by Amanda Scott
The fact that she found Douglas in a good mood made matters doubly difficult, and several times before the festivities ended, she was tempted to tell him everything. But each time the opportunity slipped away, and once they had returned to the privacy of their own home, she finally admitted to herself that she simply could not bring herself to tell him anything about the matter at all.
He was being kind and thoughtful, and there was no indication that he even knew she had spoken with Gillespie. Perhaps if she had told him at once…but to tell him now would only stir his temper, and he would no doubt blame her for the whole affair. He would deny Gillespie’s accusations, which would force her to confront him with the information she had gained by her eavesdropping, and that she still had not the courage to do. Such a confession, she was certain, would make him despise her, and God alone knew where the business would end then.
As they went upstairs to bed that night, she mentioned hesitantly that she was exhausted and looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Douglas grinned and observed that since Trotter and Annie had both been given a free evening in honor of the wedding he had hoped that she would valet him again. But it had been a long day for everyone, and he did not press her.
Thankful for his easy mood, she hurried to her own bedchamber, changed quickly, then returned to him, knowing that if she insisted upon sleeping in her own bed, he would demand explanations that she was unwilling to provide. On the other hand, she was not at all sure that she could lie in his arms without confessing the whole to him. But then, as she watched him pulling back the bedclothes, it occurred to her that if she were to tell him about Gillespie now, he would be furious simply because she had agreed to meet the man, Gillespie’s threats notwithstanding. Indeed, the more she thought about her problem, the larger it seemed to grow.
She climbed unhappily into bed and Douglas quickly followed. As she had expected, he drew her into the curve of his arm, but he had accepted her hint and made no overtures. He did not even speak except to wish her a gentle good night, and she lay there stiffly, trying desperately to relax so that he might not guess that anything was amiss. At last, his even breathing told her that he had fallen into restful slumber, but she slept fitfully herself and by morning was in a worse state than ever.
Douglas, waking and stretching languorously, turned to look at her, his gaze sharpening as it took in her chalky complexion and the purple circles beneath her eyes. “Are you feeling well, lass? You look as pale as the ashes on yonder hearth.”
Forcing a smile, she pushed herself higher on her pillows. “I believe the past week’s activity is catching up with me at last,” she replied carefully. “I am rather tired.”
Sitting upright, he laid a cool hand upon her brow. “You have no fever,” he said, “but it would not come amiss, I think, if you were to stay in bed today and rest.”
The notion was an appealing one, but Gillespie would not be turned away by any supposed illness. No doubt, if she were to claim ill health, he would make just the sort of frightful scene she hoped to avoid.
“Perhaps I shall rest an hour or so,” she said, “but I must get up later, you know. Your sister and Sir Patrick will be making some of their bride visits today. We cannot turn them away.” She waited, suddenly hopeful. Gillespie had said he would come only if Douglas were away. God willing, he would stay at home today to greet his sister and her new husband.
“They will have to visit me with Jamie, then, for I am off within the hour,” he replied, swinging his feet to the floor and little realizing how much his words unsettled her. “’Tis the Sabbath, of course, so he dare not hunt, but he wants company all the same. I am to meet him at the Abbey Kirk and spend the day with him. He invited you to come along, lass, but one of us should be here to greet the bridal pair this afternoon, and I do believe you ought to rest.” He strode to the door then and shouted for Trotter.
The Sabbath! She had forgotten what day it was. Of course she must attend at least the morning sermons. Far better, too, to go before she sinned than after. But not with Adam. And certainly not with the king. She would never survive a day in their company without somehow giving herself away. And to avoid Gillespie would be to anger him, thereby making him more dangerous than ever. Better to get the matter over and done.
“Perhaps you are right, sir,” she said with forced calm. “I shall rest now and go to the wee kirk ’round the corner later. Annie or Ellen will attend me there.”
“There are no pews in that kirk, lass, so take a gillie as well to carry your stool,” he said, turning back toward the bed. “The maids don’t like to do it, and I shall rest more content if I know you’ve got a man with you.”
