by Amanda Scott
After the first break in their journey, she paused before remounting to examine the symbol of her defeat, glowing warmly in a shaft of sunlight that lay across her hand. The ring was intricately designed to look as though several golden threads had been woven together to form a circlet.
“Do you like it, sweetheart?”
“Aye,” she replied, suddenly shy in the midst of her all-male escort. To provide a female companion for her on such a rapid journey had not been thought possible.
“It suits you.” He lifted her effortlessly back into the saddle. “’Tis your own, too, lass. I chose it myself. There is a great, heavy gold thing, set with pearls, among the family pieces, but I thought it too large for your dainty hands. Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “my mother is somewhat partial to it.”
She grinned back. “I prefer to have my own, sir.”
He nodded, his satisfaction clear, and they were soon off again, riding hard.
Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the manor house at Aberfeldy, where it had been arranged for them to spend the night, and Mary Kate was swaying in the saddle. Their host was away from home, but a stout housekeeper whisked them inside with promises of good food, reviving drink, and soft, dry beds. Lady Douglas wearily disclaimed any interest in food or drink and chose instead to retire immediately. Douglas, with a glance at her pale face and drooping eyelids, forbore to press her and ordered separate bedchambers. Mary Kate never gave a thought to the details of an ordinary wedding night but fell into a sound sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.
The journey to Stirling on the second day passed much like the first, though she ate a hearty breakfast and, once her initial stiffness wore off, seemed to manage the long hours in the saddle with greater ease. There was no pause at any kirk, though Douglas offered prayers for their safe journey before they started, and again, able through efficient planning to change horses frequently, they made good time, particularly since they had now left the rugged Cairngorms behind them.
Twice they avoided larger hamlets when they were out of the highlands, and Mary Kate knew without asking that Douglas had no wish to flaunt the fact that they were breaking the Sabbath. No one challenged them, however, and by nightfall she was exhausted again, barely managing to eat her supper before she fell asleep. Douglas carried her upstairs to her bed and, with a rueful grin, left her to the tender ministrations of a buxom chambermaid.
By morning of the third day, she was herself again and readily agreed to his decision, expressed over a generous matutinal repast, to finish their journey that same day. “It will mean traveling well into the night,” he admitted, “but we’ll have moonlight, and we should make Moffat before dark. We can hire outriders there.”
She had been smiling to herself at the accuracy of Margaret’s prediction, but his last words brought a bewildered frown to her face.
“Outriders?”
“Aye. We’ll have lost a part of our escort by then, and although border raiders rarely attack private parties by daylight, the dark brings them out, and there’ll be a fair border moon tonight to light their way as well as our own.” He smiled at her dismay. “Don’t fear, lassie. I’ll see to it we’re safe.”
An hour later, Johnny Graham and more than half the men with them veered off at a fork in the road, bound for Edinburgh, where, Douglas informed his wife, Graham would do his best to delay a royal summons. That left Lucas Trotter and six others to travel with Douglas and Mary Kate.
They traveled rapidly again, stopping only to change horses and for brief refreshment as either became necessary. As Douglas had foretold, they reached the sprawling hamlet of Moffat before dark. He was known there and easily arranged for an escort of twenty armed men before suppertime, so they relaxed over their meal at the alehouse. Outside again, as he placed his hands on her waist, intending to toss her into her saddle, Douglas looked down at his bride.
“Tired, sweetheart?”
“I should be, should I not?”
“Aye.”
“Well, ’tis odd, I suppose, but I’m not, not a bit.”
“Good!” He laughed, his eyes twinkling wickedly, and the warmth of his gaze made her toes curl in her boots. When she blushed, he laughed again, lifting her at last to her horse.
Mary Kate settled herself firmly in the saddle, adjusted the hood of her thick cloak, and fixed her gaze upon a distant hilltop, determined to ignore the nerve-tingling tremors that had begun to stir deep within her.
