English, Elizabeth (37 page)

"Then
she forgot him so easily as that." Jemmy shook his head. "I wouldn't
have thought it of her."

"No!
She did not forget him. I always knew some sorrow lay heavy on her heart, but
she never told me what it was. And then when she lay dying she called his name
and wept because he'd never come for her. It was only after that I found out
about him. All those years she waited— hoping—oh, it all made sense once I
learned what had happened. He didn't come for her because—because of me.
Because of what my father did to her."

"She
didn't know?"

"She
knew well enough that he didn't want her anymore."

"She
didn't know," he repeated softly. "Please," he added, "Sit
down."

She
regarded him warily, every muscle taut, like a deer who scents the hunter.

"I
knew your mother, Alyson," he went on gently. "A long, long time ago.
She came to stay with us when I was a child. She had been at Kelso Abbey for
some time and meant to take vows, but her parents wanted her to wait until she
was sure of her vocation. So they sent her to us for a year."

Alyson
sat down cautiously, her back very straight. "Stephen was my father's
brother," Jemmy began. "He was born late to my grandparents, and he
was so much younger than the others that he always seemed more like a brother
to me. I adored him—we all did, he had a way about him, so merry all the
time... He used to say this war between us and the Darnleys was a fool's game
when there was so much more to life than dealing death. He wanted to be away,
to make a new life for himself, but his parents wouldn't hear of it—especially
my grandmother. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him. So he put off
leaving, not wanting to hurt her. And then Clare came."

My
mother, Alyson thought. Jemmy had actually known her as a girl, back in that
long-ago time Clare had never spoken of.

He
smiled a little, his eyes distant, remembering. "She was so lovely, so
kind. I think every one of us fell a little bit in love with her. But Stephen
was entirely smitten. The others used to tease him about it but he paid them no
mind. His heart was set on her, and he cared not who knew it. And she—well, she
was something of a scholar, very shy and quiet, but Stephen used to make her
laugh until she cried. I can still see them walking hand in hand—they were
always together and both of them so happy..."

It
was a comfort to think that Mam had once known that kind of joy, Alyson
reflected sadly, even if it hadn't lasted. At least she'd had that much.

"Both
the families were overjoyed," Jemmy continued. "The McLarans had
never been happy to think of their only child as a nun, and Grandmother had
begun to despair of Stephen ever settling down. So everyone was pleased. Clare
went home again, and he was counting the days until the wedding, full of plans
for the life they'd have together. The wedding feast was all prepared when word
came that her party had been attacked and Clare was taken.

"Stephen
swore he'd get her back again. He took a force of men and attacked Darnley's
manor—but they could not win through. And so he tried again. And again. My
grandfather went with him. Everyone told him to bide at home, that he was past
it—but he loved Clare like his own child and felt responsible for what had
happened..." Jemmy sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "He died
across the border, and Stephen carried him home again. That was when my father
said it had to stop. We'd lost too many men. I've never forgotten that day.
When my father said we had to let Clare go, Stephen wept. I was frightened, for
I'd never seen a grown man cry before."

So
Stephen hadn't given up at once, Alyson thought. At least he had tried. The
hard knot of hatred she had felt toward the Laird's young brother dissolved a
little.

"Emma
McLaran said they'd never had word of her," Alyson said. "At least
Stephen didn't know about—about me."

"I
don't know what he learned," Jemmy said. "But he knew—they all
did—what had most likely happened. I remember one of the men said it was no use
going on with it anyway, for it was likely too late for Clare. I thought he
meant that she was dead—it wasn't until I was older that I understood what he
was saying. Stephen turned and struck him to the floor. Then he walked out. And
that was the last time I saw him. He went himself, alone, to try and find
her."

He
had not abandoned Clare after all. Alyson blinked hard against the sudden
tears. Even knowing what had happened, he had still loved her enough to search
for her. And she had never known of it. How terrible that seemed, that Clare
had never known of it and had died believing herself forgotten...

Jemmy
rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at his clenched hands. "It
was about a fortnight later that a cart came into the yard. I was there with
Ian, and we were busy with some game so we didn't pay it any mind. It was just
a cart, a plain farm cart driven by one old man. There was something in the
back, but we didn't think anything of that until one of the men pulled off the
covering... and there was Stephen. He was—well, his death hadn't been an easy
one. And Darnley's badge had been laid across his breast.

"Then
everyone began to shout, and the yard filled with people—they killed the man
driving the cart, I remember, just pulled him from the seat and ran him
through, though likely he didn't even know what he carried to us. My
grandmother came out to see what all the noise was about, and no one even
noticed her in the confusion. When she saw him like that—dear God, what a thing
for her to see, his own mother, I can still hear her screaming..."

He
blinked hard and went on in a low voice. "And my mother ran out after
her—that was when she lost the child she carried, and her own life, as
well..."

The
room was very quiet then, as the fire hissed and crackled in the hearth. Alyson
shivered and pulled the shawl more tightly around her shoulders. She'd known
there had been deaths—on both sides. But as long as they had been just names it
seemed an easy thing to forgive and let go the past. Now they were not just
names but people— her own mother among them. It would never end. How could it?
There was too much pain and bitterness on either side.

"The
next few years were very bad," Jemmy said. "No one could forget—or
wanted to. It was war then and so many were lost, it seemed all the young men I
knew were killed. The years went by, things slowly settled down again, and when
I was old enough I left. I didn't want to be a part of it, for I knew there
could be no end. Nobody wins and everybody loses over and over again, until
everything we hold dear is gone."

"But
you are a part of it," Alyson said. "We all are."

