The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  “Fie, Donald,” Dallas said as she bounced her tiny son on her knee, “I don’t care if we have to push through blizzards from here to Dunbar. I must get home!”

  “Queen Mary’s been abed all winter, I hear,” Donald remarked, ignoring Dallas’s outburst. “The cooper down the way said she’s upset because her plans to wed with Don Carlos have gone amiss.”

  “While you’re gathering gossip, I wish to heaven you’d find out if Iain is safe,” Dallas grumbled. “He could be in a dungeon somewhere for all I know! He’s been gone well nigh a month.”

  “I’ll ask the smithy,” Donald said. “He has a cousin who travels to Edinburgh as a courier ....” But Donald broke off and gaped past Dallas to the small parlor’s doorway.

  John Hamilton stood on the threshold and Dallas felt as if her deliverance were at hand.

  Chapter 16

  As long as Iain Fraser lived, he would never forget the glint of pure hatred which had surfaced in James Stuart’s eyes. Schooled as he was at dissimulation, James had attempted to conceal his dismay over Fraser’s return to Scotland, but his true feelings had been apparent for one swift, revealing moment. Fraser had no doubt who had arranged his imprisonment in the Tower.

  Mary Stuart, on the other hand, was delighted to see Fraser. But, she lamented to him in private, he would have to stop his work as a secret emissary. “Elizabeth’s charge of piracy makes it too dangerous for you to continue. It doesn’t matter that nothing can be proven, James must know something.”

  Fraser had to agree. The men who had tortured and murdered Kennedy must have been in James’s hire. Kennedy’s death was yet another sin James must some day atone for, Fraser thought to himself.

  But neither revenge nor intrigue were uppermost in Fraser’s mind when he first arrived in Scotland. Dallas and the baby must be brought home as quickly as possible. Within two days of his return, a half-dozen Fraser retainers were sent south to London.

  For almost three weeks, Fraser heard no word from his men. He had learned something about patience during his stay in the Tower and knew that Dallas might not yet have borne their child. So he resumed his life at court, affecting a show of unconcern, but inwardly distressed by the lack of news. In answer to the courtiers’ curious questions, Fraser merely replied that his wife was awaiting the babe and would not return until she was well enough to travel. Such was actually the case, he kept telling himself, yet nagging doubts persisted.

  To help pass the time, he resumed his liaison with Delphinia Douglas, who had aggressively pursued him as soon as he returned to court. Bedding Delphinia did not seem wrong to Fraser. Despite his love for Dallas, he realized that if they were destined to be separated for long periods he could never remain completely faithful to her. It never occurred to him that Dallas might think otherwise.

  During his stay in the Tower he had tumbled only two women, a buxom if over aged laundress and an eager virgin who worked in the Tower kitchens. Both had fallen far short of his usual standards, but he’d hardly been in a position to be choosy. It had never occurred to him to feel guilty about them, either.

  “So negotiations with Spain have gone awry,” Delphinia was saying as she stretched luxuriously in front of the mirror-topped dresser. “I can’t say I’m sorry—Don Carlos sounds like a wretched sort.” She preened a bit, her full figure straining at the folds of her magnificent satin peignoir. “As for Elizabeth still backing Rob Dudley’s suit ....” Delphinia paused to watch Fraser’s image in the mirror. He was prowling around the room, the firelight casting dark shadows on his bare back. “You’re still too thin, Iain. And you haven’t heard a word I said.”

  “Aye, I heard you, Delphinia.” He turned towards her with a faintly sheepish grin. “You were speaking of the Queen’s potential suitors.”

  “So I was.” Delphinia piled her hair on top of her head, flipped the titian strands this way and that, then let them tumble back over her shoulders. “Poor Mary, over twenty and still no man to keep her warm at night. I was scarcely sixteen when I first wed. Of course, he was much older, but as he’d had two wives before me, he certainly knew what he was about.” She paused; Fraser was prowling again. “Which, I might add, is more than you seem to these days. Whatever is wrong, Iain?”

  For a brief instant, Fraser had a desire to throttle Delphinia. But he controlled himself, came to take her in his arms and buried his lips against her bosom. But when he finally possessed Delphinia, it was Dallas’s face that he saw in the recesses of his mind.

