Stuart, Elizabeth (2 page)

"But
what of you, Mistress?" one man called out.

"Aye,"
another spoke up, "What of you?"

Jonet
hesitated. She didn't wish to think of that just yet. Not with Murdoch Douglas
on his way to Beryl. "I shall continue on here, of course, but I have a
request of all of you. Take care you don't anger these men by harsh words or
disobedience. It'll not help Lord Mure or myself, and I fear there is little I
can do to protect you from what punishment they order. And once my uncle returns
he will be greatly grieved to learn of any suffering on his account."

She
forced a smile for the outspoken Gwen. "So let us hear no more of
murderin' Douglases... even if it is truth. Now, back to work, all of you. I
fear we shall have a great many more to sup this evening than we had
expected."

The
people began to disperse, still whispering together uneasily, but Jonet
remained by the fire. James Douglas had not reappeared, nor had Neil. She
really should find the men and talk further, but the effort of appearing calm
and unafraid was beginning to tell on her nerves.

For
she wasn't calm. God's truth, she was terrified! From the day her parents had
died and she had come to Beryl as a child of four, Uncle Robert and his wife,
Anne, had cosseted and spoiled her, wrapping her in all the love and care they
had longed to lavish on a child of their own. The gentle Anne had died five
years past and in that time, Jonet and her uncle had drawn even closer. Now it
seemed he, too, might be taken away.

"Come
away, child. You're shiverin'," Gwen murmured. Taking Jonet by the arm,
she led her mistress toward the stairway, ordering the much meeker Syble off to
finish readying the bath.

But
as the women moved along the castle corridors, they became aware that a
thorough search of Beryl was in progress. While Jonet and the servants were
gathered in the hall, the Douglases had entered by another doorway and were
making free of the castle. Jonet could hear them in her uncle's office, opening
drawers and smashing locks.

For
a moment, the two women stood speechless, staring at each other in disbelief.
"Sassenach!"
Gwen spit out the contemptuous epithet. "No better than the English,
the lot of 'em!"

Seized
by a sudden premonition, Jonet gripped the old woman's arm. "Come, Gwen. Hurry!"

They
raced along the empty hallway. Reaching her door, Jonet hastened through the
comfortable anteroom into her bedchamber. Catching up her jewel casket, she
flung its contents onto the bed, scattering a wealth of glittering metals and
gems across the coverlet.

"We
must save some of this and there may be little time," she uttered
breathlessly. "Perhaps I can get something to my uncle. He'll need funds
to flee the country, and we may need valuables to barter ourselves. I'd not put
it past those greedy beggars below to strip Beryl of everything down to cold
stone.

"Quick!
Fetch needle and thread and that linen for the altar cloth I was working. Sew a
double pocket into one of my shifts while I sort these. We must leave a great
deal, else they'll be suspicious."

Jonet's
fingers were already combing frantically through the tangle, sorting the costly
treasures into piles. "And I'll not see Murdoch Douglas with the MacDonald
ring," she muttered, pouncing on the huge, glowing ruby that had been
passed down through generations of MacDonalds. Her mother had given it to her
father on the day they were wed. She eyed it bitterly. "I'll cast it into
the barnyard midden first!"

Her
soaking garments forgotten, Jonet and Gwen sorted and sewed, while Syble
continued preparations for her mistress's bath. Finishing the task at last,
Jonet deftly untangled the last necklace and reluctantly placed it back in the
box. Perhaps the Douglases would surprise her. They might not demand her
property at all.

The
sound of a sharp knock brought her up with a start. "Lady Jonet
Maxwell," the Douglas captain called out. "I would have a word with
you."

Jonet's
heartbeat accelerated. She hadn't expected him so soon. "Quick," she
hissed. "Help me!" She presented her back to her maid, already
fumbling with her sleeves. "If he sees I've not changed, he may wonder
what mischief we've been brewing. Gwen,"—she turned to her
nurse—"tell him I'm bathing. Surely he's aware of the water carried
here."

