The Intended (40 page)

The image changed. All she could see was her
torn dress, a weary face framed by wild and ragged hair, a bleeding
body staggering forward, carried on by exhausted legs that dragged
onward toward the looking glass.

“Where are you, Malcolm?” In the reflection,
she saw the sword lift behind her, above her. The sharpness of its
edge gleamed like amber in the darkness. Like a weapon forged in
the fires of hell.

“You’ll be used, wench. By me. By my men. And
then you’ll die!”

She reached the glass. Spreading her fingers,
pinning her body against it. Pressing her face against the warmth
of the pane, she cried out his name once more. “MALCOLM!”

Her heart ceased to beat in her chest. Right
over her shoulder, out of the darkness of her terror, Jaime watched
in the mirror as Edward advanced in the murky gloom. With nowhere
to go, no way to fight, she watched him draw the dagger from its
sheath as his other hand reached for her hair.

She half turned. She would not die. She would
not yield.

“It is finished,” Edward said, his eyes
glowing like coals.

The hand came through as if the glass were
water. Jaime looked at it a moment, then at Edward. His mouth hung
open, his dagger dangling limp at his side.

Jaime reached out, grasped Malcolm’s hand,
and melted into the surface. She moved through a mist, borne on a
cloud, the sound of Edward’s frustrated threats growing ever
fainter as she moved through the silver and into the light.

“Have you seen the king?”

“Nay, lass. Nor do I care to.”

The early-afternoon sun was shining down on
the gardens and the meadows beyond, and Malcolm sat in the
window-seat trying hard to concentrate on the view. It was quite
difficult feigning indifference to the sound of the splashing water
behind him. At the far end of the chamber, discreetly hidden by a
screen, and with Caddy standing guard looking as ferocious as a
she-lion, Jaime bathed happily in the wooden tub that had been
brought up for her use.

Never mind the king, he thought. Fancies of
throwing Caddy bodily from the chamber and seeing to Jaime’s bath
himself were wreaking havoc with his imagination.

“But they are not even watching you?” Jaime’s
voice, still sounding weak from her ordeal, conveyed her
excitement, nonetheless. “No guards? No one at all?”

“Nay. And Surrey tells me that as long as I
stay out of sight—preferably in my own chamber—he will not put me
in chains, either.” Malcolm glanced out the window as a large party
of courtiers, Surrey and Lady Frances among them, came out from the
palace. The king did not appear to be with them. Nor did Catherine.
As they moved out across a strip of greensward, the Highlander
decided the party was heading down to the meandering river at the
far end of the flower-studded meadow. “With King Henry arriving at
Kenninghall as unexpectedly as he did this morning, Surrey thought
the best thing was not to draw attention to the fact that the
Howards are holding a Scot for ransom. Especially when it appears
Edward never declared he had such a prize in his possession.”

Caddy came out from behind the divider, shot
a look of suspicion at Malcolm, and then carried a stack of towels
back to her mistress.

“Frances came in for a short visit this
morning, while you were with Lord Surrey,” Jaime called, though
Malcolm found his attention distracted by the sound of her standing
and stepping out of the tub. “And after giving me news of the
king’s arrival, she told me you were brawling with Surrey.”

“‘Twas hardly a brawl, lass,” Malcolm
challenged. “I simply needed to remind him of his responsibilities
as earl.”

“Which, Frances said, included looking after
my welfare.”

“Aye. ‘Tis only right!” Malcolm sat back in
the window seat and spread his legs before him, his eyes locked on
the carved wooden screen, imagining what exactly she was doing on
the other side. “My precise words to him were that he had proven
himself a worthless host, and had failed miserably in looking after
you. Considering what Catherine almost got away with...well, in so
many words I made him understand that from now on I would be
looking after you, myself.”

“And he agreed to that, Malcolm?”

“Aye. After our wee bit of brawling, he did!”
Malcolm, finding himself no longer able to remain seated, got up
from his seat and began pacing the room. There was something that
he hadn’t told Jaime, though, for fear of sounding too hopeful. In
the course of their argument, Surrey had given him a brief summary
of what was happening to his brother at Nonsuch Palace, hinting at
the charges that could be leveled at Edward. And, to Malcolm's
surprise, the earl had admitted to him that he was happy that Jaime
had not been well enough to make the journey.

