Carre: Outlaw Part 17

"Thank you for your concern," Elizabeth sarcastically replied, her voice icy, furious at their arrogance. "But I don't wish to remarry," she emphatically declared, forcefully clenching her fists to contain the trembling rage exploding inside her. She'd been out in the garden when they appeared, and her summer dress was streaked with dirt, her young-girl image incongruous with the chill authority in her voice. "And your father left me sufficient money," she briskly added, "to allow me that option."

"Father left you that money because you bewitched him," Matthew countered, staring at her with a disquieting derision.

"Your father was too pa.s.sionless to bewitch," she challenged, brazenly outfacing Hotchane's sons with a grit and mettle bred into her by long experience with treachery.

"I told you she wouldn't listen," Lawson murmured, restlessly s.h.i.+fting his stance like a fighter in antic.i.p.ation.

His older brother's hand came out to constrain him. "It doesn't matter," he quietly said to his sibling. His gaze hadn't left Elizabeth. "We thought you could marry Luke. His wife died last year." Emotionless, his voice reminded her of his father's.

And that familiar tone of voice p.r.i.c.ked her temper, not that her flaring resentment needed augmenting. Hotchane's youngest son had already buried two wives; she had no intention of becoming the third. "Let me make this clear to you, Matthew." Indignation snapped in her voice. "I dislike you and all your brothers. Redmond dislikes you even more intensely. So I suggest you leave while all your body parts are still intact." She drew in a deep, steadying breath. "And you can take a message to your family," she added with deadly quiet. "The money your father left me is mine. You cannot have it."

"You're a bold piece, Elizabeth," Hotchane's eldest casually said. "No doubt that's what appealed to Da. But we didn't come alone, as you may have noticed. Our escort's outside and well armed." He hadn't moved, a.s.surance in his posture and tone.

"Be my guest then, Matthew. You can fight your way clear. Because Redmond's ready for you, and I won't take your orders."

"We can have the courts declare you a witch." He seemed not to have heard her words.

Elizabeth remembered Hotchane Graham reacting with that identical detachment, and felt unsettled. But then she braced her nerves; she'd learned long ago that tyrants only preyed on easy victims. "I'm not your timid wife or daughters, Matthew. Your threats don't frighten me." She stiffened her back against his cold gaze. "You can try to take your case to court, but you'll never find my money if you do. I lived eight years with your father, and next to him Lucifer would tremble; you boys are rank amateurs." She stopped to take a breath because she found herself beginning to shake with indignation ... and she refused to show any weakness. "I suggest you consider this a wasted trip," she went on, having calmed her voice. "And be grateful your father didn't leave all his money to me. If I'd truly bewitched him, I wouldn't have settled for a mere sixty thousand."

"You challenge like a man, Elizabeth," Matthew Graham quietly declared, "but you're only a woman, after all-alone and unmarried." He was the leader of the Grahams, not only because he was the eldest, but because he was the most imaginative. "Some courts would consider you unable to manage your affairs." His voice was very soft, his stance motionless. "Some judges might think you need a husband."

"And some might think your brother Luke needs a keeper, not a wife, Matthew, so kindly leave me and my money out of your family plans. Go rob someone else. You must leave now," she said in as soft a voice as his, "or I'll let Redmond at you."

"We'll be back, Elizabeth. With the lawyers."

"Don't waste your time."

"For sixty thousand I can afford to waste some time," he replied with a smile so cold, it seemed as if the temperature had dropped in the room. "Come, Lawson," he said to his brother, as one would call a favorite pet.

And Hotchane's two burly sons walked out, leaving the menace of their presence behind.

As the door closed, Elizabeth abruptly sat down on the nearest chair before her legs crumpled beneath her, sheer willpower having kept her upright. And she s.h.i.+vered uncontrollably while the sun shone brightly outside the windows. It wasn't as though the appearance of Hotchane's sons had been unexpected. She'd always known they'd attempt to appropriate her money on one pretext or another; she had bodyguards against that eventuality. But she hadn't realized how alone she'd feel. How utterly terrified.

