Much Ado About Marriage

by Karen Hawkins

  “Do ye know what is really surprising?” Mary asked. “That the laird hasn’t put a stop to these sickroom visits of yers. Chaperone or no, the man is fine to look upon.” She squeezed one of Thomas’s finely muscled arms. “Hale and hearty, and as tasty as fresh-made pottage.”

  “And he’s an earl,” Fia said proudly. “A favorite of Queen Elizabeth’s. They say she loves a good play.”

  “’Tis a pity the laird caught ye afore ye could escape.”

  “Aye, a great pity.” Fia perched on the side of the bed. “’Twas a higher power that caused an English earl to fall into my lap just as I was setting out for London, and so I told Duncan at breakfast this morning.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Och, he will hear none of it.”

  “The laird has a hard head, he does. My second husband, James Brodie, used to say ’twas an ill wind as blows ’gainst a storm. If anyone would know of ill winds, ’twould be the Brodies. Horrible short on good fortune, they were.”

  Fia traced a finger down Thomas’s fine arm. “Duncan says war is coming.”

  “Pshaw,” Mary scoffed, tossing her short red curls. “There’s naught but a thimbleful who’d support the queen.”

  “Aye, but that thimbleful will pull the rest into the fray—including the English.”

  “If the English come onto Scottish soil, ’twill unify the clans. I dinna think Queen Elizabeth will be wantin’ that.”

  “Do you think we could beat the English?”

  “O’ course we could! One or two bouts and we’ll rout those spalpeens like the dogs they are.” Mary reached over and smoothed Thomas’s hair from his brow. “Yer Sassenach is a hearty sleeper. The sign of a clear conscience, milady.”

  “’Tis a sign of a good drubbing, too.”

  Thomas stirred in his sleep, one long, beautifully muscled leg shoving aside the covers. Fia’s breath caught in her throat.

  Mary examined the huge bruise that covered his thigh. “La, the laird’s men must have used a tree branch to make such a mark.”

  Fia inwardly cringed at the colorful weal. It was a perfect imprint of Thunder’s shoulder.

  Mary clicked her tongue. “I wonder why they trounced him so thoroughly. Did he try to hurt ye, lassie?”

  “Nay, he just kissed me.”

  “That’s no’ so much. Why, I’d been kissed two dozen times by the time I was yer age.”

  “I’ve not had your opportunities.”

  “More’s the pity, lass.”

  Fia had to grin. “To hear Duncan tell it, ’tis a wonder I’m not with child from such a seductive kiss.”

  “The laird o’erspeaks at times. I’ve noticed it now and then.” Mary shot Fia a sharp look. “Tell me about this kiss. Did ye kiss him in return?”

  Fia shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “I wouldna blame ye a bit. This man was made fer kissin’.”

  “He gave me a present, too—a wee rabbit.”

  “Nay! Not the one that’s fallen in love with the laird’s right shoe?” Mary chuckled, her girth shaking like pudding. “I never saw Lord Duncan so discomforted. There he was, meetin’ with an envoy from clan Davies, when the rabbit hopped up and started humpin’ his foot like—”

  “The Davieses? Here?” Fia asked, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear herself. She’d thought to convince her cousin to give up his plan once he was in a better mood, but he’d refused to speak about it again.

  Mary sent Fia a sly glance. “I know a bit about the message, if ye care to hear.”

  “Yes?” Fia asked eagerly.

  “Caroline Davies, the iron fist of the Davies, sent the message that she and that rat-faced son of hers are within a week’s ride.”

  “Och!” A band of fear tightened about Fia’s stomach. “What . . . what did Duncan say?”

  “He ordered Cook to prepare a banquet fer their arrival and told me to see to it that more bedchambers were made ready.”

  Fia’s heart sank.

  Mary wrinkled her nose. “If ye ask me, ’tis a waste of good spice to feed the Davies, although the laird looked pleased enough to spit gold.”

  “That’s because Duncan’s made up his mind that I am to wed Malcolm Davies.”

  “What? Ye canno’ be serious!”

  “Aye. I tried to dissuade him, but he was adamant.”

