by Amanda Scott
Megan’s mouth quirked with amusement. “Do you think so?” she said gently. “You know, my dear, you made that rather plain last night when you doused me with claret, but I must tell you, I took that little gesture as a challenge, a throwing down of the gauntlet, so to speak. I did not tell Adam, you know, though I might have done and I might well do so yet if you continue to annoy me. To hear such a tale will make him very angry, I promise you. I know him so much better than you do, you see, so if you mean to keep his goodwill, I fear you must exert yourself to keep mine as well.”
The smugness was more than Mary Kate could bear. “How dare you speak so to me!” she snapped. “You are no lady, Megan Somerville. Indeed, you behave more like a wanton.” She was speaking now without thought of what she was saying, and her voice grew louder as her temper rose.
Megan stared at her, that infuriating little smile playing about her lips until Mary Kate wanted to slap it off.
“Have you nothing to say?” she demanded. When Megan only continued her frustrating, smiling silence, she added sarcastically, “And you think yourself so clever. Well, I won’t tolerate any more of this, and so I tell you. Today you dared to mock poor Rose MacReady, who only raised her eyes to another man, whilst you, my fine lady, would raise your skirts if any man so much as snapped his fingers to encourage you.”
Megan gasped, and Mary Kate leaned forward, speaking with caustic animosity. “You seem shocked, madam, but I dare you to deny that you’ve been flaunting your wagtail wares in the hope of bedding my husband. Christ’s blood, Megan Somerville, but you should think shame to yourself, for ’tis you that belonged this day upon yon cockstool, saidhe that you are!”
Megan went rigid with anger. “You go too far, madam,” she declared icily. “I do not pretend to understand your barbarous Gaelic, but—”
“I understand it well enough!” snapped a grim voice from behind Mary Kate.
She whirled in shock to see Douglas nearing the top of the stairs with a wide-eyed Ned close upon his heels. Deafened by her own tirade, she had not heard their approach, but one look at her furious husband was enough. Mary Kate threw dignity to the wind, snatched up her skirts, and fled.
14
AS SHE SPED THROUGH the great chamber, Mary Kate heard Megan burst into tears behind her, and false though she knew such histrionics to be, she was grateful, knowing Douglas would pause to console his cousin and thus give her time to reach the privacy of her own bedchamber before he caught her. There could be no thought of avoiding an immediate confrontation, but his overwhelming fury had caused her to fear that he would bellow at her, or worse, right then and there, and she could not bear the thought that he might permit Megan and Ned to witness such a scene between them.
Her bedchamber was empty, and she continued across it to the half-open window, where she gazed with unseeing eyes at the fountain in the center of the hedged garden below. Birds called to one another, obliviously cheerful, but she did not hear them. While her mind raced, her ears strained for the sound of Douglas’s footsteps. What could she say to him? Cursing her impulsive tongue, she realized that she ought never to have allowed Megan to spark her temper. Indeed, she should have known better, feeling as she did, than to follow her upstairs. Then all thought was suspended. He was coming.
The snap of his quick, firm steps crackled through her mind as he neared her door. She did not turn but stood, waiting, holding her breath as he crossed the room, his footsteps muffled now by the carpet. Suddenly, his hands were upon her shoulders and he spun her roughly to face him. Mary Kate stumbled, but he caught her shoulders again, bruisingly. Then he was shaking her.
“Do not ever, ever let me hear such words from your mouth again!” he snapped, affected not one whit by the tears welling into her eyes. “By heaven, madam, I am ashamed of you, ashamed to find you capable of saying such insulting things to anyone, let alone to a relative of mine who wishes only to befriend you. There can be no excuse!” He stopped shaking her and glared, daring her to respond, but for once she was afraid to enrage him further, so she held her tongue. He continued harshly, “You will apologize for your insults, Mary Kate, and this time it will take more than a simple expression of your regret to satisfy me. Indeed, I won’t be satisfied until you have begged Megan to forgive you and she has agreed to do so.”
