The Royal Mile

by Mary Daheim

  When Fraser went back into the castle to bid Dallas farewell, she flew into a monumental rage. “After all the Queen has put you through? After what Bothwell’s done, too! God’s eyes, I’ll never understand men!” She flung a jam jar across the room, its contents spattering the wall. “Here we are, with only Gordon’s word standing between you and the Tolbooth. Yet you’ll ride off to risk your life for that brainless Mary Stuart! Oh!” Boiling with frustration, Dallas snatched up a heavy pewter water jug and aimed it at her husband.

  “Enough, lassie,” Fraser commanded, “I’ve no time for tirades. The men are starting to move out.”

  But Dallas paid no heed and let fly with the water jug. Fraser ducked and came to the bed where his wife had been eating her breakfast. “I tell you, I must leave at once. Now becalm yourself and bid me good-bye.” His tone was impatient as he put a hand under her chin.

  Dallas jerked away, flinging herself halfway across the bed. “Don’t touch me! One way or another, you’ll end up dead! You don’t care what happens to me or the children, you’d rather play the braw gallant!”

  Fraser froze with one foot on the floor, the other propped up on the bed rail. “So that’s it,” he said in tight-lipped wonder. “I should have guessed your true concern would be for yourself, for how impoverished you’ll be without me.”

  Dallas stopped pounding her fists into the mattress and turned just enough so that Fraser could see the defiant outline of her profile. “Twaddle, you self-centered ape! Don’t justify your ....”

  Her words were drowned out by the clatter of Fraser’s sword, helmet and chain mail dropping onto the floor. He moved swiftly around to the side of the bed and grabbed a handful of Dallas’s thick hair, pulling her around to face him. Rage and rejection waged war across his face as he pinned her thighs down with his knee.

  Flailing uselessly with her fists, Dallas sought for words to calm her husband. “Wait, Iain! You mistook what ....”

  But Fraser had gone beyond reason. He shredded the lambswool nightshift from Dallas’s body in one fierce gesture. Instinctively, she raised her hands to fend him off but saw the cold, obstinate look in the hazel eyes, realized she had goaded him into fury, and knew that resistance would be as futile as it had been on their wedding night.

  Fraser, however, did not recognize her surrender. He pinioned Dallas’s arms behind her and hurled himself on top of her. His knees forced her legs wide apart and the hands which squeezed her breasts were harsh.

  “Please, Iain, you’re hurting me!” But Fraser paid her no heed. A moment later, she felt him thrust inside her, plunging with a ferocious intensity that she had never before experienced. His riding boots chafed her legs, the heavy belt buckle cut into her flesh, and her arms ached behind her back.

  Dallas bit her lips to keep from crying out in pain; all she could think of was that at least she must be fully recovered from the miscarriage by now. And if she were not .... she closed her eyes tight at the memory of Strathmuir.

  As her husband relentlessly plundered her body as savagely as any ship he’d ever captured, she vowed not to take pleasure from his brutal act. But Dallas could not keep rein over her own response. When Fraser’s final thrust surged inside her, she cried out—with fulfillment instead of relief.

  “Oh, Iain,” she gasped as he stood up and put his clothes back in order, “you are an impossible beast!”

  Fraser did not catch the loving note in her voice. Indeed, he did not seem to hear her at all. He picked up his gear, stalked from the room and banged the door shut without a word.

  At last Dallas sat up slowly and groped for her peignoir. She remained sitting on the bed, feet dangling over the edge, until well after the sounds of men and horses had died away in the distance.

  Damn the man, she thought, hadn’t he realized her anger had been inspired by fear? Impoverishment! She could face it with him, but not alone. In fact, there was nothing she cared to face without Fraser: How dare he take her love so lightly as to put himself in mortal danger for such an unworthy cause!

  “Damn!” she said aloud. If he’d just let her explain instead of resorting to virtual rape .... Dallas paused, catching her disheveled image in the faintly warped mirror on the dressing table across the room. Her fingers flicked lightly over her naked body, which was aching more every minute. She should be outraged, she told herself, revolted by her husband’s violent behavior. But now, regret suffused any other emotion. He’d ridden off, to God only knew what fate, and she’d not had a chance to say she loved him.

