The Border Trilogy (11 page)

“Good lass,” Douglas said. “The horses are out front. Are you ready to make a dash?”

Mary Kate cast a sudden, panic-stricken look at Morag and Margaret, behind her on the stairs. “Morag?” The old woman hastened down to her and gathered her into her arms. Mary Kate’s eyes were swimming when she emerged from the hug. “My father! Where is he?”

“Outside,” Douglas replied, his voice curt with impatience. When she looked at him entreatingly, his expression softened. “He will ride with us, sweetheart, to the edge of his land. You can say a proper farewell to him then. Johnny?”

Graham looked back over his shoulder through the partially open doorway. “The men are mounted, sir. Straight out.”

Indignantly, Margaret swept down the stairs to confront her brother. “Your behavior is barbaric, Adam. You have no right whatever to steal poor Mary Kate away from her own wedding feast like this.”

He grinned at her and gave her a quick hug. “Good-bye, Roaring Meg, me lass. We’ll see you in Edinburgh wi’ your namesake if not before.”

“Adam, I was not named for a cannon!”

But he only laughed. “I’ve no time for this pliskie nonsense, Margaret. Any day now, Jamie is going to demand my presence at court, and I want to show Tornary to Mary Kate and Mary Kate to Tornary before that day. This feast could go on for a week or more.”

“But the bedding! I wanted to see a highland bedding.”

“We will manage our own bedding ceremony, thank you. All this toasting and jeering at the bedside is a highland ritual I can well do without.” Both Mary Kate and Margaret blushed, and he tweaked one of his sister’s dark curls. “You are too bonny to be compared to an ancient cannon, lass. Forgive me?”

“Aye.” She laughed. “Again!”

A few moments later, Mary Kate was flung onto her saddle and quickly surrounded by a number of men on horseback, including Duncan and Lord Strachan. The merrymakers, alerted finally to the imminent departure of bride and groom, were thus firmly denied of their prey, but they subsided more gracefully than either Mary Kate or Margaret had anticipated. There was still, after all, a great deal of food and drink, and the pipers were still going strong.

At last, with little ceremony and many farewells, both merry and ribald, Douglas, his lady, and their escort took their departure. They paused at the MacPherson boundary long enough for Mary Kate to take fond leave of her father and for Duncan to offer her last bits of paternal advice, while Douglas held a brief conversation with Lord Strachan. Then they were off.

Their progress had been carefully prearranged, because as Margaret had foreseen, Douglas wished to make all speed. Thus the horses were put to as swift a pace as the rugged highland roads wending south through the Cairngorm Mountains would allow, and frequent changes were required. Though Mary Kate was indeed an excellent horsewoman, she feared such haste would overtax her endurance. Not only was the pace itself wearing, but the strain of the past fortnight had taken its toll. One chapter of her life had ended, and she felt as though she was riding with breakneck speed into the next. The present was no more to her than a crazy limbo betwixt the two.

Douglas had won yet another round of their conflict. Indeed, she had scarcely put up a struggle, for he had outmaneuvered her from the start, leaving her little choice but to submit to his will. In the future, she hoped she would give a better accounting of herself. The problem wasn’t that she disliked him. She was not even certain, despite the many things she had said to the contrary, that she had ever actively disliked him. The fact was that she sensed in him a constant desire to assert his authority over her which stirred her highland blood to rebellion; however, determined though she was to guard her independence of spirit, she realized it would behoove her to tread lightly until such time as she might discover a course of action that had some chance of success.

After the first break in their journey, she paused before remounting to examine the symbol of her defeat, glowing warmly in a shaft of sunlight that lay across her hand. The ring was intricately designed to look as though several golden threads had been woven together to form a circlet.

“Do you like it, sweetheart?”

“Aye,” she replied, suddenly shy in the midst of her all-male escort. To provide a female companion for her on such a rapid journey had not been thought possible.

“It suits you.” He lifted her effortlessly back into the saddle. “’Tis your own, too, lass. I chose it myself. There is a great, heavy gold thing, set with pearls, among the family pieces, but I thought it too large for your dainty hands. Besides,” he added with a wry grin, “my mother is somewhat partial to it.”

She grinned back. “I prefer to have my own, sir.”

