“No.” She met his gaze steadily. “I would not be glad.”
It was the answer he expected, but bitter nonetheless. “You fancy yourself in love with this Scottish brigand.”
She laughed softly. “I once corrected him when he named you brigand, so I should do the same for you now. Yea, you are right, Nicholas. I fancy myself in love with him, but not perhaps as you mean it.”
Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he muttered with sweet irony, “I shall never understand the female mind, and I thank God for it.”
“Do not be angry with me, Nicky. You should be happy that I have discovered even a brief moment of contentment.”
“Not only do you expect me to accept this ridiculous fascination you have for a man who is our sworn enemy, now you want me to be happy about it.” His jaw clenched. “I am not. Nor will I be content until you are back in England again. I would like nothing better than to see Sir Alex Fraser’s head on a pike, if you must know the truth.” He drew in a deep breath at the stark white pallor of her face and managed to say calmly, “But your happiness is important to me, kitten. Even if we do not agree on the source of it.”
“Please, Nicholas, can you not do something to free the hostages you took? Will our father not listen to you at all?”
He had no intention of discussing with her his great difficulty in juggling both his father and Fraser, and so he shrugged. “Perhaps. It is—”
“Devlin.” Fraser appeared in the doorway, swinging it wide to enter. A scowl creased his face as he held up a scrap of parchment that had been folded several times. “Is this all the proof you brought?”
“It is. Is it not sufficient to convince you that your brother and de Brus are alive?”
“Yea, but it does not satisfy the terms of my offer. I do not want written assurances, I want them in the flesh. Do you think I do not know they could have been executed before the ink was dry on this letter?” He held it in his fist, frustration showing in his dark features.
Nicholas said calmly, “I do not have the power to release them from their cells, but I do have the power to see they are not abused until I am able to exchange them for my sister.”
“I was told ’twas you who captured them. Are they not then your prisoners instead of the earl’s?”
“They were until I gave them into his safekeeping.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Until you abducted Catherine, I had no reason not to promise them to the king as his hostages against further Scottish reprisals. It will take time to remind the king that they are mine to ransom as I see fit.”
“Curse you for a liar and a fraud, Devlin. Do you think me fool enough to play this game any longer?”
Temper surged hotly in Nicholas, but he held it back with an effort. “Sir Alex, we must both play this game until we have achieved our ends to mutual satisfaction.”
“I will not be satisfied until Jamie is back here at Castle Rock.”
“Nor I until Lady Catherine is quit of Scotland and safe at home in England. As we have similar goals, we should strive together to meet them.”
“How do you propose to do that when you have no power to release Jamie or de Brus? Christ above, man, you are in no better a position than my brother.”
That rankled. Nicholas glared at him. “With an important exception—I have powerful friends and relatives.”
Fraser laughed softly. “And a fat lot of good they seem to be doing you, Devlin. Where are they? I have had no missive from them. Or from you, for that matter. It is long past the date I set for a reply, and yet you arrive at my gates with demands and no answers.”
“Are you acquainted with the Earl of Hereford?”
Fraser’s eyes narrowed. “Aye. His name is well known to me.”
“Hereford has influence with King Edward. I fostered in his household, and his nephew is my foster brother. He has agreed to assist me with this matter, but it takes time to affect—”
“Humphrey de Bohun is not a man who helps any but himself,” Fraser said bluntly. “I do not look for aid from that direction.”
“Nay, you should not,” Nicholas said softly, letting his anger show, “but I can. He will heed my requests for the return of your brother and de Brus because I will ask it of him to keep my sister from being further dishonored….”
It was more than he’d meant to say, and he saw at once from Fraser’s harsh stare that the Scot was aware of the true meaning behind his words.
“Nicholas….” Catherine’s soft voice was appalled, and she stepped forward as if to come between them. He stopped her with an uplifted hand.
“Stay out of this, Catherine. ’Tis not your place to interfere.”
