"Thank you, but you needn't be so generous. Your own bloodlines should inherit. I can't ask that of you." He was the most unselfish of men, she thought.

He was also the most selfish of men, and he would have her on any terms. "Nonsense," he retorted, waving away her remonstrances, "I've no great affection for longdead ancestors." He shrugged. "Nor for those beyond my personal family, and I've plenty of property-enough for a dozen children and chief seats in Yorkshire, Buckinghamshire, Kent, Middles.e.x, and Lincolnshire, if any of them should prefer the countryside outside Northumbria." He was lounging next to her, his brandy in hand, his spirits buoyant, the woman he thought beyond attainment suddenly his.

The phrase "a dozen children" overwhelmed Elizabeth's reasonable facade, and for a crushing moment she wanted to hysterically cry out, "No! I only want this child ... not yours, not ours ... only his!" And she wondered for a devastating moment whether she could actually go through with this marriage. But she knew at base she could never put this fiercely wanted child in danger. Too, she understood, a child without a father could not expect a normal life. Regardless of her wealth or remoteness from society, regardless of her own feelings, this child needed George Baldwin's protection from the Graham threat, and it needed a name.

"Whatever you wish, George." She heard her polite response as if from a distance and wondered in some equally distant part of her brain whether she could maintain this well-bred facade for a lifetime.

She even allowed him to kiss her when he left-how could she refuse? And she managed to smile as he bid her adieu. She would, she ruefully decided, become a consummate actress in the months ahead.

But her child was safe.

She was satisfied.

CHAPTER 17.

On August 29, the day after the session had been adjourned, privy to reliable information that G.o.dolphin had no intention of reconvening the Parliament, Johnnie had sailed for Rotterdam. He was interested in news of the war, and the allied forces were headquartered at The Hague. The continuing progress of the allied offensive against France would have direct bearing on Scotland's future.

Additionally, he had two ships in port, one recently in from Canton, and some of the goods were being offloaded into his warehouses for sale in Holland. He spent a week in Rotterdam and The Hague with Robbie, who'd been in residence there for most of the month. They saw to the brokering and warehouses and entertained at night, information on the campaign more easily obtained over dinner and cards. The following week saw Johnnie across the lines in the Low Countries tracking down his uncle's regiment. And on the warm autumn day Elizabeth was offering to marry George Baldwin, he was sharing a camp mess with his uncle, the Marechal de Turenne.

Unaware he was about to become a father.

Highly disturbed by the news he was hearing.

The French general staff was in disarray after the disaster at Blenheim, while the King only relied on advice from his current favorite, the Duc de Chevreuse, or his very religious mistress, Madame de Maintenon, both of whom had no official position.

"You have to reach the King's ear through a d.a.m.ned Ma.s.s; Madame won't even let anyone in to see the King unless they share her religiosity," his uncle muttered. "Tallard, who lost us Blenheim, is done as is Marsin; young Berwick, James's b.a.s.t.a.r.d, on the other hand, has been winning gloriously, but Chamillart, Louis's crony at billiards, wants his friend's brother, the Comte de Gace, to advance to marechal. Merde! It's going to be d.a.m.ned hard to win this war with the aristos sc.r.a.pping over the marechal batons. While Marlborough simply overlooks his allies and does what he pleases. Which would be a pleasant conceit here, if one dared risk his head at Court." He frowned, swearing in an impressive number of languages until his frustration had been momentarily appeased. "To h.e.l.l with them," he said then with a sigh. "I've my pension, my chateau, and there'll be other wars...." He smiled at his nephew. "How long can you stay?" The fruitless discussion of the fate of nations was dismissed for more pleasant conversation.

"A day or two. I'm on my way to Ostend to gather news from my factor there."

"So tell me of Scotland's new independence," his uncle said with a grin. "It might bring me home again, if the filthy English can be driven out."

"Keep your French estates, from the sounds of it. If Marlborough wins all, there's no more reason to placate Scotland. London will have time then to turn its full attention on bringing us to heel. With Marlborough's victorious returning army as its bludgeon."

"It's a fearful thing to be so small in the world of nations."

"It's d.a.m.ned depressing at times."

"But you manage to make yourself rich at England's expense, I hear."

"Moderately so," Johnnie replied with a faint smile. "I look on it as my own small measure of retribution. My frigates can outrun any English ship on the seas."

