English, Elizabeth (32 page)

"Aye,
Jemmy." Alistair nodded. "I'll bring ye the proof. And then
what?"

"Why,
then we will attack. But I still cannot believe that Darnley would have risked
his daughter's life this way. There must be another explanation."

"Ah,
Jemmy," Alistair said, grasping his wrist. "Don't ye ken? They
thought she could soften your heart and make ye believe what they want ye to
believe—that you'd listen to her instead of. your own people. And they were
right, weren't they? This talk of peace was just an old man's dream. Darnley
thinks he has us at his mercy now that Ian's gone, for there's no one left to
fight."

"If
that is what he thinks," Jemmy said, and Alistair stepped back a pace
before the anger in his eyes, "then Lord Darnley has made a grave mistake.
You bring me what I need and then, if you are right—" he laughed harshly.
"Then we'll kill them to the last man."

***

Alyson
ran from Jemmy's chambers to the stables, but he was nowhere to be found. From
there she went into the hall, her eyes moving quickly over the people gathered
in the long room. At last she glimpsed him briefly within the throng. "My
lord!"

There
was no response so she approached, threading her way between the crowd.
"My lord!" she called again, and now the voices began to still and
heads turn in her direction. In fact, it seemed that everyone had heard her
cry. Everyone save Jemmy.

The
crowd parted to let her pass and at last she saw him fully. He was half sitting
against the trestle, talking to a woman. Alyson stopped, the breath leaving her
body in a sickening rush as she saw him smile up at the woman, his hands toying
with the fastenings of her cloak.

The
silence was absolute now. Everyone had drawn back a little and so she stood
alone, Jemmy not ten feet away. Yet he seemed completely unaware of her
presence. Even the girl who stood with him turned and Alyson saw with dull
shock that it was Celia. She tossed her yellow curls and gave Alyson an
insolent smile before turning back to Jemmy.

"My
lord," Alyson said again, but her voice had no power now, it came out as
no more than a hoarse whisper. But at last he seemed to hear.

"Ah,
my lady," he said, "Come to welcome me back? How kind. Now, if you'll
excuse me, I'm rather busy."

He
stood slowly, turning to say something to Celia. The girl broke into a merry
laugh. They left the hall together, his arm draped casually about her
shoulders.

Alyson
stood rooted to the spot. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she couldn't
think at all. It was very quiet and every eye was on her, watching with amusement
or pity or simple curiosity to see what she would do next. Slowly, very slowly,
she walked back the way she'd come, her head held high and her back straight.
When she reached the turn of the stairway the voices broke out in talk and
there was laughter as well, sharp as any dagger. Her courage broke, and she ran
the rest of the way to her chamber.

"What
did he say?"

"He
said—" Maggie hesitated, wishing it was anyone but her who had to deliver
this message. Then she crossed her fingers behind her and finished in a rush.
"He said he is verra sorry, my lady, but he has pressing matters to attend
to and canna stop to see ye. But he said he will come to ye as soon as
possible."

And
may God forgive her for the lie. Jemmy had said nothing of the sort. There had
been no apology, no promise that he would find the time to see his wife. All in
all, it had been a most uncomfortable and mystifying interview.

Maggie
had been kept waiting nearly an hour. When at last she was admitted to Jemmy's
chamber, she found him seated behind a long table, head bent as he examined a
map spread out before him.

Today,
she had vowed, she would add her own opinion of his boorish manners if he dared
refuse his lady yet again. No one had the better right to bring him to his senses—and
sharply, too. Had she not delivered Jemmy with her own hands? Tended his
childish cuts and bruises, sung him to sleep when he was fevered? And been
rewarded, aye, with crumpled flowers and kisses and the first carving he had
made with his own hands. The crooked boat still stood in its place of honor by
her bedside.

But
when Jemmy lifted his head, he stared at her with the hard eyes of a stranger.

"My
lord, your lady asks that ye sup with her this even," she said,
unaccountably nervous beneath that stony gaze. "Or if ye canna spare the
time to dine, that ye but speak with her."

Jemmy
did not even bother answering. He turned back to the map and waved a hand, thus
signaling the interview was over. And Maggie, without another word, had gone
away.

"I'm
sorry, my lady," Maggie said now. "But he is verra much occupied the
now... and ye know what they say: 'tis a woman's lot to wait." There being
no answer, she added cheerfully, "But I have brought ye the honey cakes ye
like. Will ye no have one?"

"No."

"At
least let me light some candles, 'tis mournful dark in here."

"No."

Maggie
stared at her mistress with concern. Even by the light of the fire she could
see how fearfully pale the girl was, her eyes enormous in deep hollows brought
on by lack of sleep. She had not wept, or at least not before her women. She'd
simply sat in her room for two days now, refusing every bit of food with which
Maggie had tried to tempt her.

Looking
at the girl, Maggie could not help but feel angry with Master Jemmy. He'd
always been a bit wild but kindhearted, too. Now she thought he must have a
heart of stone to do such a thing to his bride. All hot and loving he'd been
before he left, and now he could not even find five minutes to speak with her!
While the lass was pining herself away to a shadow.

"I
think I will ride," she said, startling Maggie.

"Oh,
aye. That's a grand idea, lady. Here, let me help ye..."

She
stood like a statue as Maggie dressed her. When at last it was finished she
looked at her serving woman gravely.

"You're
a good woman, Maggie. Too good for this place. You should leave."

"Leave?"
Maggie laughed a little uncomfortably. "D'ye want me to leave your
service?"

"It's
this place. Nothing good can live here, there's too much hatred. You should get
away."

"I've
been here all my life," Maggie said. "Wherever would I go?"

