The Intended (20 page)

Jaime glanced first inside the empty workroom
of Master Graves, for the physician’s door stood open. Bottles of
ingredients and decocted brews cluttered the table that generally
sat empty in the middle of the room. Steam rose ominously from a
huge, half barrel in the corner, and the air smelled sharply of
herbs.

Stepping past the room, she realized that
there was something amiss. None of the guards who had been posted
in these corridors since Malcolm arrived were to be seen. They were
all gone, and the corridor was eerily silent and empty. Jaime
quickened her pace and advanced on Malcolm’s closed door. Without
pausing to knock or call, she lifted the latch and pushed the heavy
oak door open wide.

“I knew that I would find you here!”

Jaime swung around and stared blankly at the
countess of Surrey.

“Come now, my dear. Come with me, at once.”
Frances reached out and grabbed Jaime by the hand. “Surrey has had
servants out searching the entire palace. I believe they’re
preparing the grappling lines for a search of the trout pond. We
mustn’t make things worse by keeping him waiting, you know!”

Somewhat stunned, Jaime took couple of steps,
before recovering herself and planting her feet. “Wait!” she
protested, turning and looking back into Malcolm’s empty room.
“I...I...Where is...”

Frances slipped her arm through Jaime’s and
propelled her with firmness down the hall. “Later, my dear. Later.
We simply
must
hurry now. Surrey hasn’t much patience, I’m
afraid, when it comes to waiting.”

As Jaime reluctantly allowed herself to be
dragged away, her heart pounded fiercely and her mind worriedly
searched for answers.

Something dreadful had happened to Malcolm,
of that she was certain. But where was he? Had he been taken back
to Norwich Castle? Someone must have decided he had recovered to
the point of being...what, dangerous? Able to escape? But who, she
thought. My God, she hadn’t considered this before. What would
become of him now that his wounds were healing? If he went back to
Norwich he would certainly become fair game for the cruelty of the
jailer, Reed. But who...? Edward, she thought, her body suddenly
filled with ice cold dread.

“Is Edward back?” she asked in a shaky
whisper.

Frances never slowed her pace, but turned
with a surprised look, before smiling and giving Jaime's hand an
understanding pat.

Jaime cringed, certain that she would scream
if one more person mistook her inquiries into Edward’s whereabouts
as stemming from affection.

“Nay, my dear, he hasn’t returned as yet,”
Frances answered plainly. “We don’t expect him back for another
fortnight at least, unless you know more about it than Surrey
does.”

Jaime shook her head. Then why had Malcolm
been sent back to Norwich? she wanted to ask. Certainly she would
have heard if he had caused any trouble since she’d seen him last.
Her heart sank in her chest. Could it have been that somehow the
letter she had delivered to the physician had gotten into the wrong
hands, and now Malcolm must suffer the added precaution of being
put under tighter guard? Jaime knew that the physician’s apprentice
had traveled back to Cambridge the day after she’d spoken with
Master Graves. Had the man been waylaid? Had he betrayed them
all?

Reaching the double oak doors that led into
the earl and countess’s chambers, Frances paused and looked Jaime
fully in the face.

“You seem pale, cousin. Are you unwell?”

“I’m feeling a bit winded,” she whispered in
answer.

Frances ran a gentle hand down Jaime’s arm.
“Be strong, my dear.” And with no further words, she turned and
nodded to the attendant to open the door.

Jaime felt the Surreys’ large sitting room
swallow her whole as she stepped into it. Her body vibrated like a
hollow drum from the furious pounding of her heart against the
walls of her chest, filling her head with such a noise that she
wondered if it would render inaudible all other sounds. The room
seemed unnaturally bright to her and, as she focused on the back of
Frances’s head as the woman moved quietly to her husband’s side,
Jaime thought for a moment that fainting was not out of the
question. But the moment passed, and Jaime continued to stand by
the door, awaiting the earl’s first words.

“Cousin Jaime,” he said, his voice warm and
friendly. “You are more difficult to track down than a sparrow in
the forest. I’ve had three pages and I don’t know how many servants
return empty-handed before Frances offered to look for you
herself.”

