The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  Down the stairs she raced, out into the welcome fresh air, clutching her cloak tightly about her and trying to compose her raddled wits. She was afraid to go through the town; her bedraggled appearance would draw attention and she couldn’t be certain that Maclnnes might not have changed his mind and turned back. She walked instead towards the harbor, feeling the sea breeze whip her disheveled hair and the soft sands ooze around her bare feet.

  Some strange animallike noises sounded in her ears; Dallas was puzzled at first, until she realized she was making them herself. Whimpering with pain, shock, fear and humiliation, she collapsed onto the strand.

  It was still daylight when Dallas heard the voice from somewhere above her. Slowly, she looked up, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “I said, are ye all right?” the voice asked. It belonged to a young man attired in fisherman’s togs. Somehow, even in her muddled state, Dallas thought he looked familiar.

  “Oh—I think so.” Dallas struggled to get up, remembering to keep the cloak clutched closely around her.

  The young man was helping her. “Ye look unwell. In truth, I thought ye were dead!” Suddenly his eyes widened. “I know ye, ye were with Lord Hamilton that day in Master Forbes’s bookstall!”

  Dallas tried to force her weary mind back through the fog of time. “Oh! Yes, yes, the bird! I remember now! You’re .... I’m sorry, I don’t recall ....”

  “I dinna know if I ever told ye my name,” the young man said with a smile. “It’s Andrew Dalrymple. I’ve always been grateful to Lord Hamilton. I saved the money he gave me and finally made enough to buy a fishing boat. Now I have four of them that I sail with my men out of Pittenweem and we do right well.” The smile turned sheepish as if he were ashamed of boasting, especially to a lady who appeared so unwell.

  “I’m glad for you,” Dallas said, wondering if her intention of smiling had actually succeeded. She ached from head to foot and her bruised mouth made speech difficult. “Andrew, is one of your boats nearby?”

  Andrew gestured towards a small dock. “Over there. I fished late today, there’s a good run this time of year just before sunset. I’ve only now returned from taking my catch into town.”

  Dallas surveyed the water and weather. The sun was dropping rather quickly, but the sky was still clear and the sea appeared calm. It was too dangerous for her to go back to Edinburgh. Maclnnes might already be back at the ramshackle house and he’d soon have men in hot pursuit.

  “See here, Andrew, I can’t explain the whole story to you, but I’m in trouble.” She watched the questioning look surface in his eyes. “I’m Lady Fraser, you’ve heard of my husband, Iain?”

  “Aye, he’s said to be a brave lord, though outlawed just now.” Andrew nodded as if in approval of her husband.

  “The same evil people who have sent him into exile are now trying to do me a mischief,” Dallas explained, thinking that her tale was certainly oversimplified. “In any case, I must get away. I have a bit of money,” she added, feeling inside her cloak to make sure the little purse was still in her pocket, “and I’d be so grateful if you could get me away from here in your boat.”

  Andrew looked at Dallas carefully. If this poor disheveled lassie was indeed Lady Fraser, she’d obviously been having a very bad time of it. Bruises were beginning to show up on her face, her lip was cut in two places, she was barefoot, and when the breeze picked up he could swear he saw her knees. “Don’t fash yourself over the money,” he said at last. “You’re friend to Lord Hamilton and you were kind to me that day at Master Forbes’s. Where do ye want to go?”

  “Dunbar,” Dallas replied.

  PART FIVE

  Chapter 28

  Tarrill stood anxiously by the small door in the garden wall which connected the Exchequer’s residence to the neighboring house owned by David Chambers, a close friend of Bothwell’s. The September night was cool but refreshing after the overcrowded banquet room where the Exchequer had entertained the Queen and her party. Just before the company had been seated, Donald had approached Tarrill, asking her to meet him after supper in the garden. Now growing impatient, Tarrill began to pace the enclosure, until the creaking of a door made her turn. But it wasn’t Donald who came into the garden; it was the Earl of Bothwell, entering by the connecting gate from Chambers’s house. Tarrill stood motionless, watching the Border Earl move quickly past the main doorway and around to a side entrance. He had not seen her, and there was something about his urgent yet stealthy movements which aroused Tarrill’s curiosity.

