The Intended

by May McGoldrick

  The tears began to flow freely once again, and she lay back on the mattress, staring up into the black nothingness above her.

  He didn’t care for her. He didn’t love her. How wrong she had been!

  Chapter 23

  The duke of Norfolk threw the partially completed letter facedown on the table as his page announced Edward into the chamber. Rapping his gnarled knuckles on the table, Norfolk motioned to his clerk to go out and wait, and then turned to acknowledge his second son. Something had to be done about the situation, he decided, but those very close to the king were being unusually tight-lipped, and it was difficult to make decisions without accurate information.

  “Your Grace,” Edward said as he stepped into the richly appointed chamber.

  Beyond the open door, the duke caught sight of the two guards who had accompanied Edward to his chamber. He ordered his page to close the door and leave them be. As the door clicked quietly shut, Norfolk turned his scowling face on the young man.

  “What have you done, Edward?” The duke’s tone was harsh as he leaned forward on his arms and rapped the table again. “What?”

  “By the devil, I’ve done nothing, Father.”

  “Nothing!” Norfolk spat disgustedly. “Save that for the king’s torturers. Of course you’ve done something—many things! But what have you done that has reached the ears of the king?”

  “Father, I...”

  “Who are our enemies, Edward?” the duke rolled on. “What are they using against us?”

  Getting nothing but silence for an answer, Norfolk banged the wood surface hard. He had been in this game too long to let down his guard, but none of the family’s enemies were in any position at present to hurt him.

  “It has to be something. Something strong enough to change the king’s attitude toward you so drastically. Now think of whom you have wronged. Of whom you have angered to the point of risking their own position in besmirching you.”

  Edward looked back blankly at the older man.

  “Edward, think!” he snapped. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing, Father.” he answered. “I’ve been accused wrongly and unjustly...”

  “Oh, by the saints!”

  “...And if I could just find out the identity of the blackguard who has dared to muck about with my honor...”

  “Honor!” The duke threw up his hands.

  “...In the king’s company, I vow on my grandfather’s sword I will tear the bastard’s throat out with my teeth!”

  Norfolk paused and studied his son’s face. There was nothing there that told him whether Edward was keeping anything back. He hoped to God his son would not be so foolish.

  “We are fortunate that mucking about is all that has been accomplished so far,” the duke warned as he sank back in his chair. “But unless we do something to correct this situation now, an accusation is certain to follow. That’s the way the court works...rumor becomes insinuation, and if insinuation appears to meet with a favorable response by His Majesty, then insinuation quickly becomes accusation!”

  “I’ve already been accused! And convicted!” Edward, quite rattled by this new turn of events, banged his flat palms on the table. “I am followed wherever I go! There are guards posted at my own chamber door. I have no privacy. I am a caged animal, tormented with each breath I take.”

  “Don’t complain, Edward. This could be much worse.”

  “I cannot see how! One moment I am called to court. I am welcomed in the king’s company. I am heralded as a hero of the realm. Defender of His Majesty’s seas. And now, in the next moment, I am guarded like a thief. Commissions that should have been given to me are being pissed away to white-livered wolves who have never stepped foot on the bloody deck of a surrendering gold ship.”

  “Edward, it’s no use.”

  “I heard today that the Lord Great Chamberlain is sending for my crew...for questioning! About me!” Edward was now pacing the room, his hands balled into fists at his sides, his face crimson with rage. He stopped and looked directly at his father. “How could it be worse than this, Your Grace? How could they do more damage to me than they’ve already done?”

  “Easily,” the duke answered under his breath. “It is easily done! How do you think we arranged—just a few weeks ago—to have that bloody Cromwell arrested. We had him dragged out of a Council meeting. Accused of being a radical heretic and a traitor under the Act of Attainder, and easily enough accomplished.” Norfolk snorted mirthlessly. “He has been a stick in my ass for a long time, but I’m a patient man. If Cromwell hadn’t brought over that foul bitch, Anne of Cleves, for the king to wed, we might still be waiting. But as it is, his beheading will be a pleasure to watch.”