  Glennie and Walter were unprepared for the arrival of Dallas and her entourage at Nairne’s Close. “But, Dallas, where will we put them all?” Glennie exclaimed, blinking rapidly in agitation.

  “I promise, we won’t stay for long,” Dallas said, beginning to feel the first twinges of guilt. “I’ll find a house or a flat as soon as possible. I have money from the sale of our furnishings which will tide us over—at least for a while,” she added grimly and wondered if security of any sort would ever come her way.

  On the day before the Hamiltons rode into Edinburgh, Bothwell and the Queen left for Borthwick Castle, twelve miles to the south. Though Mary Stuart had expected to find some peace in the country, her hopes were soon dashed. Several of the rebel lords besieged the fortress while Bothwell escaped to seek help.

  Inside Edinburgh Castle, Fraser and Hamilton were unaware of this new turn of events. The Queen had sent a message to George Gordon, but it had fallen into Morton’s hands. So as June moved into its second week, the Hamiltons remained encamped at the castle, wondering if a confrontation would actually occur, or if the Queen and Bothwell were merely enjoying a honeymoon at Borthwick.

  Dallas had quickly found out where Fraser and the others were quartered. Every time she left Nairne’s Close to house-hunt, she saw the bulk of the castle rising up out of the hill and wondered if her husband was still angry with her. She had considered going to see him but learned that no one was allowed inside except for military purposes. She had started several notes to him but shredded each one as awkward or inadequate.

  But Iain Fraser assumed his wife was still at Hamilton Castle, cursing her fate and smashing up the furniture. He was therefore much surprised when George Gordon came bearing a message from Delphinia Douglas.

  “Your wife is at her former home just down the hill,” Gordon said, repeating what Delphinia’s messenger had told him. “At four o’clock this afternoon, Delphinia will arrive there with some important news. She urges you to join her.”

  Fraser paused in the act of shining his helmet. There was little to do in the castle these days except drink, dice, and make sure that all the military equipment was kept at the ready. “Delphinia? At the Cameron house? Do you really think my wife will let her in?”

  Gordon shrugged and laughed hollowly. “Under the circumstances, yes. Delphinia is most resourceful. You see,” he said, gazing directly at Fraser, “she has found out who your father was.”

  Chapter 34

  Both men had predicted Dallas’s behavior accurately. Upon seeing Delphinia with her hand on the tirling pin, Dallas had gone to the door and threatened to push the other woman off the stoop. When Delphinia made her announcement, Dallas’s eyes had widened in astonishment, then turned dubious, but curiosity won out. Only as she jerked the door open did she notice the Earl of Morton coming up the stairs behind Delphinia.

  But Dallas had just closed the parlor door when Marthe called out that Baron Fraser had also arrived. Dallas tried to conceal her further surprise at this announcement as she went back into the entry hall.

  “Iain!” She stood motionless in the middle of the hall, willing herself not to rush into his arms.

  “I just learned you were in the city,” Fraser said formally. “I understand you’re expecting a guest.”

  “Guests. They’re already here. Iain, what’s going on? That wretched Delphinia says it’s about your father!”

  Fraser brushed past her and started into the p
arlor but paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Guests? Who else?”

  “Morton, the pig. He came with her.” Dallas wished Fraser would stop looking so damnably reserved.

  “Christ.” Fraser pulled open the door with a violent motion and strode into the room. He moved swiftly to Delphinia, took her hand and kissed it perfunctorily, then whirled on Morton. “I wasn’t told you’d be here. I mislike finding myself under the same roof with your ilk.”

  Morton chuckled malevolently. “Are you more riled over my politics or losing your charming town house? Oh, don’t glower so, Iain, we Scots change sides as we change our clothes.”

  “Some do,” Fraser said, pulling out a chair for Delphinia, who threw him an inviting smile. “Now let’s get on with this business. I’ve no time for word duels.”

  “Of course not,” Delphinia said in dulcet tones. “Morton has been kind enough to escort me and act in Lord James’s absence.”

  “James!” Dallas spat the name. “What does he have to do with this?” But Dallas already knew; this was the apparent consummation of the conspiracy between Delphinia and Lord James.

  Plying her fan with one hand, Delphinia reached into her voluminous damask skirts to produce a small silver box. “Take this, Iain. What’s inside will answer a question which has plagued you for many years.”

