's curiosity would not allow her to leave the letter unread.
That evening, Raven knocked on her father's study door. She found him behind a desk piled high with paperwork and reports concerning some of the cases that were coming up at the Border Wardens' Court. Standing before her hardworking, dedicated father, she felt ashamed about deceiving him and guilty over her reckless behavior. “Father, I came to speak with you in private.”
“Come in, my dear. I hope you will always want to share your thoughts with me.”
Raven, for the first time, noticed that his fair hair was mostly gray and his face was lined with care. “It … it's nothing really.” She had been going to tell him that she was uncertain about the betrothal, but now changed her words. “I don't mind being betrothed to Chris Dacre, providing we don't marry right away. I simply don't want to be rushed.”
“I understand completely, my dear. You want to be sure.”
Her heart went out to him. “Yes, I'm in no hurry to marry.”
The night before the Carletons were to travel to Carlisle, Raven was suffering with a headache. She brewed herself some chamomile tea and went to bed early. She hadn't slept well since she had returned home, but the mild sedative effect of the chamomile soon made her drowsy, and the next thing she knew, she was dreaming.
Heath Kennedy was standing in a lush green meadow, by a river. She could hear his voice distinctly. “I won her in a knife-throwing contest.” Then suddenly, Raven remembered: She was in a Gypsy camp, dancing around a fire, without a care in the world, when all at once she became aware of undercurrents. Two males who had been admiring her began to circle each other like dogs with raised hackles. One was Heath Kennedy, the swarthy Gypsy, whose white teeth flashed when he smiled. The other was Christopher Dacre, the classically handsome, fair-haired Englishman.
“Keep your eyes from her, you bastard, she is betrothed to me!”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law; she is my property!”
“All Gypsies are thieves, liars, or worse—you stole her!”
“I'll buy her from you!” The white teeth flashed. “How much?”
“Three hundred pounds.”
“Three hundred it is, if you throw in your horse.”
“Damn you both! I know a cockfight when I see one, and I have no stomach for them,” Raven cried.
“I challenge you to a knife-throwing contest—the winner takes the girl.” Heath Kennedy unsheathed his dagger.
“I have no knife; I'll destroy you with fire and sword!”
“No, no! Take my herb knife, Christopher.” She pressed her small dagger into his waiting palm.
A target was quickly set up, and the two males took turns throwing their knives. It was no real contest, for the Gypsy hit the bull's-eye every time. White teeth flashed as the Gypsy swaggered over to claim his prize and carried her to his bed.
Raven stubbornly refused to yield to the Gypsy.
“You wanted me to win. You knew he would lose when you gave him your knife. You have drawn your own blood with that knife, and know that it will respond to no hand but yours.”
She melted into his arms, lifted her mouth for his ravishing, and yielded herself up to him. “Love me, Heath!”
When Raven awoke in the morning, the details of the dream were still with her. The knife-throwing contest in the Gypsy camp seemed just that—a dream. The part where Heath Kennedy had made love to her, however, seemed real. To Raven it felt as if he had been in the bed with her; she had touched him and tasted him. When she raised her arm to her nose, she could even smell his male scent that lingered upon her skin. Raven knew he possessed power, but was it such mystic and magic power that he could come to her at will? No, she must not allow herself to believe such things, for therein lay the power. If she firmly believed it was impossible, then it was impossible!
She told herself that the past was past. Today was the first day of her future. With resolution, she put Heath Kennedy out of her mind and stopped thinking of him. This day she was going to Carlisle Castle, where she would see Christopher Dacre. She ow
ed a duty to her parents, who had always loved her and wanted only what was best for her. She knew she must be receptive to a betrothal. She would not think of marriage just yet; a long betrothal would give her time to be sure.
When they arrived at Carlisle Castle, the two Carleton sisters were given the same bedchamber as before. Raven opened the wardrobe and saw the red Gypsy dress she had worn to the masquerade, hanging exactly where she had left it. She quickly covered it with her own clothes, then unpacked for Lark. It evoked memories, not only of the night she had worn it, but also memories of the Gypsy camp where she and Heath had danced with such abandon. Why was the forbidden so tempting? Why did she suddenly long for the freedom of a Gypsy girl? She tore her mind from her fanciful notions and warned herself that she must start dealing with reality, not fantasy.