Douglas swung into his own saddle and signaled his men to move on, but his amusement was nearly palpable. “It won’t be long now, sweetling,” he murmured, and there was, unmistakably, a deeper meaning to his words than the mere hint of journey’s end. He chuckled again when she made no response other than to lift her chin, but after a long moment when she still did not speak, he mused sadly, “Perhaps the journey will be longer than I thought, especially if my lady wife persists in this alarming silence. A long and dark and dreary journey for a poor, neglected husband. Long and dark and—”
Goaded, she snapped, “You said there will be a moon!”
“Aye, so I did,” he agreed amiably, “but it won’t simply spring up into the sky, you know. There is bound to be a period of darkness first. Lonely, silent darkness.”
She glared at him and then fixed her eyes straight ahead again, determined to ignore him. But after a few moments of this treatment, he said coaxingly, “Am I such a beast, lady wife, that you will not speak to me?” When she remained mute, his voice sharpened. “Come, lass, look at me. This silence pleases me not. I promise no more teasing. Now, come. Speak to me.
This time she did turn, giving him a smile and a slanting look from under her lashes for his efforts. Deep inside, and well hidden, she savored a glow of triumph. He had nearly apologized. A small victory, perhaps, but a victory nonetheless.
“That is much better,” he said, pleased. “Tell me more about yourself. We speak too often only of me, and I should like to hear more about when you were small.” In this manner he encouraged her to talk, and she was soon comfortable again.
Their escort had split, some ahead, some behind. She could hear jingling equipage and, occasionally, low, murmuring voices. Progress was much slower now, horses first cantering, then slowing to a walk as darkness closed in around them. Douglas matched her tales with new ones of his own, and time passed quickly. It seemed no time at all, in fact, before they were riding between the huge gates that Margaret had described to her.
The moon had risen, but the road beyond was lined with trees, their dark branches intertwined overhead and nubbly with half-grown new leaves. Mary Kate peered ahead, anxious for her first clear glimpse of her new home. The trees parted at last, and she drew in a long, appreciative breath. Crowning the hill ahead, magnificently outlined by moonlight that edged stone towers and crenellated parapets with lustrous silver, stood Tornary Castle.
“Oh, Adam, it’s huge.”
“Only thirty rooms, sweetheart, and a good many of them naught but storage cells beneath the living spaces. ’Tis not so big for a castle. Do you like it?”
“It is beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew,” he answered simply. “I wondered why you didn’t ask me to tell you about it.”
And believed she didn’t care, she thought. “I had no idea until Margaret told me.”
“Well, no matter. You may see it all for yourself on the morrow. My father made it over to me nearly eight years ago. It is no fortress, but it will be a fair place to raise a family.”
Soon they were passing into the torchlit stable yard. Soft light gleamed from nearly every window facing the yard, and men hurried to see to the horses and baggage. Mary Kate had brought only two leather satchels with her, leaving the rest of her things to follow by freight wagon.
Douglas gave precise instructions to the outriders and to his assorted minions, then turned with a meaningful smile to his bride. “We’ll go in by the postern door. You may
meet the household properly tomorrow, but tonight we have more important matters to occupy our time.”
With a deep blush and a fervent if unspoken wish that he would lower his voice, Mary Kate allowed him to help her dismount. Seconds later she stifled a gasp when he swung her up into his arms but made no other protest as, with long, purposeful strides, he carried her into the castle and up a winding, torchlit stone staircase.
They emerged at last at one end of a wide stone gallery with a waist-high parapet that stretched the full length of the great hall below. Douglas’s pace seemed to increase as he carried her along the gallery and through a small anteroom to the left, until he paused in front of a great carved oaken door.
“Welcome, wife.” The door stood slightly ajar, and he kicked it wide, setting her on her feet just inside the room.