  Edward swallowed audibly as the blood drained from his face. “They could not do that to me, there is no proof!”

  There was no evidence against Cromwell either, the duke thought silently. None that hadn’t been invented. But he had become an increasing threat to the powers of the members of the Privy Council—to Norfolk’s own power. And then fate had taken a decided hand in matters. After Cromwell had arranged the unsuccessful marriage of King Henry to Anne of Cleves--a simple accusation had been more than enough.

  “Nay, Edward. You won’t end up like Cromwell,” Norfolk said, hoping his son would believe him. He didn’t need Edward displaying anything but the utmost confidence. “But we’ll have to make sure that there is nothing to be twisted into proof.”

  For a long moment Edward stood and watched his father’s thoughtful expression. Gradually his color returned and he threw himself into a chair, his legs sprawled before him. “So what am I to do now?”

  “Do? Nothing. You will simply go about your business as if nothing was wrong. You have been commanded to remain at court, so you will remain. I will see that your men say what needs to be said...and those whom we doubt will be taken care of at Norwich Castle.” Norfolk turned a knowing look in his son’s direction. He would cover whatever blunders Edward had made. “Some of them will disappear. The others will do what they’re told.”

  “Aye, Father.”

  Norfolk continued to eye Edward. “And in the meantime, we will rely—to some extent—on the single bright star lighting our way.”

  A long moment passed before Edward’s expressionless face suddenly lit up with understanding. “Catherine?”

  The duke nodded slowly as he pondered his son’s answer. “Aye, perhaps we might consider her...a star. But we must take care. The night sky is littered with stars of Catherine’s type. And there is no way to catch a falling star.”

  “But, Father, her marriage to the king is certain to bring His Majesty’s favor our way.” Edward leaned forward in his chair and planted his hands on the desk. “Perhaps I should speak to her—have her go to the king on my behalf. Perhaps if she were to defend me...”

  “I don’t see much possibility of that,” Norfolk answered shortly. “She left for Kenninghall this morning with her growing entourage.”

  A look of surprise came over Edward’s face. “I had no idea she was planning to go back so soon. I thought she was planning to wait and accompany us.”

  “You mean...to have us accompany her!” The duke gazed at his knotted knuckles tapping lightly on the table. “I thought so, as well. But she was quite eager to go and ready herself for the wedding. When she came to me, she’d already gotten permission—reluctant though he was to give it—from the king.”

  His eyes followed his son as Edward stood and silently began pacing the room.

  “So she left before I had the chance to seek her help.”

  “That would appear to be the case.”

  Edward’s face darkened with anger, and he turned and strode away from his father, pausing to run his hand over the new globe-shaped map of the world standing at the end of the room.

  The duke of Norfolk leaned forward and picked up the unfinished letter. The clerk’s quill pen, ink, and blotting sand still lay on the table before him. After a quick
glance at the writing, he turned and eyed his son. “When I mentioned a star to light our way, I wasn’t speaking of Catherine!”

  Edward stopped—his finger resting on the globe and blotting out half of Scotland. His father’s words finally sunk in.

  “Jaime!” he said, whirling.

  “Aye,” the duke responded, nodding without looking up. “Jaime!”

  As Edward crossed the room toward him, the old politician reached for his clerk’s pen. “I am sending word for her to join us here at court.”

  “Then it’s time!”

  The duke cocked his head as he looked up at his son. “I believe the king will have a complete change of heart, my boy, when you tell him the truth.”

  Chapter 24

  The mellifluous tones of her heavenly voice, combined with the pure notes of the children around her, was surely the most divine sound Malcolm had ever heard. Their faces glowing in the light of a thousand candles, the young singers and musicians sat in a small circle in the center of the Great Hall at Kenninghall. The occupants of the Hall, only moments ago boisterous in their merrymaking, now sat in silent awe. The sheer beauty of the performers, the clear accomplishment of their blessed talents and their training, but most of all the sweet sounds that now filled the air held all within hearing rapt and spellbound.