She
raised her arms, and Syble lifted the wet garment over her head. "And if
he insists on coming in," Jonet continued, her voice muffled by an
abundance of wet cloth, "then let him!"

She
ripped off her clammy shift, her slender body naked and chill as she slid into
the water, steaming now with the soothing fragrance of bay leaves and mint.
"I'll wager he'll not dare, not with Murdoch Douglas for a master."

As
Gwen moved to the doorway, Jonet sank low in the water, listening in
satisfaction to the indignant conversation taking place through the door. But the
outcome was never at issue. James Douglas agreed to return on the hour and went
away.

Jonet
closed her eyes. She had gained a brief respite, and she'd best use it to get
her emotions in hand. Robert had brought her up as befitted the daughter of an
earl—a Maxwell earl at that. She wouldn't give the Douglases the satisfaction
of knowing she was afraid.

Actually,
she doubted she was in any danger. It was common knowledge Murdoch Douglas had
wanted her as a wife for his only son, Thomas, and she assumed she would still
be courted as such. She was a much sought-after bride as her dowry would
include not only her family estate but a goodly portion of the childless Lord
Mure's lands as well.

Her
uncle had treated Douglas courteously at first for the man was a distant, if
lowborn, kinsman of Angus and it would do well to tread lightly there. But the
recently created baron was in much ill repute for a willingness to use his
offices to advance Douglas interests. Robert hadn't liked the man, nor had
Jonet. When Murdoch had refused to take no for an answer, Robert had curtly
ordered him from Beryl.

Now
the warden would be returning in triumph. Jonet only prayed he hadn't got his
hands on her uncle.

Eyes
narrowed thoughtfully, she stared at the clean linen shift Gwen had laid
out—the shift with its special pockets. The Douglases had taken them by
surprise, but at least she had kept her head. Used in the appropriate manner,
her jewels might make formidable weapons: as a bribe for a greedy guard
perhaps, or in exchange for a hiding place aboard a swift vessel bound for
France. But beyond those vague imaginings, Jonet had little hope of helping her
uncle. She would just have to wait and pray. And do her best to live up to her
name.

But
Jonet's trials were to begin even sooner than she had expected. When the
Douglas captain returned he was accompanied by a travel-weary and thoroughly
irritated Murdoch Douglas.

Jonet
caught her breath as the two men entered the room. It was obvious Murdoch
Douglas had just ridden in. His short, thickset figure was spattered with mud,
and his dark, graying hair was still wet from the downpour. His eyes were grim
as he moved toward her. He made no bow and Jonet refused to curtsy. "Well,
Mistress Maxwell, we meet again as I promised some months ago."

Jonet
felt her spine stiffen with uncontrollable dislike. Her uncle would expect her
to behave with the proper Maxwell dignity, but she had to know. She couldn't
stand this waiting. "Oh... and does my uncle accompany you?"

"I
regret he does not. Not yet, that is." The warden smiled with an effort.
"But 'tis only a matter of time. The king's personal guard has been called
in for the search, and with two hundred pounds reward on his head, Mure'll not
count long on help from the country folk. His capture and trial are a foregone
conclusion."

"Two
hundred pounds!"
A sense of helplessness flooded Jonet. The net about
her uncle was tightening, and such a sum might make even a friend turn
informer. "Why are you doing this?" she cried. "Why do you hate
him so?"

"Mure's
a traitor. He openly attacked us as Angus was moving James and his household
from Hermitage Castle to Edinburgh."

"That's
a lie! My uncle would never fight against the king."

"I've
at least a hundred men who'll swear differently, including the earl of Arran.
He was with us at the ambush."

"Arran?
How convenient!" Jonet exclaimed, her sweet voice dripping sarcasm. "
'Tis well known the man would jump through hoops if Angus ordered it!"