It was his bedchamber. Light from the hooded fireplace and a single candle in a bowl-shaped silver holder on the table near the bed cast a warm, golden glow over the arras-draped stone walls and the soft blue and yellow Persian carpet. The dominant feature of the room, however, against the wall opposite the fireplace, was the huge carved bed, its indigo velvet hangings looped back with thick, plaited golden cords. Matching curtains hung at the chamber’s tall, arched twin windows, between which, upon the floor, against the wall, rested Mary Kate’s two leather satchels. The servant who had brought them up so quickly was nowhere to be seen.
She blinked. Never in her life had she seen such a splendid room. The comfortable bedchambers at Speyside House and Critchfield Manor were austere by comparison.
Douglas gave her a gentle nudge. “Get you in, lass. I’ve no wish to spend the night lingering upon the threshold.”
Still dazed, she took a few obedient steps forward.
Douglas lit more candles, then moved toward her, his eyes gleaming with intent. He reached out, pushing the hood of her cloak back from her face. “Ah, but you’re a winsome wench,” he murmured, “and I have waited so long.” He drew her to him and lowered his lips toward hers.
Mary Kate tried to pull away, ducking her head and pushing ineffectively at his broad chest with two trembling, small hands, but he held her easily with one arm, putting his other hand under her chin, gently forcing her head up until he could claim his kiss. It was a long and probing one that sent rivers of flame rushing through her body from her head down to her toes, and long before it was over, she had melted toward him, turning limp and pliable in his arms.
When he released her at last, she stepped back, breathless, putting her hands to her face. He cocked his head, regarding her with amusement. “You cannot deny me now, lassie,” he said softly. “’Tis my right…this time.”
“Aye, but…” She hesitated, then, her voice low, spoke the first words that came to mind. “But I am hungry.”
“I, too.” The gleam in his eyes deepened as he moved to take her in his arms again.
This time she eluded him. “I want food, Adam. My insides have shrunk away to nothing. Only listen for yourself.”
For once he was completely taken aback. “But I’ve told them to put out the lights. I’ve sent Trotter and the other servants to bed.”
“I want food,” she insisted, knowing she was but stalling for time, yet wondering if he would yield to her wishes.
He gave a sigh of resignation. “I’ll forage a bit then and see what I can find, but there are two great kitchens in this place so it may take a while.” Then he grinned. “You may ready yourself for bed whilst I am away, sweetheart.”
She nodded, her face pale, and as soon as the door had shut firmly behind him, she flung open her leather satchels. Hurrying for fear he would return too soon, she snatched off her clothes and threw her thin, cotton night rail over her head, twitching it impatiently into place and lacing the bodice with nervous fingers. She had to search through both satchels before she found her sheepskin mules, but with them on her feet and her hooded cloak wrapped closely around her for added warmth, her courage began to return.
Forcing the tumbled satchels shut again, she picked up the rest of her discarded clothing and laid it carefully over a back stool, then turned to survey the bedchamber more closely. She inspected the intricate tapestries, peeped daringly into a chest or two, and then moved to one of the tall, narrow, leaded windows to gaze out upon the moonlit night. She could see the moon’s reflection upon the breeze-rippled waters of the Teviot at the bottom of the hill, and though the river seemed to run silently, rather than with a hearty rushing sound like the Spey, the scene reminded her of home, which at the moment seemed farther away than ever. She started when Douglas kicked at the door.
“Mary Kate, my hands are full!”
She ran to unlatch the door, and he came in grinning and set a jug of ale and a wooden platter piled high with sliced beef, bread, cheese, and fruit upon the low table near the fire.
“Fetch stools, lass. I’ve found us a feast.”
Drawing up two low stools, she watched as he produced a pair of pewter mugs from a pocket of his jerkin and placed them on the table with the flourish of a magician. Then, flinging the jerkin to a nearby chair, he unfastened his doublet and, sending it after the jerkin, sat down opposite her in his shirtsleeves.