Mary Kate choked, earning herself a pair of swift clouts on the back. If only he knew, she thought, catching her breath with difficulty and assuring him that she was fine, that she had only swallowed the wrong way.
Trotter entered then, diverting him, and she saw Douglas on his way a scant half hour later with vast relief. The moment she knew he had left the house, she scrambled out of bed and sent for Annie to help her dress, hoping Gillespie had not anticipated Douglas’s early departure and wishing devoutly that she had cultivated the Calvinist habit of staying in chapel all day long. She could not do so today, however, without occasioning comment.
20
THE DOOR OPENED, BUT it was Ellen Kennedy, not Annie, who appeared. Ellen looked cheerful this morning. “Annie disna feel sae pert the day, mistress. Shall I attend ye in her place?”
“Thank you,” Mary Kate replied. “I want to dress for service at the kirk. The marbled silk gown will do. I hope Annie’s illness is not serious.”
“Nay, mistress.” Ellen bustled about, collecting the things necessary to prepare her mistress for kirk, but she paused briefly, allowing herself a chuckle. “The servants was given a wee barrel o’ whiskey tae celebrate Mistress Douglas’s wedding, and I fear yon impudent Trotter encouraged Annie tae inebriate herself. She isna feeling sae lively the day, but ’tis naught tae mak’ a song aboot.”
Mary Kate smiled, but such was her mood that she could only wonder if Trotter had taken advantage of Annie’s weakness. She did not speak her thoughts aloud, of course, for it was none of her affair, and Ellen would think the less of her for indulging in idle curiosity.
“’Tisna my place tae speak, mistress,” the maid went on softly, “but ye look a wee bit hobbledy yourself. Would ye no like tae stay abed the morning and attend yon sermon when ye’ve had your dinner and all?”
“No, Ellen, though I thank you for your concern. I passed an indifferent night, but I doubt I would sleep now, either.”
“Mayhap ain o’ me powders from Dame Beaton would aid ye, mistress. I ha’ yet more packets, for I havna required but a few o’ them here in Edinburgh. Ain powder, mixed wi’ a cappie o’ wine or ale, would send ye right off gin ye will or will ye no.”
Mary Kate thanked her but refused, insisting that she had to get chapel out of the way so as to be at home if Margaret and Sir Patrick chose to begin their bride calls that afternoon.
Sometime later, sitting beside Ellen with the gillie who had carried their stools standing against the rear wall of the crowded little kirk, Mary Kate tried to compose her thoughts long enough to attend to the lengthy sermon. She experienced little success, however, and could only be grateful when it ended. Hoping God would forgive her her preoccupation, she wended her way reluctantly home again, but Gillespie had still not shown his face when she sat down to her solitary dinner.
She was soon finished and knew that the servants would appreciate her small appetite, since most of them had Sunday afternoons from dinner onward free to attend services. With that thought came realization that that must be exactly what Gillespie was waiting for. Of course, she told herself reassuringly, she would not be entirely alone even then, for Annie was upstairs in bed and Ellen, having attended service with her, had said nothing about going out again. And, too, there was always at least one manservant on duty in the fron
t hall.
Indeed, less than half an hour later, the young gillie who had attended her that morning showed Gillespie into the cozy little parlor off the hall. “The mon says he were expected, mistress,” the lad said doubtfully.
Mary Kate arose from her chair, hoping she looked more poised than she felt. “How kind of you to call, sir,” she said, adding to the gillie, “You may go now, Tammie.”
The lad gave her an odd look, and knowing her voice had not been steady, she began to fear that she would not be able to go through with the dreadful business.
“’Tis to be hoped he don’t think aught’s amiss, my dear,” Gillespie drawled, approaching nearer as soon as the door shut behind Tammie. “I have looked forward to our little interlude, you know, and would much dislike its being interrupted.”
