Susan Johnson (24 page)

Unlike her father, who could be threatened or purchased for a price, Hotchane’s family still lived under an ancient code that disregarded the progress of civilization—a barbaric way of life that pitted force of arms against their enemies. And the Redesdale Forest had always protected them from civilization and pursuit.

Two weeks ago she would have been more audacious; two weeks ago she would have been less daunted. But if … and she hadn’t allowed herself to give way completely to the possibility of motherhood. But if indeed Johnnie’s baby grew inside her, she had to protect herself. Not with sanguine tactics that might bring harm to her child, but with clearheaded judgment. Vigilant, prepared, expedient judgment.

Which meant, she suddenly realized, a needful reconsideration of George Baldwin’s marriage proposal.

Calling in Redmond, she told him of her conversation with Matthew Graham.

“How many men can he muster?” she asked, wanting first to know the extent of her danger. Only recently the heiress Margot Talmadge had been abducted by the Matchmonts and forcibly married to their son. While the courts had eventually ruled in favor of the Talmadges, she’d been held against her will by the Matchmonts for several months. And brutalized.

Cases like Margot Talmadge’s weren’t exceptional
when large sums of money were at stake.
⁸
Mercenary or needy families simply mounted their men and forced the marriage. And whether the courts recognized or opposed their actions didn’t change the treatment endured by the women. Elizabeth knew some cases continued in court for years.

“Two hundred men, slightly more if he can bring in the Dunstable Grahams.”

“Which will cost him.”

“But it’s money well spent, he’ll feel, considering the potential profit.”

“We’ll need more men then. I might as well spend my money on myself rather than hand it over to the Grahams. How soon can you increase the number of retainers?”

“No more than a week or ten days to bring our ranks even. But you have another choice,” he offered, his fingers toying with the bone handle of his dagger, his voice infused with a cold malevolence. “We could go into Redesdale Forest after them.” Many years ago Redmond had lost a woman he loved to Matthew Graham’s brutal lust, and only his loyalty to Elizabeth had kept him from throwing away his life then on a mission of revenge.

“Catherine Blair wouldn’t care to see you die so needlessly … nor would I.”

Redmond flushed beneath his tan at mention of his new young fiancée. “It’s a fact, though,” he said in a voice devoid of emotion, “that the world would be a sweeter place without Hotchane’s sons. They need killing.”

“Even though I wholeheartedly agree,” Elizabeth said, “I don’t care to be responsible for their deaths except in extremity. Actually, I’d prefer never seeing or hearing of them again.” She signed. “Not a possibility, apparently, with Matthew’s greed.” Leaning back against the upholstered settee, she cast him a rueful smile. “So in lieu of a perfect world … we’ll hire more trained fighting men.”

“You knew they wouldn’t allow you Hotchane’s money for long,” he quietly reminded her, his gentle voice in contrast to his powerful body.

She gazed for a moment at the man who’d been her bodyguard since she’d first married Hotchane Graham. Redmond’s initial assignment, she suspected, had been not only to keep her from flying away, but to protect her from her husband’s family. He lounged across from her in a carved armchair, his sword hilt and scabbard, the pistols tucked into his belt glinting in the sunlight, his tawny hair short for convenience, rough-cut, unlike another powerful man she knew, whose sleek hair bespoke the elegant aristocrat. And she wondered suddenly how life could so precipitously change. Only short weeks ago she’d lived in a rapturous paradise, and now her very existence was in peril. “I thought,” she said with a touch of bitterness, “they might be content with their share. My sixty thousand is a minor part of Hotchane’s wealth.”

“It’s so simple, though, to take it from you. How could they resist such easy prey?”

“There’d be pleasure, wouldn’t there, in killing them,” she caustically murmured, “although I have more important issues at stake.” A new gravity shaded her eyes; her voice suddenly altered. “Something more critical than Matthew’s avarice, more important than the damned money.”

“The baby,” Redmond quietly submitted.

Her throat closed on the words she was about to utter as she stared wide-eyed. And after a hushed moment she whispered, “How could you know?”

“Catherine told me.…” He hesitated at the intimacy involved. It wasn’t a man’s subject—monthly courses missed or late. “Of the possibility you were with child,” he added, a ruddy heat rising in his face at his feelings of awkwardness.