He nodded, his satisfaction clear, and they were soon off again, riding hard.

Darkness had fallen by the time they reached the manor house at Aberfeldy, where it had been arranged for them to spend the night, and Mary Kate was swaying in the saddle. Their host was away from home, but a stout housekeeper whisked them inside with promises of good food, reviving drink, and soft, dry beds. Lady Douglas wearily disclaimed any interest in food or drink and chose instead to retire immediately. Douglas, with a glance at her pale face and drooping eyelids, forbore to press her and ordered separate bedchambers. Mary Kate never gave a thought to the details of an ordinary wedding night but fell into a sound sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

The journey to Stirling on the second day passed much like the first, though she ate a hearty breakfast and, once her initial stiffness wore off, seemed to manage the long hours in the saddle with greater ease. There was no pause at any kirk, though Douglas offered prayers for their safe journey before they started, and again, able through efficient planning to change horses frequently, they made good time, particularly since they had now left the rugged Cairngorms behind them.

Twice they avoided larger hamlets when they were out of the highlands, and Mary Kate knew without asking that Douglas had no wish to flaunt the fact that they were breaking the Sabbath. No one challenged them, however, and by nightfall she was exhausted again, barely managing to eat her supper before she fell asleep. Douglas carried her upstairs to her bed and, with a rueful grin, left her to the tender ministrations of a buxom chambermaid.

By morning of the third day, she was herself again and readily agreed to his decision, expressed over a generous matutinal repast, to finish their journey that same day. “It will mean traveling well into the night,” he admitted, “but we’ll have moonlight, and we should make Moffat before dark. We can hire outriders there.”

She had been smiling to herself at the accuracy of Margaret’s prediction, but his last words brought a bewildered frown to her face.

“Outriders?”

“Aye. We’ll have lost a part of our escort by then, and although border raiders rarely attack private parties by daylight, the dark brings them out, and there’ll be a fair border moon tonight to light their way as well as our own.” He smiled at her dismay. “Don’t fear, lassie. I’ll see to it we’re safe.”

An hour later, Johnny Graham and more than half the men with them veered off at a fork in the road, bound for Edinburgh, where, Douglas informed his wife, Graham would do his best to delay a royal summons. That left Lucas Trotter and six others to travel with Douglas and Mary Kate.

They traveled rapidly again, stopping only to change horses and for brief refreshment as either became necessary. As Douglas had foretold, they reached the sprawling hamlet of Moffat before dark. He was known there and easily arranged for an escort of twenty armed men before suppertime, so they relaxed over their meal at the alehouse. Outside again, as he placed his hands on her waist, intending to toss her into her saddle, Douglas looked down at his bride.

“Tired, sweetheart?”

“I should be, should I not?”

“Aye.”

“Well, ’tis odd, I suppose, but I’m not, not a bit.”

“Good!” He laughed, his eyes twinkling wickedly, and the warmth of his gaze made her toes curl in her boots. When she blushed, he laughed again, lifting her at last to her horse.

Mary Kate settled herself firmly in the saddle, adjusted the hood of her thick cloak, and fixed her gaze upon a distant hilltop, determined to ignore the nerve-tingling tremors that had begun to stir deep within her.

Douglas swung into his own saddle and signaled his men to move on, but his amusement was nearly palpable. “It won’t be long now, sweetling,” he murmured, and there was, unmistakably, a deeper meaning to his words than the mere hint of journey’s end. He chuckled again when she made no response other than to lift her chin, but after a long moment when she still did not speak, he mused sadly, “Perhaps the journey will be longer than I thought, especially if my lady wife persists in this alarming silence. A long and dark and dreary journey for a poor, neglected husband. Long and dark and—”

Goaded, she snapped, “You said there will be a moon!”

“Aye, so I did,” he agreed amiably, “but it won’t simply spring up into the sky, you know. There is bound to be a period of darkness first. Lonely, silent darkness.”

She glared at him and then fixed her eyes straight ahead again, determined to ignore him. But after a few moments of this treatment, he said coaxingly, “Am I such a beast, lady wife, that you will not speak to me?” When she remained mute, his voice sharpened. “Come, lass, look at me. This silence pleases me not. I promise no more teasing. Now, come. Speak to me.

