by Amanda Scott
“Only of you,” she said.
He chuckled and impulsively clasped his hands to her waist and pulled her close. Relishing the feeling of her body pressed against his, he said, “Once again you have saved my life, lassie. I owe you much for your courage.”
“They weren’t searching for you,” she said. “They wanted someone called Sir William Smythewick.”
“No matter what name they gave, they were seeking me,” he said, slipping his arms around her and holding her tight.
She leaned into his body, savoring its strength and warmth. He was so big, and she felt amazingly safe and content while he held her so. For all she knew, Farnsworth Tower still teemed with Englishmen hunting for him, but he was here and safe, and so was she. She sighed, happy to let him hold her, not caring that it was wrong for him to be in her room, wishing they could remain so forever.
She was not aware that one of his hands had moved until she felt his fingertips beneath her chin, tipping it upward. As she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, his lips found hers.
His were warm and soft, and when she tried to close her mouth, his tongue prevented her, thrusting inside, tasting her, exploring the interior of her mouth and sending thrills through her body unlike anything she had felt before.
She moaned, thinking that what they were doing was wicked. It was probably—no, centainly—a sin, and God would punish her, but since she was going to be punished anyway, it could not hurt to savor the moment. She moved her lips against his, and daringly, touched her tongue to his. She had never done such a thing before, had never even thought about putting her tongue in another person’s mouth, and yet the sensation that shot through her as she did was pure delight.
One of Patrick’s hands was at her waist now, pulling her tight against him. The other was stroking her right arm, and stirred by its touch, she put both arms around him, hugging him back. God would definitely punish her, but maybe in such black darkness, even God could not see what they did. The sacrilegious thought almost made her let go of Patrick to cross herself, but he moved his free hand to the side of her right breast, and the breath stopped in her throat. She could no more have stopped him then than she could have flown up to heaven on a prayer.
He moved his other hand to her back, feeling, exploring. When it slid around her waist to the front, she knew he was looking for her smock laces. He found them, and his fingers tugged before she came to her senses.
“No,” she said, putting her hand on his. “You mustn’t.”
“Ah, lassie, don’t stop me now. I’ve a hunger on me that will not go away.”
“Then you should eat something,” she said practically.
He chuckled again. “I want to eat you up, sweetheart. I want to taste every inch of your smooth skin, to explore every curve. Would you deny me?”
It occurred to her again how large he was, how strong. If he decided to bed her, she doubted she would be able to stop him. Worse, she was not certain that she wanted to stop him. Although the thought of God’s vengeance kept intruding, she was not a particularly religious person. Most Borderers weren’t. They changed religions like others changed clothes, donning the expedient, and shedding any beliefs that might stir trouble for them.
These thoughts flitted through her mind while her body responded eagerly to Patrick’s caresses. He was kissing her again as if he took her submission for granted. How like a man, she thought as she kissed him back.
When his fingers undid her smock laces, and his bare hand touched her breast, she stiffened, coming to her senses again in a rush of discomfiture. Catching hold of his hand, she said, “Please, no.”
Even as she said the words, she assumed they would prove useless. In her world men did as they pleased, and although Patrick was different from most, he was still a man. She did not fear that he would hurt her or force her, just that he would continue because he wanted to and she would find it impossible to resist him. To her astonishment, he took his hand away from her breast at once.
His other hand rested lightly at her waist, and for a moment she had an urge to apologize, to tell him she had not meant it.
Before she could speak, he said gently, “I should have stopped before, sweetheart. Clearly, you are not experienced in such matters, so this is hardly proper payment for your kindness to me this night. I would not knowingly harm you.”
“I know,” she said softly. Again, the urge swept over her to apologize, at least to explain to him that she had not disliked his touch or his kisses.
Again, before she could speak, he said, “I should go before my desire for you overcomes my good sense. Thank you again, lass. I won’t forget this.”
Drawing a deep breath, she bit her tongue before she could ask him to stay, but when his hand left her waist, she felt a longing unlike anything she had known before. She did not want him to go.
