The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  Fraser was pacing again. “You’ve not alluded to my first option.”

  Dallas licked her lips and stifled a sneeze. “You wouldn’t harm me, Iain. I know you wouldn’t.”

  He strode the length of the cabin twice before coming back to the bunk. For the first time, Dallas noted that he was so tall his head just missed touching the top of the cabin. “If there’s one thing I can understand, it’s survival,” he said, holding out a big hand to Dallas. “You have your bargain, lassie.”

  PART TWO

  Chapter 6

  Iain Fraser provided his betrothed with an escort back to Dunbar. The foreign sailor, Corelli, and a Welshman named Evans were chosen for the task. Their attitude, along with that of the other crew members, had changed greatly towards Dallas. When their captain had brought her up on deck and introduced her as his future bride, the initial reaction was sullen. But they respected Fraser, many of them almost worshiped him for his bravery and daring. He was shrewd, he was fair, and above all, he was a superb seaman. And a man ought to take a wife; a different wench in every port was well enough but it was good to come home to the same woman.

  So they cheered their captain and the bedraggled girl who stood at his side. Not exactly a fine lady, but no doubt comely enough under the grime and shabby clothes. Oh, she had surprised the captain, but wenches enjoyed doing that sort of thing. No need to worry about her giving their secret away—if their captain’s identity were revealed, his wealth would be forfeit to the Crown, leaving the little lass a penniless widow.

  When Dallas arrived at the McVurrich cottage, just as the pale sun was setting, she was greeted with great tumult. Corelli and Evans had left her on the other side of the hillock which bordered the McVurrich farm. It would be easier to explain her prolonged absence if they were not around.

  But the truth would not do. “When the storm came, Gala and I happened to be by an abandoned croft. We just waited until the snow stopped.”

  “But the storm didn’t last more than half an hour,” Glennie pointed out. “Why did it take you so long?”

  “I got lost,” Dallas replied glibly. “Finally, a couple of young men came by and set me aright.”

  Glennie appeared satisfied. But she made Dallas promise not to go off alone during the remainder of their visit. The next two days passed pleasantly enough, with Oliver commandeering a neighbor’s sleigh for a ride through the snow-covered fields. On the morning of the twenty-eighth, the McVurrichs waved them off with a mixture of tears and laughter. Donald accompanied them again, and by the time they reached Edinburgh that evening, a freezing rain was slashing down on the city. Wearily, the little group carried their belongings into the Cameron house. They set about lighting candles and building a fire in the kitchen grate while Marthe tucked the boys into bed. Donald spent the night, but although Glennie and Tarrill pressed him to stay over for another day, he refused. His parents would fret, he said, and by nine o’clock the next morning, he was on his way home.

  “A good lad,” Glennie said after his departure. “But he must get away from Dunbar. Neither weaving nor farming suits him.”

  “Happily, they have three other boys,” Tarrill commented as she poured water over the breakfast dishes. “No doubt one of them will stay on to help Oliver.”

  “I hope so. Of course my Jamie never liked it on the farm, either. That’s why we moved to Edinburgh,” Glennie said in a reminiscent tone.

  Dallas had been sitting in silence at the table while her sisters cleaned up the kitchen. “Glennie, Tarrill,” she called out, interrupting their amiable family discussion. “I’m going to wed Iain Fraser.”

  Dishes clattered in the sink as Tarrill whirled around. Glennie gripped a meal sack so hard that the weave was impressed on her palms. Then they were both exclaiming at once, dashing across the kitchen to ply Dallas with questions.

  Dallas remained calm and would say no more until her sisters quieted down. “The wedding is set for January twenty-eighth, the feast of St. Thomas Aquinas. Iain is of the old faith and somehow we’ll find a priest to wed us.”

  When Dallas paused, Tarrill and Glennie again began chattering simultaneously. “But you sold his bracelet,” Tarrill cried. “You don’t know him well enough,” Glennie objected.

  “We’ve seen each other several times,” Dallas said matter-of-factly. “And I sold the bracelet before I knew we were to be wed.”

  Her sisters were silent for a moment. Then Glennie reached out and took Dallas’s hand. “Do you love him?”