“Molly must have told Catherine.” Her personal maid was taking reading lessons from Redmond’s fiancée, who taught at the village school. “So everyone in the household is counting days.” She grinned suddenly.

His faint smile was one of affirmation. “You seem happy; everyone is pleased for you. And wishing you great joy.”

“I’m not sure yet, although you’re absolutely right, Redmond, I’m ecstatic. Or I was until Matthew Graham
appeared. The thought of witchcraft charges causes some apprehension after the burning of that woman at Lanehead last spring. Everyone understands the Grahams own the judges in Redesdale. And Matthew’s voice—when he said I should be married, that a woman alone couldn’t manage an inheritance—seemed too confident. He may have spoken to a judge already. I’m wondering if I’d be safer married.”

“Ravensby’s certainly more influential than the Grahams. Surely, he could protect you.”

“But he won’t, of course.”

“Why wouldn’t he protect you?”

“No, marry me.”

“Have you told him of the child?”

“It’s too early yet. And, if I should be pregnant, I don’t wish to tell him anyway.”

“He might
wish
to know.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t, Redmond. I’m
very
sure. So,” she went on as if they were discussing the men’s monthly stipends instead of the critical issue of her future, “I’m seriously thinking about accepting George Baldwin’s marriage proposal. His is a prominent family in this area, his uncle sits on the Assize Court in Hexham, the Baldwins have been sheriffs of Tynedale for centuries. He could offer the protection I need against the Graham barristers and judges. And you could handle the Graham moss-troopers. I think it’s a sensible solution.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have Ravensby?” It was a gentle question.

“Please, Redmond, don’t ask me.…” She shut her eyes briefly against the sudden intense longing. But when she gazed again at her captain a second later, her expression had reverted to a bland mask, the longing shut away. “There are countless reasons why Johnnie Carre isn’t interested in my predicament,” she quietly said. “Foremost, his strong disinclination to marry anyone at all. He
has
other children already, Redmond, and he’s not married. Something to keep in mind. So I prefer a more
practical
approach, something within the realm of possibility.” A kind of resolute briskness modified her tone. “George Baldwin, sweet man that he is, offers that
workable solution. And most women don’t marry for love anyway, Redmond. You know that as well as I. My marriage to George Baldwin would be no different from the vast majority. And I’m not asking for your approval,” she gently added, her fingers unconsciously twisting the linen of her skirt. “Just your opinion on whether we can stop the Grahams from harming this”—she smiled—“
possible
child.”

“Rest assured, we’ll stop them,” he simply said, wishing her all the happiness within his power. “Between George Baldwin’s authority in Northumberland and my troopers, your child will be safe.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, comforted by his certainty. “I owe you much, Redmond.”

“I wish I could give you Ravensby.”

“There are times,” she said with a winsome smile, “when I wish you could too. But I’m content here, Redmond, I truly am. And if this child is real …” She beamed then like a young girl without cares. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

“George Baldwin may want more,” he cautioned. “Most men would want to own you like the old chief.”

She shook her head, a small movement but emphatic. “Never again, Redmond, I vow. Not even for love. If George decides to marry me, it’ll be on
my
terms. Even for his protection I’ll not relinquish my freedom; I’ll find some other means of defending myself against Matthew Graham’s plans.”

“Oh, Baldwin will agree to your terms,” Redmond said. “The man wants you. But will he hold to his bargain?”

“This marriage settlement will be ironclad, I assure you.” Her mouth tightened in a faint grimace. “With
every
eventuality considered.”

“What of the child? If it’s a boy, George won’t likely want another man’s child to inherit his barony.”

“Nor would I expect him to.”

“I see, Lady Graham,” he said with an easy smile, “you’ve thought of everything then. So all I have to do is find you retainers who dislike the Grahams enough to kill them.”

“Will that be difficult?” Elizabeth inquired with a teasing impudence, content with her plan, as aware as Redmond of the Grahams’ systematic incursions on Northumberland cattle.

He laughed. “I’ll have to turn them away.”

Elizabeth postponed talking to George Baldwin for two weeks more, wanting added assurance she was pregnant before bartering away a measure of her freedom to a man she viewed with so little emotion. But during that interval she lived in continual apprehension—watching the drive for unwelcome riders, listening to the guards making their rounds at night, taking lessons from Redmond on the fundamentals of shooting … wondering what Matthew Graham was planning.