She heard his footsteps, light thuds on the dirt floor. Then the darkness lightened when he opened the door. Briefly, she saw his dark form outlined against the dim orange glow of a candle or torch in the corridor, and then he began to shut the door, to plunge her room into blackness again.
Just before the door shut, she heard a familiar feminine voice say sharply, “Well, well, and just what mischief have you been up to now, falconer?”
The voice was Drusilla’s.
“Mam, Mam, be ye here?” Claud hurried into their little parlor and skidded to a halt when he saw his mother sitting by the fire with her eyes shut. “Mam, wake up, I need ye!”
“Only a dead mortal would sleep through the racket ye’re making, ye witless dobby,” Maggie said without opening her eyes. “What be amiss now?”
“Everything! Och, I dunno, mayhap nowt’s amiss, but I dinna ken what be what anymore, and Lucy said she were bored and left, and I dunno wha’ tae do.”
“Then calm yourself and tell me what has disturbed ye.”
“Well, our Bessie and Sir Patrick ha’ feelings for each other, but that screecher Drusilla ha’ caught them out together, and the English be still a-looking for him, and likely summat dreadful will happen, and I dinna ken wha’ tae do.”
“That’s all verra clear,” she said sarcastically, opening her eyes at last.
“Well, I dinna ken how I can be clear when I dinna ken what’s going tae happen. I must do summat. Can ye tell me how tae make yon vixen Drusilla forget what she saw? They were getting on verra well wi’out her.”
Maggie stood up, glowering at him in the way that made his knees quake. “I’ll no tell ye any such thing. How many times must I tell ye, lad, we do what we can tae make life pleasant for our mortals, but the rules o’ the Circle forbid any action significant enough tae alter the course o’ their lives.”
“But—”
“ ’Tis one thing tae guide an arrow on its course, or tidy up a kitchen in the dead o’ night, or guide a man’s hand when it hovers over his pawn on a chessboard. It even be acceptable tae alter the weather a wee bit if a black storm can be hurried on its way wi’out causing destruction.”
“But—”
“Ye canna mend emotions, Claud—not love nor hate nor spite—and ye mustna interfere wi’ the doings o’ mortals gin ye can avoid it.”
“But ye turned back history, ye did, in the Highlands, and Sir Hector said he would dismiss Patrick if he trifled wi’ any maidservant, and our Bessie—”
Maggie raised her chin, saying firmly, “The turning back o’ history were different, Claud, as I told ye afore, and we’ll no discuss that again.”
“But doesna Sir Patrick ken about our Bessie? Could ye no tell her tae tell him who she is so he can—?”
“Sir Patrick kens that his Lady Mackenzie believes her younger sister yet lives, but he kens as well that his master sent searchers throughout the Borders without finding her. He kens nowt o’ the treasure or us, and if the lass were tae tell him what she willna believe herself, what d’ye suppose he would say tae her?”
Claud sighed. His imagination did not expand to su
ch visions.
More gently, Maggie said, “Will that Drusilla go straight tae her father?”
“I dinna ken what the leprous witch will do. She hurried off wi’out saying.”
“And Sir Patrick?”
“He just looked long at our Bessie’s door, then went tae his room, tae bed.”
“Then he, at least, does not think anything more will happen before morning,” Maggie said. “You would do well, my lad, to get some sleep.”
“But—”
“Claud,” she said warningly, “recall that I ha’ problems o’ me own. Nae sooner do I think them wretched Merry Folk will agree tae summat than they fly into a fury again. It be as if some’un be stirring them tae mak’ trouble, and if I could find that fell-lurking cur, Jonah Bonewits, I’d ask him do that mischief be his.”
“Ye canna find him?”
“Nay, but that be nowt tae shake a leg about. That wretched quicksand o’ deceit oozes from one mischief tae the next wi’out letting anyone share his plot, so I canna just shout his name tae the skies and expect him tae float down tae me.”
Claud sighed.
“Nae matter,” she said. “I warrant Jonah Bonewits could answer me questions, but ’tis likely I’ll no see him again till the next meeting o’ the Circle. In the meantime, ye’ll keep an eye on our lass, and if I must, I’ll take a hand in that.”
