by Amanda Scott
“He said he’d be along at half after ten. He’s been wi’ friends, forby. Och, and there is one other sma’ matter.” Duncan looked uneasy. “Ye mun understand that Douglas hasna much time tae call his ain, what wi’ being at the royal beck and bay, as he be. He wishes tae be wed as quick as may be.”
“How soon?” Now that she had picked up the gauntlet, so to speak, the details were relatively unimportant.
“I dinna ken. He said we should discuss it today.”
“Well, it cannot be for at least a month,” she stated calmly. “There are banns to be read, after all.”
“Aye,” Duncan agreed, but he looked doubtful. They finished their meal in silence, and then he suggested that she occupy herself in some ladylike pastime, preferably in the front parlor, so that he would know where to find her when Douglas arrived.
Mary Kate agreed unenthusiastically, since ladylike pastimes did not rank high on her list of favorite occupations. She was a skilled needlewoman, however, having in fact done the delicate embroidery on her gown herself. She enjoyed fancy work, but Morag MacBain, their housekeeper, had done the piecing, cutting, and hemming of nearly every item in her wardrobe. Several unfinished projects occupied her workbasket, because she often grew bored before her work was completed; however, despite that unenviable characteristic and although the work had been done in spurts as the mood struck her, Speyside House was strewn with colorful cushions, hangings, and quilts of her own design.
Repairing now to the parlor, Mary Kate disentangled from the litter in her workbasket an unfinished tapestry bellpull, its design of green wool worked around a series of silk-embroidered snow scenes only half-done. With a sigh, she straightened her tangled wools and silks and began to stitch.
By half-past ten she was bored with both the work and her own company, so ten minutes later it was with relief rather than any other emotion that she greeted the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Laying the tapestry aside, she hurried to the window where, screened from view by the green velvet curtains, she was able to observe Sir Adam as he dismounted and relinquished his magnificent chestnut stallion to a grinning stableboy.
Her first thought was that he was even taller than she remembered and more elegant. Well over six feet and as broad-shouldered as Duncan, Douglas was dressed in a white-clocked lavender doublet, his trunk hose puffed and slashed with darker purple. A lustrous, fur-trimmed cloak of rich purple velvet, pinned with an amethyst brooch to his right shoulder, had been tossed back in graceful folds over his left. He sported a falling lace collar instead of a ruff, and wore a velvet cap perched rakishly atop his neatly cropped dark curls.
Flipping a coin to the lad, Douglas adjusted his cap with a jaunty gesture of his right thumb and turned toward the house. The spring in his step as he approached the door told her plainly how eagerly he looked forward to the interview.
“Insufferable oaf,” she muttered.
3
MARY KATE SCURRIED BACK to her chair and picked up her needlework, forcing herself to relax and breathe deeply. For Douglas to see that she was agitated would not suit her at all. She would be calm, serene. Unfortunately, a good ten minutes elapsed, stretching her nerves to the breaking point, before at last the door opened. When it did, Douglas entered first, laughing. Behind him, Duncan avoided Mary Kate’s gaze as she arose to make her curtsy, but she was not left long to ponder his behavior or to wonder at Sir Adam’s merriment.
With a glint of devilry in his eyes, the borderer grinned and wished her good. day, adding gently, “Your father tells me you want wooing, lassie.” His grin broadened at her look of instant fury. “You need not look dismayed. I asked a blunt question and received a more telling response than I should have done with a tactful one. ’Tis always the best way. I have assured him that I have no intention of withdrawing my suit. A little courting is like to amuse me, I think.”
“’Tis more like to frustrate you, sir.” She shot a speaking look at her father, and her eyes were still flashing when she turned back to Douglas. So much for his better nature, she decided.
Douglas indulged himself in an injured sigh. “Godamercy, lass, I know you’ve got a generous nature, but don’t say you have already bestowed your affections upon another man.”
“She has not!” Duncan snapped. “Och, there was a wee bit of pliskie nonsense wi’ yon MacLeod a fortnight past, but I put an end to that soon enow.”
“You were horrid to poor Robin,” Mary Kate said tartly. “He offered for me only because you were so out-of-reason-cross with him that he thought he must have compromised my honor.”
