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  “How is Jaime faring, Master Graves?” Malcolm asked in a low voice.

  “Resting. As she should!”

  “Is she getting enough to eat and drink?” Malcolm probed. “I heard from Lady Frances at dinner last night that Jaime has not been even slightly awake now for two days. This is all part of the ruse, is it not?”

  The physician placed a hand on a sore shoulder. “She could be an actor in the saint’s plays, I should think. I reduced the amount we’ve been giving her yesterday, so my medicines should only be making her a bit dozy. With that, she should have only drowsiness and short stretches of sleep, not the stupor she appears to be in. But again, I haven’t seen her alone since then. Since there have always been others around, she may be acting even with me.”

  “I want you to stop giving her whatever it is you have been,” Malcolm stated firmly. “Surrey has already sent a message to his father that she has taken ill. I think he is resigned not to send her to court for a while.”

  Graves nodded. “I was thinking myself that it is the thing to do. I think Mistress Jaime’s serving woman Caddy is becoming quite concerned about her mistress.”

  Malcolm swung into his saddle as the hunting party prepared to move off.

  “When do you plan to take her?” the physician asked quietly.

  Malcolm leaned over, pretending to fix a strap on his stirrup. “Midsummer’s Eve. Perhaps the day before.”

  “That is less than a week! She might not have her legs under her by then.”

  “We must do what is necessary.” Malcolm looked determinedly at the physician and then patted the folded letter tucked inside his belt. “But who knows what news you brought me today. It may just be that...everything has been delayed. We might, Master Graves, have more time than we think.

  Edward slipped the unopened letter from Catherine into his belt as his father entered the chamber.

  The duke of Norfolk didn’t accept his son’s offer for wine nor his motion to take a seat. In fact, Edward now noticed that his father had advanced no further than three steps into the room. So, he thought, the duke was rejecting him, disassociating himself with his own kin and with whatever wrongdoing Edward was being accused of. This was suddenly quite apparent in the old man’s behavior and quite, quite clear to Edward.

  But he already knew the reason for this visit. The same messenger who had brought him Catherine’s letter only moments ago had also brought Surrey’s message to the duke. The man had relayed to him the news of Jaime, though he had known very little of the details other than a sudden illness had struck down the mistress. But before leaving, the man had suggested that Lady Catherine’s message might provide more answers. Edward patted his belt—where her letter lay.

  “So, Father, I hear my dearly beloved has decided to play the unwilling bride!”

  “She is sick, Edward. But she will mend,” the duke added. “Surrey has assured me in this letter that as soon as she takes a turn for the better, she’ll be sent here to Nonsuch Palace.”

  “But by then my head may be on a pike and halfway to London Bridge!” Edward said with a false smile as he reached over and filled up the cup in his hand. Pausing, he pushed the drink away and stared at it. “Do you think I can use my dear brother’s letter in my defense, Father? Do you believe the great lords of the High Steward’s Court will pardon me based on my own words?” He laughed bitterly. “Could you just see me making my plea? My lords, you have to spare my head on the block. After all, I am the future husband of Jaime Tudor. Aye, my lords. Tudor! She is the bastard daughter of the king. It is because of me my lords that her true identity has come forth. Reuniting a father and daughter--what generous heart I carry! I...”

  “I will write His Majesty a letter and ask for a delay in your hearings,” the duke said shortly, interrupting the younger man’s talk.

  “But don’t you think I’d be better off if you didn’t?” Edward asked with a smirk. “Knowing you and your reputation, father, I’d be afraid that your letter might do me more damage than good.” He grabbed at his cup. “Am I not a terrible liability to you now? Before these ridiculous rumors ever started to surface, you were again favored in the king’s eye, thanks to his lust for Catherine. But now—an accused son! What a disgrace you must think me,” Edward raised his cup in salute to the older man before draining every drop of it.

  The duke of Norfolk growled at him from where he stood—so far away. “It’s not your alleged villainy that disgraces me, Edward, but your cowardly behavior now. All because you have been detained...”

