A Perfect Knight For Love (34 page)

None of the women surreptitiously watching them had anything resembling a smile on their faces. Most looked wary. Amalie did her best to ignore them, just as she had the workers in the kitchens. It appeared that MacGowan clansmen were more accepting of Thayne’s bride than the women were going to be, but she’d work on it. She had Maves on her side already, and the rest probably needed time.

And that she had a lot of. At least, until Thayne was back.

Thayne!

Amalie forced the reactive tears down, swallowed convulsively on any sobs, and forced her mind back to her tour. She didn’t dare give in to emotion. Not now, in front of clan that wasn’t accepting of her in the first place.

Beside the smoke shed was the game shed, where meats were hung and ripened. Past that was the spiked roof of their two-story dovecote, and beyond that the sheds for drying hides. They didn’t reach it. Maves spoke of her concern over wet grasses and the effect on their skirts and slippers, and Amalie hadn’t even felt it.

When Thayne had spoken of her assuming the role of chatelaine of his household, and taking up the keys to it, she’d assumed it needed work. Now, she knew the truth. His household was a model of efficiency and organization. Her spirits dropped further as she realized it. She wasn’t wanted here and she wasn’t even needed.

She followed Stout Pells to another heavy oaken door set in the walls, this one leading to yet another torch-lit hall that echoed with voices and footsteps and activity she wasn’t allowed to enjoin. In here, out of reach of any sunlight, the dampness of her lower limbs was obvious. Amalie shivered noticeably, and wondered why even that didn’t pierce the depression settling all about her.

They got waylaid at the tower stair by a servant she didn’t recognize, although Maves definitely did. She’d make an excellent head housekeeper, if she had aspirations above being Amalie’s ladies maid. She stepped in front of Amalie protectively.

“You have chores to see to, Graven.”

“I’m bearing a message.”

“Out with it then, and return to your dusting duties.”

“The Duchess of MacGowan is asking for the Sassenach.”

Maves got bigger somehow, or maybe it was the fact Stout Pells had moved forward, sending torchlight onto her which tended to make her shadow bigger. Amalie’s mind worked on small bits of information, rather than the entirety of the whole. It was self-preservation and she knew it. She didn’t know how else to handle such dislike, distrust, and what bordered on outright rebellion. There wasn’t any training her governesses had ever given in it.

“The
mistress
has more to do than listen to the likes of you. Inform them Lady MacGowan will attend within the hour. Once she’s presentable. See to a carriage. Stout Pells? See us to the Chieftain Chamber. I’ve had enough of this woman’s tongue, and will see to it once I’ve settled the mistress. You can rely on that, Graven.”

“I mean nae disrespect to the lady. . . .”

Maves pushed forward and the woman in front of her gave way, backing without looking. “Return to your chores, Graven. Now.”

“The duchess has requested her presence immediate-like!”

“None can cross the inner bailey courtyard with any speed, Graven. You have your orders. Now hie your arse out of my way.”

“The duchess is na’ at her palace. She’s here. In the solar.”

“In that event, the woman can wait just as well here. Give her the message. And now, Stout Pells, could you please see Her Ladyship to her chamber?”

It took more than an hour before Amalie was pronounced ready, her hair braided and wrapped neatly atop her head and then covered with a caplet, a linen under-dress skimming her frame, and over that a skirt and bodice of silver-toned satin while ermine trimmed her sleeves. She looked regal, and aloof, and aware of her consequence: the epitome of aristocracy. Only the chill of her hands in their gloves betrayed any emotion. Amalie had Maves to thank for all of it. More than she could say, although the woman wasn’t having any of it. As far as Maves was concerned, Amalie was their new lady. She’d been chosen by Thayne in a love match, and that was good enough for Maves.

The duchess was sitting stiff-backed on a hard chair, situated beside a deep-set window, a manservant standing at either side of her. There was a fire in the Great Room on the other side of the fireplace. Welcome heat radiated from the hearth. That wasn’t what had situated the duchess. It was the large peacock-shaded tapestry on the wall behind her, providing a painterly backdrop for her deep ruby gown and like jewelry. She was in full court attire, complete with a powdered wig, white painted complexion, and panniers. She looked ridiculous.