"Watch your back, Johnnie. The politicos will be out to get you for your show of independence in Parliament-or more likely for your flouting of the Navigation Acts. The tradesmen run Westminster, and they dislike those who take money out of their pockets. Although you're always welcome with me in France." His uncle knew whereof he spoke, for he'd been outlawed as a young man for unwelcome political views, and he'd emigrated to France like so many Scotsmen over the centuries, making his fortune in a more hospitable land.

"My ships carry a large portion of Scotland's trade." Johnnie gazed at his uncle over his winegla.s.s. "It'll be a consideration in chastising me. My warehouses abroad hold stock for many of the traders in Scotland." He smiled. "And more pertinently, I handle most of their bills of exchange. But I'll keep your invitation in mind, should it come to that. Now tell me how Aunt Giselle does, and your daughters."

Two days later Johnnie was in Ostend, and six days after that he sailed into the roads at Leith. He spent a restless evening with Roxie, apologizing profusely when he climbed out of her bed in the middle of the night, making unsatisfactory excuses as he hurriedly dressed and left. Surly and ill-tempered, he stopped at several taverns on his way back to Ravensby House, but even the liquor tasted sour in his mouth, like his life of late, he petulantly decided. And leaving his last drink untouched, he walked through the dark streets to return to his solitary bed at Ravensby house.

His busy weeks away from Scotland had allowed him fitful respite from the recurring images of Elizabeth that filled his brain, interrupted his daily activities, permanently tempered his peace of mind. But once he returned to Scotland, she seemed too close, too accessible, and he found himself craving her with a covetous, foolhardy indiscretion.

Although he had no intention of acting out his desires. A strong-willed man, he knew how to master impulse, how to curb susceptible feeling. But society in Edinburgh had paled, it seemed, Ravensby House had become too quiet; he found the modish world of Edinburgh ba.n.a.l. If he stayed, some reasonable explanation of his unorthodox behavior would have to be given to Roxie-and at the moment he couldn't muster one. Toward morning, as the birds began waking in his apple trees, he decided to go down to Goldiehouse. Although too many memories of Elizabeth faced him at Goldiehouse as well, he discovered in his journey south. So he deliberately delayed his pa.s.sage home, stopping at numerous country estates of his friends, putting off confrontation with the past. Avoiding the overwhelming memories of Elizabeth waiting for him there.

But he finally rode through the gates five days later.

It was the afternoon of September 30.

And when the staff came out to greet him, Dankeil Willie said, "Welcome home, Johnnie. You've been away a long time."

"Business and Parliament kept me away," Johnnie dissembled, already feeling Elizabeth's presence on his own grounds. "Where's everyone?" he quickly asked, handing his reins over to a young groom, wanting to deflect the unnerving phantoms.

"Most of the men are down at the stables. The new foals are half-grown already. Adam and Kinmont went into Kelso this morning. Munro's at the new wing, as usual. Will ye be wantin' to see Red Rowan?"

"Later ... I've been on the road for days. I think I'll have a drink first." And turning to Mrs. Reid, who stood beside Willie glaring at him, he said with a hesitant politeness, "h.e.l.lo."

"What are ye doin here?" she indignantly replied, looking daggers at him.

"I'm home for a visit," he warily said.

"Humpf. Men!"

He debated asking for an explanation, not sure he actually wanted one, but she'd practically raised him after his mother died when he was twelve, so he gently said, "There's some problem?"

"You might say so if ye have a conscience at all."

He cast a glance at the score of servants drawn up on the drive, looked again at Mrs. Reid's offended expression, and said, "Why don't you join me in the library for a moment?"

"I suppose ye don't wish yer vices exposed to all the world," she huffily retorted. "Just like a graceless man!"

He immediately knew he didn't-at least not in her current frame of mind. "Dismiss the staff," he quietly said to Willie, taking Mrs. Reid's arm, which she indignantly took exception to, dashing his hand away. And as she stamped off in a huff, Johnnie turned back to Willie, his brows raised in query. "Do you know the reason for that?"

Willie's fair skin turned red to the roots of his carrot-colored hair. "Ye best ask her, sair."

"And everyone knows about this but me?"

"Yes, sair, I'm afraid so."