“And had he?” Douglas inquired, looking directly at her as he added with a touch of mockery, “You will, I trust, forgive my ill-mannered curiosity under the circumstances.”
Mary Kate glared at him, but Duncan hastened to offer reassurance. “She misleads you, lad. What father would no ha’ been angry tae discover clandestine meetings betwixt the daughter he presumed tae be safe snug in her cot and a tenant’s son wi’ scarce two wits or pence tae rub together? Naught tae fret over, o’ course,” he added swiftly when Douglas’s heavy brows flew upward and Mary Kate flushed scarlet. “Nobbut innocent bairns, the pair o’ them, but I sent him off wi’ his ears fair scorched, I can tell ye, when he had the impudence tae offer marriage wi’ m’ lass.”
“So I should hope,” Douglas said. “I trust you set your daughter right as well, MacPherson. I cannot approve the habit of clandestine meetings.”
“Och, I packed her off tae her Murdoch cousins tae get over her sulks. Skelped her, too, o’ course, not that that ever has much effect on the impertinent lassie. Up tae another prank five minutes later, like as not.”
“Petticoats, I expect,” Douglas murmured wickedly.
“What’s that ye say?”
“Petticoats,” he repeated, grinning now. “My father decided long since that females design their clothing with an eye toward protecting themselves from the just wrath of their fathers and husbands. My sister’s behavior improved remarkably after he made that discovery.”
“By the rood,” Duncan said, casting a speculative glance at his daughter’s wide skirts. “I’ll warrant he’s got the right of it, too.”
Appalled by the direction the conversation had taken and seething with indignation, Mary Kate could hold her tongue no longer. “How dare you, the pair of you,” she cried, “to stand there discussing me as though I were naught but a wayward bairn!”
“Very true,” Douglas said gently. “We should be a great deal more comfortable if we were sitting down, but gentlemen may not sit, you know, whilst a lady continues to stand.”
“Oh!” So infuriated that she could not speak, Mary Kate glowered at him, longing for the courage to slap the grin off his impudent face.
Unfortunately, the wish showed itself in her expression, and her father said sharply, “That will do, Mary Kate. Ye forget yourself. Sit ye doon at once and mind your manners.”
As she sank speechless into her chair, feeling as though she tottered on the brink of hysteria, the bit of tapestry that she had been working earlier slipped to the floor. Douglas retrieved it, pausing in the act of restoring it to her to give it an appraising look.
“A Christmas theme and very well done, too,” he said, handing it to her with a nod of approval. “I admire efficiency in a woman.”
“Well, you do not find it in me, sir,” she retorted. “That piece was intended to be done for last Christmas.”
Encountering a glance from Duncan that boded ill for her future, she could only be grateful when Douglas suddenly dropped his teasing attitude, took a seat, and deftly turned the conversation to more general topics. Under his adroit management, Duncan relaxed and soon rang for ale. The men discussed the weather, hunting, horses, and other such harmless subjects, while Mary Kate remained silent, offering comment only when directly addressed. Finally, Douglas set his mug aside and rose from his chair.
“I must take my leave now, mistress, but I shall return upon t
he morrow to begin a proper courtship.”
She did not deign to reply, but when Duncan would have expostulated, Douglas cut in smoothly, saying, “Pray do not take her to task, sir. I shall soon bring her to heel.”
“I hope ye may, lad. She’s a wild slip yet, wi’oot mense or discretion and wi’ little moderation o’ mouth, so ’twill be a muckle great task, but I surely hope ye may.” He shook his gray head and sounded so doubtful that, despite herself, Mary Kate nearly grinned.
“Never doubt my capabilities, sir,” Douglas replied confidently, watching her rather than her father. “I’ve got almost an entire fortnight in which to accomplish the deed, after all. The good Lord created the whole world in less than half that time.”
“Aye, lad, that He did, but He didna have a female tae reckon wi’ till it was done. Gin ye ken your Bible, ye will remember that He left her till the last and when He’d done wi’ the lass, the poor mon required a full day’s rest.”
Douglas roared with laughter, and Mary Kate, sitting stiffly, ignored them both until he made his bow a moment later. Duncan walked out with him, leaving her to think over what had been said and to wonder what her father would have to say to her when he returned.