“Your grace.”

Amalie approached, curtsied, and then moved to a chair closer to the hearth. She chose one with a high wooden back and a needlepoint cushion that had probably taken months to complete. Better to keep her mind on mundane things. Little things. Inconsequential things.

“You’ve taken quite a spell to reply to my summons.”

“Truly?” Amalie put her attention on smoothing her skirts over her legs, hiding the tremble. And the cold. And what she refused to label fear.

“Now that you’ve arrived we can talk. Dismiss your servant.”

“Whatever you’ve come to say, I’m certain Maves won’t interfere.”

“Are you disobeying an order?”

“Say what you’ve come for, your grace. You’re keeping me from household matters.”

The duchess pulled back visibly at the insult, and then her face twisted into an even uglier expression. It matched her tone. “Jules? Rene? Wait for me in the hall.”

Amalie watched the two men bow before leaving, their footsteps in tandem across the floor. The duchess then turned to her expectantly.

“Maves, you may leave.”

“My lady, I really must—”

“Now, Maves.”

The woman tightened her lips, gave the duchess a blank look, and then followed the manservants from the room as well.

“Now, we can talk.”

“No. Now you can say what you’ve come to say, and then follow your servants from my house. That is what will happen.”

“Very well. I’ll be blunt. When do you plan to abide the ransom note?”

She was right. That was blunt. Amalie considered her for several moments. “I’ve made arrangements for the funds,” she finally replied.

“I don’t mean that, you fool. I mean the other part.”

“What . . . other part?” Amalie’s voice was almost inaudible. She’d never fainted. She wasn’t about to do so now. The floor beneath her looked hard. Unforgiving. Cold. She clenched her hands and worked at seeing through the odd arrangement of dots that came out of nowhere to hover in the air between them.

“You mean . . . they didn’t tell you?” The woman was prolonging the moment, obviously enjoying it, for her voice carried laughter and something more: nastiness.

Amalie shook her head.

“The MacKennahs will accept dissolution of the marriage.”

“My marriage can’t be dissolved. It’s been consummated.”

“Not if Thayne wants out of that hellhole, it hasn’t. You ever see a dungeon, Miss Carstens? It’s not a place I’d want to see any man.”

“My marriage has been consummated. There is no annulling it.”

“Minor detail, dear girl. If you’re not breeding, no one will ever need to know, will they?”

“I’ll know. And Thayne will know.”

“You’re not wanted here. You’re not needed. Why would you stay?”

“Because I’m married.”

“Words said before witnesses. Nothing more.”

“Binding words, your grace. Or have you forgotten the man I wed? His word is his bond. Always.”

“Your stubbornness may kill him!”

The duchess was getting animated. Two spots of dark purplish shade on her cheeks exacerbated her pallor.

“Scottish feuding may do that. Not me.”

“He’ll still be just as dead. Is that what you want?”

Amalie’s heart felt like a giant had gripped it in his hand and squeezed. Her breath caught and the room swelled to immense proportions, making her tiny and insignificant. Then it returned. If this was fainting, she was in severe trouble. No wonder women carried smelling salts.

“This is wasting time, while Thayne is imprisoned! Maybe injured. Don’t you care for him at all?”

I love him.

She almost said it. Tears obliterated the woman for a moment. Amalie breathed slowly and studiously until they disappeared. The duchess stood and approached her, pulling a ring from her finger and dropping it onto Amalie’s skirts.

“If you love him, you’ll do the right thing for him, his honor. And the clan. You’ll free him. See this ring sent back to me. Don’t take too long. His life hangs in the balance.”

“Leave. Now.”

It was Amalie’s voice and words, but she didn’t hear herself making them. The duchess’s progress across the room and through the door was soundless as well. As was the door closing. All she heard was the worry closing in. And this time it brought pain.

Chapter 24

The MacKennah dungeon lived up to every expectation. The slab of stone Thayne woke atop was a perfect example. As was the absolute dark and cold. Despite knowing the stupidity, he groaned, alerting any observers. That was followed by a pent breath, awaiting the outcome. Nothing. They’d placed him on his back in here and then left him. Trust a MacKennah to have little in compassion and less in hospitable efforts. Thayne brushed his working hand down his front. Good. He still wore his plaid. They’d put it back over his bandaging. That bit of linen was tied into place, and not budging. Still good. He also wore his thick woolen trews, too. All of that stood him in good stead for this ordeal. At least he wouldn’t die of the cold and chill. Not at first, anyway.

