“How do you feel?” he asked. “I should carry you back up to the Highlands this day.”
A smile touched her lips, bringing back some of the strength in her face. “I certainly did not hit my head nearly as much at home,” she said, touching where he knew a goose egg of a bump sat. “But Jane has made certain Mouse and I are clean, warm, and able to think straight.” She glanced around the empty room.
“Jane took the girl to her own room and said she is sleeping soundly.” He allowed a smile to grow on his mouth. “We cannot call the child Mouse,” he said. “Not when you are named Cat.”
She grinned, her shoulders moving with a small huff, but then she stilled, the expression on her lovely face darkening. “She does not want to return with us.”
“A child needs to be looked after,” Nathaniel said. “An adult to warn her not to go near the edge of the ice.”
“’Twas an adult who told her to go that way, Nathaniel.”
“What?”
Cat nodded. “She told me after we both bathed. Esther Stanton. I saw her talking to Mouse before I skated over. Mouse said Esther told her to save her penny by getting off the ice there. That the ice was solid. That the sign she couldn’t read said it was safe.”
Nathaniel’s scowl deepened. “What was her purpose for misleading the girl?” He’d known Esther Stanton for years. She was vain and petty, but he hadn’t known her to be devious and cruel without reason.
“Esther then pointed Mouse out to me,” Cat said. “She wanted me to follow her onto the cracking ice. And that is not all. The herbalist indicated to me that Esther bought Wolfsbane flower from her, a very potent poison. I think Esther was worried I might discover something at the Frost Fair, and that is why she did not want me to go.”
“You are accusing her of poisoning and then trying to coax you into a deadly accident?” Nathaniel asked, and his jaw clenched. “Cat, we need solid proof before speaking like that to anyone.”
She frowned at him. “Do what ye want with the information. Charles and James are your kings, not mine, despite them claiming Scotland. But mark my words, Esther Stanton is evil.”
Knock, knock.
Nathaniel opened the door to a lady’s maid, her eyes going wide at his presence. She held a tray with a goblet on it and bobbed her head. “I was asked to bring this to milady. A tonic to help her improve.”
“By whom?” Nathaniel asked.
“I was told to say it came from the lady Ekua,” the maid said. Nathaniel stepped aside, and the maid hurried in to set the goblet on the tray he’d placed by the bed.
“Told to say?” Cat asked.
The maid kept her gaze on the floor. She was a timid, thin girl. “Aye, milady. ’Twas given to me by a page within the queen’s household. I do not know his name.”
Nathaniel placed a shilling into her palm. “And another reward once you discover it.”
“Aye, milord.”
He shut the door behind her and turned to see Cat picking up the goblet. “Do not drink that.”
She hovered her nose over it. “Of course, I am not going to drink it,” she said, looking annoyed. “I have just said that Lady Stanton was buying poisonous Wolfsbane from the herbalist, and the maid does not know who gave it to her.”
“You are certain the herbalist said Lady Stanton?” Nathaniel asked.
“When I woke on the table under her tent, the crone indicated with her eyes, a tapping of her finger, and a nod that Esther was the one who had purchased some of the dried flowers. And Esther had been angered with the thought of me attending the Frost Fair when I heard her question Iain Padley in the hall at night.”
Nathaniel turned back to her. “When did the crone say it was bought? How long ago?”
“I did not have a chance to question her,” she said. “I should return before she leaves.”
“I will. You are resting.”
She sniffed the contents. “I smell wine, although there is something else in it for certain. But I cannot tell what.” She held it out to him. “Pour it in the clothes stool and set the empty goblet in the hall outside the door. Hopefully word that I drank it will reach whomever truly sent it.”
“I do not think Princess Ekua is guilty,” he said, taking the goblet. “I was just speaking with her about her brother, Titus, and she did not mention sending anything to you.”
“The beautiful lady with brown skin?” she asked. “Her hair wrapped up in silks?”
