Another Man's Bride

by Ariel MacArran

  Isabella shook her head. “Is that what you would have for me? To marry against my heart?”

  “You were willing enough in England when the match was made!”

  “Kat, I am so changed now—he has so changed me—I am no longer that girl!”

  Kat shut her eyes for a moment. “If Fortune smiles, you may yet win pardon for the MacKimzie. The king is well known for his kindness to his queen’s ladies. Douglas may well be convinced you are too tender to have a man condemned in your name.”

  “I love Colyne.” Tears overflowed and she let them. “I love him, Kat, and I shall want for no other my whole life long.”

  “Isabella, you cannot declare for a rebel. You will be ruined, and you will throw away any hope the MacKimzie has for mercy.” Kat’s voice dropped to an agonized whisper. “Think of the child if you will not think of yourself!”

  Isabella turned her face away.

  She would never see him again. Never be with him to argue, or laugh, or love. It was nigh unbearable to think of. She would never see his wicked, teasing smile, feel his arms around her.

  But—but if she could convince Douglas to beg it of the king, if she could win Colyne a pardon, send him home to his clan—was it not worth the price?

  She would never set eyes on him again but she would know he lived.

  She would have that, at least. And his child to love.

  She could almost see this child, running through the Castle MacKimzie, evading his poor teachers like his father had, his eyes shining with mischief.

  To save Colyne meant to lose him. To lose any possibility of a life together.

  How can I bear the cost of it? There is no other way now but to marry Douglas.

  Forgive me, Colyne, she thought. Know ’tis done for you, and the child.

  Kat had outdone herself. The admiring glances sent Isabella’s way as they walked through the abbey to the throne room said as much. The deep sapphire of velvet made her winter pale skin pearlescent, the pure white of her veil against her dark hair, the jewels placed just so, displaying her as a wealthy and modest maiden.

  Kat’s deft hand with the cosmetics enhanced what charms she could claim. Kat would be at her side when she was presented. Together, she promised, they would get the measure of Alexander Douglas and King James. She pledged herself to help Isabella entice her husband and win the king’s mercy.

  Very likely she would be Lady Douglas within the week.

  So little time…

  A courtier bowed deeply to her. Dressed in rich, red velvet, the very soul of courtly manners, he swept off his hat to reveal silver hair.

  It took her a moment to recognize him and she curtsied in return.

  “Sir William.”

  “My Lady Isabella.”

  He straightened, his glance going to the floor. Fearful of her anger perhaps, that she might cause a scene by snubbing him here, publicly.

  “Are you to escort me inside?” Isabella asked.

  William glanced at Kat, and offered Isabella his arm.

  “I would be honored if you would allow me to.”

  He walked beside her, her hand on his arm.

  “The way in which we last parted, my lady, weighs greatly on my mind. I spoke truly that day in the forest; you are like my own daughter to me. I would not for the world have caused you pain.”

  Isabella pitched her voice very low. “Please, where is he? How long before—”

  “I had hoped I was mistaken.” William made a sound, very like a sigh. “He is housed at the city’s prison but did arrive there hale and hearty.”

  “But, William, is he—”

  “I cannot tell you more, for I know naught else.”

  “Can you bring news of him?”

  William hesitated. “I will try.”

  Isabella set her jaw. “I will win him the king’s mercy.”

  “Show care in this,” William urged. “This court is no less treacherous than the one you left behind. I’faith, likely more so since you are stranger here.”

  “I will mind the hazards.” Isabella offered William a smile touched with a shimmer of tears. “Please, good William, take me in to meet my husband.”

  The doors were opened to allow them entrance. The chamberlain announced them and the king nodded his permission for them to approach.

  The abbey’s soaring stone hall had been converted to a throne room with bright carpets and magnificent hangings. The thrones sat near the fire, flanked on either side with enormous candelabra each holding dozens of lit candles. The fireplace, large enough for a man to stand in, boasted a blazing fire and every candle in the chandeliers above was lit.

