The Intended

by May McGoldrick

  As he neared the crossing point, Malcolm felt the troubles of his life drop from his body like so many plates of armor. Like a snake shedding skin. He was so close now! Eternity! The sky opening up before him. The freedom of flight. Air, sweeter than any he’d ever tasted, filled his lungs! He continued to move toward the light. Toward its promise.

  Jaime, tears coursing down her cheeks, watched in horror as his ragged breathing faltered, then came to a rasping stop. She lost all sense. Leaping up, she moved the physician aside and punched at Malcolm’s chest

  “Nay, blackguard.” She was hammering on his chest, cursing the Highlander. “Nay, Malcolm. You cannot...”

  Malcolm was nearly through the door. He could see wisps of silk fluttering, waving. He saw his own arms reach out for the flowing silk, felt his heart open to the soft whispers that beckoned him. Almost through...

  Then, he felt arms encircle him from behind. A hand, strong and sure, pressed against his chest, holding him back. A woman’s voice. Why, she was shouting, cursing at him. The bloody wench was calling him names! He could hear her distinctly. She was degrading his honor—his very manhood.

  The presence through the door called softly to him, but he could not understand the words. He struggled to shut out the voice behind—to move on.

  But she wouldn’t let go. The strength, the anguish behind her angry cries pulled at him. The voice beyond the door called him once again. What is it? Wait, he cried out.

  The physician looked on, aghast as she continued to curse the Highlander’s carcass. Graves heard language he hadn’t thought possible in a young woman of breeding. Language he hadn’t heard since he was a young man on the Scottish campaigns.

  And after all, the man was dead.

  Jaime, tiring, leaned heavily on Malcolm’s chest. She was not aware of the sobs wracking her body. She only knew that his spirit was slipping beyond her grasp. And she knew no way to bring him back.

  Please, Holy Mother, she screamed silently. Please don’t let this man go from here.

  The voice beyond the door whispered again. Bloody hell, Malcolm thought. He couldn’t hear a thing. He turned back toward the wench, anger pervading his spirit. If she would only quit her ruckus. Suddenly, he could see her clearly. Jaime, her hands on his heart, her black hair down around her face, her lips moving. A pain shot through his chest, his head pounded. Malcolm again felt his bones disintegrating. The agony was back.

  Nay, he screamed, turning back to the door. He glimpsed the final flash of light, but the door had closed. Gone, he realized through the pain.

  By God, the wench had won.

  Chapter 7

  “Is he dead?” Mary Howard’s whisper broke the momentary silence that had fallen inside the cell. Peeking into the open door, she froze at the site of the blood and the bloody wreck of the Scot’s body.

  The physician cast an admonishing glance at the blanched face of the newcomer, and Jaime’s startled expression quickly changed to bewilderment at the appearance of her cousin.

  “Did you come down here for a dance, Mistress Mary?” the physician asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Turning to Jaime, his gruffness returned as he barked, “Take her out of here at once, Mistress Jaime. The poor lad is barely hanging on as it is. We don’t need the entire household tramping through for a peek at his miserable carcass.”

  “But...but we’re not finished with him,” Jaime argued. She had no desire to go just yet. “You need help with his dressings. I should try to clean the blood from his wounds.”

  “I’ve done this for over thirty years,” Grave grumbled under his breath. “I can manage the rest just fine. As for the cleaning, I’ll do what I can and have one of the stable hands sleep in here. We don’t want any of the barn vermin getting at him during the night.”

  The physician smiled wryly as Mary Howard paled again, looking as if she were about to be ill. He looked back at Jaime. Uncertainty showing on her face, she stood looking at him from her place beside the prisoner.

  The lass had certainly been a great help, far better than his own hapless, shirker of an assistant. But the truth of it was that the physician needed a bit of time alone to regain his wits. What he’d just witnessed had frightened him. Something had passed between this woman and the wounded man, and he was struggling, even now, to square it in his mind. He could have sworn...no. There was no doubt. The Scot had died. He’d stopped breathing.

  He was dead.