  As John Hamilton stood in the parlor of the clockmaker’s house in Chelsea he was uncertain about how much to tell Dallas. Anxious for her safety ever since she had left the court at Ellerig, Hamilton had used every possible means at his disposal to find out what had happened to Dallas in London. When he learned that she was staying with the Lennoxes, he was greatly perturbed. It was Lennox, after all, who had pitted himself against Hamilton’s own father, the Duke of Chatelherault, in a struggle for power some twenty years earlier. Lennox had fled to England and Chatelherault had won not only the Dowager Queen’s support but the Lennox lands as well.

  Now there was talk about Lennox’s son Darnley being offered as a possible suitor for Mary Stuart. If the young whelp was accepted as a prospective bridegroom, Lennox would demand restoration of his properties. As nominal head of his great house, Hamilton must devise some means of opposing the courtship—or work out a compromise with the earl.

  So, when Fraser returned to Scotland without Dallas, Hamilton told himself it was time he went to London in an attempt to find out what was on Lennox’s mind. When Fraser appeared indifferent to his wife’s fate, Hamilton felt obliged to act on Dallas’s behalf while in London. And when Hamilton discovered that Fraser was bedding Delphinia Douglas, he ordered his servants to be ready to leave for England within twenty-four hours.

  “I came to London on business with the Lennoxes,” Hamilton explained to Dallas, sparing her any upsetting details. “You know how it is between our families, the old rivalry.” He spread his hands in a familiar gesture. “But the important thing was that they told me where you were. Show me your babe, Dallas. My God, I’m relieved to see you!”

  Dallas held out the child for Hamilton’s inspection. “He’s putting on weight now. John!” she exclaimed. “What of Iain?”

  Hamilton was smiling at the babe, rubbing his fingers gently along the tiny cheek. If he had not paused for just an instant in reaction to Fraser’s name, Dallas would not have felt the sudden stab of fear.

  “He’s in Edinburgh,” Hamilton answered evenly, turning to look her in the eye.

  “Ahhhh.” Dallas handed the infant to Donald, who held him awkwardly. “Put him in the cradle in the other room, Donald.” She did not speak again until he was gone. “I’m so thankful Iain’s safe,” she said, collapsing into a chair. “Do sit, John. For a moment you frightened me. I thought something was wrong.”

  Hamilton did not sit down but moved about the room, his riding cloak swinging from his shoulders. “Something is wrong, if you ask me.” He spoke angrily, the handsome face dark with wrath. “A man who leaves his bonnie wife and wee bairn to sit at table with Queen Mary and her courtiers ....” He stopped, aware he’d said too much, but angry enough not to care. “Make no mistake, Dallas, I’ve never liked your husband, but I always respected him until now. But this, his desertion of you and the babe is too much! I wish to God I’d slit his throat before I left Scotland!”

  Dallas shuddered at the vehemence of his words. She had listened to his seething declarations in astonishment. Surely Hamilton was mistaken. Fraser would never abandon her. Mayhap he still didn’t know about the babe. He couldn’t come back to England to get her, it was too dangerous. And yet ....

  She twisted her wedding ring around her finger several times before she spoke. “I think you misjudge Iain, John. He has his reasons for doing whatever—whatever it is he’s doing.”

  Hamilton’s rage had subsided somewhat, though he was still not himself.
In a flurry of riding cloak and a flash of sword at his hip, Hamilton dropped down in front of Dallas. “Forgive my errant tongue, Dallas. I’ve come for only one reason, to take you home!”

  Dallas argued feebly, but she wanted to go, with Hamilton or whoever could get her safely back to Scotland. At last she gave in, agreeing to leave in the morning. Hamilton would spend the night in London; there was simply no more space in the little house and his serving men were quartered in the city anyway.

  He got to his feet as Dallas rose from the chair. “Don’t worry. I made certain I wasn’t followed here,” he assured her. “I’ll be careful in the morning, too. I trust neither Elizabeth nor the Lennoxes.” He started for the door, turned back, and put her face between his hands. “My God, Dallas,” he breathed, his own face almost touching hers, “I’ve been through hell these past months. I nearly started for London a hundred times.” And then he let his hands fall to his sides and walked quickly out of the parlor.

