The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  She felt refreshed already. The chilled air was vivifying, and there was no sign of human habitation after she left the cluster of cottages at Dunbar’s edge. Soon, it began to snow with large, wet flakes drifting across her path. Dallas decided to turn back before the snow got too heavy, and reining Gala around, she headed straight for Dunbar and the McVurrich cottage. By the time they had gone about a mile, the flakes were coming down so thick and fast that Dallas could hardly see beyond her horse’s head.

  She wondered if there was a path down to the shore where the footing would be easier. Proceeding very cautiously, she kept heading in what she hoped was the right direction, and after another ten minutes the snow let up just enough to reveal an opening in the crags which lined the cliff above the shore. Guided by the sound of the waves, she dismounted and led Gala through the rocks. The mare stumbled once and almost went down. Dallas brushed the snow from her face with a shaky hand and patted the horse. “It’s all right,” she coaxed, “we’ll be all right.”

  She wondered whether the horse could sense the lack of conviction in her voice. Out of breath and unsure of where the path would lead them, Dallas stopped to lean against the mare’s heavy sides. Her uneasiness was somewhat dissipated by the horse’s solid presence. Dallas stamped her feet and rubbed her hands to keep the circulation going. The northerly wind was blowing the snow in a horizontal direction, thoroughly soaking Dallas’s cloak and dress.

  They had come out onto a narrow path, some twenty feet above the shoreline. Up ahead, Dallas could make out a steep path which led down to a lagoon. It would be risky but worth trying if she could only maneuver them onto the level footing. But just as she started leading Gala down the path her toe struck a jutting stone and she fell heavily against a small boulder which gave way and plummeted into the lagoon.

  Gala shied and neighed shrilly. Dallas scrambled to her feet, unhurt but shaken. She grappled at the reins, then peered into the opening made by the fallen rock. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open at the sight only a few yards below her: The lagoon led into a large cave, until now completely hidden from sight. And inside the cave, bobbing on the restless waters, was a ship. Her sails were lowered and no flag flew from the topmast. Dallas stared in wonder.

  Then she saw the two men who stood at the rail of the half-deck. One of them held a pistol which was aimed directly at Dallas. His voice came over very clear across the water: “Don’t move!” he shouted. “Stand as you are!”

  Dallas could not have moved if she’d wanted to. Fear, now coupled with astonishment and curiosity, overwhelmed her. She stood motionless as two more men appeared, coming up from the main deck to lower a small boat over the side. Dallas realized they were coming after her and it would not take more than a minute or two to reach the strip of land below her perch on the narrow path. She dared not risk ducking behind one of the rocks, for the man with the pistol still held his weapon on her, ready to fire. Gala stood at her side, nervously pawing the snow-covered path.

  The men had already reached the thin strip of shore. They jumped out of the boat and scurried up the short, jagged cliff. A few seconds later they stood in front of her and one of them grabbed her by the arms.

  “Who are you?” demanded the shorter of the two in an accented voice.

  “Let go!” Dallas demanded, making a vain effort to free herself.

  “Nay, the captain takes care of meddlers,” the second man countered. He was a Scot, of medium height and wiry build.

  They pulled Dallas off the path and half-carried her down the little cliff. As they were putting her into the boat one of the men on the half-deck called out:

  “The captain knows about the intruder. Hurry it up!”

  The foreigner held Dallas against the side of the little boat while the Scot plied the oars. She did not struggle, for the pistol was still trained on her. Her heart thudded in her breast—would these rough seamen kill her for the unwitting discovery of their ship’s hiding place? Better to have frozen to death than to suffer this shame, she thought bitterly.

  More men gathered on the decks as the small boat was hoisted back up to the mother ship. Dallas felt their malevolent eyes on her, and as one of them pulled her on the deck another muttered, “Pity to harm such a bonnie wench.”

  Dallas felt faint. Her feet would not obey her bidding, and the foreigner had to steer her in the direction of the captain’s quarters. She stumbled as the ship rolled and would have fallen except for the man’s tight grip on her right arm.