"This
entire country will be jumping through hoops if they know what's good for
them," Murdoch agreed pleasantly. "Mure, for one, is about to learn.
He'll walk to the block knowing he's lost reputation, honor—everything he holds
dear. He'll rue the day he held himself too haughty for me and mine." He smiled
with immense satisfaction. "Lo, how the mighty are fallen."

Jonet's
mouth curled disdainfully. "And what garbage is raised up."

The
blow took her by surprise. The warden's hand caught her cheek with such force
it snapped her head around though she managed to remain on her feet.

James
Douglas started forward a step, then appeared to think better of the idea.
Contempt flickered openly in his eyes as they swept to the warden and then
away.

Jonet
stared at Murdoch Douglas. Never had any man struck her. Robert Maxwell didn't
need force to discipline his womenfolk.

Her
cheek throbbed painfully, but with an effort of will, she refused to raise her
hand to it. She lifted her head, her eyes holding the warden's. "I suppose
you may beat me to death if it please you, sir. You're a Douglas, and the few
who might stand against you have been murdered or hounded out of Scotland. But
it won't change the facts. You are what you are."

Murdoch
took a deep breath, striving to gain control of himself. He seemed to realize
he had gone too far. "I ask your forgiveness for that, Mistress. I plead
the short temper of a man who has lived in a bog and gone sleepless the last
two nights. I'm certain we shall deal better together than this. As a matter of
fact, we shall have to."

He
gave her a wry smile. "Beryl Castle and its immediate demesne have been
granted me for services to the king. Naturally I've no wish to drive you from
your home. I've petitioned our lord chancellor for the wardship of your person
and lands."

His
words were a blow far worse than the physical one of a moment ago. Jonet.
choked back a protest. Of course Angus would grant his personal henchman's
petition. No doubt she would be held prisoner by Murdoch while he tried to
force her into marriage with his son. Then this upstart branch of the Douglases
would legally hold her lands and successfully ally themselves to the proud old
house of Maxwell. And Murdoch Douglas would be rewarded at no personal expense
to Angus. But Murdoch was still speaking. Jonet forced herself to listen.

"I'll
leave you now, Mistress, and we shall talk later. I'll send your women to you,
and you may take supper in your apartments. I'm certain we shall get on much
better once we've both slept on the matter."

He
turned to go. "There is one other thing." He shifted about, smiling
almost genially. "You will surrender your jewels to James here.
Maintaining an army is a damned expensive affair, and my lord Angus is
hard-pressed at the moment sparing anything from the state treasury. Don't fret
over the trinkets though. I assure you you'll have jewels to spare once I'm
done."

Jonet
waited until the door closed behind him. With one scathing look at the
obviously uncomfortable James Douglas, she marched across the floor, snatching
up her jewel casket and thrusting it into his arms. "Take it. Take it and
get out!"

His
arms closed reflexively around the box. "I beg pardon, my lady. I greatly
regret what's happened here. I wish—" He broke off.

Reaction
was setting in and Jonet was trembling. From fear or outrage, or most probably
a combination of both. All her life she had been cherished and cared for,
carefully protected from ruthless men such as these. She had known such
creatures existed, but Robert Maxwell and the safe familiar walls of Beryl
Castle had always stood between herself and the rest of the world.

Jonet
had never before known hatred, had never before understood clan feuds. Now she
did. "Get out," she said low, forcing herself to speak evenly.
"Take your blood money and get out!"

The
man turned without a word and disappeared. For several moments Jonet stood
staring at the door. Murdoch Douglas thought to swallow up the Maxwells. He
obviously planned to force her to his will. But it might not prove so easy as
he expected.

She
was only a woman. There was probably very little she could do. But with her
bruised cheek still throbbing and her best jewels hanging heavy and reassuring
against her skin, Jonet swore to do anything...
anything
to show him
she'd not prove so easy to master.

Jonet
tossed and turned sleeplessly that night. How could she rest when her uncle was
out there hiding somewhere in the cold and the rain? When she was forced to lie
under the same roof with a man like Murdoch Douglas? Why, even the bed she lay
on now belonged to the man!