“Eat quickly, love. I’ve a strong appetite for things other than food, and I have not got a patient nature.” Tactful for once, he ignored her blushes while he piled food on a trencher of bread for her and filled their mugs with ale. Then, drinking his own thirstily, he refilled it before turning to his food. Silence reigned while they ate.
Mary Kate munched slowly, observing her husband from under lowered eyelids. She found it difficult to digest the fact that she had actually been married to him for three whole days. He would have his way with her at last, and there was no way, barring divine interference, to stop him. With a tiny frown, she thought back once again to their first meeting.
Much had happened since that night. Mary of Scotland was dead, and as far as the Scottish people knew, her son James had done nothing to prevent her death. Knowing of her peril, and knowing, too, that for the Queen of England to try the Queen of Scotland for treason was both ludicrous and illegal, he had done little more than to issue a weak, formal protest after the fact. For him to insist now that he had not thought Elizabeth capable of putting a fellow monarch to death was foolishness. Only too clearly could Mary Kate remember the gravelly voice saying that it was impossible after the discovery of the Babington Plot that both Mary and Elizabeth should continue to live. If the men in Douglas’s room that night had understood that much, surely James must have done so, too. Mary Kate wondered, not for the first time, if the king appreciated how avidly Douglas and others had worked to avert Queen Mary’s death. Then, as her thoughts drifted idly, she found herself wondering how many other comely females had crossed the Douglas path while he was engaged in that intriguing business. Surely, she had not been the only one.
A low chuckle interrupted her reverie. “I’d give a penny for your thoughts, sweetheart, but I’ll warrant I can save my copper.”
“Why did you marry me?” she asked abruptly.
His answer was swift, filled with his usual bold impudence. “I doubt not ’twas because you are the most beautiful wench ever to dare deny me access to her charms. Have you finished?” His smile was sweet, but that unnerving gleam lurked in his eyes.
“Insufferable ape!” she snapped. “At least you married me before you tried again.”
He stood up. “Temper, lassie, temper. You had too many protectors before, and I decided marriage was not so bad a penalty to pay for such a grand reward.” Advancing, he pulled her to her feet, shaking his head in mock reproof. “I told you to uncase yourself. You’ve far too many clothes on.”
She would have given much for the courage to resist him, but she did not dare. To claim her was his right. Standing rigid, she trembled when he opened her cloak and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, but when he reached for the cotton lacing at her bodice, she step
ped back involuntarily and stumbled over the heavy cloak and the low stool behind her. He caught her by both arms and pulled her close to him.
Her heart was beating tumultuously, and she shivered, scarcely knowing what to expect. Her knowledge of the sexual activities of married persons was vague at best. She knew they sometimes slept together. She knew also that unwary females could be ravished by brutal males. But no one had ever explained the details of such ravishment to her. She had heard talk, of course, but always shaded with innuendo, and as a result, her feelings were a mixture of fear, bewilderment, and an unfamiliar, coursing excitement.
Douglas’s voice sounded gently against her ear. “Easy, lass, I’ll not hurt you. I know ’tis your first time.”
She didn’t realize that she had been holding her breath until it came out in a gusting sob, but there was some small relief in knowing that he understood her confusion.
He guided her toward the bed. “Come, lassie, trust me. It will be well, you’ll see.” He steadied her beside the huge bed and reached once more for the lacing. Untying it with practiced fingers, he opened the bodice to reveal her heaving breasts, their smooth, milky whiteness turned rosy by the candlelight. With scarcely a pause, he hooked his thumbs under the soft material at her shoulders and eased the night rail from her body until, with a faint whisper, the garment slipped to her ankles.
His gaze moved appreciatively over her firm, smooth body, and he let out a long breath. “Ah, but you are bonny, lass. More bonny even than I’d imagined.” He stroked her breast, smiling tenderly when she trembled. “I’ll teach you, lassie, so many things.” He leaned over the bed to pull back the blankets and the fine linen sheet. “Climb you in, sweetheart. We will begin your lessons as soon as I rid myself of these clothes.”