The Intended Page 15

  While Nell eased back onto the settle to nurse her son, Jaime stood up and moved to the small table by the fire, and the two women continued their conversation—this time about the children and about Kate’s musical progress. As they talked, Jaime realized that if she could remain anywhere—other than beside Malcolm—there was no place she preferred to be as much as in this cottage. Whenever she came to visit Nell, a comfortable sense of contentedness would creep into her. But now, the morning was wearing on, and Jaime knew Nell had little time this day for idle chat.

  Walking across the cottage floor, Jaime emptied the basket of food and put out the small presents she had made for the mother and son, before heading outdoors and starting back for the house.

  Her dealings with Nell and with the other folk working on the duke’s land and in the palace always brought back memories for Jaime of her childhood in Scotland. There, in the Macpherson clan lands, the separation of the noble family from the people like Nell and her husband was unheard of. In many clans that Jaime knew of, the lairds and others of noble blood worked side by side with the common folk. The clan folk were loyal enough—they would die for the honor of their name without thinking twice—but the bonds that secured that loyalty were the thick cords of compassion and fair dealing. And this was the only way for Jaime.

  Looking about and nodding to the passing workers, Jaime made her way through the grounds while her mind tried to think of ways to occupy the rest of her day. She had already held her music lessons with the children early this morning, so that was done. Breathing in the fresh spring air, she glanced over at the direction of the stables. But she shook her head. In spite of the fine weather, the idea of staying outdoors and going for a ride held no interest for her today. And she had every good reason for avoiding the falconer, so she steered away from the mews. But she also was in no mood to return to her room for an idle chat with Mary over the plans for the wedding that her cousin was busily fancying in her mind.

  Jaime shook her head again. She had been intentionally ignoring all thoughts of Edward over the past few days. She had absolutely no desire to think of a wedding. Especially not one that tied her to him for life. She didn’t want to spoil her day with such images, so she thought of Malcolm.

  She hadn’t seen him since the day before. Between Caddy caring for him, and the return of the physician, Jaime had decided that—since her own emotions were undoubtedly apparent—she should keep her distance. To be sure, she needed time to gather her wits about her and put a lid on the boiling pot of her passion. They had come far too close to being caught the day before. And they had gone way too far in giving in to their desires.

  Even now, her heart pounded to think how forward she had been. How bold he must have thought her in presenting herself to him so openly. A mere kiss hadn’t been enough. She had encouraged him to touch her in places she’d never been touched before. She had asked him to treat her as a woman. For one with no intimate experience, she had almost fooled herself. Groaning inwardly as she thought of their encounter, Jaime now decided that killing herself for her boldness might not be out of the question. Now that he’d had time to think back over how wantonly she’d behaved, his earlier opinion had probably been confirmed. In Malcolm’s eyes, she thought, Jaime Macpherson had become nothing more than an English harlot.

  A discomforting, prickly heat swept through her, and Jaime decided that the music room could offer her the best refuge. As she strode up the path past the gardens, troubling thoughts continued to burden Jaime’s mind; and a gnawing, empty feeling that accompanied those thoughts filled her with a restlessness and occupied her completely. Stepping across the threshold of an open door, Jaime looked up, suddenly conscious that her legs, of their own accord, had carried her to a place other than her intended destination. Looking down the corridor that held the surgery, Jaime let out a long, slow breath.

  Consciously, she had not wanted to be here, but here she stood, nonetheless. Against her better judgment, she had been drawn to his room. Something had taken control of her, led her to him, and—suddenly—Jaime felt somehow liberated by the moment. Moving down the corridor, she realized it didn’t matter what he thought of her. It didn’t matter if all the others—if everyone in England, for that matter—thought she spent too much time by his side. She would take the abuse. The only thing that mattered was that she wanted to see him. She needed to see him. She would see him.

  Jaime glanced first inside the empty workroom of Master Graves, for the physician’s door stood open. Bottles of ingredients and decocted brews cluttered the table that generally sat empty in the middle of the room. Steam rose ominously from a huge, half barrel in the corner, and the air smelled sharply of herbs.