Douglas’s comment about the Creation made it appear that he intended to devote an entire fortnight of his valuable time to her wooing. No doubt, she decided, he would then have to return to the king until it was time for the wedding. They had not discussed an actual date yet, but that would come in good time. It didn’t really matter now.
She heard Duncan shout for his horse and, having expected a scold at the very least for her lack of conduct, she was relieved to discover that he meant to leave matters in Douglas’s hands as he had been asked to do. Her temper had been her undoing yet again, and she realized with chagrin that although she had emerged victorious from their first confrontation, the honors for their second had undeniably gone to the borderer. She told herself sternly that the next time they met she would be calm and polite if it killed her.
Accordingly, she was all smiles and serenity the following morning when he arrived at Speyside House, but if she had hoped thus to confound him, she had underestimated her opponent. The ubiquitous twinkle lurked in his eyes when he greeted her.
“Is this the other side of the shrew, lassie?”
She lowered her lashes, a demure gesture that delighted him. Chuckling, he added, “You have many moods, sweetheart,” and turned to Duncan, standing beside her. “At least my wife will never bore me, sir. I begin to believe I made an even wiser choice than I knew.”
Duncan shook his head as though he knew not what to make of the pair of them and asked if Douglas would take some ale. But Sir Adam, who was dressed in breeks and boots, said he had a fancy to take his lady riding this fine, brisk morning.
The lady demurred. It was too cold. He would not wish her to risk her health in such uncertain weather, nor did she desire to keep him awaiting her pleasure while she changed her gown for more appropriate attire. And as a clincher, she informed him with wide-eyed innocence that she was by no means certain it was proper for her to ride out alone with him.
Douglas seemed perfectly willing to continue this exceedingly polite conversation, but Duncan soon had had enough of it. “Dinna be daft, lass,” he said crossly. “The mon’s bound tae marry wi’ ye, and I trust him weel tae look after ye. As tae the uncertainty o’ the weather, there’s nobbut one wee cloud in the sky, which is nae great thing tae make a song about. ’Tis a fine spring day, forby, and the exercise will do ye good.”
“If it be your wish, Father.” She swept a curtsy, casting Douglas a mocking look, but the twinkle in his brown eyes only deepened. Damn the man, she thought. Even her father’s trust, which heaven knew Douglas did not deserve, did not serve to curb his impudence.
Changing into her riding dress and jerkin took little time, and she soon rejoined the gentlemen. The horses had been brought around to the front and, outside, Duncan moved swiftly to examine the borderer’s stallion with a close and expert eye.
“Forby, lad, he’s a big ’un, but he looks sound enow.”
“Aye, just under seventeen hands and the devil to go.”
“Staying power?”
“I’ve had him nigh onto an hour at the gallop, and he’s made some long journeys in his time.” As Duncan ran a hand over the powerful, rippling haunches, Douglas added, “I’ve not tried him hunting, but he easily clears most hedges and dikes even under my weight.”
“It was today that you wished to ride, was it not?” Mary Kate inquired sweetly as she adjusted the fastening of the safeguard that protected her skirts when she rode.
Masculine eyes met over her head in that look of combined regret, amusement, and helplessness that men have perfected in the face of feminine impatience over the passage of time, and Douglas apologized. “Sorry, lass. Given the slightest encouragement, I could discuss Valiant’s points all day.”
“I pray you will not do so today.”
“Nay, we will go.” Tossing her effortlessly onto her saddle, he gathered his reins and mounted the stallion, then said to Duncan, “We’ll ride along the river toward Braelairig.”
“Will ye be taking the lass up tae Ardcarach, then?” Duncan referred to the great castle on the Braelairig estates, owned by Parian Drysdale, Laird of Ardcarach.
“No, sir, not today. My uncle is in Edinburgh. I doubt there is a safe, direct route from here anyway, only that long, circuitous road to the south of us. I’ve no wish to spend the day searching for a way up the glen, so we’ll follow the river to the boundary between the two estates, then cut back through your fields. Be away three, maybe four hours, I should say.”