That was too much. She looked up disbelievingly, trying to steady her nerves. Her voice shook. “I will apologize, sir, if I must, for I ought not to have said what I did. But I will never beg that woman for anything. She provoked me to it. You do not know the things she has said or how she has taunted me. It is she—aye, and you as well, Adam Douglas—who ought to beg my forgiveness!”
His eyes narrowed dangerously when her voice began to rise, but he did not interrupt her. Now a short silence fell while he made a visible effort to regain control of his temper, and when he spoke, his voice was steady but contained a note she had long since learned to recognize. He meant to be obeyed.
“What anyone else has or has not said or done does not matter. What matters is that you have not behaved as Lady Douglas must behave.” He paused but did not take his eyes from her face. “You threw that wine at Megan deliberately last night, did you not?”
Her breath caught in her throat, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
“I thought so. That being the case,” he went on coldly, “you may count yourself fortunate that I am not a more violent husband, for I am sorely tempted to school you here and now to better manners. Megan has suffered a great deal of unkindness from you. She does not fully comprehend your rudeness today because I did not trouble her with a translation, but she has been hurt and insulted. Since you are entirely at fault, you will humble yourself to her on your knees if necessary. I command it, madam.”
With his last words he let his hands fall from her shoulders but stood looking down at her challengingly, daring her to rebel further against his authority.
Mary Kate said nothing, neither did she move. Her gaze was fixed upon the lowest fastening of his doublet, her damp lashes casting shadows upon her reddened cheeks. Her lips trembled, and her breath caught in quiet sobs. Except for the hushing whisper of the fountain outside and the disinterested chirping of the birds, there was no other sound.
Douglas sighed. “I will make your excuses to my lady mother, for you do not wish to appear at table. You may use the time to compose yourself before approaching Megan. Do not be overlong about that, however,” he added grimly. “My patience is not infinite, and your behavior has already gone beyond what I will tolerate. If you do not make your apologies quickly, the least that will happen is that you’ll find yourself across my knee again, and this time I will not be so gentle.” With that, he turned upon his heel and strode from the room.
Emotionally drained by her efforts to remain silent, Mary Kate stood where she was until the sound of his footsteps had faded into the distance. Then she sank down upon a stool near the window and brushed angry tears from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She could still feel where his fingers had bitten into her shoulders, and there was an ache at the back of her throat from the harshness of his anger. But her thoughts did not linger upon these ills. He had ordered her to throw herself upon Megan’s mercy, to abase herself to a woman she loathed.
How Megan would rejoice at her humiliation, she thought bitterly. An apology would have been difficult enough, God knew, but for Douglas to have demanded one of her would have been perfectly fair, for she had committed a grave offense by calling his cousin a bitch in heat to her face. Gaelic words, she mused, were always so much more graphic than their English counterparts. By calling Megan a saidhe, she had no doubt placed herself in mortshainn insofar as her husband’s good opinion of her was concerned. She decided she had to do what she could to put things right, but to humble herself completely, as he had commanded, was out of the question. He might say she had not behaved as a Douglas must, but he himself must still think of her as a MacPherson or he would never have issue
d such a command. A Douglas humbled himself to no one.
The thought stirred some of her old spirit. Douglas had much to learn of MacPhersons, did he not? Did not the Clan Chattan motto warn against touching the cat without a glove? But the mental image of herself clawing at Douglas’s hand consoled her but briefly, for she knew only too well that at this point, he would deal short shrift to rebellion of any kind. He had left her no alternative but to obey him.
She stood up, suddenly restless, anxious to have the hateful business over and done. Damn him, she thought, for ordering her to keep to her bedchamber, for forbidding her presence at the table. They were probably just now going in, smelling delicious smells, wondering where she was. No doubt he would provide her with a headache or some such thing as he had done at Tornary, but whatever the excuse, they would see right through it. Probably Megan was clinging to his arm at this very moment and would sit beside him, looking long-suffering and noble while he served her from the dishes they shared.