"Should I get back on my horse and ride away, Willie?" he mockingly asked, not sure of the extent of his iniquity.

"I couldn't say, sair. Ye'd best decide yerself."

Which was not a comforting answer.

And when he opened the library door a few minutes later, not certain Mrs. Reid would actually be inside after the style of her departure, he found her sitting bolt upright in one of the tapestry chairs.

"She's gettin married, you know," Mrs. Reid instantly declared, the harsh syllables of her words booming in the silence of the high-ceilinged room.

It wasn't necessary to ask the ident.i.ty of her subject. "She has a right to marry, does she not?" he said, entering the room, closing the door behind him, not moving beyond the threshold, as if he could use the distance between them as impediment to the coming conversation.

"Do ye find it strange then, that she dinna choose to tell any of us?"

"Yet you know?"

"Only because I sent over some fruit from the orchard, and the drivers returned yesterday with the news. She hadna even told Munro. De ye find that strange, Johnnie, me boy?"

"She has her own life."

"And ye don't care about it?"

"Do I deserve this dressing-down?" He couldn't understand the outrage, the bristling umbrage. After all these years she understood the pattern of his friendships with women.

"Do ye care that she's two months gone with child? Or dinna ye care about those matters either?"

"How do you know?" His voice had changed.

"Because it's not a secret at Three Kings, ye see, and the drivers brought back the glad tidings. They say Lady Graham's moonglow happy about the coming bairn."

"Who's she marrying?" Curt, pointed, the flattering civility was gone.

"Sir George Baldwin."

Nothing moved in his large body for a flashing moment, not breath or heartbeat, not blood or spark of life. And then he found his breath again and felt the presence of the world return. "Thank you, Mrs. Reid, for the information," he said, responding with a practiced sangfroid. "We should send a gift to the newlyweds. I'll leave it up to you."

"Ye're a coldhearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

He had his hand on the door latch already, and he half turned at the sound of her words. "I know that already," he quietly said.

Johnnie was unresponsive at dinner that night, and later, when the covers were cleared and the brandy came out, he became even more sullen and moody.

None of his men brought up the subject of Elizabeth's imminent marriage, although all were aware of the event and the reasons for it. Munro was as surly as his cousin, more so perhaps in the depths of his moral outrage; Kinmont was careful to keep the conversation on business matters alone. Adam and several of the younger men had taken bets on the outcome of the evening and watched the Laird of Ravensby closely as he tested his capacity for brandy.

At one minute before two in the morning, Johnnie said in a soft drawl, "How many riders can we raise in an hour?"

Kinmont, half-asleep in his chair, instantly came awake at the lazy inquiry.

While Munro said with heated sarcasm, "It's about time."

Flashing a smile at his compatriots because he'd won the bet by a timely minute, Adam said with the authority of foresight, "Just under three hundred."

Rising from his chair with an energy that belied the number of bottles he'd consumed, Johnny surveyed his lieutenants with a remarkably clear-eyed gaze. "Be ready then in an hour, fully armed. Bring a lady's mount. We ride for Three Kings."

The alarm was raised with hunting horn and beacon fire, and within the hour the Carres were a.s.sembled en ma.s.se, ready to ride. The moonless night was dangerous for fast riding but helpful in concealing the pa.s.sage of a large troop. Strung out for miles along the narrow backroads, they made for the border. Lights came on in the villages they galloped through, and occasionally a voice shouted out, "G.o.dspeed, Johnnie!" The Roxburgh villagers knew the sound of night raiders traveling fast into England, and their good wishes followed the Carres like fluttering pennants in the wind.

The small army crossed into England at Carter Bar just as the dark began to fade, Johnnie in the lead on his fast barb, Munro keeping pace, Kinmont and Adam a length behind, all the men whipping their mounts to keep pace.

Johnnie surveyed the glimmer of grey on the horizon with a practiced eye, estimating the time, knowing he had two hours yet till Three Kings. Seven o'clock should find him there; and no one married at seven. He should reach her in time.

Edgy and moody after two hard-riding hours in the saddle, his head aching from the brandy, he wasn't thinking with lucid clarity. Or perhaps he wasn't thinking at all. Perhaps he was riding to Three Kings on instinct alone. Perhaps primitive feeling compelled him, or fatal necessity. He was beyond introspection or rational argument or understanding; he knew only that he didn't wish Elizabeth Graham to marry. He didn't know whether it mattered more that she was carrying his child or that she was giving herself to George Baldwin.