  Warily, Fraser took the box from her and worked at the catch until the lid sprung open. Inside lay an amulet, set with rubies against an intricate gold background. Fraser carefully extracted the piece, turning it over slowly in his hands. On the back was an inscription. He walked to the window, to hold the amulet under the late afternoon sunlight. Dallas followed him, leaning over his shoulder, breathless with curiosity.

  “What does it say?” she demanded. “Can you read it?”

  Fraser turned to face her. He was visibly shaken, his dark skin faintly sallow. “It says,” he read with some difficulty, “ ‘To my beloved Catherine, the love of my heart and the mother of my child.’ ” The hazel eyes pierced Dallas’s own anxious gaze. “ ‘From your devoted Daniel Cameron.’ ”

  Dallas was immobilized for several seconds before she flung herself at Delphinia. “It’s not true! It’s a lie! Where did you get this bogus trinket?”

  The other woman smirked in triumph. “From James. And it’s not bogus but was put by your father into the safekeeping of Marie de Guise many years ago. It’s a pity, Lady Fraser—excuse me, you’re not Lady Fraser at all—you’re Iain’s half-sister.”

  But Fraser had snapped out of his apparent trance. He grabbed Delphinia by the arm and pulled her to her feet. “This is a sham! I know the truth! Daniel Cameron told me!”

  Delphinia instinctively flinched from the rage in Fraser’s eyes. “A dying man ... his wits raddled ... perhaps he wanted to tell you the truth, but he was confused, his mind befogged by death.”

  “Rot!” Dallas all but spat on Delphinia and had to press her hands at her sides to keep from doing the other woman a lethal mischief. “At the very end my father was quite lucid!”

  “Will Ruthven was there that night,” Delphinia went on in a composed, reasonable voice. “He says Master Cameron rambled constantly. Perhaps, Iain,” she said in a soothingly sympathetic tone, “you wanted to believe what Daniel Cameron told you. It would be natural enough, under the circumstances.”

  Fraser was glowering fiercely at the amulet. “None of this makes sense. Why would James give this to you? Why tell me now?”

  “No mystery there,” Morton commented with a shrug of his thick-set shoulders. “James never knew who sired you, either—until last summer when someone—” He paused to cast his piglike gaze in Dallas’s direction. “Until someone dug the amulet out of a wall in Edinburgh Castle.”

  “It took some time for James to figure out its significance,” Delphinia explained smoothly, “but at last he decided it must have something to do with you, Iain. Before he left Scotland, he entrusted it to me, knowing I would do what I could to set matters aright.”

  Feeling sick at her stomach, Dallas walked shakily to her husband. Tremulously, she put a hand on his shoulder. “My love,” she whispered, her annoyance with him long vanished, “we’ll prove it’s a lie! I swear we will!”

  But Fraser responded neither to her words nor to her touch. He stood by the window, staring unseeingly into Nairne’s Close. One hand rested heavily against the casement, as if the wall itself were his sole means of physical and emotional support. “It’s mad,” he muttered fiercely, “it’s impossible! I can’t accept this!”

  Delphinia was plying her fan again and moving briskly around the room. “You’ll adjust to the idea in time, Iain. I understand it’s a shock, but once your marriage is annulled and you can face life anew, you’ll come to appreciate the peace of mind I’ve given you.”

  As Dallas edged away from Fraser, Delphinia came to stand behind him. She snapped her fan shut and addressed his rigid back. “I would guess that Daniel Cameron met Catherine McKim before he ever came to Edinburgh. Naturally, their families would have disapproved of such a match. Even before Blar-na-Leine, there was deep enmity between the clans. But Daniel must have continued his affair with Catherine even after her marriage to Malcolm Fraser. Later, it was obvious why Cameron was sent for by his kin to get the amulet, since it was inscribed with his own name.”

  “How did you know about that?” Dallas cried, holding onto a chair for support.

  Delphinia shrugged her wide shoulders. “Lord James and I did some investigating. Your Cameron kin will do almost anything—for money.”

  Dallas ignored the barb and sunk slowly into the chair. The most horrible part was that the story fit together so well. Her father would have wanted to right the wrong, as he’d put it, to have his illegitimate son know the truth. But why had he waited so long? Clan hatreds or not, surely he could have acknowledged Iain.