This time she did turn, giving him a smile and a slanting look from under her lashes for his efforts. Deep inside, and well hidden, she savored a glow of triumph. He had nearly apologized. A small victory, perhaps, but a victory nonetheless.

“That is much better,” he said, pleased. “Tell me more about yourself. We speak too often only of me, and I should like to hear more about when you were small.” In this manner he encouraged her to talk, and she was soon comfortable again.

Their escort had split, some ahead, some behind. She could hear jingling equipage and, occasionally, low, murmuring voices. Progress was much slower now, horses first cantering, then slowing to a walk as darkness closed in around them. Douglas matched her tales with new ones of his own, and time passed quickly. It seemed no time at all, in fact, before they were riding between the huge gates that Margaret had described to her.

The moon had risen, but the road beyond was lined with trees, their dark branches intertwined overhead and nubbly with half-grown new leaves. Mary Kate peered ahead, anxious for her first clear glimpse of her new home. The trees parted at last, and she drew in a long, appreciative breath. Crowning the hill ahead, magnificently outlined by moonlight that edged stone towers and crenellated parapets with lustrous silver, stood Tornary Castle.

“Oh, Adam, it’s huge.”

“Only thirty rooms, sweetheart, and a good many of them naught but storage cells beneath the living spaces. ’Tis not so big for a castle. Do you like it?”

“It is beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew,” he answered simply. “I wondered why you didn’t ask me to tell you about it.”

And believed she didn’t care, she thought. “I had no idea until Margaret told me.”

“Well, no matter. You may see it all for yourself on the morrow. My father made it over to me nearly eight years ago. It is no fortress, but it will be a fair place to raise a family.”

Soon they were passing into the torchlit stable yard. Soft light gleamed from nearly every window facing the yard, and men hurried to see to the horses and baggage. Mary Kate had brought only two leather satchels with her, leaving the rest of her things to follow by freight wagon.

Douglas gave precise instructions to the outriders and to his assorted minions, then turned with a meaningful smile to his bride. “We’ll go in by the postern door. You may meet the household properly tomorrow, but tonight we have more important matters to occupy our time.”

With a deep blush and a fervent if unspoken wish that he would lower his voice, Mary Kate allowed him to help her dismount. Seconds later she stifled a gasp when he swung her up into his arms but made no other protest as, with long, purposeful strides, he carried her into the castle and up a winding, torchlit stone staircase.

They emerged at last at one end of a wide stone gallery with a waist-high parapet that stretched the full length of the great hall below. Douglas’s pace seemed to increase as he carried her along the gallery and through a small anteroom to the left, until he paused in front of a great carved oaken door.

“Welcome, wife.” The door stood slightly ajar, and he kicked it wide, setting her on her feet just inside the room.

It was his bedchamber. Light from the hooded fireplace and a single candle in a bowl-shaped silver holder on the table near the bed cast a warm, golden glow over the arras-draped stone walls and the soft blue and yellow Persian carpet. The dominant feature of the room, however, against the wall opposite the fireplace, was the huge carved bed, its indigo velvet hangings looped back with thick, plaited golden cords. Matching curtains hung at the chamber’s tall, arched twin windows, between which, upon the floor, against the wall, rested Mary Kate’s two leather satchels. The servant who had brought them up so quickly was nowhere to be seen.

She blinked. Never in her life had she seen such a splendid room. The comfortable bedchambers at Speyside House and Critchfield Manor were austere by comparison.

Douglas gave her a gentle nudge. “Get you in, lass. I’ve no wish to spend the night lingering upon the threshold.”

Still dazed, she took a few obedient steps forward.

Douglas lit more candles, then moved toward her, his eyes gleaming with intent. He reached out, pushing the hood of her cloak back from her face. “Ah, but you’re a winsome wench,” he murmured, “and I have waited so long.” He drew her to him and lowered his lips toward hers.

Mary Kate tried to pull away, ducking her head and pushing ineffectively at his broad chest with two trembling, small hands, but he held her easily with one arm, putting his other hand under her chin, gently forcing her head up until he could claim his kiss. It was a long and probing one that sent rivers of flame rushing through her body from her head down to her toes, and long before it was over, she had melted toward him, turning limp and pliable in his arms.