  “But the laird hisself called the lad Malcolm the Maiden!” Mary shook her head. “Meanin’ no disrespect to yer intended, lass, but they say he’s a childish boy and a fumblin’ fool to boot.”

  “Duncan thinks I’ll be safe with the Davies clan.”

  “Phsst. Ye need a strong man—not some snivelin’ weasel who hides in his mother’s skirts.”

  Fia’s spirits sank even lower. “It can’t be all bad. I-I’ve heard it said that Malcolm’s fluent in languages, philosophy, and history.”

  Mary snorted. “How wondrous fer his tutor.”

  Fia rubbed her temples. “Aye, I’d rather die than marry such a mealworm, but unless we can think of something to change Duncan’s mind, I will be wed whether I wish it or not.”

  She leaned against the bedpost and regarded Thomas’s sleeping form. “I don’t know what Duncan is thinking. For so many years, he looked for far too high and mighty a husband, and now at the mere suggestion of war, he settles on one who’s less than half a man. It makes no sense.”

  “Och, lass, men ne’er do.”

  Fia absently traced the pattern that adorned Thomas’s pillow. It was one of her favorite designs, colorfully embroidered with leaping unicorns. The fanciful pattern belonged on the bed of such a handsome man, she thought wistfully. They both looked as if they had sprung from an ancient fairy tale. “There’s only one bright spot in this for me. Duncan said he has a promise from Malcolm and his mother to take me to London.”

  Mary snorted again. “They’ll take ye to London, but if ye think they’ll sponsor yer plays, think again. Caroline Davies will allow no slight to her noble name, and havin’ a playwright as a daughter-in-law will not sit well with her. ’Tis not respectable in the eyes of some.”

  Fia’s threatening headache began to thrum in earnest now. “That’s what I am afraid of. That I’ll be worse off than I am now.”

  “Ye should be worried. I’ve buried four husbands, so if anyone would know about what makes a good one, ’tis me. Malcolm is a horrible choice fer any woman, but especially for a headstrong lassie like ye.”

  Fia sighed. “It would be better to be married to the Sassenach. A pity Duncan would never agree.”

  Mary looked thoughtfully at Thomas’s still form. “I wonder if the Sassenach is already married?”

  Married? God’s breath, surely not! The idea burned in Fia’s stomach like a live coal. “He can’t be,” she said stiffly.

  The maid sent her an amused glance. “A pity ye didn’t take the time to find out before ye cavorted with him in the forest. Och, now, don’t glare at me. We’ll find a way out of this mess. Have a seat by the bed and make sure his lordship does not try to climb from his bed if he awakens, fer he’ll no’ have any strength at first. I dinna want him fallin’ and bruisin’ yet more of his fine self.”

  “I’ll make sure he stays in bed.”

  “Good. I’ll fetch a bit of soup fer us both and some extra fer the Sassenach, should he wake. We’ll eat here, where we can keep an eye on him.”

  “But Duncan said—”

  “That ye were not to be left alone with the Sassenach. I know, I know.” Mary gathered some folded bandages and tucked them into her pockets. “There are guards in the hallway should the Sassenach miraculously awaken wit’ enough strength to sit.”

  Fia nodded and settled into a chair as Mary whisked her wide girth out the doorway with surprising grace.

  When the door closed Fia leaned forward and placed both elbows on the bed, rested her chin in her palms, and stared intently at Thomas.

  Mary was right; his color was better today. Fia noted his even, steady br
eathing, which relaxed her even more. He was going to be fine.

  He looked so peaceful. With a sigh, she leaned forward and gently rested her head on his broad shoulder. A deep sense of peace immediately drifted through her.

  She could feel his warmth through his sleep shirt, his heartbeat comfortably strong and steady beneath her ear.

  Life seemed so uncertain lately, with the pending war and the dreaded arrival of the Davies. Worst of all were Duncan’s unexpected actions. For the first time in her life she felt distant from her cousin and alone.

  What could she do to stop the swiftly turning events? She turned her face into the Sassenach’s shoulder, hiding it in the clean shirt Mary had dressed him in. She rubbed her cheek against him, savoring the feel of his muscled shoulder. If Duncan could have seen her he would have been furious, but that did not frighten her. Far more than Duncan’s anger, she feared her own weakness where the Sassenach was concerned.