Unlike her father, who could be threatened or purchased for a price, Hotchane's family still lived under an ancient code that disregarded the progress of civilization-a barbaric way of life that pitted force of arms against their enemies. And the Redesdale Forest had always protected them from civilization and pursuit.

Two weeks ago she would have been more audacious; two weeks ago she would have been less daunted. But if ... and she hadn't allowed herself to give way completely to the possibility of motherhood. But if indeed Johnnie's baby grew inside her, she had to protect herself. Not with sanguine tactics that might bring harm to her child, but with clearheaded judgment. Vigilant, prepared, expedient judgment.

Which meant, she suddenly realized, a needful reconsideration of George Baldwin's marriage proposal.

Calling in Redmond, she told him of her conversation with Matthew Graham.

"How many men can he muster?" she asked, wanting first to know the extent of her danger. Only recently the heiress Margot Talmadge had been abducted by the Matchmonts and forcibly married to their son. While the courts had eventually ruled in favor of the Talmadges, she'd been held against her will by the Matchmonts for several months. And brutalized.

Cases like Margot Talmadge's weren't exceptional when large sums of money were at stake.8 Mercenary or needy families simply mounted their men and forced the marriage. And whether the courts recognized or opposed their actions didn't change the treatment endured by the women. Elizabeth knew some cases continued in court for years.

"Two hundred men, slightly more if he can bring in the Dunstable Grahams."

"Which will cost him."

"But it's money well spent, he'll feel, considering the potential profit."

"We'll need more men then. I might as well spend my money on myself rather than hand it over to the Grahams. How soon can you increase the number of retainers?"

"No more than a week or ten days to bring our ranks even. But you have another choice," he offered, his fingers toying with the bone handle of his dagger, his voice infused with a cold malevolence. "We could go into Redesdale Forest after them." Many years ago Redmond had lost a woman he loved to Matthew Graham's brutal l.u.s.t, and only his loyalty to Elizabeth had kept him from throwing away his life then on a mission of revenge.

"Catherine Blair wouldn't care to see you die so needlessly ... nor would I."

Redmond flushed beneath his tan at mention of his new young fiancee. "It's a fact, though," he said in a voice devoid of emotion, "that the world would be a sweeter place without Hotchane's sons. They need killing."

"Even though I wholeheartedly agree," Elizabeth said, "I don't care to be responsible for their deaths except in extremity. Actually, I'd prefer never seeing or hearing of them again." She signed. "Not a possibility, apparently, with Matthew's greed." Leaning back against the upholstered settee, she cast him a rueful smile. "So in lieu of a perfect world ... we'll hire more trained fighting men."

"You knew they wouldn't allow you Hotchane's money for long," he quietly reminded her, his gentle voice in contrast to his powerful body.

She gazed for a moment at the man who'd been her bodyguard since she'd first married Hotchane Graham. Redmond's initial a.s.signment, she suspected, had been not only to keep her from flying away, but to protect her from her husband's family. He lounged across from her in a carved armchair, his sword hilt and scabbard, the pistols tucked into his belt glinting in the sunlight, his tawny hair short for convenience, rough-cut, unlike another powerful man she knew, whose sleek hair bespoke the elegant aristocrat. And she wondered suddenly how life could so precipitously change. Only short weeks ago she'd lived in a rapturous paradise, and now her very existence was in peril. "I thought," she said with a touch of bitterness, "they might be content with their share. My sixty thousand is a minor part of Hotchane's wealth."

"It's so simple, though, to take it from you. How could they resist such easy prey?"

"There'd be pleasure, wouldn't there, in killing them," she caustically murmured, "although I have more important issues at stake." A new gravity shaded her eyes; her voice suddenly altered. "Something more critical than Matthew's avarice, more important than the d.a.m.ned money."

