Page 29 of Tempted
Wedding bells were the death knell for love Love was a myth in itself, perpetrated by females and poets. He’d never seen a happy union in his life. Lord Alexander Douglas and Lady Damaris Kennedy had had everything going for them. Their union had joined two of Scotland’s greatest clans. Not only that, but both of their great-grandfathers had married daughters of King Robert III, so their marriage linked them with the royal house. How long had it lasted—twelve days? A fortnight?
His mind strayed to his mother and father. There was a union made in hell They’d lived at the top of their lungs, not caring if the whole world knew of their savage exchanges How many nights had he comforted Gavin and Cameron as they crawled into his bed shaking? His mother was a Ramsay, giving as good as she got Threats, fights, recriminations, betrayals, beatings. He had been ten when she left. She’d taught him the hypocrisy of the sanctity of marriage.
His relentless mind moved on. The biggest sham in Scotland was their king’s marriage. James IV had a weakness for women, and Scotland thanked God for it. His father had been a raving homosexual who had failed to keep his minions in his bedchamber but allowed them in the council chamber. His ruling chiefs could not stomach such a thing; sodomy was not a Scots vice. Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, had led the men who had dragged the king’s catamites out and hanged them. Ram’s thoughts shied away from examining his uncle too closely and returned to the king’s marriage. James had avoided the matrimonial trap until he was thirty, then for the weal of the realm and to beget heirs, he’d been persuaded to wed fourteen-year-old Margaret Tudor, Princess of England.
Their marriage was a nightmare. The princess had a flat, pudgy face like a lump of dough and a stodgy body to match, yet she was highly sexed. James himself had once confided to Ram that he feared impotence when he had to bed her. Though they’d now been wed over eight years, every pregnancy had ended in a dead child. The queen had just produced another puny bairn, so there still might be no heirs to the throne. Even a sanctified marriage was no guarantee of heirs. Marriage in fact was a guarantee of naught save misery!
Ram reflected that he was past thirty, and he knew it was his duty to produce strong Douglas sons to inherit the land, titles, and wealth and to keep the clan powerful. One of these days he’d have to hold his nose and take the plunge. When the time came, he’d yield to expediency. He’d listen to his head and choose the wife who would bring him the most wealth and power. He could listen to his blood when he chose his mistresses, and if worse came to worst, there were ways of ridding yourself of an unwanted woman.
Valentina Kennedy’s day began splendidly. Ada brought her a breakfast tray with the most divine-smelling, freshly baked French bread. The first strawberries of the season sat in a compote of clotted cream. Mr. Burque had followed Lord Kennedy’s orders to serve everyone at Doon with porridge, but he had provided a jug of sweet golden syrup to make the oatmeal palatable. Tina picked up the fruit but pushed away the fluffy eggs surrounded by thick cured ham.
“I’ll join you,” Ada said, picking up the plate. “If I have to suffer your brothers’ company through one more meal, the back of my skull will fall in. Their tempers are ready to explode.”
“Isn’t it wonderful that for once trouble has passed me by?”
Ada laughed, but at the same time she felt sorry for the lads. “Poor buggers, how the hell are they to hide two hundred shaggy Highland cattle amongst our own herds of red and white Ayrshires?”
“That’s their problem,” Tina said, throwing back the covers.
Ada gave a little gasp as a man climbed in at the open casement. “Heath! God’s nails, you scared me.”
“Liar.” He grinned, spanning her waist with his strong brown hands and lifting the woman for a kiss. “There isn’t a man breathing scares you!”
He occupied the spot Tina had just vacated and pulled the breakfast tray toward him. “‘Tis a bonnie day for a ride,” he told Tina, his rogue’s eyes sparkling.
“Heath, you didn’t!” she squealed with excitement. “Close your eyes while I put on a riding dress.”
The moment he’d denuded the tray of every last morsel, he swung his leg across the sill. Tina prepared to follow him. “Use the stairs, Firebrand—you’re a lady, not a Gypsy,” he said.
“Praise God one of you remembers,” Ada said, rolling her eyes.
Heath had the mare tethered down by the river, away from the castle. As she approached, Tina thought she’d never beheld such a memorable picture in her life. Above, thrushes and yellow hammers flitted in the hazels. She walked across a carpet of moss and ladyferns and slowly held out her hand to the graceful mare. The animal pricked its ears forward, staring at her intently; then catching her scent and accepting her, she lowered her head, blew through her nostrils, and allowed Tina’s hand to rest upon her velvet nose. “Oh, her lines are superb, her color indescribable!” Tina exclaimed with awe. “Wherever did you manage to find her?”
“At the horse fair in Paisley,” he said with a straight face. He took a paper from his shirt. “Listen to me, Tina. It’s important that you have this bill of sale to prove ownership—she’s had one or two owners recently.”
She glanced at him knowingly and took the paper. “Her name must reflect her color. Her coat is the hue of damsons or aubergines—let’s see, Heliotrope doesn’t sound right. I know, I’ll call her Indigo!” She took a few steps back to observe the animal’s lines. Behind Indigo, the water cascaded over the rocks into a deep pool surrounded by bog-myrtle and marsh marigolds The morning sun filtered through the trees, making a nimbus of light about the purple equine, turning it into some mythical, magical creature from the Arabian nights. She looked at the paper again. “Did you really pay this much for her?”
His teeth flashed. “I won her in a knife-throwing contest.”
“I believe you; thousands wouldn’t.”
He lifted her to the mare’s back. “I know you are far too impatient to take her to the stables to be saddled. Just be careful,” he admonished, “and don’t lose that paper.”
Valentina discovered Indigo had a sensitive mouth and responded beautifully to the slightest pull on the bit, but when given her head she could run as fast as the wind. They rode along the banks of the River Doon all the way into the seaport of Ayr. Tina wanted to see how the animal reacted on the streets of a busy town.
Something was causing a stir down at the quay. Curious, she rode through the crowd that had gathered. Suddenly her heart, which had been so high, plummeted to her feet and her spirits sank to the pit of her stomach. The Thistle Doon rode at anchor badly damaged. She now boasted only half a mast, and her taffrails had been blown away by what must have been cannon fire.
Tina dismounted hastily as she saw her mother being helped into a litter. “Mother, whatever happened?” she cried.
“Tina, thank God!” thundered Rob Kennedy, taking a firm grasp of her arm and propelling her some distance from the litter. “The bloody woman will drive me tae violence if ye dinna get her outa ma sight.” His face was purple with choler.
“What happened?”
“The bloody English is what happened! They attacked ma ship, stole ma precious wool, almost sank us. I’ve been limpin’ home fer days, an’ all the bloody woman has done is cry!” He cast a scornful look down the quay. “I tell ye, lass, nothin’ good ever came up from England. Deliver me, there’s a good lass.”
“I’ll take her home and see to her needs,” Tina said, and for once her heart went out to the gentlewoman’s plight.
“‘Tis a curse tae be wed tae a woman who expects ye tae dance attendance on her. I’ve dispatched a rider tae fetch Archibald Kennedy, and I see Arran is here. I’ve a complaint or two fer the bloody admiral. The king must be informed that the English are attackin’ our ships, and all the pathetic woman can do is weep an’ wail an’ gnash her teeth!”