“Do you think he’ll ever do anything about
Catherine?”

Jaime’s question stopped Malcolm cold. He
looked up and watched as Caddy retrieved a dress from the bed.
“Nay, she is beyond the judgment of mere mortals, now. And with the
King here, I’m quite certain nothing will even be said...by them.
Any public reprimand would only bring more disgrace on the Howard
family. And
that
they will never risk. Surrey’s feelings
were that we should try to guard you and keep you safely...”

“...away from Catherine.” Jaime finished his
sentence from the other side of the wall.

“Which shouldn’t be too difficult, with Henry
here.” Malcolm stopped once again before the window. The company of
men and women were just dropping out of sight across the
meadow.

He considered telling
her his plan, but he didn’t want her to be overly burdened while
she was still so weak. Seeing her awaken last night, courageously
fighting off the effects of the drugs, the Highlander had rejoiced,
although he knew that she needed time to recover. But time she
didn’t have, for they would be leaving here tomorrow night.

For days now, Malcolm had sensed Surrey would
not be sorry to see him escape, and their conversation this morning
had confirmed that. Whether it was in defiance of his father and
brother, or as a token of the friendship that they shared, Malcolm
could not tell. Perhaps it was a combination of the two, but it
didn’t really matter. What did matter was the added complication of
the king and his entourage roaming about Kenninghall. These were
problems which he needed to consider.

“You don’t think the king is here because he
has learned something about me, do you?” Jaime stepped from behind
the wooden screen.

The words he had formed in answer melted
away, forgotten on his tongue as he gawked helplessly at the vision
before him. His eyes drank her in as if desperate to quench some
inexorable thirst.

“Have I changed?” she asked, looking down
nervously at the creamy linen of her dress. “I am much thinner, am
I not?”

“Nay, Jaime. You are perfect.”

“But you look at me...”

He nodded as he walked toward her. Lost for
words he pulled her into his arms and held her tight. The rush of
emotions that crowded his heart, the sense of relief he felt at
seeing her beautiful face, awake again and bright, all made him
foolish with the desire simply to hold her.

“I think
I
have changed,” he whispered
into her ear at last. “I would never have thought it possible, but
my love for you has managed to grow even more...far more than I had
ever thought possible. I ache at the thought of you.” He threaded
his fingers into her still wet hair and tilted her head back until
their gazes locked. “I am a madman without you, Jaime. A howling,
crazed fool. Seeing you now, finally knowing that you are well
again, makes me want to fall to my knees and...”

She raised herself on her toes and silenced
his words with her lips.

They drew apart as Caddy coughed politely,
each shaken with the power of their love. But Malcolm would not let
go of her hand as he walked her to a chair beside the window.

“So do you think, Malcolm, that Henry’s visit
here might have something to do with me?”

“Surrey didn’t think so, and I asked the same
question of him.” Malcolm's eyes watched Caddy as she worked
diligently on the other side of the room, obviously trying to give
them their privacy. “He thought that the king’s visit was purely a
whim on his part to see Catherine. Apparently, Henry was hunting
and never even took the time to tell the duke he was coming
here.”

The look of relief on Jaime’s face was all
too apparent, but her face quickly clouded over with concern. “What
of our plans?”

“Actually,” he said, stroking the smooth skin
of her hand, “having had a wee bit of time to think this through, I
believe his visit here might prove to be a blessing to us.”

“Is it?”

“Aye.” He smiled. “At least now we know where
Catherine will be as we prepare for flight.”

“Our flight,” Jaime repeated, her face
glowing once again. “Tell me what I should do.”

Henry VIII, King of England, ignoring the
tumblers entertaining in the center of the hall, turned the huge
emerald ring over in his meaty palm as Catherine looked on
impatiently. A moment later, after the king had studied the ornate
setting of the large jewel carefully, he took hold of the chain
that passed through the ring and let it dangle before his eyes.