  Dallas stood up again, groping her way across the room in search of the wine decanter. The familiar surroundings blurred in front of her so that when the door flew open she scarcely recognized Marthe’s chunky form.

  “Dallas, dear child,” the serving woman wheezed, “you look faint!”

  Rallying slightly, Dallas put out a hand to fend Marthe off. “Please—don’t meddle. I’ll be all right!”

  But Marthe paid no heed. “Of course ye will,” she soothed, “as soon as I’ve had my say. Turn ’round, Iain, cease storming like a November day, and look upon your old nurse, Moireach!”

  Neither Dallas nor Fraser ever put together a coherent sequence of the events which followed. Someone had screamed—Dallas wasn’t sure if it was Delphinia or herself. Morton had tried to propel Marthe from the room but was stopped by somebody—Fraser himself, perhaps. Glennie and Walter had come racing into the parlor at some point, totally bewildered by the commotion. As Fraser gaped at Marthe, the serving woman’s thick lips quivered and tears rolled down the withered cheeks.

  “Moireach is the Gaelic for Marthe, as well ye know, Iain,” she declared between gasps for breath. “Och, I knew ye’d never recognize me. But I alone know the story of your birth, as a true witness, and what this one”—she paused to glare venomously at Delphinia—“has told you isn’t worth a bag o’ beans.”

  “The old dame is out of her head,” Morton snapped. “You’ve seen the amulet’s inscription. Send the raddled harridan away!”

  But Fraser had stepped up to Marthe’s side and placed one arm firmly around her plump shoulders. “I told you at the outset, it didn’t sound right. That amulet is a fraud, and so is your malicious tale, Delphinia. I suggest you both leave at once.”

  No one could ever accuse Delphinia of giving up easily. “Not until I’ve heard her story,” she exclaimed, waving her fan at Marthe. “She’s only trying to protect her precious Dallas!”

  Marthe, however, averred stoutly that as she’d kept her secret for thirty-seven years, she wasn’t about to babble it away in front of people who couldn’t be trusted. Delphinia exchanged irate glances with Mo
rton, then haughtily swept by Walter and Glennie, took the earl’s arm, and started for the entry hall door.

  “Hold on, Delphinia,” Dallas cried. “You forgot something.” Her spirits revived, she picked up the silver box and the amulet, and flung them both in Delphinia’s face.

  “Now,” Dallas said, banging the door behind her, “tell us the truth, Marthe, before I burst!”

  Still, the serving woman hesitated. “I can only tell ye, Iain—well, mayhap Dallas, too, since ye be man and wife. But, Glennie, I’m afraid ye and Walter must go outside.”

  “It’s all right,” Glennie said with a reassuring pat on Marthe’s arm. “You must abide by your conscience—though I’m sure Walter and I don’t have the vaguest notion of what’s going on anyway.”

  For the first time since Fraser had read the amulet inscription aloud, he looked directly at Dallas, but there was no time to speculate about his wife. Marthe’s story was what mattered most at the moment.

  The serving woman had composed herself in a chair by the hearth, plump hands folded over her apron, the florid cheeks redder than usual. As her narrative unfolded, the years fell away like leaves in an autumn wind.

  Marthe, or Moireach, as she was called then, had come to Beauly when Catherine McKim was a bride. Moireach herself had recently been married to one of Malcolm Fraser’s tenants. Shortly after Catherine and Malcolm were wed, the new bridegroom went to Inverness for a few weeks to make arrangements for the spring sowing. While he was away, a group of nobles arrived at Beauly to hunt stags.

  “They were loath to tell us who they were, but we knew them to be fine lords,” Marthe recalled. “One in particular carried himself so well—he was no more than twenty, but the others seemed to defer to him. He paid great court to your mother and they would ride off alone or go strolling through the woods together.”

  The party had remained for almost three weeks, leaving the day before Malcolm returned. Life went on as before, until some two months later when Moireach found her mistress sobbing wildly. “I asked what troubled her and finally she said she was going to have a bairn. I laughed at her tears, told her to be happy—I, too, was expecting a babe. But she confided that the bairn she carried was not Malcolm’s but the handsome nobleman’s, and she feared her husband greatly, for he had already shown her his cruel side.”