Heron Carleton went off to seek Chris Dacre, and was amazed to find he had only just arisen from his bed.
“Quelle heure est-il?” Chris asked, showing off his French.
“It's five o'clock; have you been ill?”
“Hardly.” Chris gave him a conspiratorial look and lowered his voice. “Too bad you weren't here yesterday, old man; we went out on a raid and didn't return until dawn.”
“Where did you go?” Heron thought of Beth Kennedy, and the idea of the English raiding into Scotland was now anathema to him.
“Are you mad, asking such a thing? You are just in time to help me dress.” He winked. “Tonight is a very special occasion.”
After Raven unpacked, she took a solitary walk, exploring the castle where she had lived and played when she was a young girl. Lord and Lady Dacre's apartments took up only one wing of the ancient fortress, whose history was fascinating to Raven. The son of William the Conqueror had won Carlisle from the Scots in the eleventh century. He had rebuilt the ruined city and built the original castle, and as a result some of its nooks and passageways were ancient. When she returned to dress for dinner, she found her mother awaiting her.
“Raven, you try my patience beyond reason! Why can't you be more like Lark? She has used her time to select a special gown for dinner and to fashion her tresses in the latest style. I hope you intend to do something with that wild, untamed mass you call hair.”
Raven's hand went to her head, and a rebellious feeling inside threatened to erupt. She schooled her temper and promised to hurry. “Please don't wait for me; I shall be down soon.” She chose a gown of deep, sapphire blue, with a matching snood for her hair, decorated with blue stones. When dark curls escaped from its confines to frame her face, Raven sighed and shrugged a shapely shoulder. It was too late to do anything about it now.
Raven arrived in the dining room only just in time to be seated. She avoided the look of censure on her mother's face and turned to greet Christopher Dacre, who was already holding a chair for her.
“I am sorry, Raven,” he murmured low, “I have never seen you look lovelier.” The look in his eyes told her that his words were sincere.
Raven gifted him with a smile of appreciation and sat down. She felt his hands caress her shoulders briefly before he took his place beside her, and it prompted her to steer the conversation away from personal topics to more general ones. When she looked along the table, she saw that Christopher's mother was positively beaming as she watched her son's gallantry. It was clear that she not only approved of the match, but desired it.
Raven's glance moved to her own mother, whose critical look had been replaced by one of benign approval for her willful daughter. When she looked at her father, she saw that he was in deep conversation with Thomas Dacre, and concluded that they were talking of Border affairs rather than hers. Her brother Heron's eyes were hooded, his face noncommittal, while Lark sat gazing at Chris Dacre with a look of unconcealed adoration upon her face.
When the meal was finished, Raven was relieved, but as the hosts and guests arose from the table, Christopher took firm possession of Raven's hand and addressed everyone present. “I have a confession to make. I recently visited with Raven while she was staying with her grandmother. I proposed marriage to her, and I am pleased to announce that Raven accepted and agreed to be my wife.”
A buzz of voices filled the air. Her mother looked delighted, while her father looked surprised. Raven felt numb. In essence, Christopher had not lied, but she would have much preferred that he had not made such an announcement to their families. Her glance met her father's with a plea for help, but his look was puzzled, as if he wondered why she hadn't told him the truth.
“Well, I think Sir Lancelot and I had better discuss a formal betrothal.” Lord Thomas Dacre picked up a decanter of whisky from the sideboard and led Lance Carleton into the library.
For a moment, Raven had the sensation that the walls were closing in on her, and she felt trapped. Then Rosalind Dacre was kissing her and welcoming her into the family. With sinking heart, Raven took her courage into her hands. “We don't want to rush into anything. Chris and I agree that marriage is a most serious step to take, and we favor a long betrothal.”