  Hamilton had managed to hire a coach for the journey north. During the first ten days of travel, the weather was kind. That false spring which February often displays for a few deceptive days permitted them to make good time as far as Durham. But then nature turned whimsical and brought snow down in large flakes to smother the eager daffodils, which had just begun to bud.

  “A day or two of delay, that’s all,” Hamilton said as he and Dallas shared supper in her room at The Fox and Hare near Durham’s great cathedral. Many people had been stranded and the common room was filled with complaining travelers whose plans were disrupted by the sudden change in weather.

  “At least we have rooms,” Dallas said, getting up to comfort the babe who had begun to fuss in his makeshift crib. The original wet nurse had not come with them, having a family in Chelsea. But another girl had been found on short notice, a young widow with a babe only a few weeks older than Dallas’s child. Nan, as the girl was called, had been anxious to leave her in-laws, who treated her harshly. Her own parents had been dead for years, and traveling all the way to Scotland with a dazzling noblewoman and a handsome lord was an adventure beyond her wildest dreams.

  So Nan was ensconced with her own babe and Flora next door to Dallas. Hamilton was crowded in with his serving men and Donald a few yards down the hall. At present, the others were enduring the common room’s hubbub while they ate. Dallas, however, had declared she couldn’t put up with such a commotion and insisted on having a harassed serving wench bring up supper for two. It was an uninspired meal and served lukewarm, but she and Hamilton were both hungry.

  “If we can’t dine well, we can at least drink,” Hamilton said, pulling out a leather canteen of whiskey. “I thought we might be glad of this somewhere along the way.”

  “I’ve never liked the taste, but there are times when the effect is downright welcome,” Dallas commented, pushing away the remnants of boiled pork hock and undercooked potato.

  Hamilton poured whiskey into tumblers for both of them. The baby was sleeping soundly now, occasionally making little snuffling noises into the blankets. Dallas had kicked off her shoes and removed her shawl after the first tumbler of whiskey. The drink had warmed her and the fire was finally burning cheerfully on the grate.

  Hamilton poured more whiskey and stretched his legs out on a small bench. They chatted comfortably for an hour or more, about Dallas’s experiences in London, the birth of the babe, her flight from the Lennoxes, and of Hamilton’s life at court. They never mentioned Fraser. Indeed, Hamilton had not once spoken his name since they left Chelsea. Yet Dallas had thought of little else. What if Fraser did not love her anymore, what if he never had? God only knew it had been almost impossible for Dallas to believe he had loved her all along and had actually wanted to marry her.

  “You’re dreamy-eyed, Dallas,” Hamilton said. “Are you weary?”

  “Oh, a bit, John. But each day I feel stronger.” She stretched and yawned, shaking her head at his offer of more whiskey. “Nay, it makes me drowsy and Lord knows another tumbler would make me drunk as well.”

  “I’d best leave you,” Hamilton said, rising from his chair. The two candles had almost guttered out in their lead holders. Outside the wind blew the snow against the windows, sealing the inn off from the world.

  “Don’t forget your canteen,” Dallas said, rising to pick the vessel up from off the little bench. “Great heavens, it’s empty!” She giggled and tossed the canteen to Hamilton, who caught it neatly with one hand. Unexpectedly, the other hand reached out and grasped Dallas by the wrist. She stopped giggling immediately and met his gaze head-on.

  Hamilton’s moods of good humor, kindliness, annoyance, anger and affection were all familiar to Dallas. But she was unprepared for the sudden flare of passion which enveloped his features. The canteen thudded onto the bare floor as Hamilton pulled Dallas to him and kissed her mouth. Fleetingly, she recalled the first time he had kissed her, at Falkland. Ages ago, it seemed. It had not been unpleasant, but she had felt nothing in response. Now, awakened to sensuality by Fraser and denied his or any man’s touch for nine long months, she felt herself answering Hamilton, kiss for kiss, caress for caress.

  But for all his unleashed desire, Hamilton was a different man than Fraser. Dallas recognized this instinctively: On those occasions when Fraser exhibited tenderness, she could always sense his ever-present animal intensity. The brute male did not dominate Hamilton’s lovemaking; even in passion, his innate gentleness touched Dallas’s heart as much as it fired her senses.