  Dizzily, Dallas watched the men swing open the hatch. Pirates were said to be vicious, ruthless creatures who dealt as mercilessly with women as with men. If their captain were half as menacing as his crew—but of course he would be the worst of all, the most callous when it came to pillage, plunder, rape and murder. Through a blur Dallas saw the hatch to the captain’s cabin swing wide and hazily looked up to see Iain Fraser towering over her.

  “Good Christ!” Fraser exploded. To the onlookers clustered in the companionway it was difficult to tell who was more astonished—their captain or their captive.

  “Oh, Iain!” Dallas felt the foreigner let go of her bruised arm as she pitched forward in astonishment, catching herself on a fine ebony table.

  Fraser was giving angry orders to his crew to disperse. From somewhere behind her, Dallas heard their reluctant footsteps as the cabin door banged shut. To her amazement she realized she was laughing almost hysterically.

  Fraser reached down and pulled her towards him, shaking her with a rage that turned her numb, tearing the sodden fabric of her shabby mourning dress with the sheer force of his grip.

  “Meddling slut! Have you been paid to spy on me? Is that how you plan to make your fortune?”

  Dallas made an effort to deny his accusation, but the violent shaking motions rendered speech impossible. At last she went limp and fell against him. The vile oaths stopped at once and she felt herself being picked up and carried somewhere soft and warm. When she tremulously opened her eyes, Fraser was standing over her, holding out a cup of wine.

  “Here,” he said, the anger still flashing in his eyes, “drink this.”

  Though her teeth had begun to chatter, Dallas did as she was bidden, then sank back onto what she recognized as the captain’s bunk. Forcing her eyes to focus, she took in the rest of her surroundings.

  The cabin was small but lavishly appointed, much in the style of Fraser’s town house. A Turkish carpet covered the deck but the furniture seemed to have been acquired from all over the civilized world, including a latten and mahogany Italian writing desk, a French armoire, a Flemish sea chest, and wall hangings which Dallas thought might have come from Araby.

  She took another drink from the cup and then sank back onto the furs. The shaking was beginning to ease up but her head ached furiously. “I feel sick,” she said in a voice she scarcely recognized.

  “You ought to,” Fraser snapped. “By God, I can’t believe this has happened.” He paced the cabin deck, his hands clenched tightly behind his back.

  “Iain, I’m going to be sick!”

  “Oh, Christ!” he exploded, but hurried to fetch a basin from the nightstand. “Here, I’ll hold your silly head.” But Dallas didn’t lose her stomach after all. Somehow, with Fraser kneeling beside her and his big hand firmly supporting her forehead, she felt much improved. At last she waved both him and the basin away, collapsed again onto the furs and let out an enormous sigh.

  “So this is how you’ve acquired your wealth, Iain Fraser,” she said finally, and though her voice sounded normal, there was wonder in her tone.

  “Aye,” he replied shortly, putting the basin away. “Why not? As an orphaned bastard, I had to make my fortune some way.”

  “You’ve fared right well,” Dallas said. “By what sanction do you plunder?”

  Fraser sat down opposite her in the Spanish armchair. He was dressed as a sailor, in a white cambric shirt with a black leather vest and black hose. He wore long calfskin boots and the
ever-present dirk. “None, now. But my original expeditions were approved by Marie de Guise.” He spoke more naturally now, but Dallas could tell by the tenseness of his jaw muscles that he was still angry.

  She allowed him to pour her another cup of wine after he had poured one for himself. The history of his adventures interested her very little in comparison with her own predicament. In less than ten minutes, Dallas had experienced terror, relief and an intense physical reaction. Though her stomach had calmed down, her head still ached and her arms hurt. She was afraid again, but it was a different kind of fear. The horror of being raped by a dozen sailors and condemned to death by their captain was gone. For all his faults, Fraser would hardly murder someone he knew, especially, Dallas reasoned somewhat illogically, someone who owed him money.