The
hours dragged by, and she comforted herself by reliving childhood memories. She
even conjured up the ghosts of her dead parents. Though she couldn't remember
either, they were more real to her than memory, made larger than life by
Robert's determined efforts.

No
man was so brave as her father had been, none half so honorable, witty or wise.
David Maxwell had been his elder brother's willing right hand and had even
saved his life once in a border fight with the English. He had died shortly
after the disastrous battle with the English they called Flodden, the tragedy
that had taken James IV and half the nobility of Scotland. It had pitched the
country into this nightmare, leaving a lonely, grieving queen; James V, an
infant king; and a handsome, ruthless nobleman named Archibald Douglas, Earl of
Angus.

Angus
had won his way into Queen Margaret's heart and into her bed, and it was only
much later that she had learned his true character. The next twelve years had
seen an uneasy peace as John Stewart, the French duke of Albany, had ruled as
regent, barely keeping the arrogant Douglases in check. But once Albany sailed
home to France, Douglas ambition had flamed out of control.

And
this was the result of a queen's too-hasty marriage, Jonet reflected bitterly.
That the world was turned upside down and all she loved in danger.

Robert's
handsome face swam before her. He was all the family she had, all she'd ever
really needed. She could bear whatever the Douglases might do to her, but if
anything happened to Robert she wasn't certain she wanted to live.

All
at once a noise in the antechamber caught her attention. Syble slept there on a
pallet beside the door, but Jonet was certain she'd heard a man's voice.

She
sat up, clutching the coverlet, straining to hear. There. A harsh murmur,
pitched too low for words to be made out. Then stealthy footsteps and the
betraying creak of the door. A shadowy figure emerged. "Come along, man.
The lass is up."

Gwen!
Jonet went limp with relief. But who was the tall figure following the woman
into the firelight?

The
man went to the floor on one knee. "Pardon, lass, but I've news from
Robert. He's safe and bade me bring you his love."

Jonet
was scrambling from the tangle of covers before his words were half out. The
man was Duncan Maxwell, a kinsman and one of her uncle's trusted friends.
Heedless of the proprieties, she was down on the floor beside him. "Oh,
Duncan, is he truly safe?
Oh, Duncan..."
Her voice broke and she
flung both arms about him. "You can't know how good it is to see
you!"

"There,
child, let the man speak," Gwen murmured, gently disengaging her young
mistress. Catching up a bed gown, she drew it about Jonet's shoulders.
"And be a mind to keep your voice low. Syble has an eye to the door, but
the walls may have ears."

"Tell
me everything!" Jonet demanded.

"Your
uncle is safe and will remain so, God willing. Even now friends are getting him
away to the coast. His hope is to reach France and gain an audience with Albany
and the French king. 'Tis certain he'll find no justice here."

Duncan
sent Jonet a worried glance. "But for a journey like that he'll need
funds. Robert and I've pooled what trinkets we wore and it's worth precious
little. I'd hoped to get money here but finding the Douglases in control makes
that a bit risky."

"Not
risky, impossible!" Jonet snapped. "They broke into Robert's office.
They stole the cash box and forced the steward to give up the household account
money. Our lord warden himself demanded my jewel box." A mischievous smile
lit her face. "I was happy to give it up seeing Gwen and I'd already
hidden the best ones. You can have them with my good will."

Duncan
drew a relieved breath. "All's not lost then. God bless you for a
quick-witted lass! We'll give Murdoch and his murderin' kin the slip or my
name's not Maxwell."

"But
what happened, Duncan? Murdoch claims Robert attacked the king."

Duncan
shook his head. "I've no real knowledge how it happened, lass. It was dark
and we had been traveling hard to the southeast. One minute we were hot in
pursuit of those reivers, not a stone's throw behind our own stolen stock. The
next we were plunging headlong into the royal guard. Swords were drawn, arrows
loosed, and none of us knowing what in blazes was happening.