“Then whose place is it? Yours? His? Whose life is most involved, pray tell me!” When he glanced at her with a frown she took his arm in a tight grip. “ ’Tis my fate and his brother’s life that are in jeopardy, not yours or de Bohun’s or our father’s—do not dare tell me not to interfere!”
“Your brother is right,” Fraser growled. “You may be the most involved, but you are not in the position to make decisions. You have seen him and he has seen you. Return to your chamber, Lady Catherine.”
Nicholas was tempted to protest the Scot’s arrogant command, but knew that his sisters presence would only complicate any discussion, so remained silent. Her glance at him was one of utter disbelief and betrayal, and he placed his hand atop hers and pried up the fingers she had curled around his arm.
“Go to your chamber, kitten. You know I will do all in my power to see you safe and content.”
“Nay, you will do all in your power to arrange matters to your own satisfaction, not mine.”
He smiled bitterly. “I near killed my horse riding here to your rescue, and you accuse me of having hidden motives? You sorely wound me. Yet you are my sister, and as I hold you more dear than you avow, I will yet seek to right the wrong that has been done you. Now go, so that Sir Alex and I can deliberate what must be done.”
“Nicholas—”
Alex Fraser reached for her, his hand coming down on her shoulder in a grip that was firm yet mild. “Robbie is at the door, Lady Catherine. Do you go with him.”
It raked on his already raw temper as Nicholas observed the Scot’s hand on his sister, but he held his tongue. It would avail him nothing to tweak this Scots rogue’s nose more than had been done already by his father’s refusal to release Jamie or de Brus.
Fraser called out and the ugly Scot appeared in the antechamber door as if he had been standing there listening. He stood back respectfully to allow Catherine to precede him. When she turned in the open doorway to look back at him, Nicholas did not betray the sudden wrench of his heart at her expression of pain.
“Au revoir, mais sans adieu,” he said softly, and her face crumpled at his farewell. Then she was gone, sweeping from the antechamber to disappear from his sight.
When he looked back at Sir Alex, he was staring after her as well, an odd expression on his face. But the face he turned to Nicholas was empty of emotion.
“What can Hereford do to effect Jamie’s release, my lord Devlin?”
“He has not only the king’s ear, but my father’s. If there is any man in this entire kingdom who can manage it, ’tis the Earl of Hereford.”
“Yea, but will he?” Fraser’s mouth twisted. “It has not been my experience that de Bohun exerts himself for any man’s gain but his own.”
“Perhaps not, but he happens to be in my debt in a certain matter.” Nicholas paused, then chose his words most carefully. “Lady Catherine is young and naive, susceptible by her very inexperience to certain inducements. If my father should chance to hear that she is not as innocent as she should be, there will be no arbitration or exchange of hostages. Were she a widow or a burgher’s daughter, no one would take it amiss. But she is an earl’s daughter, and promised as a virgin in marriage to Ronald of Bothwick. Both our families have powerful friends, some who have not yet cast lots with either England or Scotland. A swayi
ng to either side could mean a shift in the balance of power that could strike a lethal blow in either direction. Should you be foolish enough to attempt marriage with Catherine, it would end your brother’s life more swiftly than any other act you could commit. A Scottish rebel in the family is a dishonor my father would not endure for a moment. If you seek to better your station—”
“Hold!” Fraser looked furious. “I may now be only a landed knight, but my lineage is as good—nay, better—than yours, my lord Devlin. Frasers have been in this land since the time of the Conqueror, and my kin are as noble as are yours. One of my kinsman, Sir Alexander Fraser, is Chamberlain of Scotland and privy to the king. Tþs our common ancestor’s name I bear as well, given me by my father who regarded him highly as a kinsman, warrior, and statesman. So do not set yourself above me in station, for you are not.”
There was nothing Nicholas could say that would not exacerbate the tension, so again he held his tongue. Fraser stared at him coldly. “Should I choose to wed your sister, it would be an honor for her.”
“My father would consider that an act of war, Sir Alex.”