“Well, my great bear?” Catherine asked,
petting the king’s knee and trying not to sound overly eager. “Is
it yours?”

Henry ignored her question as he continued to
study the swinging chain, a frown furrowing his brow. “You say this
was in the possession of a cousin, Cat?”

Catherine glanced in Mary’s direction. The
blond-haired woman sat across the Hall, her face flushed with
anger. Her gaze had not lifted once toward the king—or toward
Catherine—since she’d entered.

Sick of Mary’s whining ways, Catherine had
already taken care of her. This afternoon, Henry had agreed to send
Mary Howard north, to join the entourage of his sister Margaret,
the ailing Queen Mother of Scotland. This was sure to be the end of
all of Mary’s dreams of grandeur, Catherine thought. But let it be
a lesson to her. To think, the little fool wanted to attend
her
!

“In truth, sire, my cousin Mary, whom you
know, tells me she came upon this by chance. So she brought it to
my attention. I recognized it, of course, as a ring almost
identical to the one that already adorns...”

“By chance?” Henry asked shortly. “The woman
came upon an emerald as precious as this by chance?”

Catherine felt herself becoming flustered
under the piercing glare of Henry’s eyes. “Well, Mary was being
removed from a chamber which she has been sharing with a distant
cousin, a Mistress Jaime. And this ring...well, it has somehow has
been in the possession of this distant cousin. And I suppose it was
misplaced...these things happen, sire...and by mistake the ring
fell in with Mary’s things.”

Henry’s cold eyes moved slowly from the
swinging chain, softening only slightly as they came to rest on
Catherine. “Who is this Mistress Jaime?”

“As I said, my love. A distant cousin!”

“And she lives at Kenninghall?”

“She has for the past year,” Catherine
answered quickly.

Henry looked about the crowded tables. “She
hasn’t been presented to me.”

“She has been sick in bed for a few days, but
I just heard she is mending, at last.”

Henry’s eyes again returned to the dangling
ring.

Catherine did her best to hold back her
satisfied smile as the king’s brow knotted. At last, it seemed as
though he was taking the bait. Though she didn’t know what would
come out of Henry knowing that Jaime was Thomas Boleyn’s
granddaughter and a half-Scot at that, Catherine’s instincts told
her it would be worth the trouble. And the fact that Jaime had been
clearly hiding one of Henry’s rings seemed to hint at something
underhanded. At least, so Catherine hoped. She had tried to pay the
wench another visit today, but that ill-mannered servant of her had
blocked her entrance.

“Whose daughter is she?”

Catherine smiled demurely at her intended.
“She is a granddaughter to Thomas Boleyn.” She didn’t miss the
rounding of Henry’s eyes as they flashed back to her in surprise.
“Her mother...”

“Bring her to me,” Henry ordered, cutting her
off.

“But she, being ill...”

Henry stood at once and turned to bark at the
earl, who was watching from a short distance away. “Send this
Mistress Jaime to my chamber, Surrey, at once.”

“Sire,” Thomas Culpepper, a gentleman of the
King’s Privy Chamber approached. “Those three you wished to see
have arrived from Norwich, and the jailer Reed is on his way.”

The king grunted and turned away as the
gentleman bowed and smiled handsomely at his future queen.

Catherine watched, smug and satisfied, as
Henry, with his entourage in tow, marched from the hall with the
chain and the ring clasped tightly in his fist.

As Jaime looked with unseeing eyes into the
looking glass, feeling anxiety and anger struggle for dominance.
She drew in a long breath, and then stared at her hands’
reflection. They were trembling. Jaime tucked them deeply into the
pockets of her dress and watched Caddy tuck the last unruly wave
into the thick blanket of hair trailing down her back.

“Let me go after Lord Malcolm,” the older
woman said gently, pinning the starched linen cap into her
mistress’s hair. “He might be able to help.”

“I can’t have him show his face before the
king, Caddy,” Jaime answered. “He’d be in great danger. He mustn’t
know.”

“But what of you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jaime argued. “Lady Frances
only said that the king wishes to have me presented. That’s all.
There is nothing more to it.” If she could only make herself
believe her own words, Jaime thought.