  Glennie felt Dallas flinch. “ ’Tis not always a matter of love where marriages are concerned.” She gazed at Glennie and then at Tarrill. “We will not be poor again, and that’s what matters. Now let’s speak of other things.”

  On the second Monday of January, Iain Fraser formally called on his bride-to-be. Marthe watched fretfully as Fraser made conversation with his future in-laws. Tarrill seemed diffident and Glennie appeared ill-at-ease. The two boys, however, were delighted by their prospective uncle and reveled in his teasing. At last, the family tactfully withdrew to give the couple a few moments alone.

  Although Dallas had been busy with preparations for the wedding, she had not given much thought to the groom. Indeed, she had found it much easier not to think about him at all. But as they faced each other in the faint January light of the parlor Dallas had to admit that she was very nervous.

  “So the happy couple can now dither in privacy over the nuptials,” Fraser said, settling himself into a chair by the fireplace. “Are you dithering, Dallas?”

  Dallas turned defensive. “I’m making the appropriate plans, if that’s what you mean.”

  Fraser rubbed at the bridge of his hawklike nose. His silence made Dallas even more nervous. But when he finally spoke, his words were matter-of-fact: “I understand you’ve been out shopping. Is there anything left on the shelves of Edinburgh’s merchants?”

  Dallas tossed her head and smoothed the new yellow gown she’d purchased only that morning. “Our late father would not want us to go on wearing black before such a momentous occasion as my marriage. And, of course, I have to arrange some sort of trousseau in keeping with your status.”

  “My status is not that of Holy Roman Emperor, however,” he reminded Dallas caustically. Seeing the fire banking in her eyes, he grinned. “Stay, lassie, I’ve no mind to spoil your fun. Just don’t push too far. Cummings will see to the bills. Meanwhile,” he went on, taking a small leather pouch from his doublet, “in case you’ve spent all my loan, here’s a little something for your household expenses.”

  Dallas took the purse, gingerly weighing its contents. The gesture was not lost on Fraser. “What’s your family’s old war cry?” he asked. “ 'Sons of the hounds, come here and get flesh.’ You’ve got yours, Dallas. Don’t gloat so.”

  “I’m not gloating!” Dallas stood up with an outraged swish of yellow silk. “You’re the one who keeps making me sound greedy!”

  Fraser stood up, too, one long finger brushing the end of her nose. “I’d like to tarry longer and listen to you shriek at me, but I must be gone.”

  Though Dallas had pulled back at his touch, she refused to let him have the last word. She followed him out to the doorway, searching for an appropriate parting sally. “You mentioned family mottoes,” she called after him. “You were right about our family’s, but mayhap you don’t recall my clan’s byword: 'Touch not the cat without a glove.’ You’d best remember that, Iain Fraser.”

  His hand was on the latch, but he turned his level gaze on her. In two easy strides he was in front of Dallas, his arms stretched out, the palms of his hands resting on the wall behind her. He leaned down so that his face almost, but not quite, touched hers. And he remained thus for a full minute while Dallas stared helplessly up into his eyes.

  “I’m remembering,” he said, and suddenly withdrew his hands from the wall and wheeled around towards the door. He had not touched her, yet Dallas felt as if the whole weight of his body had come crushing down
upon her.

  For the next hour, she put her betrothed out of her mind. Alone in her bedroom, Dallas sorted through her trousseau for the third time. The splendid silks, rich brocades, handsome lawn and delicate laces delighted her. Never had Dallas owned one dress half as fine as the least of these. She smiled to herself as she twirled a garnet-encrusted cap in her hands. Clever, her father had called her—and so she was, to contrive such an ingenious way of saving her family from an uncertain future. Not only would she be admitted to the court circle but under her agreement with Fraser, Dallas could maintain her independence. An ideal situation for them both—Fraser could dally with his paramours while Dallas would have all the financial security of a well-married woman without the conjugal responsibilities.