Nathaniel’s jaw hardened, his brows furrowing. “She is Titus’s sister, the one he was trying to protect when he took Queen Catherine from Finlarig Castle. I did not know that they were from a royal line.”
“A princess that someone is trying to blame, if something foul was put into my drink,” she said.
Nathaniel took the tonic, pouring it out to set in the empty corridor. No one but the maid and Jane knew he was inside alone with Cat. “I should go,” he murmured, turning to her. “Let you sleep. You can lock the door behind me.”
She looked at the tray. “Is the rest of this safe?”
“Jane brought it. She would have put everything together herself,” he said. “But I will ask her now before going back to the fair.”
“Ye will come back tonight?” Cat asked and pushed up in the bed, her smock slipping a bit to show one beautifully speckled shoulder. Lord how he wanted to kiss it, stroke away every nightmarish memory of her thrashing amongst the sharp ice, only a rope around her middle to save her from going under.
His chest tightened. A hurting heart is easily trodden. Jane’s words sank their talons into him, piquing his guilt. He walked to the edge of the bed. “Cat… I…have a past that is quite different from who I am now.”
Her hand rested on the top of his. “But this is now. I have learned to look only toward the days to come. The past is too dark to dwell upon.”
Standing beside the bed, his hands fisted at his sides. He should tell her of his past. It had gone too long since he realized the damn connection in the threads of their lives. Each time they came together, and he smothered the information that would surely make her pull away from him, guilt tainted the memory. Royal oaths be damned!
He caught her hands and bent to touch his forehead against hers. “There are things that I have not shared when I should have. Sins of the past. Reasons why we cannot be together.”
She frowned, pulling back. “Esther Stanton—”
“Has nothing to do with this,” he said and took a large breath to step back from her. “You do not know—”
“I know about your father’s will, Nathaniel,” she said. “Why ye cannot wed me.” She blinked, pushing back into the pillows.
Lord. He must reveal all. Let her know of his sins before meeting her up at Finlarig. “Cat, I—”
Knock, knock, knock. They both stared at the door, not saying a word.
“Worthington? Are you in there?”
He turned. Damn it all to hell. God, the fates, and the devil seemed to be working together against him. He threw open the door. Lord Wallace Danby’s quizzical face transformed into a teasing grin. “I thought you might be visiting our frozen heroine.” He peered around Nathaniel’s shoulder to where Cat had slipped from the bed and into a robe, cinching it tight about her middle.
“Good day,” she answered with a silent bob, her frown still in place.
“What do you want?” Nathaniel asked.
“King James is asking for you to attend him,” Danby said. “Something about your father’s will,” he said with questions in his voice.
A meeting with James? Finally, he could persuade the king to release him to explain his past to Cat. For he must, with or without royal approval. Nathaniel met Cat’s gaze, giving her a tight bow. “Sleep well, Lady Campbell, and be sure to lock this door.” He didn’t wait for a reply that probably wouldn’t come.
…
Jane pulled the silk ribbons of Cat’s corset tight. Cat tried not to suck in or Jane would bind her as tightly as a hanging noo
se. The woman finally tied the bows in back, and Cat let herself relax. The woman tossed a lovely petticoat to glide down over her head and tied it in place over the stays. The embroidered lavender petticoat flared out slightly from her hips, falling in a pool of silk behind her. The deep magenta mantua lay spread out on the bed to be placed on her like a long coat before being cinched up to expose the stomacher and petticoat in the front.
“Does everyone dress for dinner as if attending a ball?” Cat asked, already trying to shift the hard boning of the stays that would leave lines pressed into her skin even through her smock.
“Yes, milady,” Jane said and held up three different black stickers that were cut in the shapes of birds. “Which patch would you like to wear on your face?”
“Ye know, Jane, ye can just say yes when no one else can hear. All this milady and Lady Campbell irritates me.”
“Then court irritates you, because that is what we say at court.”