"The baby," Redmond quietly submitted.

Her throat closed on the words she was about to utter as she stared wide-eyed. And after a hushed moment she whispered, "How could you know?"

"Catherine told me...." He hesitated at the intimacy involved. It wasn't a man's subject-monthly courses missed or late. "Of the possibility you were with child," he added, a ruddy heat rising in his face at his feelings of awkwardness.

"Molly must have told Catherine." Her personal maid was taking reading lessons from Redmond's fiancee, who taught at the village school. "So everyone in the household is counting days." She grinned suddenly.

His faint smile was one of affirmation. "You seem happy; everyone is pleased for you. And wis.h.i.+ng you great joy."

"I'm not sure yet, although you're absolutely right, Redmond, I'm ecstatic. Or I was until Matthew Graham appeared. The thought of witchcraft charges causes some apprehension after the burning of that woman at Lanehead last spring. Everyone understands the Grahams own the judges in Redesdale. And Matthew's voice-when he said I should be married, that a woman alone couldn't manage an inheritance-seemed too confident. He may have spoken to a judge already. I'm wondering if I'd be safer married."

"Ravensby's certainly more influential than the Grahams. Surely, he could protect you."

"But he won't, of course."

"Why wouldn't he protect you?"

"No, marry me."

"Have you told him of the child?"

"It's too early yet. And, if I should be pregnant, I don't wish to tell him anyway."

"He might wish to know."

"I'm sure he wouldn't, Redmond. I'm very sure. So," she went on as if they were discussing the men's monthly stipends instead of the critical issue of her future, "I'm seriously thinking about accepting George Baldwin's marriage proposal. His is a prominent family in this area, his uncle sits on the a.s.size Court in Hexham, the Baldwins have been sheriffs of Tynedale for centuries. He could offer the protection I need against the Graham barristers and judges. And you could handle the Graham moss-troopers. I think it's a sensible solution."

"Wouldn't you rather have Ravensby?" It was a gentle question.

"Please, Redmond, don't ask me...." She shut her eyes briefly against the sudden intense longing. But when she gazed again at her captain a second later, her expression had reverted to a bland mask, the longing shut away. "There are countless reasons why Johnnie Carre isn't interested in my predicament," she quietly said. "Foremost, his strong disinclination to marry anyone at all. He has other children already, Redmond, and he's not married. Something to keep in mind. So I prefer a more practical approach, something within the realm of possibility." A kind of resolute briskness modified her tone. "George Baldwin, sweet man that he is, offers that workable solution. And most women don't marry for love anyway, Redmond. You know that as well as I. My marriage to George Baldwin would be no different from the vast majority. And I'm not asking for your approval," she gently added, her fingers unconsciously twisting the linen of her skirt. "Just your opinion on whether we can stop the Grahams from harming this"-she smiled-"possible child."

"Rest a.s.sured, we'll stop them," he simply said, wis.h.i.+ng her all the happiness within his power. "Between George Baldwin's authority in Northumberland and my troopers, your child will be safe."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, comforted by his certainty. "I owe you much, Redmond."

"I wish I could give you Ravensby."

"There are times," she said with a winsome smile, "when I wish you could too. But I'm content here, Redmond, I truly am. And if this child is real ..." She beamed then like a young girl without cares. "I couldn't ask for more."

"George Baldwin may want more," he cautioned. "Most men would want to own you like the old chief."

She shook her head, a small movement but emphatic. "Never again, Redmond, I vow. Not even for love. If George decides to marry me, it'll be on my terms. Even for his protection I'll not relinquish my freedom; I'll find some other means of defending myself against Matthew Graham's plans."

"Oh, Baldwin will agree to your terms," Redmond said. "The man wants you. But will he hold to his bargain?"

"This marriage settlement will be ironclad, I a.s.sure you." Her mouth tightened in a faint grimace. "With every eventuality considered."

"What of the child? If it's a boy, George won't likely want another man's child to inherit his barony."

