The Intended (18 page)

But now she had to convince her uncle. She
would go to Kenninghall with only her own attendants. She didn’t
want to raise his suspicions, but Edward must remain here. For her
own purposes, she couldn’t afford to be watched.

She came to a stop before the duke’s
chambers. Running a hand over her skirts, she composed herself and
checked her attire.

There was a great deal to be done. It might,
she thought again, give her as much pleasure getting at him through
Jaime Macpherson as any other way. It was a vile and lovely
thought, going after the Scottish prig. After all, who knew—perhaps
Edward Howard had a soft spot in his heart for her, at that. He’d
said as much himself last night, if he was to be believed. But just
the chance possibility of finding a vulnerable spot in the man
would be worth the effort of destroying Jaime. Aye, short of
cutting off his balls, this would give Catherine the greatest
pleasure.

Catherine put a serene smile on her face and
told the duke of Norfolk’s attendant to announce her.

The physician studied the sealed letter in
his hand before looking up into the young woman’s face. “But,
Mistress Jaime, for certain there are better ways of sending this
abroad than by my friends!”

“There is no other way but through you,
Master Graves. I have to be certain that they will get it.”

The man ran a hand over his balding head.
“But you must have sent other letters to your kin, and you don’t
suspect that
they’ve
been lost, do you? What makes you think
this one might not reach them?”

Jaime stopped her pacing and looked at the
travel-weary man. His clothes still carried the reddish dust of the
road between Cambridge and Kenninghall. Running to her chamber at
first sight of the physician and his assistant, Jaime had waited
impatiently for him to reach the house. Indeed, the healer had no
sooner climbed down from his horse than Jaime had approached him
for his help. After all she’d learned about the physician from
Evan, the falconer, and from others in the palace, she was nearly
certain that Master Graves was her only hope. But now, standing
alone with him in the music room, she could read the doubtful
expression in his face, and she knew she had to explain—as much as
she could.

She began slowly. “Even after being here as
long as I have, I am always reminded that I am an outsider. Though
I am more than a guest now, and the Howards call me cousin, the
fact is they still think of me as half-Scottish. I believe they
often keep an eye on me. I have wondered sometimes in the past if
my letters are read before they are sent. There are times when I
doubt that they trust me at all.”

“Is there a reason why they shouldn’t trust
you, mistress?”

“Nay!” She flushed red at the question. “I
would never do anything to hurt anyone here! There has never been
anything...any news in my letters that might cause His Grace, the
duke, to question my loyalties to him or to the family. Even now, I
don’t believe...” Jaime let out a sigh of frustration. “‘Tis never
been a matter of
doing
something. ‘Tis just that in the past
I’ve never worried how all
this
might be perceived. Not
until now!”

“‘All
this’
? All
what
, Mistress
Jaime?” he asked, scratching his grizzled chin. “Let me tell you,
mistress. His Grace is a cautious man. I’ve seen his fortunes rise
and I’ve seen them fall. But he’s kept his head when a great many
others in his sphere have lost them. You don’t accomplish that
without knowing who stands with you...and who stands against
you.”

“‘Tis a letter, Master Graves. A letter to my
kin. A letter that brings no ill wind upon Kenninghall.”

“Some around here believe that any wind from
the north is an ill wind.”

“What of the winds from far to the west,
Master Graves?” she asked quietly. “What of the winds from
Wales?”

Graves pondered her words and stared at the
letter in his hands. Then, with a quick glance at her, he stood and
covered his eyes with one hand as he continued to consider the
matter. After a few moments, he turned his attention back to
Jaime.

“Years back, Mistress Jaime, I took an oath.
I gave my word to serve His Grace loyally. Though I’m an outsider
as much as you—if not more—His Grace thinks of me as a devoted
servant, and of that I am proud.” This time it was his turn to let
out a long breath, but his tone remained gentle and kindly. “What
made you think to ask
me
this favor? Of all people, why me,
Mistress?”

“Because you are a good man, Master Graves.
Because you were the only one who cared and worked hard to keep him
alive.” She knew there could be no doubt in his mind about the
nature of her letter. “And because I know that, although you claim
Welsh blood, you carry no grudge against him just because he is a
Scot. You don’t wish him dead just because of the place where he
was born.”