  She had no time to dwell on Bothwell’s peculiar actions as Donald came out of the Exchequer’s house just then, loping purposefully towards her. “Tarrill,” he said low, taking her by the hand. “I was delayed, the Queen wished to take one of the ledgers up to bed with her.”

  “That’s all right,” she replied with a smile, forgetting her impatience now that he was here. She also forgot about the Earl of Bothwell.

  Donald was wearing his new doublet, of deep burgundy velvet with plain gold trim at the neck and sleeves. His blond hair shone almost white in the moonlight and Tarrill thought she had never seen him look so handsome. But for all his new status and apparel, he appeared uncomfortable. She decided to say something to break the silence but her own wits didn’t seem to be working properly either.

  It was Donald who finally spoke. The grip on her hand grew tighter as he cleared his throat rather loudly. “You’ve taught me to read and write, for which I’m very grateful,” he said somewhat stiffly. “But no one ever taught me to make pretty speeches. So what I have to say, I’ll put plainly: Will you wed with me?”

  Tarrill disengaged her fingers and put a hand on Donald’s cheek. “I’ll answer plainly then,” she said with a radiant smile. “Yes, Donald, I will.”

  The following day, Tarrill and Donald went to visit Walter and Glennie to tell them the news of their betrothal. Donald felt obliged to ask Walter, as head of the Cameron family, for Tarril’s hand. But after the excitement had died down and Glennie had hugged Tarrill while Walter wrung Donald’s hand, it became apparent to the newly affianced couple that something was amiss.

  Tarrill asked Glennie point-blank what was wrong. “Probably nothing,” Glennie replied, getting out wine glasses with which to toast the engagement, “but Flora was here earlier, saying that Dallas left yesterday afternoon to meet Iain in Leith. She hasn’t come back since.”

  Tarrill was getting out a bottle of vintage Portuguese red wine from the cabinet. “Since Dallas hasn’t seen Iain for several months, I’m not surprised she’s still gone,” she remarked somewhat dryly. “They’re doubtless lingering over their reunion.”

  Walter gave Tarrill a hand with the cork. “That’s what I told Glennie and Flora. Dallas will be back in a day or so, I’m sure. Meantime, none of us must mention Iain’s presence in Leith to a soul.”

  “Of course not,” Tarrill agreed, gazing at Donald over her wine glass. Dallas had certainly weathered an unconventional marriage, right from the start. Being wed to a turbulent, reckless man like Iain Fraser must be very difficult. She was glad Donald was a totally different type of person.

  Walter raised his glass. “To the happy couple,” he said, beaming at Donald and Tarrill and his own wife as well. “And to Dallas and Iain, wherever they may be.”

  Dallas was in Dunbar, lying in Annie and Oliver McVurrich’s bed, suffering from the after-effects of shock, pain and a severe cold as well. Andrew Dalrymple had hesitated at first when she’d asked him to take her to Dunbar. It was a twenty-five mile journey, to be made at night in a small fishing boat. But, Andrew had reasoned, the sea was calm, they would keep close in to shore the entire way, and the wind was in their favor. Besides, anyone who looked as if she’d suffered as much as Lady Fraser appeared to, desperately needed his help.

  The voyage had been uneventful, though they had not arrived at Dunbar until well after dawn. Annie McVurrich had been astonished to see Dallas and her companion but had immediately set
about fixing breakfast and insisting that Andrew join them. When he’d left two hours later, Dallas had pressed some coins on him and wouldn’t give in until he’d reluctantly accepted them.

  “I hate taking money from ye,” he’d told her as he unwillingly pocketed the coins. “If ye ever see Lord Hamilton, tell him Andrew Dalrymple is most grateful to him.”

  “I shall,” she’d replied, thinking that the person she’d most like to see about now besides her husband was Hamilton himself.

  So Andrew had left for the harbor to sail his fishing boat back to Pittenweem. Annie had ordered Dallas to bed at once. Oliver and his sons had already gone to the fields by the time Dallas and Andrew arrived, for it was harvest season with much work to be done.

