Sandra Madden (28 page)

"Queen Elizabeth has given her approval of our match, and as you well know, there is not a better one to be found for you in all of Britain."

Pray God, 'twas true. This little plump red ball before him was the best match in terms of title and wealth. "We shall make our final arrangements following the match," he assured her. "Until then, I must devote my energies to the tennis court and winning the tournament."

Lady Judith leveled a narrowed gaze at Edmund. "If you persist in this foolishness, you may win your tennis tournament, Lord Stamford, but you shall certainly lose me."

* * * *

'Twas late in the afternoon. With her elbows braced against the damp, cold ledge of the window, Kate cupped her cheeks in her palms. Caught in a cloud of lethargy, she gazed out onto the unfamiliar landscape. The moors beyond Downes Castle were shrouded in mist, the earth and sky muted in shades of brown and baked clay.

She doubted roses of any kind could grow here.

Although the duke made every effort to make the journey to Scotland as comfortable as possible, it had been wrought with pain for Kate.

The dull ache in her heart would not leave, had become a permanent part of her. Her limbs felt leaden. Even making light conversation seemed a formidable task. And for the first time in her life, she had no appetite. She could sleep night and day.

Downes Castle was a disappointment. Cold and crumbling, she could not imagine finding happiness or peace within the damp stone walls. The kindly duke apologized for the state of the castle and promised her he would begin repairs immediately. He apologized for Anne.

Although they had arrived three days ago, the mysterious lady of the castle had been feeling too ill to see them. Her old retainer Sally repeatedly assured Donald Cameron and Kate that her mistress was anxious to see them and begged for their understanding.

Kate turned from her window. Percy lay in her line of sight, curled in a corner of the adjacent chamber.

"Percy?"

The hound did not move.

"If you do not eat soon, you will die."

Percy opened one eye.

"I cannot have your death on my hands."

The beast made a whimpering sound and rested his large head on his two front paws.

"You are the only tie I have with Edmund now." Kate rose and advanced slowly toward where Percy lay. His mournful eyes followed her. "As I suppose I am your only link to your master."

Kate had never talked to a dog before. She felt foolish doing so; did not expect him to understand her. She spoke in a soft, calming tone. While Edmund claimed Percy adored Kate, she had a difficult time believing an animal, whose appearance alone frightened her, could possibly hold her in affection.

"I wish to be friends with you," she told the bloodhound.

Percy sat up on his haunches. His tail slapped from side to side, whipping the rushes spread on the floor.

Kate stopped. She had reached the arched doorway. He was only three feet away. "We both love Edmund."

Percy barked.

Startled, she jumped.

The dog whined.

Kate reached for the purse on her girdle and withdrew several of the raisins she kept there to feed the birds. She held her hand flat as she offered the raisins to Percy. He had wanted to be friends all along; it was she who had been frightened. She was frightened now. The big brown beast might take a bite of her hand.

"Come, Percy."

Percy bounded forward. He did not seem to notice Kate's trembling smile or her shaking hand. He slobbered the raisins up with his thick rough tongue. They disappeared in seconds.

Kate reached out and gingerly patted the top of his large knobby head. "Perhaps we shall ride together one day. We shall play ball to pass the time as well. I know you like to fetch Edmund's tennis balls."

Percy barked up at her several times as if he were replying, or asking for more raisins. As Kate pondered what the homely beast was trying to convey, Sally rushed into the chamber.

Mistress Anne has asked to see you and the good duke."

Kate's heart pounded heavily against her chest as she hurried down the cold, barren corridor to the west wing where Anne's suite was located. If she did not meet with the lady's approval, where could she go? What would become of her?

The duke waited.

"Dinna worry, Kate. Me Anne will love ye on sight," he said as he opened the door.

"I pray so, my lord." Her mouth was so dry, she rasped.

Donald Cameron nudged her into the room.

The first thing Kate noticed about Lady Anne was her large golden, amber eyes. Much like her own.