  She put the little cap down on her bureau and picked up a pair of dark green calfskin shoes with the daintiest of heels. From some far chamber of her mind she could hear Fraser’s voice saying, “Aye, lassie, but your shoes don’t match.” That had been their first encounter. Well, Dallas vowed, she’d never wear unmatched shoes again. But Fraser’s voice continued to intrude; so did his lean, dark image. A sudden fear gripped her: What if he didn’t intend to live up to his part of their bargain? Twice he had all but attacked her, plundering her mouth with his ferocious kisses, exploring her body with his hands and tongue—she dropped the shoes in agitation as that unaccustomed fire began to bank in the pit of her stomach.

  But he had scarcely touched her aboard his ship. And heaven only knew, he could have ravished her on the spot and none of his crew would have lifted an eyebrow. Dallas frowned. The man was an enigma—perhaps in his way, as practical as she. Yes, that must be it, she decided, he was basically a shrewd, canny Scot like herself who knew how to separate business from pleasure. Satisfied with her rationale, Dallas immersed herself in her trousseau once more. Yet her delight had diminished; the fire in her stomach had turned to something else, something very like the familiar emptiness she had known too often and too well.

  Dallas and Iain Fraser were married shortly after midnight in an ancient stone chapel at the edge of the city. The clandestine rites were held in the presence of the immediate family, along with Marthe, Cummings and the Earl of Bothwell, and Walter and Fiona Ramsay who had traveled to Edinburgh for the occasion. The priest who conducted the traditional ceremony was old and frightened, but well rewarded by Fraser for his efforts.

  Afterwards, the wedding party proceeded under the cover of darkness to Fraser’s town house. They were stopped once by the watch at the city gates, but a sizeable bribe gained them reentry. A sumptuous wedding supper awaited them, laid out on a long oak trestle table in the formal dining salon.

  As they feasted on venison, pheasant, roast pig and a variety of side dishes, the conversation flowed as freely as the wine. Dallas felt quite confident and infinitely proud of herself. She sat at the long table between her new husband and the Earl of Bothwell, who frequently leaned across her to make good-natured gibes at Fraser’s newly married state. Caught up in her own euphoria, Dallas paid little heed to comments which might normally annoy her.

  “Your envy in seeing me wed must reflect your own desire to attain marital bliss,” Fraser commented to the Border Earl. “I marvel that you’ve remained a bachelor so long.”

  Bothwell chuckled and waved a wine bottle at Fraser. “There was a certain lady in Denmark some years ago—but that’s a long and complicated story.”

  “It sounds most fascinating,” Tarrill said from her place on Bothwell’s left. She seemed quite intrigued by the dashing earl.

  Bothwell lifted one square shoulder. “But not fit for your sweet ears, lass. When I do wed, she’ll be the perfect wife, docile and mild, loving and sweet.” He turned to Tarrill and pinched her cheek. “Does your sister here possess those qualities?”

  This remark roused Dallas. “Fie, sir,” she laughed, “I’d not care to be such a milksop as you describe. You don’t want a wife, you want a pet pup.”

  The earl grinned at both Dallas and Fraser. “Your lady seems to have a mind of her own, Iain. I trust you’ll know how to handle such independence.”

  Fraser said nothing. He merely smiled enigmatically and motioned for Kennedy to serve the burnt sugar cakes dipped with honey.

  At last, as the candles dipped low in their silver sconces and Marthe dozed in her chair with Glennie’s boys asleep at her feet, Fraser rose. “No need for you to escort us to our nuptial bed, good friends,” he announced. “I know the way in my own house. Besides, it is very late and you must be as exhausted as yon laddies.” He gave Dallas his arm and bowed to the company. The others did follow them, but only as far as the foot of the stairs where they lifted their glasses in one last toast. As Dallas preceded her husband up the winding staircase she heard Glennie call out: “God bless you, God bless you both!”

  Once inside the bedroom, Dallas sank into a chair by the fireplace and kicked off her shoes. Her wedding gown was made of white satin with a stiff lace collar and matching lace at the cuffs. Glennie had piled her sister’s hair high, in shining dark coils, and the transformation had evoked a smile of pleasure from Dallas when she had looked at herself in the mirror earlier that day. Indeed, she had discovered that her new affluence had a beneficial effect on her appearance. The trousseau on which she’d lavished Fraser’s money created an effect which even Dallas had to admit was more than satisfying.