"Nor would I expect him to."

"I see, Lady Graham," he said with an easy smile, "you've thought of everything then. So all I have to do is find you retainers who dislike the Grahams enough to kill them."

"Will that be difficult?" Elizabeth inquired with a teasing impudence, content with her plan, as aware as Redmond of the Grahams' systematic incursions on Northumberland cattle.

He laughed. "I'll have to turn them away."

Elizabeth postponed talking to George Baldwin for two weeks more, wanting added a.s.surance she was pregnant before bartering away a measure of her freedom to a man she viewed with so little emotion. But during that interval she lived in continual apprehension-watching the drive for unwelcome riders, listening to the guards making their rounds at night, taking lessons from Redmond on the fundamentals of shooting ... wondering what Matthew Graham was planning.

In that short time Redmond had augmented his troop by a hundred well-trained men, and Three Kings now resembled more an armed camp than a country estate.

Which condition George Baldwin remarked on when he entered Elizabeth's drawing room one warm autumn day in mid-September. Trim and neat in brown wool and a plain linen s.h.i.+rt, he dressed simply despite his extensive holdings.

"Apparently, you intend to defend yourself without England's aid if war comes with Scotland," he jibed, pulling his riding gloves off. "That's a rough-looking crew out there."

"Just a precaution," Elizabeth ambiguously answered. She wasn't yet ready to discuss the startling truth.

"Against the war?" His brows rose inquiringly.

"Against the future," she evasively answered. Before further interrogation, she quickly added, "Would you like tea or a brandy?"

And when he chose brandy, she thankfully poured him a substantial measure, thinking he'd have need of fortification before her proposal. They spoke of the weather then in the sunny room overlooking the garden-the doors open to the unseasonable warmth-agreeing on the idyllic autumn weather, moving on to the state of the harvests. They briefly discussed the health of the Queen, who'd suffered another painful attack of her gout, which led to conversation on the progress of the war, during which time Elizabeth considered at least a dozen introductory remarks, none of them adequate to her highly irregular situation, when George unknowingly initiated an opening. "The fall weather must agree with you, Elizabeth. You look absolutely radiant," he a.s.serted in his usual complimentary way. "Anne always worried about your slenderness and lack of appet.i.te. Not that I agreed with her," he quickly interjected, "for you always look perfect to me. But the change is one of noticeable bloom. And very becoming."

She found herself blus.h.i.+ng under his admiration, mainly from guilt, she reflected-knowing, as he did not, why her appearance was so glowing. "Thank you, George," she replied. "I do feel well." And she smiled across the small tea table at him, thinking for a brief moment his light hair was the wrong color, and he was much too small. The man she should be making this admission to had dark hair like midnight, and his presence filled a room.... "Actually, a matter of health was one of the reasons I invited you over," she quickly said before she lost her nerve, before she gave way to irrational dreams.

"Good G.o.d, you are well, aren't you?" The small tremor in her voice alarmed him.

"Yes, absolutely." She raised her palms in avowal, in charge of her feelings once again, the unrealistic dreams having been relegated to their rightful place. "I do, however, have a rather delicate matter to broach."

"I'm completely at your disposal," he instantly replied, gracious as usual. "And nothing is too delicate between friends. Although as you well know," he softly went on, "I wish we were more than friends."

"Well ... that is ... apropos our relations.h.i.+p," Elizabeth hesitantly began, struggling to find the appropriate words, "I have an unusual proposition to suggest...."

"Yes?" He'd set his brandy gla.s.s down at the curious import of her words, and his steady brown eyes gazed at her with a penetrating regard.

Taking a small breath, she swiftly blurted out before she lost her nerve, "I'd like to propose a mariage de convenance between us."

"My answer is yes," he immediately replied, with a faint smile.

"There's more."

"I rather thought there would be," he quietly said. "After Ravensby was here."