  And then—Graves dared not think of it as magic—Jaime had brought him back to life. Back to life and back to a conscious state. The physician’s hackles rose again at the thought of the awakening. The Highlander’s chest had convulsed, his fists clenched and then opened, only to tighten into fists once more. And then the lad had opened his eyes, clear and alert and...disbelieving. The Scot had just stared at her, anger quickly taking over, wrath eclipsing any other expression on his battered features. He’d silently drunk the entire potion then, never taking his eyes from her face. Then, cursing her by name, his swollen eyelids had drooped, and he’d fallen into a deep slumber.

  Over a year ago, when Jaime Macpherson had first arrived, the word had gone about that she was niece to Anne Boleyn. He himself could see the family resemblance between her and the dead queen. In the back of his mind, now, resemblances of another type were pushing forward with an unpleasantness that Graves was trying to ignore. Aye, he’d heard the stories that Queen Anne was a witch—a sorceress of some kind who had cast a spell on the king. That is, until he’d had her beheaded. They’d said she could communicate with spirits. There was even talk that her ghost had been seen in the Tower of London and other places, as well.

  But Graves had never believed such talk. He’d seen her before the king fell in love with her, and he’d seen her as queen. She hadn’t been an easy lass to like, in his opinion. Proud and vain. But hardly a witch, so far as he could see. Just talk begun by her enemies, by those who wanted her dead. And of course, he thought, ‘tis even easier to slander your enemies once they are dead.

  But now... His eyes looked searchingly into Jaime’s face. Witnessing what had occurred here, what the lass had done... and she a niece to the dead queen! Graves pondered a moment. Nay, it couldn’t be, he decided, shaking his head. By Jesu, he was even starting to think like these damned English.

  “I’ll come back,” Jaime vowed, touching the physician on the arm as she moved toward her swaying cousin.

  Before she even reached the door, Jaime could see the glazed look of horror that was fixed on her cousin’s face. The sight was hardly one that Mary was accustomed to. The filthy cell, the blackening blood, the battered and half-naked body of the injured Malcolm.

  “Is he dead?” Mary whispered again, leaning heavily on the door frame. Her face was a white mask.

  Jaime realized that her cousin had not heard a word that had been uttered by Graves. Not needing another patient at the moment, Jaime took Mary by the arm and led her into the enclosed yard and out of the physician’s earshot. Standing in the late-afternoon sun, Jaime squeezed Mary’s hand. It took only a few moments for the younger woman to regain most of her composure.

  Then, looking at Jaime with eyes wide, Mary started with dismay. “Oh my, Jaime. The blood...your...your cloak! Your hair! Your face!” The young woman, again too upset to talk, flapped her arms like a bird in distress. “Jaime, Edward...and...oh, my! Look at you!”

  Jaime took Mary’s hands in hers. “Take a deep breath,” she ordered softly. “You have news of Edward?”

  Mary nodded and took not one but a few short breaths.

  Jaime waited impatiently for the other woman to regain her composure. A stable boy passed by, carrying two buckets of grain and gawking openly at the two. Horses could be heard, stamping and snorting impatiently to be fed. A cart of feed—pulled by an oxen being led by a tall, stick of a man—creaked into the enclosure from some other part of the series of granaries, smithies, and stables that comprised the stable area. Suddenly, Mary’s attention
was captured by the activities going on around them, as if it were a world she was seeing for the first time.

  “That’s enough breathing for today,” Jaime said, interrupting her cousin’s study. “What of Edward?”

  Jaime knew that although Mary had lived on this estate for most of her life, the past few moments constituted the longest period of time she ever spent in the stables. When they hunted, the grooms brought the horses to the house. Jaime cleared her throat to get the other woman’s attention.

  Sheepishly, Mary turned back to her cousin. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I have news. Lord Surrey has returned from court this afternoon.”

  “I wondered. There was a great commotion a little while ago when the horses were brought down.

  “Aye, well there’s more. Something has happened. Effie, my wardrobe maid, who has a...well, who is friendly with Surrey’s second groom...a coarse young man whom I can never see amounting to...”

  “Please, Mary!” Jaime cut in, her impatience bubbling to the surface. “What has happened?”

  Mary scowled at her cousin. “Well, the duke and Edward have been summoned to Nonsuch Palace. That’s what has happened!”

