“Tom,” he bellowed almost before it was full open then disappeared into the crowd.
Belle was content to exit the parlor at a slower pace. With each step, her desire grew, turning her lips upward against its pressure in her heart. Anticipation added its spice, giving that longing a richness she'd never dreamed possible. In less than an hour she would share a bed with the husband she adored.
With the wind howling at his back, Ned climbed the stairs that led to the gatehouse’s second-storey residence. It roared past him as he opened the door, filling the forward most of the apartment's two chambers until the windows rattled in their frames and sudden flames leapt from the embers in the hearth. When he shut the door he leaned his back against it, staring at the single empty stool set before the dying fire.
Since Brigit wasn't here, there was only one other place she could be. Lady Hollier's warning, that the governess might ask him to wed with her, echoed in his mind. Ned looked toward the bedchamber door. Now, a different sort of offer came to mind.
His eyes closed. The image of Brigit on that first night in the inn's courtyard filled his inner vision. Then, her expression had been innocent as she looked up at him. That woman would never have dreamed of waiting for a man in his bedchamber.
He started for the bedroom doorway, trying to convince himself that all she’d wanted was a fire’s warmth. The quiet desperation he’d seen in her face these past weeks wouldn’t let him lie to himself. He’d done this to her. His ambition had tainted something sweet, leaving it befouled and ruined.
In the bedchamber a far friendlier blaze danced upon the hearth, tossing its merry light against finely plastered and paneled walls and illuminating the depths of the tall-backed chair that sat before the fireplace. Brigit’s cloak was thrown carelessly over its arms.
With a sinking heart he looked at the bed. It was a piece fit for a lord, with ornate posts and curtains of rich red velvet. Brigit sat at its center, her back braced against the headboard. Her hair was unbound, the firelight finding hints of red in her ebony tresses, and her shirt collar, open, so the linen slipped far down her arms to bare her chest from chin to the white swell of her breasts above her bodice’s upper edge.
“Brigit,” he breathed, incapable of louder speech and unable to bear that she was making him this offer. It demeaned what they felt for each other.
A nervous smile flickered across her lips. “I did as you asked and searched the steward's office. I found this.” She touched the mattress, drawing Ned’s gaze to sheet of paper that lay on the bed beside her. It owned more creases on its face than did Graceton's elderly housekeeper. “It says Squire Hollier sent his cannon to the earl of Northumberland to support him in his rebellion. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Now you can return to our queen and show her that her squire is nothing but a Catholic traitor. I hope it's enough to restore your good name with Her Grace.”
It came too late to save him. Leicester had failed and Norfolk had fled Elizabeth’s presence all while he’d been trapped here, incapable of offering a word in his own defense. His career at court was finished.
When he made no response, she touched the mattress beside her in invitation. “Now that I’ve done as you need, come sit by me, Ned,” she invited, her husky words promising a pleasure about which she knew nothing.
Ned shook his head. He wouldn’t take another down with him as he drowned. “I won’t,” he told her gently. “Close your shirt, lass, and bind up your hair. It’s time for you to leave.”
She gasped. Raw color flooded her face. Hunching her shoulders, she pulled her shirt closed and knotted the strings at her collar. Then, slipping from the bed, she dashed to the chair with a quiet sob and threw her cloak over her shoulders, pulling up its hood to conceal her hair.
“But I did as you asked,” she cried in shamed surprise. She stretched out her hand toward him. “You cannot send me away when I did what you asked.”
He shook his head. “Brigit, I don't want you to lose your home because you dared to help me.”
“Home?” she spat out. “I have no home. I am nothing but a servant.”
Then, her face softened. She dared to come close enough to him to place her hands upon his chest and look up into his face. “I cannot bear it, Ned. I cannot bear to live out the whole of my life as another woman’s servant. Why should one as plain as Lady Hollier get two husbands when I am denied even one? Your servant Dick says that my beauty could be a great help to you at court. He says we could go far together, you and I.”
