by Mary Daheim
Yet here she was, cuddling Fraser’s child and standing beside this sleeping man with whom she had committed adultery just a few hours ago. Was it possible that she loved Hamilton, too, in a different way? It was not mere lust, since she and Hamilton had spent many pleasant hours together before last night. Dallas had to admit to herself that she didn’t know the answer. She shivered under her nightrobe and put the baby back in the crib. Hamilton was moving in the bed, one hand reaching out to grope at the now empty place beside him.
“Dallas?” He was awake, regarding her with a sleepy smile.
“I’m here, I had to tend the babe. John, you’d better go. I must summon Nan.”
“He’s quiet now,” Hamilton said, rolling over onto his back and yawning. “Why don’t you come back to bed, sweetheart?”
“Nay, you must leave. The babe will be screaming his head off in a minute. I’m surprised he’s been good this long, he hasn’t eaten in hours.” Dallas deliberately turned her back on him and began to sort out her clothes.
Hamilton slipped out of bed to stand behind her, his arms around her waist, his hands reaching inside her nightrobe to caress her thighs and attempting to part her legs. “Dallas,” he murmured, his lips in her tumbled hair, “I love you so much. Why don’t you just take the babe into the nurse’s room?”
With a sudden move, she pulled free from his grasp. “Because we can’t spend the day in bed, that’s why. John, you must understand, what happened last night must never happen again.” She was frowning at him, trying hard to look severe.
She didn’t convince him, but he relented anyway. “All right,” he sighed, picking up his own clothes. “But we won’t leave Durham today and I don’t really think you’ll fight me off with a poleax tonight. Besides,” he went on as he dressed hurriedly, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Thinking?” Dallas snorted. “When have you had time to think?”
“Never mind,” he laughed, “but I have. When we do get out of here, we’re not going to Edinburgh. We’re going to Arbroath.”
“Arbroath!” Dallas stopped in the middle of fastening her riding skirt. “Certainly not! Why would we go to your country home instead of to court?”
Hamilton was adjusting the cuffs on his shirt. “Because you’re going to live with me at Arbroath while we wait for your marriage to be annulled. I’m taking no chances of letting you get away from me this time.”
Dallas stood motionless, her hands clutching her blouse and jerkin. “Nay, John! I don’t want an annulment! Iain and I have a child, it wouldn’t be right!”
“Dallas, if you must argue, please put your blouse on. The sight of your delectable breasts is most distracting.” Hastily, she pulled the blouse around her and fastened the pearl buttons. “I’m not arguing, I’m just stating facts. Don’t cite me precedent of other papal annulments, I would never consent. Unless,” she added uncertainly, “Iain wanted it.”
Hamilton paused just long enough to let Dallas consider this possibility. “It’s my fault you made such a strange marriage in the first place. I was a fool not to ask you to be my wife when you were still free. I loved you even then, but I have a terrible habit of taking too long to make up my mind.”
“And proud Hamiltons don’t marry poor Camerons, eh, John?” Dallas could not resist the barb but was immediately sorry when she saw how her remark had wounded him.
“You must remember how things were with my family then. Poor Arran thought the Queen might wed ....”
But the babe had begun to howl again and Dallas went to pick him up. “Never mind, what’s done is done. Now you must leave so this poor mite can be fed.”
Hamilton gathered up the rest of his belongings, including the leather canteen, which still lay on the floor where he had dropped it the previous night. It was useless for him to pursue the matter of the annulment just now. He had implanted the idea in Dallas’s mind—-and she had not said she wouldn’t go to Arbroath.
“If the snow lets up we’ll visit the cathedral,” he said, pausing to kiss her cheek. “ ’Tis a wondrous sight, I’m told.”
Dallas nodded as she jiggled the screaming infant up and down in a vain effort to quiet him. Hamilton looked at the tiny contorted face and decided the babe was just as obstinate and demanding as his father. As he went out into the corridor he wondered which would prove the greatest obstacle in winning Dallas—the sire or the son.