  But except for one last admiring glance at herself in the dressing table mirror, Dallas’s new wardrobe was not uppermost in her mind. It had been a long, eventful day and she was weary, if still exhilarated. She reached up absently to unpin the wispy veil from her hair and relaxed, studying the room itself. It was furnished comfortably, like the rest of the house, with touches of Continental elegance which Fraser had doubtless acquired through piracy. Her own belongings had been moved into the house that morning and had already been unpacked by Flora Campbell, the maid Fraser had hired to serve his new bride.

  “ ’Twas a wonderful meal,” Dallas sighed, glancing at the big canopied bed which took up at least a third of the room. Its covers were turned down to reveal white sheets of the purest linen. Stifling a yawn, Dallas decided that the bed looked most inviting. “Oh, Lord, I am tired! I suppose you had best send for Flora.”

  Fraser had been poking at the coals in the fireplace grate. He looked up. “Flora? Why? Think you I can’t undo the hooks of your gown myself?” He stood up, replaced the poker, and idly brushed a few stray crumbs from his dark blue doublet.

  Dallas’s hand froze on the gauzy veil. Surely he was teasing her, of course he understood this was no marriage in the true sense. She looked at the bed again, then hastily averted her eyes. “What do you mean? If Flora is asleep, I can undress myself.”

  “But I have no intention of letting you do that. Have you forgotten that we are now husband and wife?” The hazel eyes gleamed in the firelight as his indolent gaze surveyed Dallas from the top of her head down to the bare feet peeking out from under the satin hem.

  Dallas took a deep breath and then forced herself to stay calm. He wasn’t jesting, he was quite serious, she could see that in the set of his jaw. A sense of panic began to overtake Dallas as it dawned on her that the situation might be out of her control.

  “Fie, Iain, we’ve gone through the ceremony, and that’s that.” Dallas stood up, turning back to the dressing table where she began brushing out her hair. The thick coils tumbled down over the lace collar onto her back. “We made a bargain, remember?” she said to the image in the mirror. “We agreed not to meddle with each other after the wedding. Perhaps you’ve had too much wine to recall the terms.”

  “I’ve had enough to drink,” he conceded lazily, “but not overmuch. I know the bargain. Yet a marriage isn’t a legal marriage unless it is consummated. You wished to bind us together and so we shall be. You thought me gallant or virtuous aboard the Richezza? Nay, lassie, I took no chances of you naming me a pirate and a ravisher. I’ll brook no loopholes that you c
an later squirm through when it suits your fancy.”

  Dallas whirled about so quickly that the hairbrush and several cosmetic jars flew a-tumble onto the carpet. “Blackguard!” she cried, panic turning to horror. “You’d be more likely than I to walk out on this marriage.”

  “Marriage?” Fraser echoed the word with supreme mockery. He stood very still, his dark form long and threatening in the firelight. He stared at her for a long time, as if he were waiting for her to understand what she had done to both of them.

  Suddenly Dallas was more afraid than she had ever been. Mute and motionless, she watched her husband remove his doublet and pull off his boots. He reached for his dirk but stopped before putting it on the bureau.

  “I don’t imagine you’d be above sticking me with this, would you?” he asked dryly, tossing the dirk atop the canopy, well out of Dallas’s reach. “I do recall a certain episode involving a fruit knife.” Then he pulled off his white shirt and tossed it on the floor. He was lean, but hard-muscled, and seemed broader of shoulder without doublet or cloak to conceal his torso.

  As Fraser moved deliberately towards her, Dallas backed away until she came up against one of the clothes chests. He stood a scant six inches from her but kept his hands at his sides.

  Dallas still couldn’t quite believe what was happening to her. The customary strong-willed obstinacy with which she usually met difficult situations seemed no defense at all against the man who stood in front of her with that mocking grin on his dark face. Surely there must be some way out of all this, if only her wits were working half as hard as her thudding heart.

  “Oh, lassie,” he said musingly, “you are the first woman I’ve ever met who said, 'Don’t touch me’—and meant it. For what purpose do you build this barricade around yourself?”

  Dallas put her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “You would never understand .... I can’t ....” She was whimpering like a piteously frightened kitten.