"In
the dark and confusion several men were killed. When we realized it was Angus,
Robert sought to explain. Douglas tried to kill him at once, and it was all we
could do to escape with our lives. Most of the men were taken, but a few of us
managed to fight our way out."

He
was silent a moment and then glanced up. " 'Twas a dreadful accident if
accident it truly was. But I've my own notion how it happened. I believe we
were purposefully led to that spot."

"I'm
sure of it," Jonet said. "Beryl has been granted to Murdoch and he's
petitioned Angus for my guardianship. I've no doubt this has been planned a
long time."

"The
cur!" Duncan snapped. "Robert'll have no liking for this."

For
several seconds Jonet sat quietly. She was thankful her uncle was alive and
that he had loyal friends to help get him to France. But the thought of
remaining in Scotland to face the Douglases alone was terrifying. "Duncan,
do you think it might be possible?" she began. "I mean—"

She
broke off and took a deep breath. "Could I come with you? Without
endangering my uncle, I mean. Oh, Duncan, I wouldn't care how difficult it was,
if only I didn't make it more dangerous for Robert!"

"Lass,
it's impossible," he said gently. " 'Tis a long way between here and
the coast and some of the most dangerous country in Scotland. At this season,
there's much that is bog, and all crisscrossed with misfits and outlaws and
armies looking for a man with a price on his head. Robert's to be hidden away
in a place they'll not think to look. And do you think he'd keep his wits
worrying about making you comfortable while we wait for a ship? No, better
to—"

"But
I don't have to be comfortable, Duncan," Jonet interrupted. "I know
it'll be hard. I know I'll be cold and wet and probably tired every minute. But
it would be worth it to be away from Murdoch Douglas!"

"No,
lass," he repeated. "Out there I'd not be able to answer for your
safety. Better to stay here—even with the Douglases. They'll not hurt a
woman."

"You
can't answer for her safety here either," Gwen put in dourly.
"Douglas took his hand to her once. Tell that to Lord Mure and just see
what he says."

Duncan
stiffened. "He struck you?"

Jonet
was alarmed at the violence in his voice. "I... it wasn't anything,
Duncan. He slapped me. Just once. And it really was my fault."

"Done
once, done again even easier," Gwen muttered. "I say the lady Jonet
must leave Beryl. If not to France with Lord Mure, then send her to her
mother's MacDonald kinsmen in the north. The Highland clans'll never tremble
for fear of a Douglas. Not while there's a hill left in Scotland, they won't!"

Duncan
put up his hand. "Wait! Let me think." He turned to Jonet. "Can
you be ready to leave at first light? In a serviceable gown with no sign you're
a great lady?"

Jonet's
heart was pounding. "Of course."

"My
man, Gordon Maxwell, and I got inside in an ale cart. We brought a dozen fresh
kegs for the Douglases and tomorrow we'll be carryin' empty ones back to the
brew house at Kiev farm. If you're up for it, one needn't be empty."

Jonet
felt a shiver of anticipation run through her. "I'm up for it, Duncan. And
you'll not be sorry you took me. I promise!"

***

For
the rest of the night, Jonet didn't try to sleep. She spent a half hour on her
knees in prayer, another going through Syble's clothing for a cloak and plain
gown that would fit with the least alteration.

At
last Gwen came with word that all was ready below. With a tearful farewell from
Syble, Jonet was creeping down the shadowy passageways in the wake of the
redoubtable Gwen.

They
continued on to the stables without incident, and finally Jonet stood beside
Duncan in the dimness of a back stall. "Quick," he whispered,
"we've little time. Gordon is loading the wagon with one of the stable
lads, and there's but one sleepy Douglas on watch at the gate."

He
took Jonet's cloak, folding it to cushion the bottom of the wooden keg. "I
fear it'll be no comfortable ride, lass, but it'll get you out of Douglas
hands. I've smashed a wee hole there in the side for fresh air, but the ale
smell is strong. Have you a handkerchief?"

Jonet
nodded, holding out the heavily perfumed linen square he had warned her to
bring.