He reached his hand out to the side and touched spongy dampness. That proved another point. Their rooms weren’t water-tight. Trickles of moisture slid down moss-covered walls, pooling into a depression between the wall and the stone slab he was atop. The ceiling was beyond reach, granting him room to sit, at least. There was fresh air coming from somewhere, muting the antipathy and decay that permeated the air. All in all, he was facing grim odds. Especially if they didn’t see him fed.

Thayne sucked in a breath and sat, leaning forward in a slump as he absorbed the instant thumping pain through his temples. He told himself it was better and then worked at believing it. At least his teeth were calm and his jaw felt like it might work at something besides clenching. He rotated, putting his feet to the floor, thanking his luck they hadn’t taken his boots, either. Thayne sat, breathing in and out, testing the space for any other occupant. But he knew the truth. He was stalling.

He put his working hand to his knee, pressed, and found his legs wobbled, but supported him for a hunched position until he knew the height of the room. It was getting easier to see, as well. There wasn’t enough light to tell if it was day or night, but enough penetrated the gloom to give him a dim outline of a door. A wave of his hand above his head gave him room to stand fully, and he did so, keeping the reaction unspoken as his head throbbed at the move, and then his shoulder and arm joined in. And then, damn it all, everything on his body decided to hate him just for moving.

The door was three steps away, constructed of stout wood that contained slivers to this side, and didn’t even have a handle, nor even a window for checking a prisoner. Odd design. And stupid. Any checking on him would have to open the door first. He’d have a chance to attack . . . if he had found any strength and mobility for it. Thayne stood with his forehead against the wood, waiting for his head to cease sending arrows of pain through him. And failing. There was nothing for it. Thayne retreated to his slab and collapsed into a sit to ponder his luck.

He was injured; he was locked in without benefit of food or a bucket for his needs; he was shivering already. At least he wouldn’t die of thirst. He could suck it from the walls if he had to. He probably wasn’t the first man to do so, and he wouldn’t be the last. But food was going to be his real issue. His belly was an empty hole, assigning a measure of time to his incarceration. At least a day. Perhaps more. And then he wondered what his Amalie was doing.

Was she, even now, ensconced in his bed, worrying over his absence? Was she cuddling the bairn for solace? Did she even care that he’d gone missing?

And would she truly consider leaving him?

The groan this time had heart-pain at its core. Thayne bit it off and made a face at the outline of the door. His Amalie would never leave him. She loved him as he did her. She had to. Even if she hadn’t voiced it, her frame told him of it more than once. Hadn’t it?

Thayne sighed heavily. There was nothing for it. Pondering the workings of his wife’s mind was as worthless as trying to dig his way through these walls. He settled onto his back again. It was better to be unconscious. And maybe, if he was lucky, he’d dream of being back in that big bed with her.

“Thayne?”

The feminine cant of the whisper brushed against his ear. Thayne swiped at it. He was dreaming, and it had been so real it was already causing apparitions to plague him? He must have been down here longer than he’d thought.

“MacGowan!”

The whisper came again, louder this time. It was still feminine, and now it came with a shove against his injured side. Thayne growled and rolled to face her, disguising the pain with the move. It was a lass of perhaps a decade and a half: slight, almost faery-like. She held a candle aloft, putting a halo image about her, while shedding light enough to see her glare at him. In his dungeon? Thayne blinked and then swiped at his eyes to look again, regardless of the pain it caused through his skull. Nothing changed. She was still there.

“You awake? Finally?”

“Go away.”

“Hush!” She put a hand to his lips as if there were someone in this benighted hole that could hear him.

“We must hurry!”

“We?” Thayne brushed her hand aside to sit, bending forward with the same slouched position as before while he waited for his head to absorb the pain to a manageable level. It was difficult to think around it, and he put his hand to his forehead for support. He’d never had such an injury. Every move sent a wave of sickness through his frame that made him shudder to suppress it. He was surprised she didn’t notice.