He knew only that he had to stop her.

But it was too quiet when they rode into Three Kings, the bright morning sunlight glinting off the new structure under construction on the hill. Even that site of activity was ominously deserted. And Munro, as snappish and testy as his cousin after the long ride and the longer night of drinking and his resentment over Johnnie's cavalier treatment of Elizabeth, growled, "You're too b.l.o.o.d.y late.

"f.u.c.k you, Munro," Johnnie curtly retorted, leaping from his mount before the barb had come to a complete halt. "No one marries at seven in the morning. I've just got to find her," he shouted, already sprinting for the house. And while his men milled around on the gravel drive, Johnnie raced to the front door of the redbrick house and, finding it locked against him, pounded on the ancient oak with such force, the hinges squealed.

In short order a retainer timidly opened the portal, the sight of a mult.i.tude of armed men enough to test anyone's courage.

"Where's Lady Graham?" Johnnie tersely inquired, the absence of Redmond and his men evidence of Elizabeth's departure.

The servant recognized Johnnie. "In Hexham, Your Grace," he quickly replied; no one at Three Kings had questioned the paternity of Elizabeth's child. "At the cathedral."

"What time's the wedding?"

The retainer's gaze traveled beyond Johnnie to the ma.s.s of armed riders, even the most simpleminded capable of interpreting the reason for their sudden appearance. "At eleven, sir, but Redmond's there," he added, the warning too late for the Laird of Ravensby, who was running full-out toward his mount.

"Hexham," Johnnie shouted to those close enough to hear as he vaulted into the saddle. "By eleven," he cried, already wheeling his horse. And he spurred his tired barb.

Another troop of horse were on their way to Hexham, intent like Johnnie Carre on stopping the wedding of Elizabeth Graham. The Grahams had heard earlier that week of her marriage, and their plans were more prepared than Johnnie's ad hoc gallop south. They rode out of Redesdale Forest that morning two hundred strong, with the object of abducting the bride for a nuptial ceremony of their own.

All five of Hotchane's sons were in good humor. No one would antic.i.p.ate a raid in the bishop's town, and timing would give them the advantage if their numbers weren't advantageous enough.

They intended to reach the cathedral shortly before the ceremony, when everyone was already seated inside. Daytime raids were rare-almost unheard of. The element of surprise should be complete. They traveled slowly, a festive air to their cavalcade, the bridegroom, Luke, dressed beneath his breastplate in his wedding doublet, ribbons tied to his lance in honor of the occasion. He was looking forward to bedding his former stepmama, while Matthew cheerfully contemplated the return of his father's money.

More violent and uncurbed emotion drove Johnnie Carre to Hexham, nothing as leisured or callous as the Grahams' casual l.u.s.t and greed. He had more significant personal reasons for reaching Hexham before the wedding ceremony, although in his present black mood, he'd take Elizabeth Graham married or not. And he touched the basket hilt of his sword in a.s.surance. A gauntlet remained between himself and Elizabeth. Redmond, his troop, George Baldwin. It could be a b.l.o.o.d.y wedding day.

Munro pointed. On the skyline the shape of Hexham came into view, the church crowning the swell of higher ground. Johnnie whipped his horse.

And the Carres reached the crest of the rise bordering the River Tyne at Hexham just as the Grahams advanced from their concealed position northwest of the town.

It was ten minutes before the hour, high morning, and the bucolic river valley lay sleepy under the autumn sun.

The sudden appearance of ma.s.sed cavalry strung out along the low hills, fronting the river in close-line formation, astonished the Grahams, who'd not expected combatants other than Elizabeth's bodyguard. And the Graham brothers drew together on horseback to a.s.sess their foe.

"How many do you think?" Matthew asked his brother Andrew, who held a gla.s.s up to his eye.

"Three score, maybe four ..." Andrew murmured, swinging the gla.s.s along the green hills where a line of hors.e.m.e.n were ranged on the skyline, their accoutrements winking and flashing under the sun.

"We'll stand at the bridge then. Let them come to us. Or they might decide the odds aren't in their favor. Can you tell who they are?"

"No one I recognize, but they've ridden a distance. Their mounts are lathered."