“Aye, court irritates the bloody hell out of me,” Cat said, frowning in the polished glass that stood before her. “And not just because someone might be trying to kill me.” The goblet was not taken from the hallway, and no one had tracked Nathaniel down to ask if she were ill or dead. As far as Cat knew anyway. She hadn’t seen him since he left her chambers yesterday afternoon.
Cat frowned as she flipped their conversation around in her mind like she’d done all night. Guilt had sat in his features. What had Nathaniel been hiding from her? Sins of his past? Something that prevented him from returning to her chambers after meeting with King James about wedding Esther Stanton, the devil’s daughter. And Jane said he’d been out searching all this day for the herbalist, first at the Frost Fair and then through the streets of London.
“You could eat in your bed chamber,” Jane suggested.
“Then I will not be able to catch Lady Stanton looking surprised that I am not frothing at the mouth or dead on the floor of my bedchamber.” Or catch Nathaniel alone to make him finally tell her about these sins that seemed to torture him.
Jane made a noise of caution. She’d heard the story of Esther’s tricks out on the thin ice from Mouse before the girl left Whitehall that morning. “Lady Stanton is a powerful woman from a powerful family. A word from a stranger will not hold up against her. The crone may have sought revenge for a snub from the lady.”
“And telling a child to walk across the thin ice of a frozen river?” Cat asked. “And then pointing her out to me so I would drown as well?”
Jane shook her head. “It will be her words against the child’s, and I daresay, Lady Stanton will plead innocent of all wrong doings.”
Jane was right, of course, but Cat’s fingers itched for her sgian dubh. Not only was she certain the haughty woman was guilty of buying poison and sending a little girl to a likely death, she was sure that everyone at court would believe Esther Stanton over Cat Campbell.
“Which patch for your face?” Jane asked again.
She huffed. “I swear on my mother’s condemned soul… If I am the only woman wearing a foolish scrap of black velvet stuck to her face, I am coming back to strip ye down, stick the patches all over your arse, and make ye parade up and down the picture gallery at knife point.”
Cat let Jane push her down into a chair before a mirror. The woman wore a grin. “Noted.” She frowned but pointed at a small sparrow cut from the black material. “I will stick it at your temple as if it were flying away. It represents freedom.”
“Unfortunately, sticking a picture to one’s face does little to procure the prize,” Cat said and watched Jane dab something on the back of the patch, sticking it deftly to her skin. If it itched at all, she would likely scratch it off without thinking about it anyway.
“There, it looks quite appealing with your hair curled up around the fontage,” Jane said with a true smile. It was as if Cat was her canvas, and she was proud of the results of her talent.
Cat studied the reflection of her hair, looped and pinned on top of her head around a ridiculous-looking hairpiece of stiffened lace, the hair stick poking into it. Despite the splattering of freckles, she did resemble the refined ladies at court. Would Nathaniel find her polished like a true lady?
“Ye have done well with me,” she said.
“You have a natural beauty,” Jane said, meeting her gaze in the mirror’s reflection. “Not like these ladies who layer pigment on their skin and float around as if they are above everyone.”
Cat watched her walk toward the bed to find her shoes or gloves or some other absurd must-have for dinner. “Lady Stanton floats around,” she said.
“She is one of the most…regal-acting,” Jane said as if choosing her words carefully. She shook her head. “And with such little regard to the poor in this world.” Mouse had escaped Whitehall as soon as Jane had made certain the girl was dry and fed and Cat had equipped her with warmer clothing acquired with some of Nathaniel’s coins.
“The late Viscount of Hollings wanted Nathaniel to marry her,” Cat said and studied Jane. “Put something about it in his will?”
Jane’s lips pinched. “Lord Worthington’s father wanted what was best for the Worthington family and thought he knew what that was. But certainly, he would not want his son to wed a traitor,” she ended with a whisper.
“What does the will say exactly?” Cat asked.
“It is a description of Lady Stanton without saying her name.”
Cat stared hard at her. “So…it says that Nathaniel Worthington, fifth Viscount of Lincolnshire must wed a haughty bitch who acts as if her shite doesn’t stink?”