Her shock showed. "There are no secrets apparently-"

"I've heard no gossip, Elizabeth, if that's your concern, but I'm not an unworldly man. So you need a husband now."

She found herself nervously wringing her hands at the subtle degrees of courtesy required in explaining that she needed a husband only because of the Graham menace. How did one tell a man who professed love for you that if your child's life were not in danger, you would never consider marrying him? "I'm not proposing an alliance because of that," she began, and with as much diplomacy as possible, she explained Matthew Graham's threats and her need not only for armed protection but legal protection.

He listened politely, although he needed no added reasons to marry Elizabeth Graham, and when she'd finished the recital of events, he said, "I'd be honored to defend your interests in court. And the notion of witchcraft is utterly preposterous. Except perhaps in the haunted environs of Redesdale Forest. Actually, we could have the Grahams arrested the moment they set foot in Tynedale. Or summarily hanged, more likely, for their d.a.m.nable cattle stealing." He smiled at her and picked up his brandy again. "Consider the Grahams checked."

He spoke with an authority as self-a.s.sured as Matthew Graham's, and Elizabeth felt as though an enormous burden were lifted from her. "Thank you, George, so very much," she whispered, tears of relief welling in her eyes. "You're very kind." And she found herself suddenly crying uncontrollably, her emotions the last weeks unstable and erratic.

Immediately, George went to her and, sitting down beside her, drew her into his arms. "They can't harm you. I won't let them harm you," he soothed, holding her close. "And I love you enough for both of us, Elizabeth.... Please don't cry...."

His gentle words only caused more tears to fall as she felt an immense guilt flooding her mind. How could she so take advantage of his affection when she felt nothing in his embrace, not a single spark of feeling? Was she overreacting to her fear and putting herself in a more untenable position? Was she making a terrible mistake to save her child from risk? "Maybe I'm being too hasty," she murmured, drawing slightly away, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her fingers, desperately indecisive, a wave of inexplicable melancholy inundating her senses. "I'm asking too much of you ..." she whispered, "with an audacity you must think ill-mannered ... perhaps-"

"I won't let you retract your offer, darling," he said with a smile. "Do you know how long I've waited for this day? Since I met you almost a year ago, when you first came here looking for an estate. And at thirty-eight I don't care to wait when I've found the woman I love. So dry your tears, my sweet," he said, handing her his handkerchief, "and we'll begin planning our wedding. How soon would you like the ceremony?"

"Soon," she answered before she bolted from the room, her practical voice of reason repressing her urgent impulse to flee, feeling at that precarious instant not like an independent woman who'd determined the direction of her life, but like a small child deserted by everyone who loved her.

So she dutifully dried her eyes, because there was more yet to explain. Because she wasn't truly that small child except for rare, transient moments of despair, because she must see that her child's future was settled to advantage.

Elizabeth decided on a wedding date three weeks hence; it would take that long to have the lawyers draw up the marriage papers. And the banns had to be posted and the license taken out.

"We can dispense with the formalities if you wish," George declared. "My cousin is a justice of the peace and would be more than happy to handle the legalities if you'd prefer. We could be married immediately, if you wish. If you're concerned with gossip."

No, it's too soon, she thought, wis.h.i.+ng in her heart only for delay, although practicality required a speedy consummation. So she said, "Why don't we compromise on two weeks? How does October first sound to you? The weather should still be pleasant."

"Fine." She could have said now, and he would have concurred. "Where do you wish to be married?"

"I don't care." Her kitchen, a closet ... it mattered little to her.

"In that case I'll indulge my numerous relatives who populate this county," George pleasantly said, "and choose Hexham Cathedral."

She offered him ten thousand as a marriage dower. "But the rest I need to leave to this child, since I hardly expect you to endow him or her from your estates."

"Keep your ten thousand, Elizabeth. I don't need your money. And I'd be pleased to support any child of yours; even my t.i.tle and entailed property is available, should you wish this child to inherit my baronetcy. No one need know it's not mine."