Alexander rose and lit candles,
then poured them both more wine. "Sleepy?" he asked.
"Should
I be?"
He
burst into laughter. It was rich and deep and made her want to join in.
"No, Jonet, I swear there's nothing in the food or wine. Christ save us,
with the amount we've eaten, we'd both be dead!"
"Do
you blame me for being suspicious?"
"No."
He
moved back to the bed and sat down. He was closer now. She could see the flecks
of hazel in his gray eyes. They caught the candlelight, more gold now than
brown, dancing like so many sparks in the night.
His
look of amusement grew. She realized she'd been staring and looked away
uncomfortably. Supper was over. It was time to learn where she stood. "Are
you going to turn me over to Murdoch Douglas?" she asked abruptly.
Alexander
leaned back on one elbow. "Let's not talk about that just yet, shall we?
Let's talk about, oh, traveling. Have you ever been to France? Italy?"
She
shook her head.
Somehow
she wasn't surprised to discover he had traveled widely. So vividly did he
describe the beauty of the lakes of northern Italy, the incredible grandeur of
the Venetian St. Mark's Square, that she sat spellbound as the time spun away
and the candles burned low about them.
"Enough
of my ramblings," he finally remarked with a smile. "Tell me about
your life."
There
was nothing much to tell, at least nothing a man like Alexander Hepburn would
find interesting. Jonet had never been anywhere or done anything. With the long
unrest in Scotland, she'd never even been to court. She'd been betrothed at age
thirteen, but when the young man had died in a jousting accident a few months
later, she hadn't grieved unduly. She'd only met him once.
Then
Alexander began to draw her out, so skillfully she didn't notice. Soon she was
telling him of her life at Beryl, of the inhabitants there, and all about
Robert.
But
the discussion was a painful reminder of the danger in which Robert stood and
of her own helplessness. "He isn't guilty, you know," she said.
"He would never attack the king! Angus maybe, but not if it might put
James in danger. The Douglases are just using this as an excuse to take what
they want!"
Alexander
shrugged. "Accusations are easy enough to make. It happens, you know, even
in the best of families. Take mine for instance."
"But
you don't understand. He didn't do it!"
She'd
put too much emphasis on the word. Alexander understood the implication.
"Well,
naturally that makes a difference," he said coolly. "Right always
wins out in your safe little world, doesn't it? Well, wake up, Jonet Maxwell.
You're about to be terribly disappointed."
They
stared at each other. Jonet measured off the seconds in long, painful
heartbeats. She had been foolish to speak so openly. She had forgotten where
she was, who this was. She had even forgotten her own danger.
But
it was abruptly recalled by the look in Alexander's eyes. He was staring at her
oddly, almost... almost as if he hated her. "You're going to give me up to
the Douglases, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Sliding
from the bed, Alexander removed the dishes to a nearby chest. "I don't
know," he admitted. "There are a great many things to consider, you
know." When she didn't speak, he turned back with a cynical smile.
"No, of course you don't. But take my word for it."
So
he hadn't made up his mind. Jonet leaned forward. His given name came easily to
her tongue; after all, he'd used hers for hours. "Alexander..."
He
held up one hand. "Don't! Don't say a word. I must decide and you mustn't
try to influence me."
But
the hard look was gone, the smile back in his eyes. He snuffed the candles with
his fingertips. "Go to sleep, lass," he ordered. "I'll be just
outside here on my manservant's pallet. If you've need of anything, just call
out. And keep yourself in that bed or I swear I'll have the shirt off your back
so quick it'll make your head spin!"
Jonet
heard him cross the floor. Then the door opened and closed. She hunched down
against
then poured them both more wine. "Sleepy?" he asked.
"Should
I be?"
He
burst into laughter. It was rich and deep and made her want to join in.
"No, Jonet, I swear there's nothing in the food or wine. Christ save us,
with the amount we've eaten, we'd both be dead!"
"Do
you blame me for being suspicious?"
"No."
He
moved back to the bed and sat down. He was closer now. She could see the flecks
of hazel in his gray eyes. They caught the candlelight, more gold now than
brown, dancing like so many sparks in the night.
His
look of amusement grew. She realized she'd been staring and looked away
uncomfortably. Supper was over. It was time to learn where she stood. "Are
you going to turn me over to Murdoch Douglas?" she asked abruptly.
Alexander
leaned back on one elbow. "Let's not talk about that just yet, shall we?
Let's talk about, oh, traveling. Have you ever been to France? Italy?"
She
shook her head.
Somehow
she wasn't surprised to discover he had traveled widely. So vividly did he
describe the beauty of the lakes of northern Italy, the incredible grandeur of
the Venetian St. Mark's Square, that she sat spellbound as the time spun away
and the candles burned low about them.
"Enough
of my ramblings," he finally remarked with a smile. "Tell me about
your life."
There
was nothing much to tell, at least nothing a man like Alexander Hepburn would
find interesting. Jonet had never been anywhere or done anything. With the long
unrest in Scotland, she'd never even been to court. She'd been betrothed at age
thirteen, but when the young man had died in a jousting accident a few months
later, she hadn't grieved unduly. She'd only met him once.
Then
Alexander began to draw her out, so skillfully she didn't notice. Soon she was
telling him of her life at Beryl, of the inhabitants there, and all about
Robert.
But
the discussion was a painful reminder of the danger in which Robert stood and
of her own helplessness. "He isn't guilty, you know," she said.
"He would never attack the king! Angus maybe, but not if it might put
James in danger. The Douglases are just using this as an excuse to take what
they want!"
Alexander
shrugged. "Accusations are easy enough to make. It happens, you know, even
in the best of families. Take mine for instance."
"But
you don't understand. He didn't do it!"
She'd
put too much emphasis on the word. Alexander understood the implication.
"Well,
naturally that makes a difference," he said coolly. "Right always
wins out in your safe little world, doesn't it? Well, wake up, Jonet Maxwell.
You're about to be terribly disappointed."
They
stared at each other. Jonet measured off the seconds in long, painful
heartbeats. She had been foolish to speak so openly. She had forgotten where
she was, who this was. She had even forgotten her own danger.
But
it was abruptly recalled by the look in Alexander's eyes. He was staring at her
oddly, almost... almost as if he hated her. "You're going to give me up to
the Douglases, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Sliding
from the bed, Alexander removed the dishes to a nearby chest. "I don't
know," he admitted. "There are a great many things to consider, you
know." When she didn't speak, he turned back with a cynical smile.
"No, of course you don't. But take my word for it."
So
he hadn't made up his mind. Jonet leaned forward. His given name came easily to
her tongue; after all, he'd used hers for hours. "Alexander..."
He
held up one hand. "Don't! Don't say a word. I must decide and you mustn't
try to influence me."
But
the hard look was gone, the smile back in his eyes. He snuffed the candles with
his fingertips. "Go to sleep, lass," he ordered. "I'll be just
outside here on my manservant's pallet. If you've need of anything, just call
out. And keep yourself in that bed or I swear I'll have the shirt off your back
so quick it'll make your head spin!"
Jonet
heard him cross the floor. Then the door opened and closed. She hunched down
against
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