  The queen’s ladies were fanned out beside Her Majesty, their gowns colorful as the plumes of exotic birds. The men of the court—no less sumptuously attired—stood beside their king. The richness of their clothes and the arrogance of their bearing bespoke the court’s astounding wealth and utter privilege.

  The eyes of the Scottish court were on her as William led her forward, each person weighing this English lady to be ally, foe, or not worth the bother.

  None matter here but the king, Isabella thought. He alone can spare Colyne’s life.

  King James was a powerfully built man, barrel-chested and in his prime. He was bearded, the hair showing beneath his jewel-encrusted hat reddish brown and just copper enough to show his Scottish blood. He sat easy on his throne with her cousin, Joan, seated beside him.

  “Allow me to present Lady Isabella Beaufort, daughter of the first Earl of Somerset,” Sir William announced. “And her cousin, Mistress Katherine Holland.”

  Isabella sank into a deep courtesy before the raised dais.

  “Come, ladies, rise,” the king said genially.

  Isabella straightened, her skirts rustling as she did. To her surprise the queen rose to step from the dais, as did the king.

  Queen Joan swept forward, smiling, and embraced her warmly. Her cousin had kept her age and beauty well. The queen’s milky skin was unmarked and her fair hair showed no silver.

  “The sight of you gladdens my heart, cousin. We worried for you so!” The queen laughed. “You have grown since I last saw you! You were no more than a child, still with milk teeth when I came hither!”

  Isabella did not have to force the smile she gave the queen. “Your Majesty is the very image of my memory. I am honored to be taken into your service.”

  Isabella turned to the king and he embraced her warmly, kissing one cheek then the other.

  “Lady Isabella, we welcome you as cousin to our queen and our own beloved kin.”

  “I am humbled by your kindness, Your Majesty.”

  The king took Isabella’s hand and regarded her seriously. “We sent riders when you did not arrive in a timely way but none could discover trace of your party. Our heart rejoices at your safe arrival to our court.”

  “I am grateful for your concern, Majesty, but I was treated with all honor during my captivity, as befitting one of your kin.”

  The king’s brown eyes were hooded. “Ah.”

  A courtier shifted in his place and the king glanced toward him.

  “And here is one whose heart rejoices far more than our own at your longed-for arrival,” the king commented, smiling. “Well, come forward Douglas, and make yourself known to the lady!”

  Lord Douglas hurried forward. He was a young man, no more than four and twenty, and well favored. Handsome, he bore some small resemblance to his royal cousin. He was clean-shaven, his jaw square, his nose long and aristocratic. His forest green embroidered doublet and hose had the cut of fashion, and he was possessed of a good leg indeed.

  Isabella gripped William’s arm against the sudden weakness in her legs as Alexander Douglas bowed to her, his red-gold hair brilliant under the light of the chandeliers.

  His hair, the way Alexander moved—

  The screams, the knife—

  Isabella was shaking so badly she had to lean against William. From the corner of her eye she
could his eyes flicker to her in concern.

  Alexander’s hair was the same brilliant color as Colyne’s.

  Oh, dear God, was I wrong to think it you, Colyne? Is it Douglas then who will turn to me with the queen’s blood on his hands?

  Kat softly cleared her throat. Isabella realized that Alexander still bowed to her.

  Heart hammering, Isabella sank into a curtsy.

  “Lord Alexander Douglas,” the king offered. “Although I hardly expect that you should not know a nervous bridegroom when you spy one.”

  There was laughter from the court and Douglas straightened, his fair skin flushing.

  “Come, man,” the king entreated jovially. “You have been hourly watching the road for her arrival. You cannot fall mute now!”

  Lord Douglas threw a quick, embarrassed smile at the king and cleared his throat.

  “It is even as His Majesty says,” Douglas said to Isabella. “I have been much anticipating your arrival since word reached the court that you had been freed from your captivity. Indeed, my heart does rejoice at your safe arrival.”