"Aye,
I know that now. But—" He jumped to his feet and began to pace the room.
"It's wrong. I saw it then, when I was still a child, but all I could
think to do was get as far away from it as I could. The coward's way," he
added, very low. "Just cut and run."

"No,"
Alyson said. "It was the only way. Even if you'd stayed here, what could
you have done? Your brother was the only one who could have changed it."

"But
Ian didn't want to change it. He saw it as a test of honor, his against your
father's."

"My
father has no honor," Alyson said flatly.

"Aye,
well, we've precious little of it left ourselves. Today I saw how easy it is to
be swept up in it all, us against the Darnleys, dying for the glory of the
clan. Crioch Onarach," he added wryly. " 'Twas Ian's favorite toast.
A good death."

He
stood before the fire, hands clasped behind him. Alyson wanted to go to him,
slip her arms around his waist, and lean her cheek against his back. But of course
she couldn't do that now.

"A
good death," she repeated slowly. "It sounds well, my lord, but I
think it takes more courage to live a good life. Now it's you who can change
things. If you still want to."

"I
do. But—" he sighed wearily and turned to face her. "It's all in
motion now, and I don't see how it can be stopped. And yet I do know one thing.
I can't let any harm come to Clare's children. Stephen would never forgive me
for that."

Children?
Had he really said— "My lord," Alyson said. "What do you mean?"

"I
mean we have to find some way to get you to the McLarans—and your brother with
you."

He
looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "How closely do you resemble
Maude?"

"We
do look alike—but we're different, too. At a distance I could pass for her but
not at close range."

"Where
is she now?"

"She
is home," Alyson said, sitting up. "I know she is, Sir Robert said
so. The household thinks she's me—or rather, who I was supposed to be when I
was there—a cousin from the Percy side."

"Could
you somehow get her alone? If you sent a message and asked that she meet you—if
you said you were in trouble—-?"

"No,
that would never work. She wouldn't care enough to come. But why? Oh! You mean
to bring her here, don't you?"

"That
was my thought, but I don't see how—"

Alyson
smiled. "My lord, Maude is not known for her obedience. Despite her
father's command that she stay hidden, she goes hawking by the river every fine
day."

"Really?"
he said slowly. "Are you sure of that? Then this might just work. Tell me,
though, is it true her father dotes on her?"

"He
would do anything for her. Why, I cannot say—but it is the truth. He'll make
terms if you can get her here. But," she added hesitantly, "but what
of Robin?"

"We'll
make his safety a condition of the terms."

"No,
my lord. I'm sorry but that won't do. He's just a little boy—"

"You
think we'll forget him, don't you?"

"No,
not now. But I fear Lord Darnley's temper. Robin is nothing to him, don't you
see? He's only a stableboy. When Darnley finds that Maude's been taken—and
Robin is to hand—I fear that even Sir Robert won't be able to protect him then.
And yet I do have an idea..."

When
she had outlined her plan, Jemmy said, "Absolutely not. That's far too
dangerous."

"It
is
not,"
she said, her brows drawing together in a frown. "I
can do it. And I will."

He
shot her a glance in which amusement and annoyance were evenly divided.
"We can talk about it tomorrow on the way," he said, and she felt a
small thrill of victory. She was to go with him tomorrow. If he had given in
this much, she was certain she could convince him of the rest.

"Let
us hope the day is fine and Lady Maude goes hawking," he added with a
smile.

"She
will," Alyson said, her pulse jumping as it always did when he smiled at
her in that way. "I am certain of it."

They
both rose and stood in awkward silence for a moment. He is just being kind,
Alyson thought, that's all, for my mother's sake. And I should be grateful for
that. It was no good remembering how he'd held her in his arms and spoken words
of love, no good longing for the past and what could never be. No doubt he
wanted to forget what had happened between them, and she should forget it, too.
But she would not.

She
would never forget that night of magic when nothing had existed beyond the two
of them. The brush of flesh on flesh. His mouth on hers. His hoarse cry of
triumph as he claimed her.

And
afterward, the way they had lain together, all passion spent, his head against
her shoulder and his breath warm and soft upon her breast, the murmured words
and laughter they had shared. Had that really been the same man who stood
before her now? It seemed impossible. It
was
impossible, she told
herself. That night he had lain with his wife, a woman of his rank and station.
Or so he had believed. Alyson Bowden from the Aylsford kitchens could never
catch and hold the heart of such a man. Had she not known that all along?

Tears
stung her eyes, and she couldn't look at him lest he should see how she still
loved him, as ridiculous and unseemly as that was.

She
stood before the firelight, head bent, shawl slipping from her shoulders.
Through the thin shift Jemmy could make out the swell of her breast and the
curve of her slender waist. She is so beautiful, he thought, his body clenching
with desire. More lovely than she had ever seemed to him before. But that was
because tonight he saw her as she really was. She was not Lady Maude, with her
stiff carriage and ridiculous pretensions. Nor was she the calculating spy who
had deceived him without feeling. She was Alyson McLaran Bowden, brave and kind
and loyal, the strongest person he had ever known.

He
imagined reaching out, turning her face up to his. Her eyes would widen and he
would draw her close, breathe her sweet scent, watch her surprise melt into
pleasure as he wound his fingers in her hair and bent to her, whispering that
he loved her, he needed her, that his life was nothing to him without her...

But
how would he find the words to tell her that in spite of all he felt, they must
part?

Let
her go, he told himself. To speak now will only make things worse. The break
has been made already, and I have to live with that. But at least I shall see
her safe. That much I can do and I will do, no matter how high the price.