  But Malcolm’s attention never shifted from Jaime as his pained mind followed the tenor of her voice, and his eyes worshiped every line, every shadow of her face. She had coiled her hair high on top of her head--and he saw the loose tendrils seductively teasing the smooth planes of her neck. Her eyes told him—though perhaps only him—of their deep, shared secret; and her pale skin bespoke a woman who was no longer what she had been only a day earlier.

  He so desperately hoped she would lift her eyes and at least acknowledge his existence in the Hall. He craved so desperately a moment alone with her. She could kill him if she desired--that would be an end Malcolm would readily accept. As long as she gave him a chance to say his peace, to seek her pardon, to allow him to pour out his heart, he would accept death at her hands in an instant.

  As she tucked the small harp against her body and began to strum gently at the strings, he felt her fingers upon the strings of his heart.

  “...Don’t you think so?” Surrey’s loud whisper finally penetrated Malcolm’s thoughts. “A most entertaining performance, wouldn’t you say?”

  The Highlander realized that the earl had been speaking to him, but—unable to tear his attention away from the vision of loveliness before him—Malcolm simply nodded in response. The words of Jaime’s song were sad, plaintive, and her lilting voice went straight to the softest chambers of his soul. He listened, spellbound, aware of Surrey’s eyes fixed upon him, but determined not to be distracted from her again.

  Too soon for Malcolm and for everyone else in the room, Jaime finished the song, and began speaking quietly to the group of children scattered around at her feet. Malcolm watched in fascination as she extended her hand to a very young redheaded lass and, raising the child to her feet, brought her up beside the group of musicians.

  “Most satisfying, having the children’s talents developed with such care.”

  Surrey’s words were quickly corrected by his wife, who sat beside him. “Aye, Jaime’s care, my dear. All the talent lies with her. She is the one who is bringing these little ruffians around.”

  “Ahh, a nasty job!” Surrey put in jokingly.

  “One might think so,” Frances answered brightly. “But with Jaime in charge—they are like ducks in the water.”

  “These are definitely the most melodious ducks that I’ve ever heard, wife.”

  Malcolm strained his ears, trying to catch some scrap of the whispering going on between Jaime and the redheaded child. But his attempt was for naught with Surrey and Frances continuing to converse. She was so beautiful in the glow of the candles and the flames dancing in the great hearth.

  “Was she always so inspired? Even as a child?”

  Once again lost in his thoughts, a moment went by before Malcolm realized a question had been directed at him. The countess of Surrey was awaiting his answer, and Malcolm glanced at the faces of both her and the earl.

  “She was,” Malcolm answered, quickly turning his gaze back on Jaime. The little girl before her was pulling nervously at the pink ribbon in her hair and nodding to her instructor. The conference ended and the little singer took her place.

  “Did she always have such a talent for music?” Frances asked.

  “For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been the most gifted of musicians,” Malcolm answered.

  “And has she always been so eager to teach? She really is a marvel.”

  “From the time she was little, she has been most eager to learn. It is completely in keeping for her to find a way to impart that knowledge to others.” A small smile was tugging at Jaime’s lips as she turned to acknowledge a word said by one of the older children. For the briefest of instants, her gaze lifted and she looked straight into Malcolm’s eyes. His heart soared.

  “Was she always so kindhearted?” Frances’s voice was insistent. “Come, Malcolm, you must share what you know! She is so kind to everyone. Look how she treats that child.”

  “She has never been any other way,” Malcolm replied, fixed on the memory of that brief glance.

  “Has she always been so stunningly beautiful?”

  Malcolm and Frances both turned their heads sharply, each of them sending withering looks at the earl.

  “Has she?” Surrey asked seriously, not letting up on Malcolm.