  “Imprisoned,” Edward corrected.

  “Imprisoned? Have you forgotten what that really means? You, the man who have made Norwich Castle a terror for all who had ever been put in chains. You consider this a prison?” The duke’s eyes glanced at the direction of the pitchers of wine and the rumpled bed at the far side of the room. “We don’t allow whoring and drinking in our prisons, Edward.”

  Edward laughed. “Whoring?”

  The duke waved a hand in the air. “I don’t care how much gold you throw away on these wenches--all I care about is for you to once again look respectable.”

  “I don’t believe the vultures who pick at the dead bodies after the executions are very discriminating when it comes to looks.”

  “Edward, continue to act like this and you are doomed.”

  “Am I not already?” He reached over and picked up the pitcher of wine again.

  “I have spoken to His Majesty.”

  Edward paused, the pitcher in hand. “You told him about Jaime?”

  “I’ve only hinted,” the duke said encouragingly. “I didn’t mention her name nor her whereabouts. But I did speak as if I had heard rumors of a royal love child.”

  “And?” Edward asked, suddenly more revived than he had been in days.

  “His Majesty was quite interested in finding out more. Edward, it doesn’t matter what the verdict of High Steward’s Court might be—the king has the power to pardon.”

  Edward placed the pitcher and cup back on the table and looked up into his father’s face. “And you think he would pardon a son-in-law?”

  “He seemed pleased—curious and yet pleased to hear what I had to say.” The duke’s face reflected the confidence in his words. “So stop playing the doomed martyr. Prepare yourself. Surrey will send her here as soon as she is well, and then you’ll have the chance to present her—your wedded wife—to His Majesty.”

  Edward leaned back in his chair and thought over everything he just had heard his father say. “But what if the fact that I have married her angers him more? My head will still adorn a pike atop London Bridge.”

  “I’ve already thought that through.”

  “You have?”

  The duke ran a hand down the front of his velvet robe. “Aye. We’ll twist the truth a bit and tell him how shocked we are in learning it ourselves. And then we’ll offer to have the marriage annulled...as a token of your loyalty and goodwill.”

  “Annulled?” Edward stood up quickly.

  “Aye.” The duke raised his hand to silence his son. “But there will be no annulment. I am having documents drawn up as we speak, dated two months ago, attesting to the betrothal. The banns have been waved by the Archbishop of Norwich and all that is left is a simple ceremony and the consummation.” Norfolk cast an eye toward the unmade bed. “And you should be able to handle that, I should think.”

  “You make it sound all so simple.”

  “It is,” the duke stressed. “The king will be satisfied that his daughter—even without the condition of legitimacy—has found a suitable marriage with a great family that is loyal to him. All you need do, my boy, is sit back and wait for her arrival—perhaps in a few days.”

  Edward took a walk around his chair and placed a hand on his belt where Catherine’s letter nestled.

  “Clean yourself up and be ready. Things are certain to improve.”

  Edward acknowledged the older man’s words with a nod. But a moment l
ater, as the heavy oaken door swung shut behind his father the duke, he pulled Catherine’s letter from its hiding place and broke open the seal.

  Chapter 38

  After letting the Highlander in, the small woman looked hesitantly up and down the hall before backing into the room and closing the door firmly behind her. An instant later Caddy followed Malcolm MacLeod to the side of Jaime’s bed. As he leaned over the sleeping frame of the young woman and touched her gently on the cheek, the older woman looked on, her anxious expression matching the grim one on the man’s face.

  “I am so glad you’ve come. She hasn’t been well, and I didn’t know who to go to, m’lord,” the woman’s voice carried on over Malcolm's shoulder. “I mean Master Graves is the one supposed to look after her, but whatever it is he is giving her has been making my mistress terribly sick. She hasn’t even opened her eyes in two days. The first day that she took to this bed she slept most of the day away, but still she woke up every now and then. She knew where she was, but this time...” The woman nervously wrung her hands. “I just can’t help thinking that there is something wrong.”