Mary Kate glanced out of the window, hearing the birds’ chatter now. Sunlight sparkled invitingly on the gentle fountain spray, creating a host of dancing rainbows. The day was lovely. At least, out there it was lovely. A thought teased at her mind. He had not precisely ordered her to stay where she was. He had perhaps assumed that she would do so, once he had made it clear that she was not to inflict her presence upon the family at dinner. But he had not actually forbidden her to go outside.
Telling herself that she needed fresh air to relax her before her ordeal, she began searching for her safeguard, and less than a quarter hour later, she hurried from the house. Encountering no one on her way to the stables, she was fortunate enough to find the same dour groom who had helped her before. Once again he showed not a trace of curiosity, saddling the mare as ordered and accepting his dismissal without comment. Mary Kate had no desire for company, believing that Annandale was too far north of the border for her to be in any danger so long as she remained on Lord Strachan’s land.
Forcing all thought of the forthcoming interview with Megan from her mind, she gave the mare her head. Sesi was well pleased to have such freedom and chose to stretch her legs upon a southbound track. Mary Kate concentrated her attention upon the terrain. Hatless, letting the warm breeze blow her hair and loving the caress of it across her face, she rode until Sesi began to slow of her own accord. She had no idea how great a distance they had covered, but they had kept to the rough track, so she knew she could easily find her way back.
They reached the crest of a low hill. Off in the distance, perhaps half a mile or so, lay a thickly wooded slake that looked as though it followed a river or stream, and Mary Kate realized that she was thirsty.
Ten minutes later she rode into the peaceful shade of the wood. It was silent there, and soon she was able to hear the babble of water coursing over stones. She turned Sesi toward the sound. Sunlight played innocently through green branches, daubing lush and fragile ferns with spatters of gold. Surely, she thought, the silver glint just ahead was the same sunlight sparkling on water, for the sound of the splashing brook came to her ears clearly now with a nearly metallic jingle. She froze on the thought, her hand jerking the rein with a suddenness that stopped the mare in her tracks.
Sesi whinnied in nervous protest, but Mary Kate heard the sound again, not an odd note in the brook’s song at all but the jingle of spurs and clink of harness. Before she could wheel the mare, however, the woods erupted with horsemen who quickly surrounded her, and a rough hand grabbed her bridle.
Sesi shied.
“Let her go at once!” Mary Kate cried.
“Nay, lass, she’s like tae bolt, gin I do anything sae daft.” He was broad-shouldered, thickset, and heavily bearded.
“You have no right! Release her!”
The man holding Sesi shook his head, his blue eyes sparkling with uncouth insolence. He grinned at the others. There were fifteen of them, she saw now, perhaps more. It was difficult to tell amidst the close-growing trees, but they were a motley lot, bearing arms ranging from calivers to broadswords, daggers, and dirks. They were not gentlemen, nor were they ordinary peasants or farmers. Their leader regarded her closely, his roving eyes drinking in every detail of her trappings and the rich gown beneath her safeguard.
Embarrassed by his effrontery, she was nevertheless glad for once that she did not indulge in the border wife’s practice of sporting every jewel she owned. She had even taken off her watch before she left, for it had a habit of bouncing uncomfortably when she rode. It lay now safely in the trinket box on her dressing table.
“What might a bonny wee lassock like yerself be a-doin’ allanerly in a place such as this ’un, me lass?”
“That is no affair of yours,” she retorted.
“Lass has spirit,” the leader observed in an aside to his men. Then his voice hardened. “Answer me, lass.”
“You have no right,” she insisted. “I ride upon my husband’s father’s estate, and ’tis no business of yours whether I ride alone or otherwise.”
Her words seemed somehow to arouse the whole group, to electrify the very air. The leader eyed her sharply. “Your husband’s father?”
“Aye,” she said, glad he seemed to know where he was. “I am in Lord Strachan’s care, and I’ll warrant that you do not wish to incur his displeasure.”
