An uneasy feeling prickled along the nape of Gabrielle's neck. The Black Douglas looked more determined than ever to keep and wed her.
She shuddered. This would never do!
If she must wed, she would obey her Queen and marry the man Elizabeth had chosen for her. She would marry Colin Douglas, the nicer of the Douglas twins. It was a much more tolerable fate than the alternative: being espoused to the man about whom horrible Border ballads had been written, the man whose nickname mothers on both sides of the Border used as a threat to make their children behave.
The seed of a plan sowed itself in the back of her fevered mind. It was a shaky plan, daring and risky, with little chance for success. Still, she'd nothing to lose by at least trying.
Her gaze shifted to the bowl The Black Douglas cradled in one big hand. Her smile was as wide as it was forced as she asked sweetly, "Might I have more soup now? 'Twould seem I'm hungry after all."
What Gabrielle thought but did not say was that strength was one property she'd need in abundance if her plan, tenuous though it was, had even a marginal chance of success.
Strength, and a lot more courage than she thought she possessed!
Chapter 4
"Say that again. I couldn't have heard ye right, lad."
"Ye heard correctly. Early this week, the Black Douglas stole Colin Douglas's bride right out from under his twin's nose."
"Och! I dinny believe it. Where? How?"
Short and well-toned lean, Gordie Maxwell had a thick shock of unruly red hair that he now impatiently combed all ten of his fingers through. His bootheels clicked against the hard stone floor as he paced in front of the hearth situated to the left of his father's desk. "In Dumfrees. As to the 'how'... well, methinks the younger Douglas twin shall be a fine muckle embarrassed for many fortnights to come when word gets out of how easily his bride was snatched from him. Connor simply had his men replace those of his brother's at the place where the transfer of the lady from the Elizabeth's men to that of the Douglas's was to take place."
"And the Queen's men dinny ken the difference?"
"If they had, would not the Lady Gabrielle be at Gaelside now, instead of Bracklenaer? Yet Bracklenaer is precisely where she be. Nay, Da, they dinny ken the difference. To a Sassenach, one Scot be the same as the next, ne'er mind the minor discrepancies in a mere two Douglases. 'Twas in Douglas hands they were ordered to relinquish the lass, and in Douglas hands she was relinquished."
"The wrong Douglas's hands," Johnny Maxwell pointed out tightly.
"Aye," his eldest son agreed, "but rumor has it the lass wasn't aware of that fact until recently."
"How on earth could she not ken who'd taken her?"
"She's also Sassenach, Da," Gordie said and shrugged, as though that explained everything. In a way, it did.
"Och! this is not good news, Gordie. not good a'tall." Johnny rested his elbows atop his desk, cradling his weathered forehead in his palms. "I kenned that Connor Douglas is bold," he sighed, "but... guddle me, I ne'er thought he'd do something like this!"
"They dinny call him The Black Douglas for naught."
"Aye, and well I'm starting to ken it," Johnny moaned. "'Tis a blessing and a curse, that nickname... a might fearsome reputation goes hand in hand with wearing it. Many's the Black Douglas of yore who were shown respect not for their merit but simply because of the tag. This time howe'er... aye, methinks this time be different. Methinks this time, the lad they call The Black Douglas is out to carve himself a status equal to none. A fame that in the end, shall stand above all others." His black eyes narrowed, clouding over with an ill-tempered memory, Johnny grudgingly added, "Any respect the lad is shown has naught to do with a mere nickname, but 'tis well earned."
Gordie, who'd been standing by the long, slit-shaped window, turned his head and stared at his father as though he'd never seen the man before. "Earned by deeds such as his latest ride against Caerlaverock? Dinny tell me ye've so soon forgotten that!"
"Forgotten? Ha!" Johnny's laughter was as harsh and dry as the weathered skin that stretched taut over his harshly carved cheekbones. He sat back in his chair, his shrewd gaze lifting and falling slowly as he assessed his son. "Och! nay," he said, waving the thought away with a gesture of his hand, "the Douglas's raid is naught more forgotten than 'tis lived down—which is to say 'tis neither. If I had to guess, lad, I'd wager young mithers will be singing that dreadful Border ballad aboot the episode long after we're both deep under this country's fine soil."
"Have a care, Da, ye're beginning to sound as though ye admire him," Gordie growled accusingly.
"Mayhap I do."
"Nay!"
"Aye! How can I not? Oh, aye, I'll admit 'twas a time I'd nae small reputation of me own, but that was when I was maun, maun younger. E'en in me prime I'd not have dared aught so bold against a family so strong, a family I'd a centuries-auld blood feud with. Yet The Black Douglas dares that and, with his latest escapade against his twin, maun. Kidnapping the Lady Gabrielle threatens to bring down upon his head the wrath of both young James and that sourpuss old Bess. One doesn't have to like what Connor Douglas does to admire his guile and daring for doing it, don't ye ken? Och! lad, stop scowling and shaking yer head at me."
"I dinny believe I'm hearing this, and from me own da nae less! Are ye going to let a Douglas, any Douglas, get away with stealing a goodly portion of Caerlaverock's beasties and to many prisoners to count?"
"O' course not."
"But ye just said—"