The
lady sighed. "I don't know. Never mind, Maggie. Thank you."

She
looked as though she wanted to say something more, but in the end she just
touched the older woman's hand and left.

***

Alyson
headed toward the stables. She was leaving,
now, today. Sir Robert would
be waiting in the clearing, and they'd ride to London. As for what would happen
here, she didn't care. Let them destroy each other, there was nothing she could
do to stop it. She had been a fool to even try. It was none of her affair—she
was nothing to any of these people, and they were nothing to her. Except
Malcolm. She stopped, clutching the wall to keep from falling as a wave of
sickness hit her. There was nothing she could do to save him now. She would
have to trust that Jemmy would protect him—or if not Jemmy, then Alistair. They
would, she knew, if it was in their power. Just as she would—she must—protect
Robin.

It
would be hard to live upon Sir Robert's charity, but it must be done. She had
considered taking some of Lady Maude's jewels—God knew she'd earned them. But
she could not force herself to do it. No, she thought with bitter anger, she'd
take nothing from any of them.

Oh,
she'd been a fool to believe she meant anything to Jemmy, she knew that now. No
doubt he'd had many such experiences before; she was simply one more woman to
him. She'd told herself that a hundred times during the last wretched days and
she nearly believed it now. But when she remembered the night they'd spent
together, her mind and heart rebelled.

He
cared for her. She couldn't be mistaken about that— or could she? What did she
know of men? Yet he had said he loved her. How could it be possible to share
such a night and then simply forget it, as though it had never happened? She
didn't know, she didn't understand anything at all. It was all beyond her, the
ways of the nobility. She had to go, she had to get away.

She
was walking through the courtyard when she saw him. Their eyes met and held;
her heart began to beat wildly in her breast. And then he nodded curtly and
began to walk past her. Let him go, she told herself. Let him go and be damned
to him. It's not my fault if he dies—

"My
lord, please, wait," she said, hurrying to keep up with his long steps.
When he didn't answer, she seized him by the arm. "Jemmy, for the love of
God,
please."

He
gave a small exasperated sigh. "What is it?"

"I
must speak to you alone."

He
looked into her pleading face, the lovely eyes shining with tears, and for a
moment he hesitated. Then deliberately he summoned the memory of Carmela's
tears.

"I
really haven't the time right now. Perhaps later."

He
shook off her hand and began to walk away. "What's happened to you?"
she cried. "You said you loved me."

The
words hit him like a blow. Oh, yes, he had loved her. God help him, he loved
her still.

He
turned, one brow raised. "Did I?" he asked coolly. "Well, lady,
you can hardly hold a man accountable for what he says at such a time. I
thought you would have known that. Now, if you will excuse me..."

He
left her, walking quickly to the stairway and mounting. When he reached the
turn he stopped and laid his head against the cool stone wall, seeing again the
way she had recoiled from him, exactly as though he had struck her. A part of
him had taken a hurtful satisfaction in seeing his own pain reflected in her
face, but now he was ashamed. She'd looked so wild, so desperate—exactly as she
had looked when he found her on the crag.

The
memory brought sharp fear, and he went back down the stairway, just in time to
see Alistair gallop into the courtyard.

"Jemmy!"
Alistair cried, leaping from his horse. "Here, ye wanted proof? Then talk
to him." He gestured toward the horse beside him, which held a young man
with a sullen look and a shock of lank brown hair.

Jemmy
looked at his wife and she was staring at the man, horror and recognition on
her face. Then her gaze turned to him. "Jemmy—my lord—wait. You must speak
with me now. Alone."

"Later,"
he said. She gripped his arm and turned him to face her.

"No,
now. Please."

He
looked over his shoulder at Darnley's man, who stood beside Alistair on the
cobbles.

"In
a moment," he said, shaking off her hand. "First I will hear what
this man has to say. You!" he called sharply. "What is your
name?"

"Sym,"
the man said, licking his lips nervously.

Alistair
smiled. "Young Sym is not quite satisfied with his place in Lord Darnley's
household."

"Aye,
that's right," Sym said. "He—" he jerked his head toward
Alistair, "said I could be head stable lad here, if I but told ye what
I've seen."

"And
what have you seen?" Jemmy asked impatiently.

"Men
and horses. From my lord Northumberland's demesne. A hundred or more."

"For
what purpose have they come to Aylsford?" Jemmy asked and Sym looked at
him, surprised and wary.

"Why
else, sir? To make war upon ye."

"You
know this for a certainty?"

"His
lordship never called me into council, if that's what ye are askin'. I doubt
his lordship even knows I am alive. But aye, I know it. 'Tis common knowledge
he means to do ye in."

Jemmy
glanced at Maude and his heart sank. Her head was bent, her face averted, and
she had whitened to the lips.

"Well,
my lady?" he said, his voice deliberately cold. "Perhaps you can
provide an explanation for your father's actions."

She
recovered with a swiftness he could not help but admire. "Am I to stand
here in the courtyard discussing my father's affairs?" she answered
haughtily. "I shall speak to you in private, my lord, or not at all."

And
with that she began to walk away.

"Not
so fast," Alistair said, stepping into her path. "Ye are not the one
giving orders here."

She
turned to avoid him and came face to face with Sym. His mouth dropped open in
astonishment.

"Here,
now, what's this?" he cried.

Maude
froze. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again without uttering a
word.

"Alyson?"
Sym said uncertainly. "Is it ye, lass?"

She
lifted her chin and gave Sym a look cold enough to freeze him where he stood.
"How dare you so address me?"

"It
is!" Sym cried. "So this is where ye ran off to! We all wondered what
became of ye."