“How do you know I don’t carry a grudge? I
ply my meager skills where they are needed. That doesn’t
mean...”

Gently but firmly, Jaime cut in on his words.
“And also because I know...because I know that your mother was a
Scot.”

“My mother died long ago,” he argued after a
moment. “I fought in the Scottish campaigns in my youth.”

“And I left my family, having decided never
to go back,” Jaime told him.

Graves’s eyes fixed on hers. “Who told you of
my mother?”

“Does it matter, Master Graves?” she
responded. “I only mention it to make you understand why I came to
you.”

The two faced each other for a long time. The
physician finally broke the silence. “This letter carries news of
the Highlander. It must. What makes you think that I won’t take
this directly to the duke and reveal your disloyalty.”

“I know that you won’t do that,” she
answered. “But I promise you, I am committing no disloyalty to His
Grace.”

“You
are
, my dear,” he argued softly.
“The Highlander is the duke’s prisoner.”

“Not the duke’s,” she pressed. “The man is
Lord Edward’s prisoner. Edward’s alone!” Jaime turned and walked to
the window of the music room. She didn’t want to say it openly, but
she had also learned that as much as Master Graves respected the
duke of Norfolk, he also despised the younger son and his barbaric
way with prisoners.

“I’ve seen Norwich Castle, Master Graves. And
I am certain that you have seen it, too.”

As she gazed across the room at him, Jaime
could see in his face that she had struck a chord in him. But the
physician was not completely satisfied.

“What does this letter contain, mistress?” He
waved the letter in the air. “How do I know that what you say in
here will not bring the Scots ways back into England? How do I know
that, in helping you, I will not be responsible for lives being
lost?”

“The Highlander is no King James, Master
Graves. As important as he is to his own clan, the Scots would
never wage a war for him!”

“But you admit, then, that he is important
enough to bring back a goodly prize.”

“You know I was the one to tell Lord Edward
that.”

“Aye, a curious matter, in itself!” Graves
stared at her for a moment. “But you are willing to risk
our
lives for his sake...with no more concern than the snap of your
fingers.”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe for an
instant that you think so poorly of me. I don’t believe that you
think I could ever endanger the life of as good and valuable a man
as yourself.”

The Welshman sat heavily on a chair by the
worktable and laid the letter on the wooden surface. Beside him, a
lute sat on a stand, and the physician idly ran his fingers over
the strings a number of times before looking back at the young
woman by the window.

“What you say is true, Mistress Jaime. And
I’m not alone when I tell you how highly I do think of you. You are
far different from most of the rest of them here. In the short time
you’ve been with us, the common folk have come to trust you.
They’ve seen the compassion in your manner, in the things you’ve
done for their children. There is a goodness in you, my dear, that
has won many a heart. But...” Here he faltered a moment, but soon
continued. “But you have to understand my place. Before I do what
you ask of me...I need to make sure that it won’t hurt the folk I
care most about. I want no part in any more bloodshed. I want no
more killings!”

“You must take my word on this, Master
Graves.” She paused to dash away a tear. “In this letter, I am
sending word through my folks to his kin that he is here and
healing under our care. That’s all I have said. Most likely, they
are out of their minds with worry by now, not knowing whatever
became of him on his journey.”

“They’ll hear from Lord Edward when he is
ready to make his demands.”

She shook her head. “I’ve heard that Lord
Edward takes his time. He waits long enough for the kin to think
all is lost, and then—when he feels inclined and can find no other
use for the man—Edward makes his demand.”

Graves said nothing in response, instead
continuing to stare at the letter in his hand.Jaime’s voice
wavered. “Too many times in the past, a prisoner’s carcass has been
all that the kinfolk get back in return. I know I cannot pick him
up and carry him out of here, back to his people, Master Graves. I
don’t plan to. All I want to do right now is simply let them know
that he is alive. It is their right to know.”

“You know his kin, mistress, don’t you?”