  The mere memory of their kiss in the forest was as warm and real as if it were happening again, at that very instant, and it took all of her strength not to lift her head and place her lips upon his once again.

  She shut her eyes tightly and kept her head upon his chest. I am becoming bewitched. But how can I forget this man and content myself with the boy my cousin has chosen?

  She opened her eyes and sighed. It seemed so spiritless to do as she was told, to follow the well-worn path of all womankind since the beginning of life.

  Well, she was certain she’d think of something.

  She had to.

  Chapter Seven

  Thomas paced in front of the fire in his bedchamber, wincing every time he put his weight upon his bruised leg. It hurt, but he knew the only way to work out the stiffness was to walk.

  He scowled. His mission was foiled, for not only had he been caught, but when he’d awoken, the letter he’d come to fetch had been removed from his tattered clothes.

  He ground his teeth at the thought. It had been tempting to ask after it, but that would only have exposed him more thoroughly, if that was even possible.

  He limped on, glancing around the pleasant room. Laird MacLean must be more financially set than Walsingham realized. Thick, richly woven rugs covered the polished flagstone floor and complemented the large ornate trunk and a pair of fine red-cushioned oak chairs. A cheery fire warmed the smooth stone walls and lit the rich red velvet hangings that hung about the huge bed.

  As prisons went, this one was grand enough for royalty. But even more impressive had been the number of visitors he’d been allowed. Not only had Mary, Fia’s troublesome maid, visited him, but so had Fia and Laird MacLean.

  He saw Fia the least, which irked him. She darted in and out, always in the presence of Mary. While Fia’s gaze assessed his well-being, she never remained long enough for a genuine conversation. Thomas found it exasperating; the tantalizing glimpses only fanned the attraction he felt for her.

  And he did feel an attraction; he couldn’t deny it. But what man would not? The woman was beautiful, her dark eyes mysterious and warm, her movements graceful, her voice rich and seductive—he ached just thinking of her.

  He found himself hoping that every step in the hallway outside his door might be hers, though far too often it was not.

  Where Fia refused to linger, her cousin surprisingly seemed to have too much time upon his hands. When the laird came to visit, he stayed talking of this and that, carrying on a conversation of a depth normally reserved for close compatriots.

  MacLean asked as many questions as he answered and seemed determined to take Thomas’s measure, though to what end, he would not say.

  Thomas soon discovered that MacLean was very well-read and could discuss politics, religion, travels, philosophy, even music and plays with great ease. If nothing else, the visits made the days pass.

  Today, though, something was happening. For one, he’d been left alone for most of the day; even Mary’s visit this morning had been rushed and distracted.

  For another, the courtyard bustled with people arriving hourly, the hallways noisy with the call of servants. Something—or someone—had arrived.

  Thomas paused by his door and listened. Though he could hear the calls and murmurs, none of them told him anything. He grasped the handle and slowly turned it . . . to no avail. He was still locked in, a prisoner.

  Cursing under his breath, he resumed pacing. Damn it, what does MacLean have planned? And where is Fia? Do these visitors have anything to do with her?

  I shouldn’t be thinking about her. I should be thinking about escaping. He glanced at the fine clock that adorned the mantel. It was nigh on three in the afternoon. Perhaps this commotion was just what he needed to escape. If he could twine his bedsheets into a rope that could reach the top of the second floor, at least, he might be able to—

  He paused, hearing the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching down the hall, followed by the murmur of someone greeting the guards. Then the oak door opened and Mary entered, her arms full of clothing. “Och, ye’re up! Good, fer I’ve ordered a nice hot bath fer ye.”

  Every morning for the last week, Thomas had awakened to the sight of the maid’s wide, dimpled smile and freckled, weathered face. Until this week, he hadn’t realized how wearisome habitual cheerfulness could become.

  Mary smiled brightly and placed the clothes in a chair, but there was something different about her, a squaring of her jaw that bespoke a decision of some sort.

  Hmm. I wonder what’s toward now? “’Tis kind of you to bring me better clothing.”

  “’Twas no’ my idea. Lady Fia sent this.”

  “A pity I won’t see her to thank her myself. I noticed the commotion in the courtyard. Visitors have arrived, I take it.”

