English, Elizabeth (25 page)

"She
was very pretty. Very young. We both were." He stood, ending the
conversation before it could go any further. "Well, goodnight. Father. You
must be tired out. I'll see you in the morning."

Now
what had made him mention Carmela, he
wondered as he walked to his own
chamber. It wasn't as if he thought of her. Not now, at any rate. Or at least
not often.

He
stood at his window as the last light faded from the hills. He did not see the
stars emerge, though, but green-blue waves tipped with frothy foam, breaking
upon a sun-splashed shore. He smelled the intoxicating scent of brine and felt
soft sand beneath his bare feet and sunshine warm upon his head. Yes, it was so
clear, even now, the way it had been so long ago as he strolled along,
laughing, Carmela's hand on his arm.

The
first time he'd seen her he'd been struck dumb by her beauty. Small and plump,
with dark hair falling straight as a waterfall down her back, she'd entered the
reception on her father's arm. Jemmy had watched her all the evening, and at
some point she had become aware of him. Dark eyes beckoned him from across the
room, holding depth upon depth of mystery and promise. He hung back, suddenly
shy, and she bowed her head, smiling, then looked up through her lashes with an
invitation no man could mistake. Jemmy moved across the floor as though
entranced. She held out her hand, he took it, and from that moment he knew that
he must have her.

The
Velasquezes were a minor branch of an old and noble family, but years before
they had fallen on hard times. Their villa was lovely but crumbling in the sea
air, weeds growing high between the cracked flagstones of the courtyard.

They
accepted his suit with warmth, obviously believing that the Scottish noble's
son must be a wealthy man. And Jemmy did nothing to correct their mistake. He
was prepared to do anything at all to give Carmela the life she deserved. She
was so delightful when she was happy, so gay and amorous and charming, so
pleased with every gift he made her.

Her
favorite was the pearls. They'd cost far more than Jemmy could afford, but that
meant nothing when set against the brilliant smile he received when he
presented them.

From
that day she wore them constantly. On formal occasions she twined them among
dark braids dressed high upon her brow. In private she wore them with nothing
else at all, and laughed as she wound them about Jemmy's throat and wrists as
they lay together in their bed on hot Spanish afternoons, the scent of rose and
jasmine carried on a fresh sea breeze through the open window.

His
voyages grew longer, and he was involved in activities that were decidedly
questionable. The last one nearly resulted in the loss of his ship, and he only
just managed to escape the bailiffs, arriving home unexpectedly one night...

It
was an old, old story, he thought now. If he hadn't been so damned innocent he
would have known it was coming. As it was, he was completely stunned to find
another man in his bed. Carmela's head was resting on his shoulder, her hair
flowing about them like a silken cloak, her hand drooping almost to the floor
with the pearls still caught among her fingers.

Eight
years later Jemmy could still feel the pain of it, the disbelief, the
shattering humiliation and blinding rage. He'd nearly killed the man, though he
remembered little of the fight. The one thing he could never forget was the
sound of pearls dancing across the marble floor when he ripped the strand to
pieces.

Carmela
had fallen to her knees in tears, begging for forgiveness. He should have left,
of course. He should have walked out as soon as he knew of her betrayal. But he
hadn't. Instead he'd listened to her lies, wanting desperately to believe that
this had been the first time, that she was frantic with loneliness, that it was
really him she loved. He'd wanted to believe it, and he told himself he did
believe it.

Until
the next time.

Then
no self-delusion was possible. He left her but she came to his cabin, pleading,
swearing it would never happen again, a scene that was repeated many times over
the next two years. And always he'd taken her back, cursing himself for a fool
but helpless to resist. When they were together he was in heaven, so violently
in love that he could not imagine life without her. But the moment he left he
would be tormented by doubts, wanting to believe her promises hut certain she
was with another man. And all too often this proved to be the case. But then
she would cry and she was so muddled and helpless, so genuinely sorry, that he
couldn't find it in his heart to turn her away. She simply couldn't bear to be
alone, that was the truth of it. And he knew no other way to make his living than
to go to sea.

Two
years their marriage had lasted, two years of stormy scenes and passionate
reconciliations. But in time even the reconciliations lost their charm. He knew
that she would never change—indeed, he wondered if she could change even if she
wanted to. By the end the only question in his mind was which of them he
despised more, himself or her.

And
then with a shocking suddenness it was over. He returned from a short run to
find that she was dead. It was a summer fever, they said, she'd gone quickly.
But seeing the way her father's eyes slid away as he gave him the news, Jemmy
wondered if that was the truth or whether one of her many lovers had turned
violent. It had happened before. One of the more sordid aspects of the marriage
was the constant danger to both of them from the men Carmela took up and cast
off as easily as she did her clothing.

But
Jemmy didn't press the Velasquez family with unwelcome questions, for he was
overwhelmed with relief, quickly followed by shame. At last he did grieve for
Carmela, the young girl he'd met and loved, even as he wondered if she had ever
really existed outside his imagination.

And
now he had another wife. He sighed, knowing why Carmela had been in his
thoughts tonight. The two women were nothing alike, yet they did have one thing
in common. If he wasn't careful, Maude could deal him as sharp a wound as
Carmela had ever done.

Well,
I'll just have to be careful, he thought, slamming the shutter against the
chill night air. But even as he had the thought, he wondered if it was too late
already.

"My
lady."

Celia
curtsied, smiling, and took the cloak from Alyson's shoulders.

"No
need for any of ye to stay," the serving girl said clearly. "I'll do
what's needful."

When
they were alone, Celia threw the cloak on the bed and sat down. "Welcome
back," she said. "Lord Darnley will be waiting to see ye tomorrow at
dawn."