  But Fraser’s hawklike gaze was unflinching and Dallas’s anxiety increased. Abruptly he stood up, flinging his wine cup onto the ebony table, sloshing the remaining contents over the dark wood’s gleaming finish. “Good God, why did it have to be you, Dallas?” He shook his head several times and resumed pacing the cabin. The ship gave another lurch, sending the wine cup clattering to the deck. Fraser, who kept his balance without apparent effort, paid no heed.

  “Would it be so dreadful if people knew you were a pirate?” Dallas asked.

  He turned on his heel and stared at her, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I mislike the idea of hanging, if that’s what you mean. Oh, the Queen might be lenient, but her half-brother, James Stuart, and his ilk would give her little opportunity to display any kindness. This isn’t a game, Dallas,” he went on, the cool hazel eyes watching her steadily. “Do you know what they do to pirates? They hang them in chains, along the water’s edge at Leith. It’s an ugly death and I’ve no mind to end that way.”

  “Jesu,” Dallas murmured, but he appeared not to hear her. They were both silent for several moments until Dallas asked, “Why would a powerful man like James Stuart want to destroy you? He has his own wealth secured.”

  Fraser’s mouth clamped shut in a long, lean line. Frowning deeply, he came back to sit by the bunk. “It’s the old story of Scots rivalries and one I greatly detest.” He paused, seemed about to say something, apparently changed his mind, then continued. “Look at Bothwell—now the Hamiltons are after his hide.”

  Dallas sat up, her legs dangling over the edge of the bunk. “Where did you get this ship?” She had decided it was wise to play for time, since each passing moment seemed to have a pacifying effect on Fraser.

  “Three years ago I went to the Continent to pay my respects to Mary Stuart in the event that she would one day return to Scotland. From France, I went to Italy and in Venice I saw this ship. I won her at dice.” He smiled at her astonished look. “Oh, it was not as casual as it sounds. I had long thought that piracy would be a lucrative career, so I sought out the ship’s owner, discovered that he was a man who gambled and drank, usually at the same time, and determined that when the stakes got high enough I’d demand his ship instead of money. I won.”

  “You sailed her back to Scotland then?”

  “Nay, I had repairs made in Venice and then hired a crew primarily made up of Italians—that was one of them, Corelli, who brought you aboard. We sailed to the Isle of Lewes where I have some property.”

  “Barvas,” murmured Dallas.

  “What? Oh, aye, that’s how I named my horse. It’s a spot little visited by anyone, much like this cave—until now.” He sighed. “Dammit, Dallas, you make decisions difficult for me.”

  “If you really intend to do away with me, you could just let me sit here in these soaked clothes and I’ll die on my own, thank you.” She had regained her self-confidence and with it, her temper.

  “I’ve got the crew to think of, too, Dallas,” he declared. “What assurance have I that you won’t babble? I’ve not noticed discretion as one of your strong points.”

  “Does your ship have a name?” Dallas asked, ignoring his last remark.

  “I christened her La Richezza.” He was beginning to sound impatient. “That’s Italian for riches.”

  One of Dallas’s mad, wild plans was starting to take root. She wondered if she could live up to her own daring. “What manner of ship is this?” she asked, stalling for yet more time to pluck up her courage.

  “A carrack. Fast enough to outmaneuver any merchant ship and most man-of-war vessels but sufficiently sturdy to sail these heavy North Seas. Now listen, Dallas, if you’re keeping me occupied in the hope that someone is going to race to your rescue, think again. It would take a small army to capture this ship—-and they’d never discover her in the first place.”

  He rose and poured himself more wine. All his life he’d faced various crises with a reasonable amount of aplomb, but this one was fraught with extraordinary complexities, not the least of which was Dallas herself. The ship swayed again but less violently this time. He glanced at Dallas and frowned at the outline of her breasts under the wet gown and the bare flesh of her shoulders where the fabric had torn. “Damn all,” he cursed under his breath.