  Jaime’s heart leapt with excitement. With Edward waiting on the king, she would be able to spend the time needed to nurse Malcolm back to health—without involving Edward at all. Jaime’s hand squeezed Mary’s arm. “And have they gone?”

  “Nay, how could they,” Mary responded, “when Edward is searching high and low for you?”

  “What? You mean he’s looking for me now?”

  “Aye,” Mary said, prying her cousin’s fingers from her arm. “And if I have bruises from your rough handling of me, Jaime Macpherson...”

  Jaime looked about her nervously. “Do you know where he is now, Mary?”

  “Probably coming this way, I’d wager—were wagering a ladylike pursuit. I heard him questioning your maid, but Caddy feigned total ignorance—a marvelous performance—and vaguely mumbled something about flowers and trees. And then I saw him going off toward the orchards...”

  “Come with me, Mary,” Jaime said, pulling her cousin by the hand.

  “What on earth...?”

  Jaime had been very careful about coming to Malcolm this morning. Other than Mary, and Caddy, her maid, no one in the house knew of her whereabouts. She trusted Master Graves, the physician, but something inside her head told her that letting Edward know she was here would be a terrible mistake.

  “Hurry, Mary! We must meet him somewhere else...away from here!”

  Mary glanced back, and then nodded slowly as her cousin’s concern dawned on her.

  “Ah! The Scot,” she said. They hadn’t gone three steps, though, before Mary yanked Jaime to a halt. “But you can’t go to Edward like that.”

  Quickly, she unfastened Jaime’s bloody cloak and removed it, carefully rolling it up and even more carefully holding it away from her own skirts. Placing it on a nearby cart, she turned and tried to smooth her cousin’s hair. Disappointed with the effort, Mary turned Jaime around, pulled the long black hair over her shoulder, and began to braid it rapidly.

  “You’ve spent the entire day down here, coz. Your cloak is stained with his blood. Your eyes are puffed up from crying. Why are you so worried about this man?”

  Jaime felt her face redden as she lifted her hands to her eyes. She was glad Mary was behind her. “I was the cause of the beating he received at Norwich Castle,” she replied, hedging her answer. She hoped desperately Edward would not notice her condition.

  “There! Now you look at least somewhat presentable.” Mary cast a critical eye over her cousin. “Smooth your skirts. And...”

  Jaime grabbed the other woman by the hand. “Come on, Mary. We must be away from here.” Jaime led her cousin out of the stable enclosure and onto the tree lined drive that led back toward the huge, rambling manor house. The gardens lay behind the high hedges to the left, the orchards to the right of the ornately designed flower beds. Acting on impulse, she pulled her cousin down the lane to the left. The lane leading to the mews. Jaime loved to hunt, and she spent a great deal of time with the falcons that the duke kept. His two peregrines, gifts of the king himself, were among the finest in England. In a moment the wall enclosing the mews came into view.

  Evan, the duke’s falconer, was watching his eldest son chop three freshly killed rabbits for the hawks when the two women passed through the gate into the small yard in front of the mews. He glanced up, smiling his crooked smile as he recognized Jaime. The two hooded peregrines, black and strong, sat perched on crossed stakes driven into the ground beside the falconer.

  “How is your wife, Evan?” Jaime asked pleasantly.

  Evan bowed slightly and doffed his cap to Mary. “A mite uncomfortable, mistress, as ye might expect, but due any day, she tells me. Oh, she asked me to thank ye for sending in the meals from the kitchens this past week. ‘Tis heavy work, her moving about, and your kindness has been a godsend, to be sure.”

  “No thanks are needed,” Jaime whispered as she stepped over to one of the birds and began petting her magnificent feathers.

  “Well, we thank ye all the same.” The falconer nodded toward the peregrines. “Ye missed a fine day of hunting today. His Grace stayed in, but some of the young gentles made a jolly time of it.”

  “I’m sure Lord Edward must have enjoyed the hunt!”

  “Nay, mistress,” Evan said, shaking his head. “His Lordship has not been down all day.”

  Jaime hid her relief, gesturing toward the rabbit. “The fruit of your labors, Evan?”