  “Nay,” the Highlander answered shortly. “Jaime Macpherson was lanky and thin, and she was always sure to act far different from the other lasses.”

  Surrey nodded. “So she has changed greatly since you met her last!”

  “Aye, that she has,” Malcolm answered, his voice still retaining the surly, involuntary gruffness brought on by Surrey’s notice of Jaime’s beauty.

  “I’m certainly glad of that!”

  “May I inquire why you’re glad, Surrey?” Frances asked, the slightest hint of suspicion and irritation in her question.

  The earl turned to his wife. “If she hadn’t changed, my dear, then I would have thought something quite amiss.”

  “Would you be kind enough to explain, husband?”

  “It’s quite simple, really. Besides you, my dear, our cousin Jaime is easily the most charming and accomplished young woman to step foot in Kenninghall in years.” Surrey paused and gestured toward Malcolm. “To think that my friend here would allow such beauty and talent escape his grasp—considering the open affection he exhibits now—well, I couldn’t help but think that she must have been far different as a child. Either that or we must all be quite blind to her flaws.”

  “Jaime Macpherson has no flaws,” Malcolm stated emphatically, setting his jaw.

  “I believe we are all in agreement with that, Malcolm. And now your response—regarding how she has changed—has confirmed my own high opinion of her.”

  Frances cocked an eyebrow at her husband. “Surrey, what do you mean, ‘open affection’?”

  The earl looked straight at the Highlander. “I believe, my dear, our guest knows exactly what I mean. Am I wrong, Malcolm?”

  “You are not wrong, Surrey.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for you, but it’s too late, you see.” Surrey turned and glanced over at Jaime. “She is spoken for. I told you so myself.”

  “Jaime has exchanged no vow. There has been no betrothal, yet.”

  “My friend, you’ve had your chance—a lifetime of chances—but you never claimed her as your own.”

  But I have, Malcolm thought silently, his inner pain blocking any sense of triumph.

  “But my brother Edward,” Surrey paused, looking about the room. “He has recognized her value.”

  “In gold perhaps,” Malcolm added with disdain in his voice.

  “Perhaps,” Surrey conceded with a nod. “All the sam
e, Malcolm, once Edward sets his mind on something that he desires—or on someone—there is no stopping him. And he wants Jaime.”

  The earl turned and exchanged a look with his wife before turning his attention on the Highlander once again. “And he doesn’t mean to toy with her like some puppet, or play with her like some wench.”

  “Surrey!” Frances said, shocked dismay in her voice.

  The earl did not look away from Malcolm. “Edward quite clearly intends to take Jaime for his wife. He means to have her.”

  Malcolm knew common sense dictated that he remain silent. That he withhold his rebuttal and not give voice to his opinion of this match—but they were talking about Jaime, and there was nothing that would prevail over the feelings that he harbored for her.

  “Nay.” The Highlander waved him off. “You are speaking as the elder brother, Surrey, and not as a man of the world—educated by the great Humanist, himself. Nor are you speaking as the poet we all know you to be. These are not the utterances of a man dedicated to the search for truth. These are not your words, Surrey. Play the others for fools—your countess here and I don’t believe you.”

  The earl smiled as his wife turned her head away, trying to hide her mirth. “Believe what you like, Malcolm MacLeod. And go to the devil while you’re at it. I am giving you only the facts.”

  “You’re giving us only what your brother wishes to have believed.”

  “I’m telling you what is sure to happen.”

  “Only if your brother is clever enough to match Jaime’s wit. And, of course, assuming he is wise enough to value her learning. And then there is the question of whether he is broadminded enough to appreciate her goodness.” Malcolm gazed steadily into Surrey’s face. “I wonder if you truly believe Edward is deserving enough to win Jaime’s hand. Though you were writing about your good and lovely wife, you could as easily have been writing about Jaime when you wrote,

  For what she saith, ye may it trust

  As it by writing sealed were.

  And virtues hath she many moe