Two more days in Durham, mostly trapped in the teeming inn, but the snow stopped long enough for Dallas and Hamilton to visit the cathedral. Soaring triumphantly above the River Wear, the majestic church was almost five hundred years old, yet showed scant ravages of time. Inside, Dallas marveled at the huge Norman columns, and Hamilton paused to read the inscription denoting the burial place of the Venerable Bede.
“Think of it!” Dallas exclaimed later back in her room at the inn. “All the years of toil which went into that magnificent structure! I’ve never seen its like in Scotland, though it grieves me to admit it.”
“A poorer, smaller country must build to fit its own perspective,” Hamilton remarked vaguely, his mind on matters other than English architecture. “Well, Dallas,” he said with an imploring smile, “do we dispense with argument over whether or not you’ll bed with me tonight?”
Dallas laid aside the slim volume of the Venerable Bede’s writings which she’d purchased at the Cathedral. “You sound rather sure of yourself, John,” she chided.
Hamilton traced her jawline with his finger. “I’m sure of only one thing, that you and I find great happiness in each other.”
Averting her gaze, Dallas fumbled with a small gold locket she wore around her neck. “That scarcely makes it right,” she murmured, thinking it would be much easier to state her case if he hadn’t moved his hand down to her thigh. “I know you’ve had other mistresses, John, women who’ve borne you children. How can I be sure I’m not just another such as they?”
“I told you once, a long time ago, that unlike—” he paused, obviously loath to bring Fraser’s name into the conversation. “Unlike other men, I’ve never been the kind to seduce women on a mere whim. The mistresses I’ve known over the years have always come to my bed of their own free will and not until now have I ever offered marriage—or my heart.”
Unable to avoid his direct, candid gaze, Dallas sighed. “Why must you be so damnably convincing?” She smiled ruefully, leaning forward to put her arms around his neck. They kissed once, long and deep, before he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Chapter 17
The following day it snowed fitfully, allowing them to explore the city more thoroughly but preventing them from leaving it. That night Dallas and Hamilton made love again; secure in his arms, satisfied by his ardor, Dallas thrust aside her doubts and completely abandoned herself to Hamilton. If Donald and Flora seemed to eye them with speculation, she ignored it. They didn’t really know, she told herself, and mayhap she was only imagining their suspicious stares.
On the morning of the fourth day, the snow had turned to rain and a rapid thaw had set in. As soon as the slush began to run off the cobbled streets the party set out for Hexham, hopefully their last stop before crossing into Scotland.
The road had turned to mud, forcing them to stop several times to free the mired coach wheels. Potholes, ruts and occasional rocks made for a jarring ride. Hexham was not reached until very late.
As they sorted themselves out in the village’s only inn, Hamilton glanced at Dallas. “You’ll dine in your room tonight?”
The question had become their byword during the stay in Durham, but tonight Dallas shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll dine at all. In truth, John, I’m not feeling well. Those jolts and jerks today upset both my head and my stomach.”
At first, Hamilton thought she was putting him off. But as he peered at her closely, he saw she was very pale and almost white around the lips.
“Sweetheart,” he said low, so that the others could not hear, “you’re not
well. Let me carry you up to bed.”
“Nonsense, I can walk. I’ll be fine, it’s just a passing indisposition.” As Flora carried the babe, Dallas led the way upstairs. She had almost reached the top when she halted, her head swimming dizzily.
“Mistress!” Flora cried. “Let me get Lord Hamilton!”
Dallas held fast to the bannister, trying desperately to make the world stop spinning. “I’ll manage, our room’s just two doors down.” With a tremendous effort, she mounted the last three steps and negotiated the twenty paces or so to the door. Once inside, Dallas fell onto the bed and groaned aloud.
Flora laid the baby down and raced to her mistress. “What is it, are you going to retch?”
But Dallas was too weak to answer. She let Flora loosen her clothing and make her as comfortable as possible. Soon she slept, deeply for a few hours, waking after midnight to feel somewhat better. She went back to sleep again, and when she woke up next, the faint morning light was making patches on the worn oak floor.