The sun’s rays had not yet touched the eastern horizon when Nell Percy woke Jane Geddes and bade her make haste to dress.
“Angus and the other men have gone to meet the men who were searching the Scottish Borders for that spy,” Nell said. “This may be our only chance.”
“Mayhap ’tis no such a good notion, m’lady. His lordship…” She let the words hang in the air, either unwilling or unable to speak her fears aloud.
“We are going to Scotland, Jane, just as we decided,” Nell said firmly. “Now, hurry, for we must take all we can. I’ve the jewelry Angus let me wear here at Midgeholme, and whilst it will not help to pay our way, for I know not how to sell it, it will add to our consequence once we are safe. I have some money as well.” She did not think it necessary to mention that she had taken a sack of coins from Angus’s chest as soon as he and his man had left his chamber. The money was as much hers as his, after all, since he kept nearly every penny the Percys sent her.
“But Scotland is far from here, madam.”
“Only twenty miles. ’Tis nothing.”
“On horseback, perhaps, but if we must walk, carrying—”
“We won’t walk,” Nell said impatiently. “We have our own horses and we’ll take a sumpter pony for our bundles. We’ll just say we are riding out. Renwick’s people will not stop us, and Angus’s men rode out with him, so hurry!”
They were soon ready, and for once all went smoothly. Lady Renwick never rose until long after sunrise, and no one else paid them any heed. The lad who looked after Nell’s horse and Jane’s, as well, made no objection to saddling them or his own, or to loading the sumpter, and in less time than even Nell had hoped the three riders were passing through the castle gates toward freedom.
When they had gone beyond sight of the ramparts, Nell said matter-of-factly to the lad, “We mean to cross the line, Seth. I want you to come with us, but if you are afraid of Angus, you may ride back and tell them that we rode off and left you.”
“His lordship be like tae hang me were I so daft as tae show me face just when he’s learned what ye’ve done,” the lad said sagely. “I’ve kin on the other side I can bide wi’ till it be safe tae return. But will they let us cross the line, mistress?”
“They say the road is littered with refugees seeking sanctuay in Scotland from King Henry’s obliteration of papists,” Nell explained. “If we meet any such, we’ll join them. If we don’t, we’ll simply tell anyone who tries to stop us that we seek sanctuary. It is true enough, God knows,” she added under her breath.
She had no illusions. If her brother caught her, he would kill her or sell her into a punitive marriage. Nor could she be certain what awaited her on the other side of the line, for that matter. She had family in Scotland, too, but the only ones who cared about her lived in the distant Highlands, and she dared not seek them out until she had spoken to Jamie and made sure he would welcome her. It occurred to her that she could ride for Dunsithe—she even had clothing there, albeit outdated. But Dunsithe was well to the west of Midgeholme, and she was not sure of the route. Getting to Jamie was safer—she hoped.
The King of Scots was unpredictable. Once he had stood her friend, but his own nobles could not trust him, and Nell certainly knew better than to do so. Indeed, it was a risk that she was returning to Scotland without first seeking his permission to do so, a risk for which she could pay with her life if Jamie chose to be difficult. Baseborn or no, a Douglas was safer outside Scotland than within. Still, she would go to the King. According to Angus, James had told Henry he expected to welcome a second heir any day. With luck, he would be in a generous mood.
The mood in Sir Hector’s sanctuary an hour later was tense.
“You must dismiss the falconer,” Lady Farnsworth said shrilly. “Indeed, he should be hanged, and Elspeth should be whipped before the entire household for her wanton behavior!”
A shiver of fear sliced through Elspeth’s body. She avoided Patrick’s gaze as Lady Farnsworth went on and on, furiously shredding their characters.
She had expected to be hailed before Sir Hector soon after hearing Drusilla’s voice in the corridor, but if Drusilla had reported her encounter with Patrick right after it happened, her father had not acted then. Elspeth had remained on tenterhooks in her bedchamber, sleeping little and restlessly.