  “John ....” She pulled away to look up at him. “John, please don’t ....” Her words withered away as she saw the look of love and vulnerability in his brown eyes.

  But Dallas recognized her own weakness as well. She clutched at his hands as he pulled away the little velvet jerkin.

  “Sweetheart,” he said softly, “don’t deny me. I love you.”

  “You can’t!” she breathed, trying to free herself from the arm which held her fast while his other hand undid her cream-colored blouse. “I’m a married woman, truly married, with a child!”

  But Hamilton seemed not to hear her protests. She felt the soft fabric of her blouse slide off her shoulders, heard the deep sigh of pleasure as he looked at her naked breasts, and was dazedly aware that he had pulled her down on top of him on the bed.

  “You are so lovely! Stay, sweetheart, let me taste your sweet body.” Hamilton held her with one hand under her buttocks, the other lifting her torso just above his face. The pride, worldliness, authority and power of the House of Hamilton had been replaced by the most helpless of all creatures—a man in love and afraid of rejection. Dallas felt herself melt into his embrace and leaned down to let him kiss her breasts.

  He seemed to smother himself in the firm, ripe flesh, and Dallas experienced an exquisite sensation of pleasure, which she dimly told herself should not be happening.

  Hamilton was tugging at her riding skirt, pulling it and her undergarments down over her hips. Dallas reached behind her to push at his hands but her efforts were ineffectual. As her naked thigh lay between his legs, any doubts Dallas might have had about Hamilton’s intentions were quickly dispelled.

  “John!” Dallas jerked away from him, shivering with both cold and emotion. “We must not! Please leave now, before ... before we ....”

  Hamilton merely smiled and pulled her over onto her back. “Before we do what fate intended us to do?” Even as he spoke he had begun to take off his own clothes. “Nay, Dallas, you’d cheat both of us out of tonight while your husband dashes from Delphinia Douglas’s bed to Catherine Gordon’s, to God knows whose? If he loves you,” Hamilton added as he finished undressing, “he has strange ways of making it known. And by the Cross, he can’t love you as I do!”

  Dallas winced at the condemnation of Fraser but her efforts to defend her husband were doomed as she saw Hamilton’s powerful, naked body looming over her at the edge of the bed.

  “Sweet Jesu,” she whispered, “why couldn’t you look more like your wr
etched brother Arran?”

  Hamilton laughed outright and fell beside her on the lumpy mattress. He kissed her lips gently, two, three times before his mouth claimed hers with an unquenchable hunger, his hands roaming lightly over her thighs. Then he was kissing her stomach and Dallas moaned softly as she let her fingers run through his hair and caress his neck.

  This is wrong, she told herself in a voice that seemed to come from very far away; even if John loves me this is wrong .... But she could picture Fraser laughing with Delphinia or Catherine, exchanging intimate glances, making love to them as if his wife didn’t exist. She could see it all almost as clearly as she could see John Hamilton’s head buried between her thighs, igniting the fire she had thought only Iain Fraser could spark.

  But when he finally penetrated her body, she saw nothing at all. The tender passion of his possession evoked no memories of Fraser but only the deepest fulfillment of her pent-up desires.

  It was still snowing when Dallas awoke the next morning. Her baby was beginning to fuss but she didn’t dare summon the wet nurse until Hamilton left. He still slept, sprawled on his stomach, looking younger and even more vulnerable in repose.

  Dallas crept out of bed and picked the babe up, rocking him to and fro, trying to keep him quiet a bit longer. Donald and the serving men would no doubt wonder where Hamilton had spent the night, but under such crowded conditions, they might assume he had found lodging elsewhere. At least she hoped so; she didn’t want Donald to know about last night.

  No one must ever know about last night, she thought as she kissed the fine black hair of the baby’s head. Guilt was setting in, but not shame. There was nothing shameful in Hamilton’s love for her. It was her own feelings which puzzled her. Whatever Fraser had done, even if he didn’t really love her, she still loved him. Justified or not, she was angry with him and resentful. But it had taken her too long to realize that she loved him for her not to know that she always would, intensely, passionately, almost obsessively.