A frosty smile curled his mouth. “Do not tempt me, Lord Devlin. Few things would give me greater pleasure than to meet the Earl of Warfield on a battleground.”
Nicholas reached for the leather gloves he had dropped on the table and pulled them on. “Do I have your safe conduct to leave?”
“You do. But hear this, Lord Devlin—the next time you arrive at my gates you had best have my brother and de Brus with you, or there will be no surety granted you. My patience is at an end.”
“I expected no less from a Scottish rebel.” Nicholas met his gaze steadily, and added softly, “Wed my sister and you seal your brother’s fate. ’Tis your choice.”
Once more, a weary Miles met Nicholas at the stables, but this time the loyal captain had the horses rested and ready to ride. As the bridge was lowered in a shrill creaking of winch chains and torches sputtered in the wet wind, Nicholas rode over the planked surface without looking back. He did not relish the inevitable interview with his father, for he would be forced to lie if he wanted to save Catherine. He almost laughed at the irony of it. The truth was far worse—she had no desire to be saved.
PART TWO
14
February 1314
Winter winds howled fiercely about the towers of Castle Rock, like the wail of a banshee. Alex stood on frozen mud in the bailey, smiling a little as James Douglas capered about, swinging his sword at imaginary enemies.
“Och, you should have been there, Alex Fraser. A fine fight it was, with the English fleeing like demons from hell were after them!”
“No doubt, ’tis what they thought when they saw your bonny face.”
Douglas grinned. Wind whipped at his hair with growing ferocity, and lifted the edge of his plaid to snap like a banner. “Do you join us? We leave at cock’s crow for Roxburgh, to relieve the English garrison of their duties.”
An answering grin spread over Alex’s face. “Yea, you know I do. It is time I did more than warm a bench in my hall of an eve.”
“And will your lady not protest if she learns you mean to go fight the English?”
“She is not my lady. Lady Catherine is my hostage.” Alex eyed Douglas narrowly. “But do not think that gives you leave to ply her with scented soap and dainty comfits, for my hospitality does not extend that far.”
Douglas laughed. “A man can only straddle a fence for so long, Alex. But do not glower at me with so black a face, for I only dally with the lady. She is lovely, and I fancy her smile, I admit, but I would not want you for an enemy. You are too fierce.”
Alex had to smile himself at that, for James Douglas had never been known to consider any opponent too fierce or too many; a failing or a strength, depending upon one’s point of view. He took chances, but he was a brilliant tactician and only took the most calculated risks.
“How many men do you think we will need to bring down Roxburgh?” he asked as they strode across the bailey toward the keep. “I will lend my forces, though I need to leave men enough here to protect Castle Rock.”
Douglas slanted him a sly smile. “I want only three score men.”
Incredulous, Alex stared at him. “Sixty men? To take an entire garrison?”
“Yea. It can be done. I have a plan. And I have decided upon the men I want to take with me. You are one.”
Alex thought about Catherine. He would have to leave her behind, but she would be well guarded by his men. Robbie was dependable and could be trusted to do what was necessary in case of attack. But Alex did not know what to expect, for there had been no word from Devlin or the earl since December 6, Saint Nicholas Eve. The celebration of Christmas had been bleak, save for another written message from Jamie and de Brus. At least they were still alive. Devlin had kept his word on that score.
It was doubtful Warfield knew of his daughters true situation, or he would have lodged a formal protest and launched an assault on Castle Rock by now. Obviously, Devlin was keeping his silence, but Alex did not think it was to avoid such a battle.
As they entered the hall, Catherine looked up from her chair by the fire. A boy sat at her feet, an open book on his lap, his face screwed into a tortured expression of intense concentration. Tam again. Alex wondered cynically if Tarn really wanted to learn to read and write English or just wanted to be close to the Lady Catherine. How quickly she had begun to fit in. Only Mairi still refused to relent in her hatred. She had not yet forgiven him for taking the “Sassenach bitch” to his bed. Understandable, if a bit awkward.