  “Och,” Annie exclaimed when Dallas finally took off her cloak before climbing into bed, “you poor lassie! What bruises! Do ye want to tell me about it?”

  Dallas was too exhausted by then to tell anybody anything. Nor did she want to reveal her humiliation to Annie. And for discretion’s sake, the fewer people who knew about James’s dastardly intentions, the better.

  “Just let me sleep awhile, Annie,” Dallas said. “I’ll try not to be a bother.”

  Annie had blustered about the croft, deflating the notion that Dallas could possibly bother her, but her guest was already fast asleep. When she awoke late that afternoon, she asked Annie if one of the boys could take a message in to Edinburgh.

  Annie hesitated. It was such a busy time, Oliver truly couldn’t spare one of his boys. But she’d already expressed her willingness to do anything she could for Dallas. Then Annie brightened, thinking of an alternative solution. “The Lauder laddie, he always wheezes and breaks out in spots whenever he goes into the fields. He’s nigh onto seventeen, trustworthy as they come and ’prenticed to a sail-maker. I’ll ask him.” Annie smiled soothingly, tucked the comforter around Dallas’s legs and sallied forth from the croft.

  Dallas put a hand to her aching head and wondered if she’d ever feel normal again. She would not send the message to the town house; it might be watched by James’s men. Instead, she’d have the Lauder youth go to Glennie and Walter’s.

  The lad left the first thing the next morning. Dallas had fretted over the wording of her note, not wanting to involve her kin, yet trying to let them know something was sorely amiss so that they could warn Fraser if he arrived in Edinburgh within the next few days.

  “The messenger who took me away lied,” she had finally written. “It was a trick for a devious end I will recount later. The lad bringing this message will tell you where I am and how I am. I will come back when I think best.”

  Dallas hoped Glennie and Walter could read between the lines; certainly Fraser would be able to—if and when he returned.

  Dallas’s cryptic message both alarmed and puzzled her relatives. When the Lauder youth had gone, Glennie and Walter had puzzled over what, if any, course of action they should take. Cummings and Flora must be notified at once. But beyond that, they were bewildered.

  Could Tarrill or Donald help? Perhaps Donald should ride to Dunbar and talk to Dallas at his parents’ house. But before they could devise a solution, Iain Fraser returned to Edinburgh.

  He had entered the city unmolested and hoped to exchange his efforts on Mary’s behalf in Rome for permission to temporarily ward himself within the capital. But Cummings’s news dealt him a stunning blow. After every detail had been elicited from the serving man, Fraser galloped off to the Cameron house.

  “That whoreson James!” he exploded after reading Dallas’s message. “Either he lured her to Leith to somehow entrap me or to find out something he thinks she knows. I’ve vowed vengeance on him for years, but this time I’ll not hesitate for the Queen’s sake or any other reason.”

  Walter and Glennie exchanged uneasy glances. Fraser was in enough trouble already without trying to murder the Queen’s half-brother. “James isn’t in Edinburgh,” Glennie remarked in a tentative voice. “Some say he’s gone to Stirling for the christening but Mistress Drummond says he’s at Wemyss Castle.”

  Fraser’s scowl had grown deeper with every word. “Never mind,” he asserted, already striding towards the door, “I’m not going after James yet. I’m headed for Dunbar.”

  By her fourth day at the McVurrich farm, Dallas was up and dressed, physically if not emotionally stronger. Annie, whose own garments were much too large, had borrowed some clothes from a neighbor girl. Dressed in a simple white muslin blouse and a plain blue kirtle, Dallas made her first foray outdoors after the noon meal, walking with Oliver and his three sons as far as the edge of their barley field. Sitting down on the low stone fence, she watched them continue on, scythes over their shoulders, waist-deep in the swaying grain.

  A few moments later, she saw a rider cantering from the opposite direction along the Dunbar road. Dallas jumped up, waving wildly. “Iain! Iain! Over here!”

  Fraser spurred Barvas to a gallop, then slowed the horse down just a few feet from where Dallas was standing. “Lassie!” He leaped onto the narrow path and seized her in his arms.

