English, Elizabeth (36 page)

For
one terrible moment Alistair thought she meant to cast herself to the cobbles
far below, but instead she screamed into the night. A moment later she whirled,
eyes flashing with defiance, and bent to seize a stool which she held before
her like a shield. No, she would never take the coward's way, he thought. Not
this one. She will fight for life with everything she has.

Why,
then, had she refused him? She had traded herself at least once before for
profit or advancement. And he was prepared to match whatever Darnley had
offered, even better it if necessary. Was it loyalty to her father that
prevented her from speaking? Affection for the knight she had been meeting by
the river? Or was she playing some deeper game, one he had not fathomed yet?

"Scream
away," he said with a shrug. "There's no one to hear. And even if
there was, who do ye think would help ye? Not Jemmy, if that's what you're
hoping. He's finished with ye altogether. Why, he never even spoke against the
sentence."

The
stool fell from her hands and clattered to the floor.

"Did
he not?" she whispered. "Truly?"

Looking
at her stricken face, the tears shimmering in her eyes, Alistair felt as though
the ground had shifted beneath his feet. God's blood, this was real, it must
be. No actress, no matter how clever or determined, could counterfeit so well.
His words had truly cut her to the heart.

How
could
such a woman have been so witless as to fall in love with Jemmy?
And yet she had. He had only to look at her to see that much. While Jemmy
wanted nothing more to do with her.

"Aye,"
he answered gruffly. " 'Tis true enough. He never said a word. I'm your
only help, lass, and your only hope, as well."

She
drew a sharp breath and braced herself on the window ledge behind her.

"Then
there is no help for me," she said simply. "For I will never give you
what you ask. And I cannot tell you what you want to know."

Alistair
had seen men face death before, but seldom with such courage. God's blood, he
must be more tired than he thought to have so misjudged her. This woman was not
for sale, not at any price, and never had been. She would truly rather die than
accept the terms of his protection. I am a fate worse than death, he thought,
half-amused and half-affronted. But with Jemmy it was a different story
altogether!

"Well,
you're a fine brave lassie, are ye no'?" he said, annoyance sharpening his
tone. "Death before dishonor, is that it? Ye would see Malcolm die—and
Jemmy, as well, if your father has his will—and call that honor?"

"No!"
she cried. "I wouldn't—but I don't know—he never told me—"

"He
never told ye how long ye must be here?" he demanded incredulously.
"Oh, surely ye can spin a better tale than that!"

She
shook her head. "I was told it might be a month— or more, or less. I was
hardly in Lord Darnley's confidence," she added with a bitterness that
Alistair knew at once was genuine. "We were never on such terms."

"He
couldna have expected ye to be Lady Maude forever! What were ye meant to do
when we caught on to your tricks? Ye may as well tell me, for whatever it was,
it dinna work."

She
bit her lip and stared down at the floor. "We never spoke of it," she
said.

"Then
how in God's name did he expect ye to get out?"

"I
don't imagine he thought about it one way or the other," she answered
dispassionately.

Alistair
stared at her in shock. Had Darnley really sent her—his own blood, even if she
wasn't true-born—among his sworn enemies with nothing but some bits of borrowed
finery and her own wits to protect her? It seemed impossible. Had it been
anyone but Darnley, he would have said it
was
impossible. But as things
were, he knew it was the truth.

Of
course her father hadn't told her anything! It had been a gamble on his part,
the prize some time in which to send to Northumberland for men. As for his
daughter, there had been no doubt of the outcome. The only question was how
many days—or weeks, if her luck held and she was very clever—she could purchase
with her life. And as she was no fool, she must have known it from the start.

"Why
did ye do it?" he asked curiously. "Not loyalty— what loyalty would
ye have for Darnley, when 'tis clear as glass that he has none for ye! What
could he have offered that was worth this?"

He
was not prepared for the violence of her reaction. She shrank against the wall,
the blood draining from her face, her eyes widening in terror.

"I
won't tell you that. It has naught to do with you, I swear it!"

Alistair
sighed. Coming here tonight had done no good at all. He had been wrong about
her from the start, and she knew nothing that could help him. As for why she
had agreed, that was her own affair. It would gain him naught to wrest her
secret from her, and he had no stomach for the task.

Why
is nothing ever simple? he wondered wearily. Good and evil, honor and
dishonor—time was he could distinguish one from the other at a glance. Lately
they had become so twisted that he could not begin to sort them out. But one
thing he knew: she would not die at Kirallen's hands. And she would know it,
too.

"Listen,"
he said abruptly, taking a step forward and laying his hands on her shoulders.

"No!"
she cried, twisting wildly in his grasp. "I told you—I will not—"

"Whisht,
lass," he said, giving her a little shake. "Stop that! There's no
need—"

A
cold voice cut through the room. "Take your hands
from her.
Now."

They
both whirled toward the door.

***

In
the moment of silence that followed Jemmy's entrance, Alyson tore herself free
and backed toward the window seat. She threw a shawl over her thin shift,
clutching it around her as she tried to still her shaking.

"I
wasna going to—" Alistair began.

Jemmy
stepped inside and jerked his head toward the door. "Get out. Now."

Alistair's
hands fisted at his sides. "I will go when I am ready."

"You
will go now. Do it!" Jemmy ordered, one hand moving to his hip.

"Ah,
so ye would draw on me?" Alistair said, and Alyson saw that he was smiling
as he pulled his weapon from its sheath. "Come to fight for her, have
ye?"

"If
I must."