Straightening her back and lifting her chin,
Jaime returned the earl’s gaze. “I was at Evan the falconer’s hut
this morning, m’lord. His wife Nell has just delivered a healthy
baby boy.”

“God bless her! Let’s see, how many children
does that make it now? Five? Six?”

“This child is their tenth.”

“By God, you know these folk better than I
do. And how is the little fellow doing?”

“The mother and son are both in good health,
m’lord.”

The Earl of Surrey turned and took his wife
by the hand. “Frances, you will be sure to send word to the
kitchens about sending them a basket of some sort.”

“I believe,” Frances responded, nodding with
a smile toward Jaime, “that someone has already seen to that.”

“Ahh, very good,” Surrey said, turning his
attention back to Jaime. Waving a hand in her direction, the earl
beckoned for Jaime to approach. “You don’t have to stand by the
door, Jaime. Come...come and join us. We’ve been waiting long
enough for you to arrive.”

As Jaime started in, the earl turned to his
wife. “So, my love, where did you find her, at last? Did you have
to go all the way back to the falconer’s cottage?”

Frances shook her head. “Nay, I guessed that
on the way back from the cottages, our good cousin would stop and
check on you.”

Jaime’s eyes stared at Frances, realizing
that her last words had been addressed to someone else in the room.
Someone standing behind Jaime at the far end of the room.

Perhaps it was the quick turn of her head or
perhaps it was her sudden relief, but whatever the cause, Jaime’s
light-headedness returned in an instant. Malcolm stood beside the
fireplace, his arm folded over his chest. Staring at him, she
realized that if her heart had been pounding before, it now
threatened to burst within her.

“He is much improved, wouldn’t you say,
Jaime?”

He looked so different. So clean. Dressed in
impeccably fitted doublet and hose, he was the picture of both
nobility and manly perfection. Her eyes traveled the lines of his
handsome face to his dark eyes.

“He is a quick healer,” she said, hurriedly
turning her gaze back to the earl and the countess.

“He owes his life to you,” Surrey added.

She shook her head. “Master Graves was the
one who saved him.”

“But you were the one who talked that brother
of mine into taking him out of Norwich. You were the one who
sneaked into the stables and worked beside the physician until you
knew he would live.”

Jaime could feel the color rise into her
cheeks. She had thought no one in the household other than Mary and
Caddy had known of what she had done that day. She quickly glanced
at Malcolm. He continued to stand as if he had not a care in the
world—as if his name were not the subject of discussion here.

“Also, from what I hear,” the earl continued
while moving in and sitting himself in a chair, “when Graves left
for Cambridge, you were the one who went to him and nursed him back
to health.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” Jaime put in. “My
servant Caddy helped. Also Mary...”

The earl of Surrey waved her off with a
smile. “Nothing against our cousin Mary,” he said as he turned to
Malcolm, “but you were far too dirty, too bloody, and too ugly for
her to lay a finger on!” The earl turned his attention back to
Jaime. “Unlike you, dear cousin, Mary has been brought up quite
sheltered from the outside world and most unlikely to be of much
help to you.”

“She
did
offer,” Jaime said weakly in
her defense.

“No doubt.” Surrey smiled. “None of us care
to miss out on any excitement!”

Jaime opened her mouth to argue but then
closed it at once. What was the point of all of this? Was he giving
her credit for caring for Malcolm, or was he suggesting that some
other motive had prompted her actions? Malcolm was still standing
silently by the hearth. Though his face was still pale and bruised,
he looked so strong that a casual observer might never guess that
he had recently been so badly injured. He certainly was not being
treated like a prisoner, standing in this chamber—unchained and
unguarded—with the earl and the countess present.

Surrey’s eyes traveled from Malcolm back to
Jaime. “I assume you two have crossed paths in the past. In
Scotland, perhaps?”

Jaime gave a quick glance in Malcolm’s
direction. The Highlander’s gaze was stern and fixed on Surrey’s
face. How much had he already told Surrey about their pasts?
Malcolm left his place at the hearth and seated himself in a chair
directly across from Surrey.

“We have, m’lord,” she answered as lightly as
she could.