  She could see him swallow as he looked at her.

  He was courteous, handsome, well-born. Here stood a bashful young man who, by his glances at her face and form, seemed to find her very pleasing.

  A brilliant match, indeed. In that moment she knew she would have even come to love him, had she not been set upon on the Perthshire road.

  Had I not loved Colyne first—

  “Speak, lady!” the king said, laughing. “The poor wretch lives by your very word.”

  She pushed her terror and confusion away and nudged it into a corner of her mind.

  Isabella tucked her chin, looking at Alexander timidly as a modest maiden should. “I am deeply honored, my lord. I cannot think when I have known such a gracious welcome. I thank you for it.”

  Alexander’s warm brown eyes lit up. He was so young and seemed so in earnest. Could this kindly, shy young man truly kill his king?

  And me?

  “A fine match it is,” the king declared to the court then looked to Douglas. “The lady is yours. Be ever mindful you are deserving of her, cousin.”

  Alexander extended his hand. Isabella hesitated a moment then put her hand on his.

  Douglas gave her a shy smile. “I will, Your Majesty.”

  The king sat again, Queen Joan beside him, smiling.

  “I do so like a wedding!” the king commented. “When will you be married then, Douglas?”

  “With your permission,” Douglas replied, “tomorrow.”

  Isabella blinked, and quickly schooled her features.

  “My Lord Douglas!” the queen cried, laughing. “Not before Monday! And too soon a time to see everything done as it should be, if you ask me!”

  Alexander shifted his feet, his shoulders slumping a bit, but he nodded.

  She fought the urge to run from the room.

  Three days, Isabella thought. Only three days.

  His hand was hot under hers. She looked at Douglas under her lashes and his color went high.

  I will save Colyne.

  And if I can, I will save myself and the child as well…

  Alexander Douglas took pains to serve her well at dinner. He offered her the choicest pieces of meat, wiped his cup before offering it to her, and his manners were exquisite.

  He spoke with a courtier’s tongue, but he could not hide his blushes as he looked at her.

  Another course was cleared. She hoped the nausea would not return until after dinner. It would be no easy thing to keep the child hidden long in the close company of the court.

  But who do I see? Alexander? Or Colyne? God’s blood, what do I do?

  Isabella took another sip of wine with a trembling hand.

  The king and queen sent a number of dishes their way, conveying their affection and their obvious approval of the pairing.

  Alexander was pleased with her. They were betrothed now by the king’s own word. Most would expect them not to bother waiting the three days until the wedding to seek a common bed.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. Perhaps she should coax him to her bed. Surely that would help convince him the child was his. She did not want any other than Colyne, but she must come to his bed in three days anyway and if—

  Startled Isabella found Sir Robert Stewart, the king’s chamberlain, standing before her.

  Stewart swept a bow to her.

  Isabella exchanged a look with Kat, seated across the room.

  Isabella nodded to him. “Sir Robert.”

  Robert straightened, his dark eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Lady Isabella, it has been impressed upon me that I gravely wronged you.”

  Isabella’s glance revealed that the king regarded them with narrowed eyes. Others of the court too, including Alexander’s brother, the powerful Earl of Douglas, marked their exchange.

  “Wronged me? What can you mean?”

  Sir Robert, likely with a greater claim to the Scottish throne than his cousin James, gave a tight smile. “The guards I sent with you were…inadequate. I cannot express to you the depth of my remorse for your kidnap and imprisonment.”

  Isabella recalled the terror when the Highlanders attacked, and Kat, so ill already, nearly dying at Castle MacKimzie. She remembered too, Colyne’s mouth on hers at the well, him teaching her to dance like a Highlander, the child she carried.

  She offered her hand to him and smiled graciously. “You are freely forgiven, Sir Robert. My captivity was an inconvenience, nothing more. Indeed, I was treated with such honor and courtesy, I should hardly have known myself not amongst friends. I think it best the thing be forgotten by all.”