“What nonsense!” Christopher laughed and slipped his arm around her, hugging her to his side.
Raven smiled up at him and said sweetly, “Could we walk along the gallery, Christopher?”
“Whatever you wish, my love.”
When Raven was absolutely sure they were out of earshot, she stopped walking. “What the devil did you mean by all that?”
“I mean to have you for my wife, Raven.”
“Whether I will or no?” she demanded.
“When we were riding to Bewcastle, I told you to consider yourself betrothed. You knew I was asking you to marry me.”
“A lot has happened since then.”
“This is what your parents want; it is what I want.”
She searched his face. “If we are to be betrothed, it will be on my terms.”
He masked his inner thoughts, lest she read them. “Agreed.”
That same night, Ram Douglas returned to Eskdale and found Valentina and the twins on their wide bed in the Master Tower. He kissed his wife and tickled the babies' bellies, all the while weighing just how much to divulge. There would likely be more trouble before everything was settled by the courts, and he did not wish to unduly worry her, yet he wanted to share the news of their amazing good fortune.
“I found a copy of Angus's will at the town house and registered it with the courts. Archibald will likely contest it, and mayhap even the Crown, but once it is validated, I think it will stand. Angus was shrewd enough tae bequeath his fleet of ships tae the Crown and leave his son Archie all lands and castles connected with the Earldom of Angus.”
Tina's golden eyes widened in curiosity, but she held back the questions that were on the tip of her tongue, so that Ram could tell her in his own words that which he was bursting to disclose.
“If the will stands, we'll have enough castles for our children and our children's children, as well as properties for Gavin and Cameron tae oversee.”
“Splendor of God! I always knew Angus loved you more than he loved his own son.”
“Nay, he was simply aware of Archie's weaknesses.”
“And you have no weaknesses.”
He brushed the fiery curls back from her brow. “Ah, there ye're wrong. Ye are my weakness, Tina … and now these two.”
“Let's put them to bed, then you can prove to me that I am your weakness, devil-eyed Douglas.”
Later, when she lay replete in his arms, she thanked God for all the blessings he had heaped upon her. A small shadow of apprehension hovered—had she been given too much? Would something be taken away? Her arms tightened around Ram; he was her strength, her bastion against the Fates.
“I'd like ye and the babes safe at Castle Douglas when I go tae Carlisle for the Border Wardens' meeting. Do ye think they're old enough tae travel?”
“Ada and I have already started packing. We'll have the christening there in the chapel. I think it best if the twins and I sail aboard the Doon with Du
ncan and Father to Kirkcudbright.”
Ram kissed her brow. “How can anyone so beautiful be so practical?”
“I'm a Kennedy; is not our motto ‘Consider the end’?”
“Kennedy be damned! Ye're a Douglas, and never forget it!” His arms tightened possessively, and he squeezed her until she squealed with laughter.
In the morning he closeted himself with Heath before they went to the hall to break their fast. Ram told him that he had found Angus's will and had registered it with the courts. “Believe it or not, Goldman signed as witness. He had me followed, but the unfortunate wretch reckoned without Jock.”
“So it was Archibald who ordered your death.”
“I warrant it was, though Dacre arranged fer the Armstrongs tae do the dirty work. My guess would be Archie destroyed the will and conspired tae have Goldman eliminate Moses Irvine.”
“What will you do about Archibald?”
“If the courts validate the will, I needn't do a damn thing. He will get the punishment he deserves. Angus left me all the Douglas properties below the Firth of Forth, plus all his gold!”
Heath went very still, like a stag that scents danger. After a full minute had gone by, he gave Ram an intense look. “Archie will need money, and he will turn to his wife and Henry Tudor. He has something to sell for which Henry Tudor will pay any price.”
“Young Jamie Stewart! Ye're right; the King of England would stop at nothing tae get his hands on the young King of Scotland. I must send a dispatch tae France, tae John Stewart, the Duke of Albany. He is the little king's closest male blood relative, and would make a better regent than Margaret, whom we Scots must never trust.”
The Border Hostage Page 23