  Malcolm's fingers traced Jaime’s dry lips and caressed the soft skin of her face. “The physician said he was stopping all his potions yesterday.” He removed a soaked linen cloth from her brow. “What is this doing here?” he asked shortly, bringing the cloth to his nose and shaking his head. The sweet cloying smell of opium.

  “I don’t know, m’lord,” the woman whispered worriedly. “I just thought that it had been left by Master Graves. I didn’t know there was anything on it. But I haven’t put it on her brow, anyway. Since yesterday, when the physician said he was cutting back on the medicines, I haven’t given her anything. But then I...”

  Malcolm touched Jaime’s hands. They were cold and clammy. “Who has been looking after her when you are not here?”

  “One of Lady Frances’s servants has been sitting with Mistress Jaime whenever I go to the kitchens for food.” The woman leaned over and took the soaked linen cloth out of Malcolm's outstretched hand and gave him a dry one in its stead.

  “Who else?” Malcolm questioned as he gently wiped Jaime’s wet brow. “Who else has been left alone with your mistress?”

  The woman followed Malcolm's gaze as he nodded toward the table. Understanding his request, she poured some water from a pitcher into a wooden bowl.

  “No one else,” she said, handing him the bowl.

  As he began to dip the cloth in it, Malcolm stared down at the liquid, then lifted it to his face and sniffed at it.

  “Something has been added to this. Has she been drinking water from this pitcher today?”

  “Not today, m’lord.” The woman leaned over and stared in disbelief at the cloudy liquid. She shook her head firmly. “On my mother’s soul, she hasn’t! I tried to have her sip some broth I brought back from the kitchen earlier, but she was too sleepy to have anything to do about it. But then...I know I washed out this pitcher and put fresh water in it this morning. But here...these things on the table. Perhaps someone mixed in something.”

  Malcolm glanced in the direction that the older woman pointed. There were still remnants of what the physician must have used earlier laying about. “Who else, other than the servants you spoke of, has been here? Who from the house?”

  As she talked, the older woman began to gather what remained of the medicines onto a tray. “Lady Frances comes in every few hours to check on the mistress, but whenever she’s come—I’ve been here. And Mistress Mary was here the first day that this poor child took sick, but she hasn’t been back since. In fact, she has already had all of her things taken out of this chamber.” The woman paused a moment, and then brightened as a thought struck her. “Wait! The serving girl that was here when I got back with the broth told me that Mistress Catherine had stopped here before her ride.”

  Malcolm looked over his shoulder. “Was Jaime left alone with Catherine?”

  The woman reddened in the face before nodding in assent. “She did tell me...she said something about Mistress Catherine sending her up to her chamber for a cloak. Oh my, she did also mention that this was the second day in the row that Mistress Catherine was forgetting something in her room and sending her after it. And yesterday, too, the girl told me that her ladyship waited here with Jaime until she returned.” Caddy held a small sack of herbs to her chest. “You don’t think that she would want to hurt...”

  The look of anger in the Highlander’s face silenced her.

  Malcolm turned his gaze back to Jaime as he threw the linen cloth to the side and framed Jaime’s cold face in between his hands. She looked pale and lifeless, her breathing heavy. He stared at the dark circles under her eyes. Damn Catherine, Malcolm swore under his breath. This was her doing. It was all clear, now. She had been poisoning Jaime, giving her more than she needed...or giving her something else.

  “But why, m’lord?” Caddy croaked. “Everyone loves...”

  The older woman continued to talk but Malcolm was too angry to listen. He should have guessed that Catherine was up to no good two nights ago when she had invited him to meet her in Jaime’s chamber—as she lay unconscious. Malcolm swore under his breath, the filthy wench! He would kill her right now if she were near!

  “Go after the physician,” he barked to the older woman. “Go after him and bring him here at once.”

  Caddy, moving like a woman half her age, scurried out of the chamber and down the corridor.