It was a breathy promise. As she made it, her eyes darkened, her lips parted in invitation. All Ned saw in her face was a reflection of his own ambition and greed, and it was an ugly picture indeed.
He grabbed her by the wrists and stepped back from her. “You’re trying to use me,” he stated in accusation, then wondered if the affection he’d believed she had for him was true, or if he’d but seen what he wished for in her face.
Brigit frowned at him, tugging at her trapped hands. “It’s only fair,” she protested. “Didn’t you use me when you begged me to find your precious piece of evidence? Now that I’ve done what you asked you must do something for me. Marry me, Ned. Take me from this place.”
Ned's eyes narrowed. “I won’t. Take that back to Master Wyatt’s office,” the jerk of his head indicated the note on the bed. “I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want the queen's favor or the constant scheming or the ever-present fawning. I'm done with it all!” With each word his voice rose until his rejection of courtly life thundered in the chamber around them. When he was done, he shoved her back from him.
She caught herself against the chair. As her pretense of bold worldliness dissolved, tears glistened in her eyes and her mouth quivered downward. She looked like what she was, a frightened but still defiant child.
It was her defiance that made Ned turn on her. “And I don’t want you,” he told her. “Get thee gone from me little girl, taking your ploys and wiles with you and knowing that the next man you try to use may not be as kind. What if I had accepted your invitation tonight and planted a bastard in your womb and left? Do you think your lady would yet keep you after that, offering naught but a lecture to chide you then?”
Brigit choked on her sob. She whirled, her cloak flying out behind her as she raced for the bedchamber door. A quiet wail escaped her before she'd reached the outer door.
Ned listened, waiting until he heard the slam of the door behind her before he dropped to sit in the chair. Minutes ticked away as he stared at the fire, watching the flames as they leapt and played upon their tiny stage. Like a mouse emboldened by the night, the room’s quiet crept out of its corners to enfold him in its embrace. There was something comforting in the stillness.
After who knew how long, his gaze slipped to the crumpled paper on the bed. The fire's light gave it an ivory cast. The temptation to use it woke but so too, did the desire to throw the thing in the fire and be done with it and all else that had to do with Elizabeth and her court.
As the two urges warred, they tore his heart to shreds. Ned felt it die. A new coldness seeped through him. Only then did he realize he was late for his return to the hall.
He came to his feet and started toward the door only to stop at the thought of Dick finding this note. Retrieving it from the bed, he smoothed it out, refolded it and tucked it into the breast of his doublet.
Whatever else, the note was his to reveal or not as he chose. It was the only thing left in his life over which he maintained a choice.
Jamie drummed his fingers against the tabletop. It was so loud in the hall he couldn’t hear the sound they made. His jaw clenched. His ridiculous ploy wasn’t going to work, although not for any of the reasons he'd expected it to fail. Nay, it wasn’t going to work because Sir Edward was late for the bedding.
Jamie snatched up his cup and drained it to its dregs. When a maid appeared, the lift of her pitcher an offer to refill it, he nodded. Would that the wine could give him a
little of the serenity Belle seemed to possess tonight.
The woman who should have been Nick's wife sat on the next bench, Lucy cradled in her lap. Tired circles clung beneath the child's eyes as she rested her head against her mother’s breast.
Jamie almost smiled. The lass was doing her best to remain awake for the bedding, but he feared she was losing the battle.
Hovering behind Belle, her face awash in impatience, was that coarse maid of hers. As she caught Graceton’s steward's eye, the servant had the impertinence to speak. “I vow, Master James, this is the strangest place. Doesn’t anything happen here as it should? Where is that knight?”
“There,” Belle said softly, lifting her chin a little to indicate the far side of the hall.
Jamie looked toward the opening in the screens. Sir Edward was threading his way into the crowded room. Jamie drew a deep breath and reminded himself that what he wanted would happen one step at a time. The first step would be to convince the knight to dispense with the bedding's customary disrobing.