Jane covered her mouth, her brows raised, but she couldn’t tell if it was with shock or humor. And she didn’t care as anger uncurled within her.
Jane lowered her hand, her lips parted. Shock then. She blinked at Cat’s reflection. “Not that exact. It says a refined lady from a powerful family of at least his rank. A woman who is in favor with the monarchy. Lord Stanton did discuss his daughter with the old Viscount though. If he were still alive, he would push the union. Since he died, Lord Stanton has gone directly to King James, who does support a grand wedding in order to draw attention away from his rapid ascension and Catholic leanings.”
“Unless Esther is guilty of treason,” Cat reminded her.
“Certainly. Lord Stanton,” Jane continued, “is the most powerful of the King Charles’s old advisors and is becoming a favorite of King James since he has not spoken out against his Catholic ways, at least publicly. So, King James seems quite happy to help the Marquess arrange the union.”
Cat yanked her gloves on. “Will Nathaniel lose all of his inheritance if he does not marry as his father specified? Can he ruin his son’s life from the grave?”
Jane sat down on the edge of the chair next to her, nodding. “It is done within the nobility. If Benjamin Worthington had his solicitor write it in his will that Nathaniel Worthington must marry a refined lady from a powerful family or forfeit his estate and fortune, then yes, he can still rule his son’s life from the cold, dark grave. Though milord would keep the title of Viscount.”
Could one be paid for merely having a title? Not if he wasn’t employed to sit within parliament.
“And without his fortune, all under his employ would lose their posts, and Hollings Estate would fall to ruin without upkeep unless he sells it.” Jane shook her head. “Likely Lady Evelyn’s school would close as well, although I have heard that the duchess, when she was queen, said she would support the Highland Roses School since the students saved her life.” Jane shrugged. “Not sure if that has changed since she lost the throne.”
Lord. “Where is Nathaniel now?” Cat asked, standing out of her chair, the heaviness of her costume swaying around her as she turned. They must talk. Although, each time she was near the man, her senses tipped directly toward a carnal outcome. Her gaze landed on the sturdy posters holding up the canopy that she’d clung to the first night she’d stayed at Whitehall. Sins of the past. What sins had stopped hi
m from returning to her last night?
Jane stood too. “You can see Lord Worthington at dinner in less than an hour.” She stared at her. “You look flushed.” She frowned, studying her as if she had more to say but chose to hold her tongue.
Cat lay palms on her own cheeks, the coolness of the leather gloves beating back the heat of an embarrassed and irritated blush. “Just trying to keep my temper reined.”
Jane reached out to fluff her petticoat and lay out the train of the mantua. “Yes, a refined woman must always keep her temper in check, else do terrible ruin to her reputation.” She stood back, running her gaze along Cat’s form. She smiled. “You are complete, Lady Campbell.”
Cat stood away from the chair and gazed at her reflection. She barely recognized herself. Head to toe she looked like an English queen, wearing the magenta mantua over the lavender petticoat, the stomacher matching the golden embroidery throughout. The neckline was seductively low, exposing her collarbones and cleavage with her curls pulled back and up, fashioned high and intertwined with the white lace headdress. The tips of her matching slippers could just be seen under the silk edge of her petticoat.
“You are lovely, Lady Campbell,” Jane said, a smile transforming her face into a look of approval, but then her lips thinned somewhat. “Now if you can control your tongue, you will come across as a refined lady.”
Cat couldn’t tear her eyes from the amazing vision before her. “Ah, but I will never come from a powerful English family.”
Jane clicked her tongue as she moved behind her, bustling up the long train. “Well now. I have not heard that the will says anything about him needing to marry into an English family. And a group of Campbell warriors seem rather powerful to me.”
Cat lifted her gaze to look at Jane over her shoulder. There was an odd twinkle in the woman’s eyes. Did she want Nathaniel to wed her?
The Wicked Viscount (The Campbells) Page 21