  Stepping past the room, she realized that there was something amiss. None of the guards who had been posted in these corridors since Malcolm arrived were to be seen. They were all gone, and the corridor was eerily silent and empty. Jaime quickened her pace and advanced on Malcolm’s closed door. Without pausing to knock or call, she lifted the latch and pushed the heavy oak door open wide.

  Chapter 20

  “I knew that I would find you here!”

  Jaime swung around and stared blankly at the countess of Surrey.

  “Come now, my dear. Come with me, at once.” Frances reached out and grabbed Jaime by the hand. “Surrey has had servants out searching the entire palace. I believe they’re preparing the grappling lines for a search of the trout pond. We mustn’t make things worse by keeping him waiting, you know!”

  Somewhat stunned, Jaime took couple of steps, before recovering herself and planting her feet. “Wait!” she protested, turning and looking back into Malcolm’s empty room. “I...I...Where is...”

  Frances slipped her arm through Jaime’s and propelled her with firmness down the hall. “Later, my dear. Later. We simply must hurry now. Surrey hasn’t much patience, I’m afraid, when it comes to waiting.”

  As Jaime reluctantly allowed herself to be dragged away, her heart pounded fiercely and her mind worriedly searched for answers.

  Something dreadful had happened to Malcolm, of that she was certain. But where was he? Had he been taken back to Norwich Castle? Someone must have decided he had recovered to the point of being...what, dangerous? Able to escape? But who, she thought. My God, she hadn’t considered this before. What would become of him now that his wounds were healing? If he went back to Norwich he would certainly become fair game for the cruelty of the jailer, Reed. But who...? Edward, she thought, her body suddenly filled with ice cold dread.

  “Is Edward back?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

  Frances never slowed her pace, but turned with a surprised look, before smiling and giving Jaime's hand an understanding pat.

  Jaime cringed, certain that she would scream if one more person mistook her inquiries into Edward’s whereabouts as stemming from affection.

  “Nay, my dear, he hasn’t returned as yet,” Frances answered plainly. “We don’t expect him back for another fortnight at least, unless you know more about it than Surrey does.”

  Jaime shook her head. Then why had Malcolm been sent back to Norwich? she wanted to ask. Certainly she would have heard if he had caused any trouble since she’d seen him last. Her heart sank in her chest. Could it have been that somehow the letter she had delivered to the physician had gotten into the wrong hands, and now Malcolm must suffer the added precaution of being put under tighter guard? Jaime knew that the physician’s apprentice had traveled back to Cambridge the day after she’d spoken with Master Graves. Had the man been waylaid? Had he betrayed them all?

  Reaching the double oak doors that led into the earl and countess’s chambers, Frances paused and looked Jaime fully in the face.

  “You seem pale, cousin. Are you unwell?”

  “I’m feeling a bit winded,” she whispered in answer.

  Frances ran a gentle hand down Jaime’s arm. “Be strong, my dear.” And with no further words, she turned and nodded to the attendant to o
pen the door.

  Jaime felt the Surreys’ large sitting room swallow her whole as she stepped into it. Her body vibrated like a hollow drum from the furious pounding of her heart against the walls of her chest, filling her head with such a noise that she wondered if it would render inaudible all other sounds. The room seemed unnaturally bright to her and, as she focused on the back of Frances’s head as the woman moved quietly to her husband’s side, Jaime thought for a moment that fainting was not out of the question. But the moment passed, and Jaime continued to stand by the door, awaiting the earl’s first words.

  “Cousin Jaime,” he said, his voice warm and friendly. “You are more difficult to track down than a sparrow in the forest. I’ve had three pages and I don’t know how many servants return empty-handed before Frances offered to look for you herself.”

  Straightening her back and lifting her chin, Jaime returned the earl’s gaze. “I was at Evan the falconer’s hut this morning, m’lord. His wife Nell has just delivered a healthy baby boy.”