Flora was already up, holding Nan’s baby, while Nan nursed Dallas’s child. Both women turned anxiously when Dallas called to them. “What time is it?” she asked, sitting up in bed.
“Just past seveny madame,” Flora answered. “Rest now. Lord Hamilton says we’ll stay here today.”
But Dallas insisted she felt recovered. Since it was a fine day, they should take advantage of it. Hamilton came in shortly, his face etched with concern, but when he saw Dallas dressed and determined to travel, he smiled with relief. “I’m not sure you’re wise, but I won’t argue. Perhaps you ate something disagreeable at that vile hostelry yesterday in Newburn.”
Dallas allowed for the possibility but still thought the effects of the jostling coach ride were a more likely explanation. The important thing, however, was that they reach Scotland by nightfall.
By noon they were just west of Falstone, deep in the wild border country of England, where many a Scots raider had killed or been killed over the centuries. With such a heritage of blood, it was wise for the little party to keep its nationality secret.
But Dallas was puzzled. “I know little of England,” she called out the coach window to Hamilton, “but aren’t we headed away from Berwick?”
Hamilton drew his horse up to the coach. “We’re not going that way, I learned this morning that the road is washed out at Tweedmouth.” It was true, but Hamilton had not planned to take that route in any event. Though Arbroath lay on the eastern coast north of Dundee, it could only be reached overland by a westerly approach through Hawick, Stirling and Perth. It was at least a four-day journey from the border by coach but that was as well. The extra time would give Hamilton more opportunity to convince Dallas he was right about their future together.
Dallas was dozing when they crossed the Cheviot Hills into Scotland at dusk. Great sweeps of dormant heather, the riotous River Liddel, rough shadowy crags and the ghosts of moss-troopers dogged their passage north. The road here was as uneven and rutted as the one between Durham and Hexham. And except for a few miserable crofters’ huts, there was no place to put up for the night.
“How much longer, my lord?” Donald asked Hamilton as their horses moved slowly into the night. Donald, like Dallas, had been perplexed when their party had turned northwest instead of northeast. But then he had seldom ventured more than ten miles from his father’s farm at Dunbar until the last year or so.
Exhausted, they finally came to the village of Teviothead, where a tavernkeeper agreed to take them in. Impressed by the obvious quality of the travelers, and even more overcome by the handful of coins Hamilton produced, the proprietor scurried around to prepare adequate accommodations. But it was after ten o’clock before Dallas and the other women carried the babes and their belongings into a draughty, sparsely furnished room. By that time, they were grateful for any kind of comfort after the excruciatingly long day. The men were weary, too, and Hamilton made no effort to ask Dallas if she were supping in her room.
Had they been heading for Edinburgh, they would have gone due north from their midday stop at Galashiels. But instead, they took the road west to Peebles.
“John,” Dallas inquired for the second day in a row, “why this route? Don’t tell me the road is washed out between Galashiels and Edinburgh.”
“I’ll explain when we stop to rest at Peebles,” Hamilton replied, smiling down into the coach. Then he put spurs to his horse and galloped on ahead through the fine mist, which had been falling all morning.
Dallas was uneasy. She was certain now that Hamilton was determined to take her to Arbroath. She would not go; if he confirmed her suspicions when they reached Peebles, she would simply refuse and go on to Edinburgh with Donald as escort. They could reach the capital by night, unless the weather worsened.
But when they got to Peebles about three, Dallas was feeling ill again, as wretched as she’d been at Hexham. When Hamilton came to fetch her from the coach, she was lying down among the cushions, with Flora holding her clammy hands.
“She’s taken sick again, my lord. Mayhap we should bide here at Peebles.” Flora eyed Hamilton with disapproval. She’d always admired the man and been grateful for his many kindnesses to Dallas, but at the moment she blamed him for her mistress’s indisposition.