  Sir Robert’s eyes narrowed as he bent over her hand. It occurred to her, as it should have long ago, that it would serve the Stewart family far better if her throat had been cut in the Perthshire forest.

  Isabella shivered. She must mind the hazards well indeed.

  The king, at least, was pleased by their public reconciliation, and his wishes were all that mattered.

  “Majesty,” Alexander called once Robert had left them. “Now that she has come safely to us, may I ask your permission to toast my lady?”

  The king gave a genuine smile and waved his agreement.

  Isabella shifted in her seat as Alexander turned to her.

  “They say a happy marriage is a treasure indeed, my lady,” Alexander said, raising his goblet of fine glass. “With you I cannot but think myself wealthier than Croesus.”

  “Aye, her dowry makes you so!” called the king’s fool, drawing laughter from the court.

  Alexander’s dark eyes were warm. “No, indeed. The Lady Isabella is her own dowry.”

  His sincerity quieted the court and made her swallow. She saw herself for an instant standing on that table, Colyne toasting her, smiling a bit over the cup.

  Alexander lifted his glass to her. “No jewel in the world could be more precious than you, Lady Isabella, and I should trade them all to have you as my bride.”

  The king nodded his approval and raised his goblet. Alexander drank to her and the court with him.

  He was fond indeed of his wine cup. It was not long before he had drunk enough wine that his fair cheeks showed spots of color.

  “Of course, we all feared you dead,” Alexander confided, his words pitched low. The minstrels playing should cover their conversation, but clearly he had learned caution in this court.

  “Really?” Isabella replied, looking round at him wide-eyed. “Truly I was kept in the most comfortable way, and in the society of Lord MacKimzie’s own sister. I was even permitted to ride.”

  He was flushed, the hair around his forehead looking damp, but he drank deeply again.

  “I grew fond of the MacKimzie’s sister while in her company,” Isabella continued. “And she was ever kind to me. You do not think his punishment will be severe, do you? I should be grieved on her account.”

  Douglas gave a short laugh. “I will see
the bastard hanged for it!”

  Isabella’s heart sped up. “My lord,” she said, looking at him with eyes wide and innocent, “I could not bear a dog to be hanged in my name!”

  He shrugged. “I imagine the king will do his will and there is naught for us to fret over.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “And what harm has been done, in any case? With the messenger has fallen to some mishap and a ransom not even demanded—nor paid—I think the matter ended, don’t you? I imagine the keeping of me cost him more in the end. Still, I pity him! I cannot imagine the exercise has benefitted him at all. I imagine that the king, in his mercy, should but levy a fine against him.”

  Alexander was looking a bit worse for drink. She wondered if he would remember enough of the conversation for it to be any use.

  Under the cover of the tablecloth, she felt Alexander’s hand on her thigh.

  Startled, she looked up and his gaze was hot.

  She smiled a little in return, and dropped her eyes as if shy.

  No matter what the cost…

  “A fine-looking man,” Kat murmured, watching Alexander and the king at tennis two days later.

  “Truly if the color of his hair did not make me feel faint when I look upon it,” Isabella replied, “I should mark him very favored indeed.”

  “The man’s face is still hidden to you?” Kat whispered.

  Isabella nodded. Her vision, as nightmare, had come again the night before. The queen, the screaming, the knife, she knew him but she could not see his face.

  But his hair! So like Alexander’s!

  So like Colyne’s…

  What if I am wrong? What if I have altered things, as he thought I could? Bitter indeed to save myself and lose Colyne.

  Kat sighed. “There is no help for it now. The king hath made the match between you. To break with Douglas now would ruin you and we have nowhere to flee. We will not raise enough between us to evade their searches and—and there is—”

  The child, Isabella thought, catching herself before she could lay her hand against her abdomen. She imagined it with Colyne’s eyes. Imagined holding it, playing with it as she had the baby in the cottage, hearing its laughter. That seemed ages ago now.