In that short time Redmond had augmented his troop by a hundred well-trained men, and Three Kings now resembled more an armed camp than a country estate.

Which condition George Baldwin remarked on when he entered Elizabeth’s drawing room one warm autumn day in mid-September. Trim and neat in brown wool and a plain linen shirt, he dressed simply despite his extensive holdings.

“Apparently, you intend to defend yourself without England’s aid if war comes with Scotland,” he jibed, pulling his riding gloves off. “That’s a rough-looking crew out there.”

“Just a precaution,” Elizabeth ambiguously answered. She wasn’t yet ready to discuss the startling truth.

“Against the war?” His brows rose inquiringly.

“Against the future,” she evasively answered. Before further interrogation, she quickly added, “Would you like tea or a brandy?”

And when he chose brandy, she thankfully poured him a substantial measure, thinking he’d have need of fortification before her proposal. They spoke of the weather then in the sunny room overlooking the
garden—the doors open to the unseasonable warmth—agreeing on the idyllic autumn weather, moving on to the state of the harvests. They briefly discussed the health of the Queen, who’d suffered another painful attack of her gout, which led to conversation on the progress of the war, during which time Elizabeth considered at least a dozen introductory remarks, none of them adequate to her highly irregular situation, when George unknowingly initiated an opening. “The fall weather must agree with you, Elizabeth. You look absolutely radiant,” he asserted in his usual complimentary way. “Anne always worried about your slenderness and lack of appetite. Not that I agreed with her,” he quickly interjected, “for you always look perfect to me. But the change is one of noticeable bloom. And very becoming.”

She found herself blushing under his admiration, mainly from guilt, she reflected—knowing, as he did not, why her appearance was so glowing. “Thank you, George,” she replied. “I do feel well.” And she smiled across the small tea table at him, thinking for a brief moment his light hair was the wrong color, and he was much too small. The man she should be making this admission to had dark hair like midnight, and his presence filled a room.… “Actually, a matter of health was one of the reasons I invited you over,” she quickly said before she lost her nerve, before she gave way to irrational dreams.

“Good God, you
are
well, aren’t you?” The small tremor in her voice alarmed him.

“Yes, absolutely.” She raised her palms in avowal, in charge of her feelings once again, the unrealistic dreams having been relegated to their rightful place. “I do, however, have a rather delicate matter to broach.”

“I’m completely at your disposal,” he instantly replied, gracious as usual. “And nothing is too delicate between friends. Although as you well know,” he softly went on, “I wish we were more than friends.”

“Well … that is … apropos our relationship,” Elizabeth hesitantly began, struggling to find the appropriate words, “I have an unusual proposition to suggest.…”

“Yes?” He’d set his brandy glass down at the curious
import of her words, and his steady brown eyes gazed at her with a penetrating regard.

Taking a small breath, she swiftly blurted out before she lost her nerve, “I’d like to propose a
mariage de convenance
between us.”

“My answer is yes,” he immediately replied, with a faint smile.

“There’s more.”

“I rather thought there would be,” he quietly said. “After Ravensby was here.”

Her shock showed. “There are no secrets apparently—”

“I’ve heard no gossip, Elizabeth, if that’s your concern, but I’m not an unworldly man. So you need a husband now.”

She found herself nervously wringing her hands at the subtle degrees of courtesy required in explaining that she needed a husband only because of the Graham menace. How did one tell a man who professed love for you that if your child’s life were not in danger, you would never consider marrying him? “I’m not proposing an alliance because of that,” she began, and with as much diplomacy as possible, she explained Matthew Graham’s threats and her need not only for armed protection but legal protection.

He listened politely, although he needed no added reasons to marry Elizabeth Graham, and when she’d finished the recital of events, he said, “I’d be honored to defend your interests in court. And the notion of witchcraft is utterly preposterous. Except perhaps in the haunted environs of Redesdale Forest. Actually, we could have the Grahams arrested the moment they set foot in Tynedale. Or summarily hanged, more likely, for their damnable cattle stealing.” He smiled at her and picked up his brandy again. “Consider the Grahams checked.”