"Then
say your good-byes. We'd best be far away by the time the castle's awake. I've
horses waiting in the hills. There'll be one for you if the kitchen lad got
through with the message."

Jonet
turned to the silent Gwen, feeling an unaccustomed loss for words. All of a
sudden she realized it was this dour old Highland woman, even more than the
gently bred Lady Anne who had mothered the tiny bewildered girl they had
brought to Beryl Castle.

Tears
welled in her eyes. In a very real sense Gwen was risking her life in this
venture—all of these people were. "God have you in his keeping, Mother
Gwen," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss a wrinkled, leathery cheek.
"And may the Holy Virgin give you health and comfort till we meet
again."

"Ach,
away with ye, lass, or I'll be greetin' like a bairn," the old woman
muttered, her rough, Highland accent coming through as it did in times of
stress. She took a deep breath and Jonet sensed the emotion concealed by the word,
"Godspeed."

Jonet
turned to Duncan and he lifted her into the cramped confines of the keg. Then
the lid was lowered in place, sealing her into the stifling, tomblike blackness
she must endure for the next few hours.

"God
help ye, Duncan Maxwell, if the lass comes to harm," Jonet heard from
outside.

Duncan's
grim voice came in answer. "Say your prayers for us, woman. I hope I'm not
being a rare fool."

Almost
at once, Jonet heard Gordon's softly voiced, "All's prepared." Then
there was only the dizzying sensation of being hoisted into the air between the
men and a last whispered command of, "Not a squeak out of you now, lass.
It'll be our lives if we're caught."

To
Jonet, the next few minutes were an eternity. Alone in the ale-reeking darkness
she tried to estimate when they made it out of the stable. She knew by the
grunt of effort and a tooth-jarring bump when the men lifted her into the
wagon, then all was unnaturally silent and still.

The
sour ale smell was making her nauseous, the tense silence was fraying her
nerves. She could hear her heart pounding, could feel the walls of the keg
closing in.

Then
the wagon moved off with a lurch and she forced herself to breathe evenly. This
was only the beginning of her adventure, and she was already frightened half
out of her wits. She would have to do better, else she might be the death of
all of them.

Time
dragged, with Duncan stopping only once to assure himself that Jonet was all
right. She managed to answer him cheerfully enough, but when she heard she must
ride in the keg another two hours, it was all she could do not to protest.
Still, the cautious Duncan was probably right. A breath of fresh air wasn't
worth the price of a sighting by one of the Douglas patrols.

Finally
the wagon lurched to a halt and Jonet's imprisonment ended. Duncan prized the
lid from the keg and she drank in the vision of brooding Scot's sky and rough,
encircling hills as gratefully as if it had been her vibrant summer garden at
Beryl instead.

Duncan
lifted her to the ground, holding her by the waist until her cramped legs would
support her. "The horses are here, but can you ride astride, lass? I dared
not ask for a lady's saddle. Word of it might have put the hounds on our trail
far too fast."

Now
that she was out of the keg, Jonet's spirits were rising.
"Certainly," she responded. "I can ride backward and blindfolded
if I must to reach Robert."

Duncan
led her to a big chestnut gelding and assisted her into the unfamiliar saddle.
She would be sore on the morrow, Jonet expected, but for now she was
exhilarated by the feel of a good mount beneath her and the knowledge that she
was leaving the hated Douglases far behind.

A
freshening wind blew in her face, but it didn't chill her enthusiasm. It was a
warm south wind from England, heavy with the scent of damp earth and growing
things and the unexpectedly heady draught of freedom.

The
rain held off and the three made their way cautiously through the rough
backcountry. The taciturn Gordon scouted the trail ahead, twice scurrying back
to reroute them as Douglas soldiers were sighted ahead. "The devils've
been multiplyin' like wee rabbits since we came this way before," he
muttered. "If they get any thicker we'd best lie up. It'll be slow, but we
might do better movin' at night."