"Tomorrow?
But how does he know—"

"He
kens all ye do," Celia answered. "Mind that well. Now get your rest
and be ready."

The
time must be growing closer, Alyson thought as she lay down in the soft bed.
How much longer do I have? How long do any of us have now?

***

It
was becoming more difficult for Alyson to slip away unnoticed. On her way to
the stables she was stopped first by Maggie, then by Malcolm, who begged
earnestly to be allowed to accompany her on her ride. By the time she and Celia
turned out of the stable yard, they were far behind their time.

When
she reached the clearing she saw Robin standing by Lord Darnley, with Sir
Robert still mounted on his steed. With a cry she flung herself from her horse
and gathered her brother close, then held him at arm's length and looked at
him. He'd put on flesh, she saw at once, the starveling look was gone from his
face and his eyes were bright. His hair was neatly brushed, the yellow curls
tied back with a bit of ribbon, and he wore the livery of a page.

He
explained excitedly that Sir Robert had taken him into his service and already
had taught him to ride. "...and Ally, just wait until you see! He taught
me to handle his hawk and even let me fly her once—" He ran toward the
horses and Alyson rose to her feet.

"Well?"
Darnley demanded. "Do they suspect?"

"My
lord," she said in a low, rapid voice, hands twisting at her skirt.
"I cannot do this. I cannot. Please, please let me come home with you.
There must be another way, I'm sure Laird Kirallen will listen if you
only—"

He
gripped her arm so tightly that she cried out. "Oh, no, my girl, we have a
bargain. Time is growing short. Then I'll finish them, do you understand?"

"How
short, my lord?"

"Never
mind that. Just do your part."

"But
you don't need me anymore!" Alyson cried. "Let Celia stay—"

"Do
you think they'll keep her once you've run off? There can be nothing to arouse
their suspicions, not now. You go back and play your part—and by God, you'd
better do it well. I'll hear of it if you don't. I'm leaving Robert here. He'll
wait for you in this place every morning. If anything goes wrong you or Celia
can find him here. I'm taking the boy back myself."

Alyson
looked at Robin who was standing, a hooded falcon on his arm, talking with the
knight. "Don't think I'll hesitate," Darnley warned. "I'll slit
his throat and never think twice about it." He pushed her from him with
such force that she stumbled, nearly falling.

Robin
ran up then and she examined the bird, pretending great interest as he
explained how it had been captured and all about its care. At last it was time
to leave and she caught her brother close, holding him for so long that he
began to squirm with impatience. "Ally, what's wrong?" he asked,
looking into her face. "You're crying!"

"No—well,
maybe just a little. I've missed you."

"But
you'll be back soon, won't you?"

She
nodded and reassured him, then watched him mount and ride off, looking very
small beside Lord Darnley's substantial form. When they were gone she ordered
Celia back to the manor, saying she would join her shortly.

"Sir
Robert," she said hesitantly when they were alone. "If anything
should happen to me—"

"It
won't," he said at once. "This will all be over soon and you'll come
home again."

"Of
course," she agreed. Their eyes met and they silently acknowledged the
lie. "But just the same, if anything were to happen I'd like to know Robin
would be cared for. Would you take him?"

He
began to protest again, then stopped. "Yes, I will. He's a good boy, very
bright."

"He
is. Thank you. I feel much easier now."

"Alyson."

She
turned, one foot in the stirrup.

"I
tried to send him away, to London. But John found out and stopped it. He was
very angry with me. I daren't try it again or he'll send me packing."

"Thank
you," she said. "It was good of you to try."

"Wait,"
he said, coming forward and laying a hand on her knee. "I wanted to
say—I'm sorry I ever went along with this. You had the right of it, John
shouldn't have sworn if he didn't intend to keep his word. But it's too late
now to stop it. You do what you have to do and get out of that place."

"Yes,"
she said. "Of course. I'll do what I have to do. Goodbye, Sir
Robert."

He
stood for a long time after she had gone, trying to ignore the feeling of
foreboding that had gripped him in the past days. Had he ever really believed
this was a clever trick to play upon the Kirallens? Now it seemed a base and
cowardly thing to do, sending a young girl like Alyson to what could easily be
her death. No, this wasn't amusing anymore, not at all.

If
only he'd stayed in London where he belonged and never come to this wretched
place! Once this was over he doubted he'd be back again. Though he and John had
never been close, there had always been an offhanded affection between the two
of them. Now Robert saw the kind of man John really was, and he realized that
he didn't like his brother. In fact, lately he'd come dangerously close to
hating him. And Maude, who he'd once thought spirited and rather charming, was
no more than a selfish, spoiled child.

What
a family, he thought, shaking his head. And I'm no better than either of them.
Watching Alyson vanish over the hills he thought, she's the best of us—and look
at what we've done to her.

When
the whole thing started Robert had never stopped to consider how Alyson might
feel, or even if she had feelings at all. If asked then, he would have said she
didn't—or certainly not the sensibilities of a nobly born girl. The lower
classes were different, everyone knew that! They were hardened to life at an
early age, able to bear cold and hunger and discomfort that no noble could
possibly endure. Some of them were good people, of course, industrious and worthy.
But they were simple people, too, and didn't possess those finer feelings
reserved for the nobly born.

That's
what Robert had believed. When he'd thought Alyson was tempted by the lure of
gold it had all made perfect sense. Greed was a motive he could understand—not
approving, but not exactly disapproving, either. It was, after all, the way of
the world, and Robert considered himself a worldly man. Then she'd told him
about her brother, and for the first time he'd seen her—really seen her as a
person, not just a tool to be taken up and used as they saw fit. And what he'd
seen made him doubt the wisdom of their plan.