There was no point in denying the truth. She
had been surprised that Edward himself had not pressed her on this
question before he’d left. “Aye,” she answered. “I do.”

“Is that why you told Lord Edward about him
at Norwich?”

She nodded again, blurting out her answer. “I
simply couldn’t leave him there. I couldn’t let him die at the
hands of those butchers.”

“But he did die, mistress! Later, in the
stables. I saw it,” Graves whispered, standing and moving toward
her. “And you somehow brought him back.”

Jaime ran her hands up and down her arms to
halt the chill that was suddenly invading her bones. “I didn’t
bring him back, Master Graves. I just called to him, and I prayed.
It was God’s will for him to live. It was God’s will!”

“Perhaps, my dear, it is as you say. But,
truthfully, what is the Highlander to you?”

Jaime looked up and stared back into his
piercing eyes. “What makes you think he is anything to me?”

“I’ve laid to rest many dying souls. I have
plied my skills, and prayed my heart out over many suffering men
and women. In the stable cell, the Highlander heard
you
,
Mistress! His soul came back to
you
! What is he to you?”

She wrapped her arms tightly around her
middle, conscious of the fear that, in revealing the truth, she
could lose the magical feeling that she had so recently
regained.

“Once, long ago,” she whispered, “I thought
of him as my intended!”

A half- dozen children tumbled out as Jaime
made her way into the cottage. The mother’s scolding voice,
followed as it was by shrieks of childish laughter, brought a smile
to her lips. As the little group swarmed about her, Jaime gave
little Kate’s braids a playful tug to keep the young girl’s face
out of the basket she was carrying. She had to admit, though, the
smell of fresh-baked bread was a temptation even for her. With a
friendly pat on the back, Jaime watched the girl run out the door
and after her siblings.

“So, how are you feeling, Nell?” she asked,
laying her basket on the rough wooden settle by the crackling
little fire.

“Very well, mistress. I thankee.”

The falconer’s wife, Jaime thought, did
indeed look well for having just had a child the day before. Nell
was standing proudly over the babe’s cradle, and Jaime crossed the
stone floor of the little cottage to peek at the infant.

“Oh, my! Nell, he’s a strapping lad, to be
sure!”

“Aye, mistress. Like his father.” Nell
beamed, her green eyes sparkling happily at the compliment.

Glancing up at her, Jaime smiled. Nell’s red
braids, coiled neatly on her handsome head, were only slightly
darker than the red hair of her daughter Kate. “And he has your red
hair, it seems.”

Nell nodded as she leaned down and ran a hand
through the unruly wisps of soft hair. “Aye, he’ll be an easy one
to spot.”

“A fine, handsome boy!”

“More likely a little devil, I’m thinking!
Like his brothers and sisters.”

They both smiled. Jaime ran her fingers along
the smooth wood of the cradle, containing her urge to reach in and
touch the child. “The children must be very excited to have this
wee one to look after.”

“He is still too little and too loud for them
to find any joy in.” Nell patted away at a bead of sweat on her
brow. “But they are surely happy to have me back on my feet.”

The new mother bent down and caught up the
fussing child in her arms. As the woman settled heavily onto the
bench Jaime could see—on closer inspection—the marked weariness of
childbirth in her face.

“You are trying to do too much, too soon,”
Jaime whispered, her eyes fixed on the babe and his tightly closed
fists—his beautiful, ruddy little face.

Perceiving the young woman’s gaze, Nell
leaned forward and held the baby out to her. “Would ye like to hold
him?”

Jaime beamed as she nervously reached out to
take the child. “May I?”

“He is my tenth, mistress. He is fortunate I
don’t give him to you for keeps.”

Jaime’s eyes shot up in surprise. Tired as
she was, Nell’s eyes were twinkling. The two women laughed.

Jaime settled down beside Nell on the bench,
her arms gathering the infant tightly into her chest. Suddenly, she
became aware of a burning knot in her throat. Of a tear trying to
work its way down her cheek. Of the yearning deep within her to
hold and care for a bairn of her own. She placed a gentle kiss on
the babe’s soft tendrils of hair and thought of Malcolm. Of how
wonderful it would be to bear his child. Their child.