Hamilton calculated quickly. His cousin, Gavin, had a small house, Strathmuir, just south of Lanark in Hamilton country. It was about fifteen miles away; they could get there in about two hours. He made the suggestion to Dallas, who nodded feebly. Once more, the coach began to rumble along the rough road which ran parallel with the River Tweed.
Less than half an hour from their destination, Dallas awoke from a fretful sleep to feel a damp sensation between her legs. With great effort, she raised her head from the cushions and saw that her brown travel gown was stained with blood. Flora, who had been gazing out the window of the coach, turned to look at her mistress. She screamed, waking Nan and the babes, who all began to shriek at once. Hearing the outcry, Hamilton ordered the driver to stop.
“What is it?” he called, wheeling his horse around.
Flora hurled the door open. “It’s Lady Fraser, my lord! She’s bleeding to death.”
Hamilton leaped from his horse and looked inside the coach. Dallas was lying unconscious in a pool of blood, her skin as white as fine linen.
“Jesus God,” Hamilton muttered. He paused for just an instant, his heart weighed down in his chest. Then he gave orders for two of his men to ride ahead to Strathmuir House and make sure the servants were ready to receive them. To Donald, he gave instructions to race on to Lanark and get the local physician, reputed by Gavin to be a learned man. Donald, grim faced with worry, was the first to gallop off down the road and out of sight.
Hamilton ordered the driver to move the coach as carefully as possible. He was sick at heart, cursing himself for Dallas’s alarming condition. He should not have forced her to travel so soon after the babe’s birth, he should never have bedded her, he should have stayed in Durham and waited until the roads were repaired.
As the coach creaked slowly over the last four miles Hamilton vowed he’d do anything Dallas ever asked of him if only she’d get well. He’d give her up, he’d turn Papist, he’d make peace with Iain Fraser—whatever her wish, he’d grant it.
It occurred to him then that it had been her wish to leave Chelsea as soon as possible. She’d argued, of course, but Dallas always argued. She’d not rebuffed his lovemaking, either, at least not very seriously. As for changing their destination, in his heart he felt she’d go with him to Arbroath, to stay there at least until she’d sorted out her feelings about her marriage.
But his logic comforted him little as he glanced inside the coach to see Dallas lying motionless against the cushions. Both babes were quiet now, taking turns suckling at Nan’s bountiful breasts. Hamilton sighed with relief as he sighted the rooftops of Strathmuir nestled among a grove of plane trees.
The servants were waiting in the hallway. Gavin Hamilton visited St
rathmuir seldom but kept a half-dozen people in permanent residence to maintain the house and grounds.
Hamilton carried Dallas inside, placing her gently on a settee in the drawing room. The bedrooms were all upstairs and he didn’t want to move her any further than necessary until the doctor arrived. Flora stayed with him, her composure regained, but her face was almost as white as Dallas’s.
It seemed like hours before Dr. Crawford arrived with Donald, but it was actually less than twenty minutes. He was a sparse-looking man, dressed in garments a generation old. The first thing he did was send Hamilton, Flora and Donald out of the room.
Dr. Crawford remained alone with Dallas for over an hour. As darkness crept over Strathmuir he finally emerged, his thin face expressionless. “She is still alive,” he announced, “but you must not move her for at least two days. I have done what I could. I don’t believe in tying string around the patient’s thumb to stop the bleeding and hold the soul in the body as so many so-called physicians do. I have my own methods, based upon years of research. And I don’t discuss them with anyone except my most trusted colleagues.” With that remarkable speech, he made straight for the door.
Hamilton moved to intercept the doctor. “Wait up, man, you’ve not been paid. Besides, I’d like you to stay here, at least overnight.”
“I never stay overnight with patients, no matter how important or how ill. I’ve slept in the same bed every night for twenty-three years. If you wish, I’ll return in the morning.” He paused just long enough to accept a hefty purse from Hamilton, then went out into the night.
Donald and Flora lingered by the drawing room door while Hamilton went in to see Dallas. She was undressed, lying under a heavy comforter. Her skin was still white and there were blue smudges in the hollows under her closed eyes. Even the jumble of brown hair seemed lifeless.