She eluded his grasp. “You must be patient, sir. There are few servants nearby at the moment, as I am sure you know, but the house is certainly not deserted.”
“Then get rid of the rest of them,” he said calmly.
“And just how would you propose that I do that?”
“That, lassie mine, is your own affair.”
Somehow, here in her own house, face to face with him, she felt less fear than she had thought she would feel, and her mind began to work more smoothly yet when she realized once and for all that she could not submit herself to him no matter what the consequences might be. From that thought was born the next, that she must contrive to outwit him. But how? Thoughts tumbled furiously over one another as they sped through her mind, one after another, only to be rejected.
He would not merely go away if she told him to do so. Of that she was certain. Nor would he believe the onset of a sudden indisposition or any other excuse she might contrive. If only she could send for someone, for Megan, Margaret, or her Aunt Aberfoyle. A mental vision of a confrontation between the redoubtable old lady and Gillespie forced her to hide a smile. She knew that Sir Patrick and Margaret were the most likely persons to call, but decided Gillespie had probably considered that possibility. In any case, they were not here now.
“Come here, Mary Kate.” His voice was gruff with suppressed passion, and there seemed to be no way of delaying him much longer. “Come here, I say.” He held out a hand, and somehow, as though under a spell, she began to walk toward him.
The door opened just then, and Mary Kate whirled, startled by the sudden, unexpected interruption. “Forgive me, mistress,” Ellen said in her quiet way, curtsying, “but yon gowk, Tammie, forgot tae ask ye gin the gentleman will wish tae ha’ a cappie or a dram. D’ye wish for aught, sir?”
Gillespie expressed immediate denial, but a sudden, wonderful thought shattered its way into Mary Kate’s busy mind, and she spoke quickly, forcing a light laugh.
“Nonsense, sir. Of course you must take a cog with me. Whatever would my husband say were I to turn a guest thirsty from his house? Ellen, Mr. Gillespie will have a cog of Dame Beaton’s delicious punch, and I shall take a small glass of sherry wine.” She stared hard at the young woman, but Ellen’s expression did not alter by so much as the twitch of a hair.
“At once, mistress.”
“It will do you no good to delay the inevitable, lassie mine,” Gillespie said the instant the door had shut. Coming up behind her, he pulled her close, slid his hands possessively over her bodice, and began to caress her firm breasts.
Longing to slap him, Mary Kate said grimly, “Please, sir, you will disarrange my gown, and the maidservant will return right speedily.”
“A pox on the maidservant!” he said curtly. But he released her. “This is not well done of you, dearling. You but delay matters, and if we dally, your husband will be upon us. You cannot wish for that to happen any more than I do.”
“No, sir, but if you will recall, I wished for none of this. And Ellen would have thought it odd had I offered you no refreshment. Allow me time to compose myself, I pray you.”
“Very well.” He sighed. “We shall take a cup together, but do not think to dawdle overlong. My patience is but thin stuff at best.”
Ellen returned a moment later, bearing a pewter mug and a wineglass on a silver tray. She served her mistress first, then presented the mug to Gillespie, watching with undisguised interest while he took a first, cautious sip.
“Excellent,” he pronounced. “What’s in this brew, lass?”
“I dinna ken, sir,” Ellen replied truthfully. “’Tis Dame Beaton’s ain concoction o’ herbs and spices mixed wi’ whiskey. She will be pleased tae learn it meets wi’ your approval.”
“You may go now, Ellen,” Mary Kate said swiftly, lest Gillespie demand information about Dame Beaton.
He hardly waited for the latch to click behind the maidservant before he tossed off the rest of his drink and moved purposefully toward Mary Kate. “If you want that wine, lassie mine, you had best drink it down quickly. Do we stay here or go upstairs?”
She would have liked to delay longer, but she didn’t dare try to take him upstairs. “Here,” she said finally, wondering how long it would be before the powders would take effect. That they might not work at all also occurred to her. Just because they allowed Ellen to sleep was no guarantee that they would in any way affect a strapping young man like Gillespie.