  “Not all women babble,” Dallas said quietly. “I know all about your secret passageway, but I’ve never told a soul.” It was a reckless move, but it hit home. He reached out as if to grab her by the arm but instead let his hand fall back to his side. “There’s no torture chamber under your house, Iain, and I’ll wager there never was,” she went on, taking advantage of her surprise tactic. “Mungo Tennant was probably a pirate or a smuggler, too, and circulated that rumor to divert suspicion from his real activities. Until recently, I’d forgotten the old stories about the secret passageways and the noises we used to hear in our cellar. But why have I just begun to hear them again in the past few months?”

  Fraser had recovered his equanimity. “Because I’ve only lived there since the spring. It took some time to shore up the old tunnel and make it safe for transport. Although at one time the whole north side of Edinburgh was honeycombed with such passages, Mungo Tennant’s house was the only one on the south side with a tunnel clear through to the Nor’ Loch. I’d learned that somewhere, and had waited for over two years to buy that place.” He paused to gaze somberly at Dallas. “We’ve conversed long enough. How can I make certain you won’t betray me?”

  Dallas was acting totally on instinct. She propped herself up on one elbow and met Fraser’s stare head-on. “It’s quite simple. We will strike a bargain, you and I.”

  She saw his shoulders tense. “You think you’re in a position to bargain with me, Dallas?”

  The fear came back, but she fought it down. Yet she could not help glancing at his long, brown hands, realizing that he could, in an instant, snap her neck like a chicken’s and leave her lost to the world forever. Still, she had to plunge forward and take the chance that she had judged him rightly. “I will never give your secret away, Iain—if you agree to wed with me.”

  Iain Fraser would have looked no more stunned if she had asked him to sail the Richezza straight to the moon. Then his expression changed as he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Dallas pulled herself to a full sitting position, clutching the furs to her breast while her cheeks turned hot.

  “You’re the one who put the idea of a rich husband into my head in the first place! Is wedding me such a mirth-provoking suggestion?”

  He shook his head, helpless with laughter. “Nay, nay,” he finally gasped. “But it’s not the way I imagined you’d pay off your debt. Your calculating little mind works in swift steps, lassie.” The laughter subsided and he looked at her in disbelief.

  Dallas hadn’t even thought about the debt. She could demand its cancelation and nothing more. But permanent security dangled temptingly before her. “I’d prefer not to be the one to wed. But we can’t live forever on your loan. It’s quite simple, Iain—your secret will be safe and my sisters and I will be provided for.”

  The practical tone employed by Dallas evinced admiration from Fraser. The wench had courage and commo
n sense. It was his turn to stall for time. “You sold the bracelet, of course.”

  “Aye.” Dallas inadvertently glanced at her wrist as if she could picture Fraser’s gift adorning her flesh. But all she saw was the faint scar from her tumble on the flagstones in Gosford’s Close.

  Fraser stood up, fingering the dirk at his side. “So you’d wed with me to ensure your family’s future.” He went over to the ebony table and poured himself yet another cup of wine.

  “We can live separately,” Dallas was saying in reasonable tones. “You can keep your mistresses and go your own way. If I have my income and perhaps a place at court to help my sisters find suitable husbands, I shall be quite content.”

  Fraser was silent for a long time. Dallas watched him drink his wine and make circular patterns with his finger on the tabletop. Have I gone too far? she asked herself. Why would he agree to my bargain when he could so easily solve the problem by silencing me forever?

  Apparently, Fraser was sharing her thoughts. “I have alternative choices, Dallas.” He stood just out of the lantern light so that his eyes were in shadow. “I can arrange it so you never leave this ship alive.” Though his voice lacked inflection, he paused just long enough to let the renewed threat sink in. “I can buy your silence without marriage. Or I could even sail away from Scotland and never return.”

  “You’d not do that. A Highlander always comes home.” Dallas’s reflex response caught Fraser off-guard, though she could not see his expression clearly. But his momentary silence gave her the courage to continue. “Nor would paying me to keep quiet guarantee either of us what we want. If Glennie or Tarrill marry well, I could betray you at will. As for my part, if anything should happen to you, my income ceases forthwith.”