Alistair
laughed. "Found your tongue at last, eh, Jemmy? Well, don't stop there,
man, let's have the truth of it! Ye want to take your pleasure with the lass
before ye see her put to death!"

Alyson
flinched back against the wall, willing with all her heart for Jemmy to deny
it.

"What
I am doing here is none of your concern," he answered, and she felt the
breath leave her in a sickening rush of disappointment. "As for you—"

"Aye,
ye could well ask what I am doing here," Alistair said, stepping back and
dropping the point of his sword. "And I could tell ye—"

"Don't
bother," Jemmy snapped. "It's clear enough what you were after."

Alistair's
jaw tightened. "Ye think so? Or is this just the chance ye have been
waiting for? Ye never did much like me, did ye, Jemmy? Even all those years
ago. Well, come on then," he said, raising his sword and dropping into a
fighting stance. "Let's have at it."

"No!"
Alyson cried. "Wait—you cannot do this—"

But
neither man seemed to hear her. As Jemmy drew his sword and they faced each
other, she gave up the attempt to stop them. Any distraction at this point
could prove fatal.

"You
are wrong, Alistair," Jemmy said. "I don't want to fight you. I never
did. I used to look up to you and Ian."

Alistair
feinted and Jemmy parried the blow.

"Oh,
aye, ye looked up to Ian. A fine brother ye were to him! Running off the way ye
did, leaving him alone. He needed ye, but ye didna care."

"He
never needed me," Jemmy said bitterly. "He had you."

"I
could not avenge him—not alone. That was for ye to do. But ye would not do it.
Now look where ye have led us, Jemmy, straight into Darnley's hands."

There
was a flurry of blows, too quick for Alyson to follow. Alistair stepped back
and raised his brows.

"You're
good," he said, surprised.

Jemmy
bowed slightly and held his weapon ready. They engaged again and at last stood,
toe to toe, blades locked, for what seemed to Alyson an eternity.

"Think,
Alistair," Jemmy said. "Either way you lose."

Alistair
pushed hard and Jemmy was forced back a step. Their blades were freed and now
the battle was joined in earnest. Neither man spoke a word. Jemmy was
retreating step by step, beaten back by the furious blows raining upon his
weapon. Even to Alyson's inexperienced eyes it was clear that he sought only to
defend himself. But when he could go no farther he turned to the attack.

"Give
over,"
Jemmy said. "Damn you, man, put up your sword. I will
not
have your blood on my hands. Dear God," he cried, "What would Ian
say if he could see us like this?"

Alistair
hesitated for an instant, but that instant was long enough. With a turn of his
wrist Jemmy sent the sword spinning from his hand. The knight stood frozen, then
made a sudden move for his weapon, stopping only when cold Spanish steel
touched his throat. The two men stared at each other for a long moment, then in
one fluid motion Jemmy stepped back and sheathed his sword.

"You
are a fool," he said coldly. "Now get out."

Alistair
retrieved his weapon. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes flicking over Jemmy
and then to Alyson.

"God
help ye now, lass," he said. "God help us all."

And
he was gone.

"Are
you harmed?" Jemmy asked. "I heard you cry out—"

"I
am not hurt," she answered coldly. "Sir Alistair was very angry and I
was frightened. I thought—hoped—" Her voice shook and she drew a deep
breath before continuing. "But then he told me of the council meeting
today."

Oh,
Jemmy would just wager that he had. No doubt Alistair had told her exactly what
had been said—and what had not. God rot him, he had probably enjoyed it. For a
moment Jemmy wished he had run him through when he had the chance.

"He
offered to overrule the sentence," she continued in a flat, hard voice he
hardly recognized as hers. "I refused. If you have come on the same
errand, my lord, your time will be equally wasted."

Jemmy
bit back the angry denial springing to his lips. Nothing was going as he had
imagined it would. He did not even know this woman who regarded him with such contempt
in her eyes. Given all that had happened, could he really blame her for that?
But still it hurt.

"I
want
to ask you something," he said abruptly. "How old is your
brother?"

"Robin
had his eighth birthday last week."

"And
you thought—you actually believed that I would harm him? A child?"

"Lord
Darnley will take him to account for my failure," she answered evenly.
"Why should you not do the same?"

"Did
you really believe I was no better than that?" he demanded, unable to keep
the hurt and anger from his voice.

She
shrugged slightly. "I fear I know you so little, my lord, that I really
cannot say."

"He
is in no danger, at least not from me," he said, and she gave a sigh of
relief, the tension in her face relaxing slightly. "But as for you—"

"Aye?"
she answered, taking a step back and drawing the shawl more tightly around her
shoulders.

"Oh,
God's blood," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. Was she going
to take everything he said amiss?

"You
are in no danger, either," he said quietly. "And you never
were."

She
raised her brows. "Indeed, my lord?"

"Aye.
I let the council talk today—they were angry, it would have been pointless to
argue about it then. But the decision is mine, Alyson. Mine alone. And I would
never have allowed them to carry out such a sentence on any woman—" Let
alone you, he almost said, but stopped himself in time.

She
searched his face, then nodded. "I believe you."

He
leaned back against the mantel, trying to keep his expression from showing the
depths of his relief. At least she would not leave this place thinking
that
of
him. It was something to be grateful for.

"I
can
understand why you concealed so much from us," he said. "But what I
cannot understand is why you did not tell us that Clare McLaran was your
mother."

"What
difference does that make?" she asked, obviously bewildered.

"Do
you not know? Did she not tell you she was once betrothed to my uncle
Stephen?"

"No,
she never did," Alyson answered slowly. "She spoke so little of her
past... but I learned of it later, after I had come here."