Chapter Eighteen

Do nothing while Venus and Neptune are in opposition

The aroma of fresh baked bread permeated the small cluttered room where Edmund found the star-gazer known as Jutta. He'd ridden to town especially to see her, and had used all his charm when introducing himself, to no avail. The hard edges of the astrologer's mouth did not soften; neither did her narrowed granite eyes. The baker's wife regarded him with undisguised suspicion. What had Kate been saying about him?

There was naught to do but throw himself on the astrologer's mercy, not that she appeared to possess such a quality. "By your leave, Mistress Jutta, I must ask you to prepare a chart that will show Kate Beadle belongs at Rose Hall."

Jutta brushed away strands of coarse, mousy brown hair from her face. "Mistress Kate does indeed belong at Rose Hall. The stars have spoken."

Edmund was momentarily taken aback. "Does Mistress Kate know this?"

Jutta shrugged. "I cannot be certain, milord. She's not been in the shop regular of late. I am used to reading her chart every week. But 'tis been over a week since I saw her last."

"However has she made any decisions?" Edmund wondered aloud.

The baker's wife scowled at him.

"Never mind."

"Is Mistress Kate ill?"

"No, she has gone to Scotland."

Jutta's sparse brows met above the bridge of her crooked nose. The frowning astrologer obviously considered a sojourn in Scotland worse than a fatal illness.

"The planets did not predict such a journey," she mumbled.

Edmund allowed himself a sigh. "Would that for once Kate had sought counsel from the constellations."

"Aye."

"Jutta, I am leaving for Scotland to fetch Mistress Kate. If I am to bring her back I must have a chart proving what you say. My word alone will not convince her to leave with me, I fear."

"She does not trust you?"

Unused to such insolence, except from Kate, Edmund stiffened. "Foolish as it may seem, she believes I seek to possess her."

"And do ye?"

"I gave her my bloodhound. If I were a possessive man, I should not have given Kate my best hunter. I should have kept him for myself," he explained righteously.

Giving Percy to Kate had been difficult in one respect. The hound afforded Edmund the only unconditional love he'd ever known.

"Instead, your dog is with Mistress Kate?"

"To protect her and provide companionship. She will not be lonely with Percy."

Jutta cocked her head. She regarded him as she might a Bedlam inmate. "But you want the hunter and Kate Beadle back?"

Edmund did not care for Jutta's tone, nor her implication. "Only because Kate and Percy belong at Rose Hall."

The baker's wife pushed herself up from the table and moved toward a cupboard. After poking through the papers with a floured hand, she turned and handed him a rolled parchment. " 'Tis already done. I expected Mistress Kate to come for a reading."

"God reward you," Edmund said with genuine enthusiasm and a grin he could not suppress. "This will make it far less difficult to persuade Kate to return with me."

The stargazer's flat expression did not change. "Mayhap."

Undaunted, he pulled out a crown and pressed the coin into Jutta's hand as an expression of his appreciation.

Edmund had no curiosity in a chart showing the position of the planets. He did not believe in astrology, except as it pertained to health, and therefore only glimpsed at the chart before shoving it into the leather sack on his saddle.

He galloped back to Rose Hall where he ordered his gelding made ready for a long journey on the morrow. Next, tamping down his excitement, Edmund hurried to bid farewell to his aunt.

Standing at the door to Cordelia's chamber, Edmund took a deep breath and swiped a hand through his hair before knocking. He never knew what to expect from his aging aunt, who once again claimed to be on the brink of death. One of these days he feared she truly would be. Pray God it wasn't today.

An unfamiliar lady-in-waiting opened the door. Middle-aged, gaunt and deeply wrinkled, she curtsied low and led Edmund into the darkened bedchamber.

Cordelia lay upon her bed fully clothed. Her eyes were closed and the back of one hand rested upon her forehead. A physician Edmund had never seen before held her other hand.

"Aunt Cordelia?"

"Edmund?" She opened her eyes.

"Yes, 'tis I."

She turned her head toward him and offered a feeble smile. "You are just in time to meet Oliver Davys, my new physician."

Yet another, in Aunt Cordelia's growing retinue. Edmund had hoped to find his aunt alone.

"Welcome to Rose Hall, Master Davys."

Dressed in traditional flat cap and long black robe, the healer was a striking man in a swarthy sort of way. More than likely, he was a wealthy man as well.