  “God bless her! Let’s see, how many children does that make it now? Five? Six?”

  “This child is their tenth.”

  “By God, you know these folk better than I do. And how is the little fellow doing?”

  “The mother and son are both in good health, m’lord.”

  The Earl of Surrey turned and took his wife by the hand. “Frances, you will be sure to send word to the kitchens about sending them a basket of some sort.”

  “I believe,” Frances responded, nodding with a smile toward Jaime, “that someone has already seen to that.”

  “Ahh, very good,” Surrey said, turning his attention back to Jaime. Waving a hand in her direction, the earl beckoned for Jaime to approach. “You don’t have to stand by the door, Jaime. Come...come and join us. We’ve been waiting long enough for you to arrive.”

  As Jaime started in, the earl turned to his wife. “So, my love, where did you find her, at last? Did you have to go all the way back to the falconer’s cottage?”

  Frances shook her head. “Nay, I guessed that on the way back from the cottages, our good cousin would stop and check on you.”

  Jaime’s eyes stared at Frances, realizing that her last words had been addressed to someone else in the room. Someone standing behind Jaime at the far end of the room.

  Perhaps it was the quick turn of her head or perhaps it was her sudden relief, but whatever the cause, Jaime’s light-headedness returned in an instant. Malcolm stood beside the fireplace, his arm folded over his chest. Staring at him, she realized that if her heart had been pounding before, it now threatened to burst within her.

  “He is much improved, wouldn’t you say, Jaime?”

  He looked so different. So clean. Dressed in impeccably fitted doublet and hose, he was the picture of both nobility and manly perfection. Her eyes traveled the lines of his handsome face to his dark eyes.

  “He is a quick healer,” she said, hurriedly turning her gaze back to the earl and the countess.

  “He owes his life to you,” Surrey added.

  She shook her head. “Master Graves was the one who saved him.”

  “But you were the one who talked that brother of mine into taking him out of Norwich. You were the one who sneaked into the stables and worked beside the physician until you knew he would live.”

  Jaime could feel the color rise into her cheeks. She had thought no one in the household other than Mary and Caddy had known of what she had done that day. She quickly glanced at Malcolm. He continued to stand as if he had not a care in the world—as if his name were not the subject of discussion here.

  “Also, from what I hear,” the earl continued while moving in and sitting himself in a chair, “when Graves left for Cambridge, you were the one who went to him and nursed him back to health.”

  “I wasn’t the only one,” Jaime put in. “My servant Caddy helped. Also Mary...”

  The earl of Surrey waved her off with a smile. “Nothing against our cousin Mary,” he said as he turned to Malcolm, “but you were far too dirty, too bloody, and too ugly for her to lay a finger on!” The earl turned his attention back to Jaime. “Unlike you, dear cousin, Mary has been brought up quite sheltered from the outside world and most unlikely to be of much help to you.”

  “She did offer,” Jaime said weakly in her defense.

  “No doubt.” Surrey smiled. “None of us care to miss out on any excitement!”

  Jaime opened her mouth to argue but then closed it at once. What was the point of all of this? Was he giving her credit for caring for Malcolm, or was he suggesting that some other motive had prompted her actions? Malcolm was still standing silently by the hearth. Though his face was still pale and bruised, he looked so strong that a casual observer might never guess that he had recently been so badly injured. He certainly was not being treated like a prisoner, standing in this chamber—unchained and unguarded—with the earl and the countess present.

  Surrey’s eyes traveled from Malcolm back to Jaime. “I assume you two have crossed paths in the past. In Scotland, perhaps?”

  Jaime gave a quick glance in Malcolm’s direction. The Highlander’s gaze was stern and fixed on Surrey’s face. How much had he already told Surrey about their pasts? Malcolm left his place at the hearth and seated himself in a chair directly across from Surrey.

  “We have, m’lord,” she answered as lightly as she could.

  “Ahh, so that’s how you recognized him at Norwich? Oh, Jaime, I haven’t offered you a glass of wine.” Surrey waved toward a crystal decanter on a side table and looked at his wife and at Malcolm.