Arising at her usual time, she had seen to her early morning chores, but the summons had come before she went to the ladies’ bedchambers, and she knew that they had not yet broken their fast. She stood apart from the others, between Sir Hector’s writing table and the open window, through which slanting early-morning sunlight spilled across the polished oak floor.
Not wanting to meet anyone’s eye until she had some idea of what would happen to her and to Patrick, she gazed at the familiar, cluttered writing table, wishing she could hide beneath it as she had when she was small. She was aware of everyone else, nonetheless, and could see each one, albeit obliquely.
Jelyan and Drusilla flanked their mother, who stood directly in front of Sir Hector’s writing table, her massive red wig quivering with her rage. As she declared her notion of what Elspeth’s punishment should be, she pounded the table with a fist to emphasize her feelings, and she pounded again and again as she gave vent to them. Not that they needed emphasizing. Her fury was plain for everyone to hear.
Patrick stood near the closed door. Having been summoned from the mews, he held Zeus on his gloved fist, and although the hawk was hooded, it looked edgy and unhappy. Indeed, Elspeth thought, it looked as if it felt exactly as she did.
Apparently, Lady Farnsworth had said much of what she was saying now before they had gathered in the sanctuary, because Sir Hector remained quiet, letting her spew words at him until she had said all she wanted to say.
When at last she fell silent, he waited a beat, as if to let her speak again if she had not quite finished. The silence spurred Drusilla to say, “Father, my lady mother is right. Elspeth must be punished for her wickedness, and the falconer, too.”
“Be silent, Drusilla,” her father said sternly.
Drusilla looked shocked, but Jelyan, standing beside her with eyes downcast, appeared to repress a smile.
Just as sternly, Sir Hector said, “Elspeth, what have you to say about this?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Do you understand what they accuse you of doing?”
“Not exactly, sir, no.”
“Drusilla declares that she saw the falconer come out of your bedchamber last night after I left you. Is that so?”
“Yes, sir, it is.”
Drusilla exclaimed, “You see h
ow shameless and insolent she is, Father! She does not even try to deny it!”
“This,” Lady Farnsworth said with a dagger look at Elspeth, “is how the wicked girl repays us for sheltering her all these years.”
Ignoring her, Sir Hector said evenly, “Drusilla, before you accuse others, you might consider how you will answer me when I ask you to explain what you were doing in the kitchen corridor at such a late hour. I mean to do so directly after you have broken your fast. You will return here to me then.”
Flushing deeply, Drusilla bit her lower lip.
“It is not our daughter who is at fault, husband,” Lady Farnsworth snapped. “Must I remind you—?”
“You need remind me of nothing, madam. I would ask you, however, how it is that a daughter of yours deems it proper to be walking unattended after midnight in a corridor generally peopled only by servants.”
Silenced at last, Lady Farnsworth folded her lips tightly together.
Beside her, Jelyan clasped her hands at her waist, smiled sweetly, and said in a gently curious tone, “Then it was all right, Father, what Elspeth did? I thought—”
“It was not all right, Jelyan,” Sir Hector interjected. “It is never all right for an innocent girl to entertain a man in her bedchamber.”
His words ended on a note of exasperation, and the note was still there when he said, “If you choose not to explain, Elspeth, you leave me no choice but to—”
“The lass but did me a kindness, Sir Hector.”
Gasping, Lady Farnsworth turned toward Patrick, and everyone else looked as shocked as she did to hear him speak. Clearly, they had assumed he was there only to accept his dismissal.
Gruffly, Sir Hector said, “I do not doubt that you think it a kindness, but I warned you about making free with the lasses here.”
“I didna mean that the way ye think,” Patrick said, affecting his heavy Borderer’s accent.
“How so, then?” Sir Hector demanded.
“I were on the stairs by the hall when them chaps demanded tae search the place, and I recognized two o’ them from me time in England. They be nae friends o’ mine, sir, and I ken fine they’d do me a mischief an they could. I dinna like fratching, so I asked the lass tae hide me. She did, and that be all there be about it.”