Sir Edward stopped before the high table. “My pardon for being away so long Master Wyatt. Can we finish this? It seems I must make an early departure on the morrow.”
Jamie stared at the young knight in shock. It was the first time since their meeting that Sir Edward hadn’t spoken to him with either rancor or a note of challenge in his tone.
Rather than assure him, Jamie’s worry deepened. The last thing he needed tonight was another surprise.
“But of course,” he replied, giving the only answer he could. “However, before we proceed with the bedding, the squire has some conditions.”
“Now?” The word exploded from the knight with all the usual animosity Jamie expected of him.
“Now,” Jamie repeated. He dared to smile. “Of course, if you feel any of them inappropriate, the squire will happily submit his requests to either Her Majesty or the archbishop for clarification on their legality.”
Sir Edward released a steaming breath. “Spew them, then. I'll hear you out, making no guarantees of agreement but know I don’t much appreciate the way the squire misuses me in this.”
Jamie's brusque nod hid his heart's leaping. They were halfway over the hurdle. He laid out the first condition.
“The squire will come to the lady’s bed masked, gloved and robed. Since neither his frailty nor his disfigurement is at issue in this marriage, he sees no reason to expose them. Only within the confines and privacy of the bed curtains will he disrobe.”
Sir Edward scowled at this but they both knew he had no cause to complain since disrobing in public was meant to discover hidden deformities rather than reveal acknowledged ones; it was public knowledge that Nick was anything but vigorous or whole.
“And?” the knight asked, the word serving as tacit agreement to Jamie’s first condition.
Jamie fought to keep from grinning. “And I, my servant and a footman will remain in the sitting room with you. We come not only as witnesses but to minister to the squire should the exertion be more than he can tolerate.” This was Jamie’s second step, the creation of a screen behind which he could hide.
“And?” the knight replied without hesitation.
“And that's all he asks,” Jamie said, his shrug casual.
Sir Edward blinked as if so simple a list surprised him. “I can see no reason to object to these.”
Amazement took Jamie for a ride only to drop him back into worry. This had been too easy.
The knight turned to Belle. “What of you, my lady?”
“I have no objection,” Belle answered, her words almost too quiet to be heard over the room’s noise.
As she spoke, her coarse maid threw back her head and bellowed, “It's time! It's time for the bedding!”
The urge to throttle the woman took Jamie. Not only wasn’t it her announcement to make, she was making it too soon! Belle couldn’t leave yet.
There was no taking it back. From all across the hall chambermaids rushed toward Belle, crowding around their lady, hissing and giggling about the bedding like the geese they were. Yet carrying her child, Belle came to her feet and started toward the parlor door to the accompaniment of whistles. Catcalls echoed up into the rafters, lusty acknowledgment of what was to come. The musicians mustered, grabbing up their instruments, ready to pave the way to the bridal chamber with as much noise as possible.
Desperate for some way to stall, Jamie shot a frantic look toward the screens at the hall’s end. A miracle trotted in, wearing the guise of Belle’s footman Richard, Jamie's second ally in this plot. The man’s hat was gone, his hair stood on end. There was a tear in the front of his doublet. As Richard’s gaze met Jamie’s the corners of the footman's mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“Lady Hollier, isn’t that your servant?” Jamie called in a clumsy effort to draw Belle back into the hall.
Startled, Belle shot a look over her shoulder then gasped. “Richard!”
She handed Lucy to her maid, then rushed back into the hall, bringing the women with her, and grabbed Jamie by the arm. “Something’s amiss,” she cried to him. “He looks all undone.”
Having counted on her affection for her man to wring an honest reaction from her, Jamie wasn’t the least disappointed. “What goes forward, man?” Jamie shouted to Richard as the footman pushed and shoved his way toward the front of the room. “What’s happened to you?”
At his call even the musicians fell silent. As everyone in the room watched, Richard nigh on sprinted to the high table.