  Jaime declined and the earl proceeded to fill his own cup. His tone was light and conversational, but Jaime could see he was listening very closely to her responses.

  “You two aren’t by any chance related by blood?”

  Jaime stared at Malcolm. They had spent many years under the same roof. They both were loved by the same family and raised as kin. But they were not kin.

  “Nay, m’lord. We are not!” she replied, speaking truthfully.

  “Friends? Acquaintances?”

  “Surrey!” Frances interjected with a tone of mild admonition. “Why don’t you ask her what you want to know? You’re bullying the poor dear!”

  “I?” the earl replied, his smiling face the very image of one unjustly accused.

  But Jaime was not amused, and her eyes burned into Surrey’s. If this was a test to compare whatever answers Malcolm had given him against hers, she felt certain that she was bound to fail. She certainly had no idea of how long they’d been talking. She had no idea, even, how well the two knew each other. Aside from both being former students of the great teacher, Erasmus, there was nothing that she could think of that would tie these two together. She weighed her words carefully, and her tone was resolute when she spoke.

  “Lord Surrey, I have many friends. Here, in Scotland, in France. Among the common folks and nobles. I consider you and your wife friends. But your questions seem to insinuate something underhanded.”

  “It is true, Surrey,” Frances agreed, moving beside Jaime. “You do seem to be implying something. Why don’t you just say what you mean.”

  “My dear Frances, I’m merely interested in these two. My questions are certainly not meant to hint at any wrongdoing on anyone’s part.”

  “You have had her on the rack with this inquisition of yours from the first moment she stepped in here, Surrey,” Frances rebutted. “If I had known you wanted to bring her in here for this,” the young woman dismissed him with a sweep of her hand, “I would never have found her for you.”

  With her arm around Jaime’s shoulders and a threatening frown darkening her features, Surrey’s wife forced a smile to his lips. He turned to the Highlander. “These women! I should have known that they would side together against us!”

  Jaime’s face flushed red as she tried to comprehend Surrey’s words. She considered his use of the word ‘us’ and wondered whether he meant more than ap
peared. After all, she welcomed Frances’s support, but what was happening here seemed so vague and unreal to her, like a scene in a masque or a guild play. What was really behind the earl’s questions? If this were indeed some kind of masque, Jaime wanted to know what role she was supposed to be playing. She decided on a direct assault.

  “M’lord,” she said. “In Scotland they say that opening a shutter brings more light than kindling a candle. If I knew what exactly it is that you are after, I am certain I could shed far more light on whatever you wish to know.”

  Surrey, obviously pondering her words, gazed at her as he sipped from his cup. With a parting squeeze on her arm, Frances moved away from Jaime’s side and sat herself in a chair, picking up some needlework she had laid aside sometime earlier. The earl laid his cup down, and when he spoke, his voice carried in it a gentleness that had been absent before.

  “I simply need to ease my mind on something, cousin,” he said. “Tell me, Jaime, what is...I mean, what was between you and the MacLeod here? If you think about it, I believe you’ll agree that it is my right to know.”

  This time Jaime caught Malcolm’s eyes as they lifted to her face. As she searched their depths, she was shocked to find there no gentleness, no affection, no love for her in any form. The hard lines of his brow spoke of anger. She even thought she could sense a coldness, a hint of boredom in his face. As handsome as he now looked with his improving health and his clean clothes, she yearned for the old Malcolm.

  She decided then to be done with it. She turned and looked directly at Surrey. “What I said before of us being no kin was the truth. But as you know, I am a Macpherson, and he—Malcolm MacLeod—was raised by my uncle and his wife. His father was Torquil MacLeod, a friend to the English, and Malcolm was orphaned at the young age of seven. For service to the Scottish king, my uncle was made laird of Malcolm’s lands. He could have kept those lands for the Macpherson clan, but instead, my uncle and his wife chose to raise Malcolm as their own and have take over the lairdship of his land once he came of age.”