  The long stone corridor wound downward into the dark, ever downward into the void. Hands caught at her as she ran, holding her back, pushing her on. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it ready to burst; her lungs were at the point of collapse. Jaime twisted and turned, tearing away the hands, trying desperately to push ahead.

  And the sound of Edward’s steps—sharp, terrifying as thunder—grew ever nearer.

  “Whore! Slut! WHORE!” His shouts continued, wavering in their clarity, as if his words were being plunged—over and over—in some thick cloud, in a swirling muddied pool, in a shroud.

  And on she ran. Jaime glanced over her shoulder at the masculine shape lurching after her. She fell against the wall. The grasping hands were gone, replaced now by wet, slick stones that stung her skin like poison. Needles of pain shot through her flesh, etching her bones in a thousand places.

  Her legs were failing now. Her shoulders and face ached with fatigue. Further, she thought. A bit further. She could see the abyss. Blackness gaped ahead. The stones moved beneath her feet, and still he came nearer.

  Sound of men. Other men. Their muffled voices nearer. Above.

  Jaime tried to scream, to ask for help. But there was no voice. No sound.

  Edward’s breathing was right behind. She must cry out! Jaime’s hands clutched desperately at her throat, her mouth. Her fingers clawed in panic at skin and bone, until a horror swept through her with the cold dampness of death.

  She had no mouth.

  “You can’t get away, whore. Your end is here.”

  Malcolm pinned Jaime’s arms to the bed as the physician barked orders at Caddy, who hustled about the chamber. As the young woman thrashed about in the bed, her head twisted from side to side and her legs kicked viciously at the bedclothes.

  “Jaime.” The Highlander shook her softly. “‘Tis a dream, my love. A dream.”

  She opened her mouth in her sleep, but there was no cry. In a few moments the agitation began to subside, and she grew somewhat calmer, though her hands continued to pry at his grip on her.

  “Wake up, Jaime!” Malcolm said, releasing her and pulling the covers over her shivering frame.

  The Highlander had to fight back his emotions when he saw the stream of tears roll down her eyes and disappear into her dark hairline. Malcolm wrapped the blanket tightly about her and lifted her onto his lap, holding her tightly against his chest. His eyes carried more than a hint of accusation when turned on the physician.

  “How is it that she sleeps so quietly for three da
ys and then suddenly comes down with this attack?”

  The older man never took his eyes off the mixture that he was preparing.

  “Catherine must have given Jaime something more than what was here. ‘Tis a risk to give her anything more, but if we can neutralize the...”

  Suddenly, before her loomed a man, blocking her way with his broad, powerful bulk. Her eyes were drawn to his eyes, glinting in a fleshy face that looked shockingly soft, even in the darkness. His hands reached out, and Jaime felt herself being lifted into the air. Far into the space above, and then falling, falling. Down past the portly giant, down into the darkness, falling and then landing. A stairwell and the damp, heavy smell of death.

  She could feel Edward coming. There was nowhere but down. Around and around the dark steps she flew, more like falling than running. But downward, ever downward.

  His curses swirled about her head like burning wind. Edward was still right behind her.

  But there! Again she could hear them. The sound of voices. So close!

  Graves stood at the end of the bed with the empty cup in his hand.

  “There is nothing more we can do now but wait.”

  Malcolm looked down at Jaime, huddled in his arms. Droplets of the liquid still glistened on her lips. She hadn’t opened her eyes. She hadn’t spoken a word. But she had allowed him to give her the drink.

  He cursed Catherine again. How easy it must have been for the devil-woman to prey on Jaime while she was so vulnerable, while she was so incapable of fighting back. But why this way? Did the woman really intend, after toying with her, to murder Jaime? What motive could she have for such evil?

  He clenched his teeth in silent fury. How could he have been such a fool as to let this happen?

  “How long before she awakens?” Malcolm asked, holding her closer to his chest.

  The physician looked wearily into the fierce face of the Highlander. “I wish I knew. The body has it own ways. And what we have always believed about it is changing.”