The physician bowed his head. "My lord."

"I met Doctor Davys while we were in London and he helped me more than any other physician," Cordelia said, rising up in bed and resting on her elbows. "I invited him to Rose Hall so that he might attend me. I hope you do not mind, Edmund."

"Not at all." He dipped his head toward the physician. "My thanks to you for assisting my aunt."

Davys bowed deeply. "To heal is my purpose, my pleasure."

Aunt Cordelia beamed and blinked.

Edmund frowned.

In his opinion, albeit hastily formed, the physician healed with honeyed words and flattering attention. But he evidently prospered and appeared to be not much older than Kate.

"Did you bring your wife to Rose Hall?" Edmund asked with feigned nonchalance.

"I am not married, my lord. I have been too busy to form an attachment."

" 'Tis a shame," Edmund replied, working quickly to a frown. "Married life is to be desired, so my aunt tells me."

Davys's admission was too good to be true. Within weeks Kate might be safely married to a physician! Although he had promised not to meddle in her affairs, Edmund rationalized that he'd made the vow before she had gone off to Scotland.

Nay. Nay. He'd promised. In truth, he could not find Kate a mate or he would not have failed in his attempts thus far. Perchance, in his heart, he did not wish to find her a husband.

"A man without a wife has not a life," Aunt Cordelia pronounced, rising from her bed.

"Quite right," Davys agreed, with a rueful twist of his lips.

Edmund could not agree. A man must have the proper wife or he was better off without. But he had no time to argue his point. Armed with the stargazer's chart and another candidate, well, a potential candidate, to be Kate's husband, Edmund was convinced he planned the proper course of action. He must not delay in rescuing Kate from Scotland and the old duke.

Edmund strode to his aunt's side. "I am leaving for Scotland on the morrow, at first light."

"Eh?"

"I intend to fetch Kate and return her to Rose Hall where she belongs."

"But Edmund, your tennis court will be finished on the morrow," Cordelia protested. "Your tournament will begin the day after."

'Twas true. Disappointment stabbed at his gut. "I cannot delay. Too much time has already passed."

"But you have been eagerly awaiting this time.”

"Aye, but I fear for Kate's well-being. Her life means more than an outdoor court or the winning of a tournament."

There would be another tournament. He would see to it.

But there would never be another Kate.

* * * *

Kate stood closely beside the Duke of Doneval, resolved not to show her nervousness.

Lady Anne's spacious bedchamber was warmed by a roaring fire. Flames crackled in the massive stone fireplace flanked on either side of the hearth by imaginary beasts carved from stone and deepened by age to a dark honey shade.

Her knees went to whey as Kate's gaze fixed on the bedridden woman. Anne lay motionless like a child's marionette in a giant's bed.

Rich, black velvet fabric fell from each corner of the intricately carved French walnut bed. Tied back with gold tassels, the fabric once unbound served to curtain the occupant of the bed with privacy.

The last rays of light slid hazily through the old casement windows. Kate was only dimly aware of the Turkish carpets scattered over the rushes and rosemary. The gold-threaded tapestries, carved oak chairs, and cupboards adorning the room barely registered upon her mind.

The woman reclining on feather pillows and swathed in sable blankets appeared small and fragile. In contrast was her oversized retainer, Sally, who stood by the head of the bed as if on guard. The old woman patted her hands against her stomach.

"Me dear lass, how are ye?" Donald Cameron asked in a cheering tone as he approached the bed.

At a closer vantage his smile faded, replaced by a deepening frown, crevices etched in concern. His brown eyes darkened.

Kate's heart raced. Her mouth tasted as if she had been eating straw. Uncommonly anxious, she twisted her ring to and fro.

Anne gave the duke a wry half smile. "I am feeling curious. Who is the lovely young woman at your side?"

"Weel na, 'tis Mistress Kate. She has journeyed with me from England just to meet ye."

"You know I do not receive visitors, Donald."

"Aye, but Kate is not a visitor. The lass will make a fine companion for ye.”

"Kate?" Anne interrupted in a stronger voice than Kate thought possible from a woman so obviously ill. "Kate, what is it about your ring that distresses you, girl?"