  The smile on Mary’s face dimmed. “Aye, we’ve visitors.”

  “Who?”

  Mary didn’t meet his gaze but began to straighten the clothing she’d brought, sorting through them to pull out a very fine lawn shirt with lace cuffs. “Clan Davies has arrived.”

  “The whole clan?”

  “Many of them; their laird and his mother will come soon.” She held out a shirt. “Do ye think ye might fit these? They may be too large.”

  He accepted the shirt, noting that while ’twas of obvious quality, ’twas far too large for him. Fia must have pilfered her cousin’s wardrobe, probably without his knowledge. “’Twill fit well enough.”

  “Good. I’ll tell Lady Fia; she was worried it might not.”

  Thomas absently rubbed the finely woven cloth between his fingers. While he’d been unconscious, he’d dreamed of Fia—of her sitting beside him, regaling him with tales, her soothing voice sending him into a deeper and yet deeper sleep. He’d been so involved in his dreams that when he’d finally awakened, his first thought had been of her.

  A large clang sounded in the hallway, and Mary said, “Ah, yer water.” She went to open to the door as the sound of voices rose in the hallway. “’Twill be good fer ye to soak in some hot water.” She opened the door and a group of men carried in a huge tub. More followed with buckets of steaming water.

  Mary bustled about the room, straightening as she went. “Ye won’t believe what a flutter the whole castle’s in. Lady Davies and her son are to arrive on the morrow. They sent almost two hundred men to secure the way. They’ve set up camp outside the castle walls.”

  He hobbled to the window, unlatched the shutter, and threw it open, grimacing as his sore muscles protested. He leaned out the window, the waning afternoon sun unable to hold back the chilled wind. His room was on the third level, the surrounding wall across the courtyard almost even with his window. Lines of tents had been erected on the fields outside of the castle gate. Bloody hell. The entire place is surrounded.

  His heart sank and he closed the shutters. “That’s a large number. Do they always travel with their pennants flying?”

  “’Tis a very important visit. The laird has had Lady Fia with a seamstress fer the last day, sewi
ng pearls upon her best gown. She will be presiding over the banquet.”

  He shrugged. “As is usual for the lady of the castle.”

  Mary shook her head, her smile dimmed. “Nay, fer the laird would never allow it before. He’s very protective of her.”

  “Why is she to be at this banquet, then?”

  Mary glanced at the servants filling the tub and said in a low tone, “The laird’s decided ’tis time fer Lady Fia to do her duty.”

  ’Twas obvious there was more to it than that, but Mary would say no more in front of the other servants. Thomas waited impatiently until the men left, swinging the door wide as they did so.

  Thomas took the opportunity to count the men posted as guards. One, two, three—ah. Five of them, and all burly men equipped with swords and knives.

  He rubbed his black beard. Even if he did manage to overcome the guards, he would be lost in the maze of hallways. He needed a guide, someone who knew the castle and could find a way past the encampment outside the walls. Someone like Fia.

  Mary closed the door and returned to place some thick towels by the tub. “Get in the tub, me lord. ’Twill help those aches and pains of yers.”

  The clean, steaming water beckoned and he undressed as fast as his aching thigh would allow, Mary assisting as she could.

  He soon slipped into the water with a thankful sigh. He had to find a way out of this predicament. Though the letter had been the ultimate prize and he’d lost it, he’d still managed to collect some good information that would benefit Walsingham and England. If he could just make it to his ship, his efforts would not have been wasted.

  Mary placed the rest of the clothes upon his bed. “I dinna know if the clothes will fit, but they’re better than what ye had.”

  Thomas slid deeper into the hot water. “So tell me more of clan Davies.”

  Mary’s face darkened. “There’s not much more to tell. ’Twill be a grand banquet and the kitchens are cooking all sorts of fine dishes—ten geese, a roasted pig, and lamb stew.”

  Thomas’s stomach rumbled and she nodded. “Aye, ye’ll get a portion, too. Lady Fia will see to that.” Mary pulled a small stool to the side of the tub and sat, then took a small cloth and a cake of soap and began to lather it. “I worry fer Lady Fia, I do. Ye should worry, too.”