  “Aye, mistress,” Evan said gravely. “Just a few of the little beasties that we knocked down today. The birds we took went direct to the kitchens. We’ve still a couple of hours of sunlight. Would ye care to take one of these ladies out, mistress?”

  Jaime shook her head, whereupon the falconer picked up several pieces of the meat to feed to the falcons. “Nay, Evan. Not today, but I thank you. Working about in the garden has wearied me dreadfully. Perhaps tomorrow,” she said with a smile, taking the wide-eyed Mary by the elbow and steering her back out the gate.

  “What are you up to, Jaime Macpherson?” Mary breathed, trying to keep up with her cousin’s quick pace. The gate to the garden lay directly before them. A pair of grooms sprinted down the lane in the direction of the stables, crossing the women’s path. The young men were clearly in a hurry.

  “Mary, don’t leave my side.” Jaime stopped with her hand on the gate and looked into her cousin’s face. “No matter what Edward says, you mustn’t leave me alone with him. Promise me.”

  “What’s wrong? You’ve never been afraid of being left alone with him before!” Seeing the quick turning away of Jaime’s eyes and the hands that hurriedly yanked open the gate, Mary reached out and caught her cousin’s arm. “Jaime?”

  Coloring, Jaime turned slightly and shook her head. Then, looking directly into her cousin’s eyes, she asked, “Please, Mary. Don’t leave my side.”

  The blonde-haired beauty paused, and then nodded hesitantly. Jaime turned and moved through the gate, but Mary held back a moment, staring after her cousin’s retreating figure, before following her into the gardens.

  Once safely within the carefully manicured space, Jaime slowed down, leading Mary into the center of a close-cropped, knot-like design of herbs. Shielding her eyes with her hand against the rays of the descending sun, she scanned the far side of the enclosure for any sign of Edward. By a path leading to the orchards, where a half-dozen gardeners were working, she saw one of them straighten up as a giant of a man came into view. The others stood quickly, bowing deferentially, and Jaime’s gaze focused on the figure. She watched as Edward said something to the gardener.

  Taking Mary by the arm, Jaime moved quickly to a circular, grass-covered bench and sat her cousin on it, putting them in the full view of the gardener. In less than a moment, the man’s eyes turned in their direction, and Jaime saw the gardener’s finger point toward them. Whirlin
g around, Jaime pretended to be unaware of Edward’s presence, staring instead at the carefully clipped design that surrounded them. So far so good, she thought with relief.

  “Don’t look at him, Mary,” she commanded. A pair of swallows flitted across the garden in front of them, and Jaime forced herself to watch them for a moment until they disappeared up and over the ivy-covered way at the far end of the enclosure.

  Mary’s voice, like that of a stern tutor, broke into the silence. “Jaime, don’t ask me to lie to him about your whereabouts this afternoon! I don’t like to lie. I can’t lie. By Saint Agnes, he is coming this way!” Her voice registered her alarm. “Perhaps it would be better if I should go...”

  Jaime plunked herself down beside her cousin and took hold of Mary’s hand with a forceful grip. Edward must be getting fairly close to them. “Just sit here beside me,” she said quietly but firmly. “You won’t have to say anything, at all.”

  “But, Jaime, what happens if he asks me something?” the younger woman asked under her breath. “What should I say?”

  “Just follow my lead. Think of this as a game, for heaven’s sake.” Jaime paused and looked into Mary’s troubled face. “Mary, I’m just not prepared to be alone with him right now. But neither you nor I have done anything wrong. So please get that guilty expression off your face.”

  “I’ll try,” Mary responded, nodding resignedly. “But I just don’t understand what’s come over you.”

  Jaime looked away. How could Mary understand? Jaime herself couldn’t understand, and frankly, that irked her somewhat. True, she was not married to Edward. They were not even betrothed...yet. But she was acting as if she’d been completely disloyal in spending the day at the stables nursing Malcolm. After all, she argued with herself, she was doing Edward a great service in trying to keep his prisoner alive. That was certainly true. Then why had she panicked at the thought of Edward finding her there. Why was she planning to deceive Edward now?