  “Oh, my love!” Dallas buried her face against the soft leather of his jacket. He felt her convulsive movements, uncertain if she were laughing or crying. Gently, he pushed her away to look at her face. The bruises around her mouth were turning a sickly green, the swelling on her forehead was beginning to subside. He noted that she was shaking violently and seemed unable to speak. Fraser lifted her off the ground and carried her to the nearby stable.

  Two of the McVurrich horses lifted their heads with mild curiosity. Fraser put his saddle blanket down on a mound of freshly cut hay. “Lie here, Dallas, you poor lass.” He dropped down on one knee beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

  Dallas put an unsteady hand over her eyes. “I don’t know—it was so horrible. Maybe some day ....” She lifted her fingers to fleetingly meet his gaze. “It was James’s doing, wanting to find out what I knew about your father.”

  Fraser stared at her. “Christ! I didn’t spare you after all by not telling you the truth!”

  “It wasn’t just that—you see, I found a jewel case in Edinburgh Castle this summer, walled up in the library. I was certain it held one of the amulets.” Dallas told him the whole story and then recounted the questions James’s henchmen had put to her in the ramshackle house at Leith. Fraser listened raptly, then shook his head.

  “So your father gave the amulet to Marie de Guise,” he said at last. “Your instinct was right, I’d wager that.”

  “But can’t you tell me now who your father was?” Dallas asked, struggling to sit up.

  Fraser gently pushed her back onto the blanket. “No. If anything, what happened to you proves how dangerous that knowledge is.”

  Dallas could only mumble a weak assent. Fraser reached out to hook his forefinger in the bodice of her blouse but was amazed when she seemed to recoil at his touch. “Lassie,” he breathed, “was it that bad?”

  She nodded, her eyes wet with tears. Fraser sat motionless for a few moments, his hand still on her blouse. Then he slowly slid it down from her shoulders and saw the savage bruises which covered her breasts. Unresisting, she let him remove her skirt, and with increasing shock he examined the rest of her battered body.

  “Jesus!” he whispered, his own voice none too steady as he noted the teeth marks inside her thighs. Then he gave voice to the question he felt compelled to ask: “Were you raped?”

  Twin tears rolled down her cheeks. “No. I—I stopped him in time.” She heard his deep sigh of relief and somehow managed to look at him squarely. “But I feel so—-so soiled, so degraded. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what it was like.”

  He lay down beside her, wrapping her in his arms. “I’ll not forget it either, lovey. He’s a dead man, you know.”

  “He may be already,” Dallas gulped. “I hit him with a coal shovel.”

  At any other time, her declaration would have made him laugh. But Fraser’s m
ood was far from lighthearted. He understood the fragility of her emotional state and the terrible reaction she must still be suffering from such brutalization. The churls who had been responsible would suffer, too, he’d see to that. Yet he knew he must put aside thoughts of vengeance for now and devote himself to healing his wife’s ravished spirit.

  “I’m going to make love to you now,” he said quietly. “I’ll lock the door to make sure we’re not disturbed.” Fraser got up, went to the stable entrance, shot the bolt and came back to the mound of hay. Dallas was lying rigidly beneath him, the tears brushed away, her big eyes apprehensive. He was reminded painfully of their wedding night.

  “Dallas,” he said gently, stripping off his leather jacket, “you must remember that what happened to you had nothing to do with love. What happens between us has everything to do with it. Whatever that unspeakable animal did to you can’t ever touch what we have together.”

  Dallas watched him undress in silence as she contemplated his words. Then he was next to her, cradling her body against his own. For almost a full minute he merely held her close, until at last she reached out and entwined her arms around his neck. Her lips trembled slightly as his mouth claimed hers; she sensed his unexpected gentleness and knew that he was trying not to hurt her. The hands which caressed her breasts were just as restrained. Dallas appreciated the tight rein he must be keeping over his usual intensity and guided one of his hands between her thighs. He smiled at her, a ghost of his mocking, crooked grin, and rested his head in the curve of her shoulder.

  “Is my touch so loathesome now?” he asked, the long fingers tenderly plying the soft, moist flesh.