“It’s the villagers,” the footman said as he came. “There’s a brawl. You’d best come, Master Wyatt.”
His news provoked a happy growl from the male half of Graceton's servants. Just as Jamie hoped they were just drunk enough to think a good tussle was a fine way to finish the night. As for Jamie, he liked this part of his plan best of all. The havoc he created tonight would not only protect him but make trouble for the village's bailiff Robert Northfield, a vicious bitch's son and one of Cecily's most vocal detractors.
“My thanks for your warning, Richard,” he replied. “But surely the bailiff can see it ended without my intervention.”
“I fear not,” Richard replied, dancing from foot-to-foot in the pretense of urgency. “Master Northfield is at the center of it all and for that I must take the blame. Being an outsider, I had no way of knowing I erred when I mentioned the Bywards. I’d earlier heard them talking of buying up the miller’s fields.”
That was all it took. The feud between the Northfields and the Bywards was legendary, extending back for generations in Graceton's history. Eager to join a familiar fray, Graceton's menfolk ran for the door. Their woman followed, some to throw punches for their chosen side, others intending to pick up the pieces.
Jamie set his fists on his hips and sent his best frown after them. “May God take them all, now we're truly in for it,” he growled, shooting an apologetic glance at Sir Edward. “Pardon sir. There’s no help for it. I must go to the village. I fear I have no idea how long I might be.”
Sir Edward groaned at that. “No more delays,” he almost pleaded.
“You misunderstand me,” Jamie said, holding up his hands to protest an innocence he didn’t own. “The squire places high value on his village and his folk. As much as he might like me as his witness this night, I know he'll not object to my absence given the circumstances. Please, let the bedding go forward without me.”
Giving the knight no chance to object, Jamie turned and strode swiftly across the hall, Richard at his heels. As he walked, Jamie reconsidered his belief in some sort of Heavenly Master. There was no way he could have achieved this much without some sort of Divine intervention.
Once he and Richard were in the darkened yard, the wind tearing at them, the footman came to walk alongside his new steward.
“My thanks,” Jamie told him, heading not toward the postern gate and the village, but to the tower door Cecily used to enter the gallery.
The man sent him a smil
ing sidelong look. “And my pardon for the delay. It took awhile to reach the bailiff, busy as he was trading kisses with another man's wife.”
They stopped at the tower’s foot. Jamie laid his hand on the man's narrow shoulder. “Now, go back to the village and seek out the minister. Coward that he is, you'll need to prod him into the role of peacemaker. Just keep telling him how much Graceton's squire depends on him to preserve the village. Should anyone ask after me, say you know I’m about the village lanes because you came to the village with me.”
“As you will Master James,” Richard said with another smile and a nod.
As the footman strode off toward the postern gate, Jamie opened the door to the tower and climbed the stairs. He cracked the door to the gallery then peered around its edge down the corridor's length. Bathed in the golden glow of candles, Belle and the few maids who’d remained to see her into what should have been her marriage bed were entering Jamie’s apartment. Looking neither right nor left, Sir Edward followed at their heels. When all were inside, Watt shot a glance toward the gallery's end and where he supposed Jamie was. Then he stepped in after them and shut the door behind him with more force than was necessary so Jamie was certain to hear it close.
Wishing he had a cloak to catch around him, Jamie waited a moment then slipped into the corridor. Down its length he crept, passing his own apartment door to enter Nick’s. A single candle burned on the mantelpiece. It was light enough to show him that Watt, John and Tom had done no more than clear a pathway in the destruction.
Jamie opened Nick’s bedchamber door. As he’d instructed for both this room and his own, the flames on the hearth had been encouraged to die back to embers until the room was almost cloaked in shadow.
He glanced at Nick’s bed. They’d removed the torn curtains. Without them, Nick’s bed looked barren indeed. A new coverlet lay upon the mattress. Instead of Tom, it was John who leaned against the frame. When he saw Jamie, he came forward to help Jamie disrobe.
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