Duncan nodded and waved them off. Riding down to the patchy trail along the riverbank, they turned southwest toward the source of the Spey, and Mary Kate drew a long, appreciative breath of the clean, crisp air. She loved to ride and had often followed this particular path, so when they came to an open space, though the trail disappeared into thick brown grass still bent from the weight of the winter’s snow, she didn’t hesitate to urge her horse to a gallop. Exhilarated by the cold air blowing against her cheeks, she failed to note that her impulsive action had caught Douglas by surprise until the thunder of hoof-beats from behind pierced her consciousness.
Looking back to see that he was gaining on her, his grin a clear-cut challenge, she bent low and urged her mount with a flick of her whip to a faster pace. It was no use though, for a few seconds later Valiant flashed past, and she saw with amazement that his rider was not making use of the light whip he carried. Duncan MacPherson, sportsman that he was, allowed none but the finest horseflesh in his stables, so when she finally reined in beside Douglas to see that the stallion was not even blowing, Mary Kate was filled with admiration.
“By heaven, sir, that is a magnificent beast.” Breathless from her wild ride, she had no notion of how magnificent she looked herself with her flushed cheeks and her eyes brilliant with excitement. Her hat was askew, and red-gold curls had tumbled out from under it, giving a tousled, little-girl look to her face, but there was nothing childlike in the erectness of her carriage or in the fullness of her soft bosom as it heaved beneath her riding dress.
Douglas’s grin broadened. “Aye, he is magnificent, sweetheart, and you ride like a borderer, as though you were born in that saddle. ’Tis glad I am to see that you ride safely astride and have not been daft enough to attempt the sidesaddle. ’Tis a loathsome, dangerous contraption at best, I’m thinking.”
Deep pleasure surged through her at his unexpected compliment. Until that moment her indignation at the unwelcome turn of events had armored her against his charm, but she was suddenly reminded of how quickly he had managed to stir her senses at Critchfield. His flashing smile and the twinkle in his dark eyes warmed her now, and since she heartily agreed with his condemnation of the sidesaddle, an invention beloved by the Calvinists since it was designed to force ladies to keep their legs decorously together whi
le they rode, she silently resolved to observe a truce—for the moment, at least.
They rode on side by side, maintaining light conversation until hearing each other over the increasing roar of the river became too difficult. Soon afterward, they reached the wide, rushing brook and steep, granite cliff wall that formed the boundary between the MacPherson and Drysdale estates.
Mary Kate had met Parian Drysdale, Laird of Ardcarach, only once and remembered him as a tall, thin, dour man, not at all the sort one would expect to rule an estate that seemed from her present position to be a lofty, inaccessible mountain fortress. Towering, rugged crags separated Braelairig from Speyside at that point where the fierce, roaring river swept from the rocky, steep-sided glen before proceeding northward through a slightly less rugged portion of the Cairngorm Mountains until its waters spilled at last into the Moray Firth. The sight at the opening to the glen, where brook met river, was wild, fearsome, and breathtaking. One would expect the laird of the aerie above to be plaided, full-bearded, and burly, with piercing eyes, a bellowing voice, and a claymore at the ready. Mary Kate shouted as much to Douglas above the din.
He laughed and shouted back, “You draw a fine portrait, lass, but isn’t it proper for a scholar like my uncle to dwell upon the heights, too?”
She agreed but insisted that her fierce Gaelic warrior was a more romantic figure, and they turned back toward Speyside House, following the brook for a short time and then heading across rolling, open fields. When they came to a small, green, wildflower-strewn meadow with a sparkling burn tumbling merrily through its center, Douglas reined in.
“How about some refreshment, lassie?”
“An excellent notion, sir, for the water looks most inviting. Have you a cup, or must we make do with our hands? I can do so, you know. Have done since I was a child.”
“My name is Adam, Mary Kate, and I can do better than a mere cup.” He dismounted and unstrapped a leather bag from his saddle before helping her to alight. “I bullied the fellow at the alehouse where I’m staying into providing a proper meal for us. I ought to warn you at once, I’ve a prodigious appetite.” He selected a broad, flat rock near the burn, and Mary Kate’s eyes widened as she watched him methodically lay out two pewter mugs, a cottage loaf, a brick of white cheese, a cold whole chicken, four apples, a tin of biscuits, and a plugged crockery jug of malmsey wine.