Rising to her feet, Catherine smiled at him as he and Douglas approached the fire. “Good morn, Sir Alex. Sir James.”
Douglas looked around the hall with a lifted brow. “Is this the same hall I visited two months ago? Nay, it cannot be. There are tapestries on the walls, and clean rushes, and I do not see bird droppings on tables or even birds in the loft. Am I at Castle Rock? If so, I find it too greatly changed to recognize. Except for the beautiful lady….”
In Gaelic, Alex said, “If you must charm someone, there is a winsome maid below in the village who may be prone to believe your blather. Do not waste your time here.”
“But would it really be a waste? Should I not find encouragement, I would still enjoy the chase.”
“Hunt elsewhere.”
His bluntness only earned another grin from Douglas, but when James spoke to Catherine again it was about the boy she was instructing in his letters. Tarn read aloud for them, halting words in clumsy English, but with an air of pride in his accomplishment.
Alex watched Catherine, her dainty movements that were so innately feminine as she leaned over to point out a letter and whisper something to Tarn, the quick smile of encouragement she gave him, and thought that Douglas was wrong. She had changed even more than the appearance of his hall. Not just outwardly—though he had seen to it that she had clothes more befitting her station after Devlin’s biting remarks about her looking like a milk maid—but where it was not so easily noticed.
With quiet authority, she had gone about directing the cleaning of the hall one day when Mairi was visiting in Kinnison and he had put Tam and two other servants at her disposal. It had not occurred to him that she would make such sweeping changes in such a very short time, but she had. He had been too surprised to take offense at her temerity.
Domestic skills were not something he normally thought about, but when the hall was refurbished, he was reminded of how it had looked when his mother was alive. She had taken pride in her smoothly running household, and with a few soft words and perhaps a smart slap or two, the affairs of the keep were maintained in perfect order.
Catherine, of course, had gone about her goal more quietly. Her position was precarious and she knew it. So she had depended upon the goodwill of a handful of servants to accomplish her aim. Bemused by the improvements, he had not reminded her that she was still hostage and only allowed certain freedoms.
Mairi had done that immediately upon her return, and the ensuing scene had put him right in the middle of a female squabble, an unenviable position for any man.
“The whey-faced bitch may be sleeping in your bed, but she is not the mistress here!” Mairi had railed at him in Gaelic. “I will not have her playing wife when she is only a leman….”
Any attempt to placate Mairi was met with stubborn refusal, and in the end, Alex was forced to remind her that he was master of the keep and made the rules. “Do not berate me for my decision, because I will not allow it, Mairi. Now come, let her take some of the burden from your shoulders. It keeps her busy and lightens your load.”
“Set her above your own, and you will rue the day, Alex Fraser, mark my words.” Mairi had glared at him, then at Catherine. “’Tis an evil day that saw her come here.”
“Evil or not, she is here and will be here for a while yet to come. She is still hostage. ’Tis true she is not locked in a chamber, but she is not free to leave either.”
Drawing herself up, Mairi said stiffly, “Yea, but I am free to leave. I will not come back until the Sassenach whore is gone.”
As he’d watched her storm from the hall, she had looked more frail and older than he’d noticed before. It weighed on him that she so hated Catherine, but he would not relent. Now he must find another guard for Catherine when he went with Douglas, one that was suitable yet not caught up in her charm.
Lifting his head, he looked up to see Robbie watching him. Yea, Robbie MacLeod was loyal and fierce, and while he might jest with Alex about the maid, he would not be susceptible to her beauty or wiles should she choose to use them. Perhaps he was being too cynical, but if he was to err where Catherine was concerned, he intended it to be on the side of caution.
He beckoned to Robbie, and he came, moving across the hall with swift, certain strides. “You are to ride with the Black Douglas?” he asked his lord.
“Aye. We leave at cock crow tomorrow. Logan will be in charge of the men-at-arms, but ’tis you only that I trust with the care of the lady. See to her safety first, then her comfort.”
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