“Ahh, so that’s how you recognized him at
Norwich? Oh, Jaime, I haven’t offered you a glass of wine.” Surrey
waved toward a crystal decanter on a side table and looked at his
wife and at Malcolm.

Jaime declined and the earl proceeded to fill
his own cup. His tone was light and conversational, but Jaime could
see he was listening very closely to her responses.

“You two aren’t by any chance related by
blood?”

Jaime stared at Malcolm. They had spent many
years under the same roof. They both were loved by the same family
and raised as kin. But they were not kin.

“Nay, m’lord. We are not!” she replied,
speaking truthfully.

“Friends? Acquaintances?”

“Surrey!” Frances interjected with a tone of
mild admonition. “Why don’t you ask her what you want to know?
You’re bullying the poor dear!”

“I?” the earl replied, his smiling face the
very image of one unjustly accused.

But Jaime was not amused, and her eyes burned
into Surrey’s. If this was a test to compare whatever answers
Malcolm had given him against hers, she felt certain that she was
bound to fail. She certainly had no idea of how long they’d been
talking. She had no idea, even, how well the two knew each other.
Aside from both being former students of the great teacher,
Erasmus, there was nothing that she could think of that would tie
these two together. She weighed her words carefully, and her tone
was resolute when she spoke.

“Lord Surrey, I have many friends. Here, in
Scotland, in France. Among the common folks and nobles. I consider
you and your wife friends. But your questions seem to insinuate
something underhanded.”

“It is true, Surrey,” Frances agreed, moving
beside Jaime. “You
do
seem to be implying something. Why
don’t you just say what you mean.”

“My dear Frances, I’m merely interested in
these two. My questions are certainly not meant to hint at
any
wrongdoing on
anyone’s
part.”

“You have had her on the rack with this
inquisition of yours from the first moment she stepped in here,
Surrey,” Frances rebutted. “If I had known you wanted to bring her
in here for this,” the young woman dismissed him with a sweep of
her hand, “I would never have found her for you.”

With her arm around Jaime’s shoulders and a
threatening frown darkening her features, Surrey’s wife forced a
smile to his lips. He turned to the Highlander. “These women! I
should have known that they would side together against us!”

Jaime’s face flushed red as she tried to
comprehend Surrey’s words. She considered his use of the word ‘us’
and wondered whether he meant more than appeared. After all, she
welcomed Frances’s support, but what was happening here seemed so
vague and unreal to her, like a scene in a masque or a guild play.
What was really behind the earl’s questions? If this were indeed
some kind of masque, Jaime wanted to know what role she was
supposed to be playing. She decided on a direct assault.

“M’lord,” she said. “In Scotland they say
that opening a shutter brings more light than kindling a candle. If
I knew what exactly it is that you are after, I am certain I could
shed far more light on whatever you wish to know.”

Surrey, obviously pondering her words, gazed
at her as he sipped from his cup. With a parting squeeze on her
arm, Frances moved away from Jaime’s side and sat herself in a
chair, picking up some needlework she had laid aside sometime
earlier. The earl laid his cup down, and when he spoke, his voice
carried in it a gentleness that had been absent before.

“I simply need to ease my mind on something,
cousin,” he said. “Tell me, Jaime, what is...I mean, what was
between you and the MacLeod here? If you think about it, I believe
you’ll agree that it is my right to know.”

This time Jaime caught Malcolm’s eyes as they
lifted to her face. As she searched their depths, she was shocked
to find there no gentleness, no affection, no love for her in any
form. The hard lines of his brow spoke of anger. She even thought
she could sense a coldness, a hint of boredom in his face. As
handsome as he now looked with his improving health and his clean
clothes, she yearned for the old Malcolm.

She decided then to be done with it. She
turned and looked directly at Surrey. “What I said before of us
being no kin was the truth. But as you know, I am a Macpherson, and
he—Malcolm MacLeod—was raised by my uncle and his wife. His father
was Torquil MacLeod, a friend to the English, and Malcolm was
orphaned at the young age of seven. For service to the Scottish
king, my uncle was made laird of Malcolm’s lands. He could have
kept those lands for the Macpherson clan, but instead, my uncle and
his wife chose to raise Malcolm as their own and have take over the
lairdship of his land once he came of age.”