When he took the wineglass from her hand and set it on a nearby table and then turned back to take her in his arms, she did not resist, believing instinctively that the powders would work better if she did not agitate him. Nevertheless, it was all she could do to submit to his caresses. His lips crushed down possessively upon her own, while his right hand swooped to untie her laces, then crept inside her bodice and beneath her lace-edged shift to caress her naked breast.
Mary Kate shuddered, clenching her fists in order to keep from clawing at him with her long fingernails. His tongue began to probe for entrance between her teeth, and just when she was certain she could bear no more, the door opened again behind her.
“Och, mistress!” The young gillie stared, mouth agape. “Forgive me, mistress. I—I…” Tammie continued to stand rooted upon the threshold, goggling.
Gillespie straightened quickly, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. He barely had time to recognize the lad, however, before the powders took their toll. Since his hand was still inside Mary Kate’s bodice and his other arm still encircled her waist, he nearly took her down with him when he collapsed. The disquieting sound of tearing cloth reached her ears but went unheeded while she fought to recover her balance if not her poise. The gillie’s unexpected appearance had caught her completely off her guard.
Color flooded her cheeks as she struggled to pull the front of her gown into place, and she could think of nothing to say except that Gillespie had been taken ill. “Fetch Ellen Kennedy,” she added desperately. “She will know what to do.”
Tammie fled and soon returned with Ellen, who took in the situation at a glance and knelt down, pretending to examine Gillespie.
“’Tisna bad, mistress. He ha’ naught but fainted. Gin the lad here will help us put him on yon window bench, the poor mon will soon be up and aboot again.”
Tammie helped willingly, but when he had been dismissed from the room, Ellen turned a worried look upon her mistress.
“What did the lad see, mistress? He were in an unco tirrivee when he coom tae fetch me.”
Mary Kate grimaced. “He saw that viper hugging me. He may also have seen that his hand was where it had no business to be, for he came in just before the stupid man finally collapsed. I am so glad that you understood me, Ellen, and were able to help. I am afraid I’ve flung myself into the suds again.”
“Aye, mistress, I doot ye not. Tammie came in tae mak’ certain ye were safe—all anerly wi’ such a mon as that one, as ye were, and m’self not liking the look in his eyes. ’Tis tae be hoped the lad disna run straight off tae the master wi’ sich a tale as he mun be burning tae tell.”
“Godamercy!” Mary Kate exclaimed. “He must not. Run after him, Ellen, and fetch him back at once.”
But although Ellen made haste, she had to report that Tammie was gone. “What will we do now, mistress?”
“I do not know,” Mary Kate said miserably. “How long will that doltish coof be unconscious?”
“I canna say,” Ellen confessed. “I emptied three full packets into his cappie. I only hope tae the guid Lord I havna killed the mon.”
“Well, I hope you have,” Mary Kate retorted, “because I cannot think for my life how I shall explain this muddle to the master. I suppose we must simply leave the stupid man where he lies, and I shall be forced—God help me to tell Sir Adam the whole sorry tale. But oh, Ellen, how angry he will be!”
Ellen could not deny the truth of those words. “Master might force ye tae mak’ penance afore the kirk, mistress, for sich a thing. Tae stand accused o’ lust…” Her voice faltered. She could say no more.
Mary Kate stared at her, her vivid imagination presenting her with a clear picture of Rose MacReady on the stool of repentance. She had heard, too, that in Edinburgh such matters were dealt with much more sternly than elsewhere. Women accused of lust or fornication could be bared to their waists and scourged through the streets of the city. All the color had drained from her face before good sense came to her rescue.
“He won’t,” she said tightly. “To do so would be to make this business a public affair, which he would abominate above all else. But what he will do to me himself,” she added with a grimace, “does not bear thinking about.”
The two young women looked helplessly at each other until the tense moment was shattered by a sudden, thunderous pounding upon the front door.