The leader shook his head sorrowfully. “Och, but ye’ve gone and left his lordship’s acres behind on yonder ben, lassie. ’Tis a greetin’ shame, I grant ye, but I fear ye mun abide a wee wi’ ourselves.” He cast a sly wink at his men. “Methinks, lads, we’ve collected more than we thought tae find. ’Tis herself, I’m thinkin’. ’Tis Douglas’s ain bonny lassie.”
The note of triumph in his voice sent shivers racing up and down her spine. They were raiders. Why had she not realized it at once? Because, she told herself bitterly, she had foolishly thought herself too far north, of course. They must be Scots, though, not English. Even as the thought crossed her mind, the leader confirmed her worst fear.
“The Douglas owes us, lass. He’s got five o’ our ain lads locked up in Roxburgh Tolbooth, and we want them back afore yon assize court meets.”
“But they forced themselves upon an innocent girl,” Mary Kate protested without thinking, “and they nearly killed a man.”
“Nearly?” exclaimed the leader. “Was he no dead, then? God’s nails, but I thought certes he was wi’ his Maker.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “But yon lass wasna sae innocent as ye might think, me lady. Eh, lads?” He leered, and the others chuckled appreciatively.
“She was nice, Uncle Rupe,” declared a great hulking fellow near the leader. He seemed younger than the others and spoke in a slow, careful voice. “I remember her.”
“Do ye now, Wee Ranald? Well, that’s a guid lad,” replied the leader, grinning. “But just ye hush yer gab now, afore ye frighten the bonny lady. Dinna mind his gab, lass. He be gowkish, ye ken, just a wee bit wowf.”
The news that Wee Ranald was of unsound mind was scarcely encouraging. Mary Kate had been frightened from the moment the men had shown themselves, but now her fear was painful, as though every muscle in her body had tensed in an involuntary gesture of defense. Breathing was difficult, and although her heart was pounding, it seemed to strain to do so. Had these terrible men all had their way with poor Ellen? Would her own fate be the same? Oh, why had she not remained safely in her bedchamber?
The leader reached out to draw a rough finger down her cheek, making her jump and bringing on a fit of trembling. “Dinna fash yerself, lassie. We’ve nae wish tae do ye harm. ’Twould be tae damage the prize, gin ye take me meanin’.”
“What do you want with me?” The words came in a harsh whisper, for her voice had lost itself in her throat.
“We aim tae mak’ a wee trade, lass—yerself fer our ain lads in Roxburgh. O’ course, we’ll ha’ tae ask fer boot as well, Douglas bein’ gilded enow tae share wi’ them as is less fortunate than himself. But he willna give a souse fer damaged
goods. Now, be sae kind as tae hand me yer rein, unless ye’d prefer a warm, comfortable place on me saddlebow.”
Silently, she handed him her reins and allowed him to lead the mare. The others fell in behind as they forded the noisy little brook and traveled further south along the slake through the dense trees. They had left the track far behind when finally they emerged from the cover of the forest and began to make their way up a narrow, rocky glen. Mary Kate had no idea where they were or even if they were still traveling south, for the sun was hidden behind the surrounding hills.
She had already been gone much longer than she had intended, and the dismal thought occurred to her that Douglas would think she had run away again. She had meant to be back in her bedchamber before he would have cause to look for her, but that was impossible now. She shuddered to think what his most likely reaction would be when he found her gone. What, she wondered miserably, if he was so furious that he refused to order the bandits released? What if he declared the ransom demand too high to pay? Would these rough borderers still not risk damaging the goods then?
She stared at the burly man on the horse in front of her. How she would have liked earlier to have slapped the smirk from his evil face. And the rest of them—slobbering over her like rams at stud. That awful one they called Wee Ranald even looked like a ram, only not so intelligent. Thank God their leader could control them, she thought, though surely they must all realize that even if Douglas didn’t want her back himself he would kill every one of them if they damaged what was his.
While these thoughts and others of their ilk were repeating themselves over and over in her mind, the party made its way through the rocky glen and came upon yet another thicket and then a small clearing. At the far end stood the sort of low, stone, thatched-roof hut known as a bourock.