The Intended (19 page)

“After little Kate, Evan and I thought we
were done with such things.”

Nell’s voice jerked Jaime out of her dreams.
And she silently chided herself for having such idle and fanciful
thoughts.

“Aye,” she continued. “Two children ago, I
thought myself too old to bear another.” The mother’s eyes grazed
lovingly on the infant’s features. “But then, Evan...well, he just
has a way of...talking me into this.”

Jaime smiled as the other woman’s eyes
flickered toward her face, before drifting down again to the baby’s
pink cheeks. It was amazing how different she felt now about such
talk. Indeed, she was conscious of something changing within her.
There was a sense of vague understanding that she had never had
before. Certainly, she knew all about children and how they were
conceived, how they were born, but she was beginning to see that
there were mysteries hidden beneath the words. Mysteries perhaps
only a mother could understand.

Even those days when she had thought of
herself in love with Malcolm, she had lacked this knowledge of
adult life, of adult passion. The desperate physical need that was
so much a part of this thing called love. And motherhood seemed to
offer something else, as well.

“I hear Master Graves’s come back,” Nell said
softly.

“Aye,” Jaime answered. “He told me that he
will be stopping in to check on you and the wee one about
midday.”

“Ahhh. He is a good man, for one with so much
learning. But he fusses over us, I don’t know what for. I’ve done
this now so many times that there is naught he can tell me about
it, and the babe I’ve checked myself. I know Master Graves is a
healer, but what do men know about birthing or babies, anyway?”

“Hearing your husband, Evan, one might think
they knew a great deal.”

Nell slapped her hand on her thigh. “Has he
been talking, my Evan?”

“On the way here, I passed by the mews.”
Jaime lifted the babe and settled him on her shoulder. “Seeing the
crowd of folk gathered about, I thought for sure the gypsies must
have slipped in during the night.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Nell blushed. “It
was my tomfool husband, carrying on about his new son.”

“Aye. But that wasn’t all. Evan is quite the
storyteller, it struck me, listening to him.”

“I’m thinking I don’t like the sounds of
this.”

“To be sure, Nell. When he broke into the
account of the birthing itself...”

“He wouldn’t!” she gasped.

“And such an artist. Drawing in the dirt to
explain to the young ones...”

“I’ll be killing him for sure, I’m
thinking.”

Jaime laughed. “Nay, Nell. It wasn’t your
labor that was the topic, but his own pains and the waiting.
Everyone on the manor had to know how he’d suffered, missing a good
night’s sleep!”

“The poor devil!” Nell scowled, her eyes
flashing at the door.

“I’m making more of it than it was,” Jaime
said with a smile. “Evan was just so

sweet—so excited about the babe. He’s very,
very proud.”

“You’ve a bit of the devil in you, yourself,
Jaime Macpherson,” Nell said, breaking out into a wide grin. “But
you’re right about Evan. He has always been that way about the
children. With each and every one of them. He is a man that truly
loves having babies about.”

“That’s wonderful. Then you have plans for
more.”

“He might,” Nell snorted. “But not while I
still have my wits about me. If he said anything about it, ‘tis
pure wishing on his part, so far as I’m concerned. I’m not getting
any younger, I’m thinking. In fact, now that you mention it, Evan’s
probably behind Master Graves coming by. That tomfool man of mine
probably wants to make sure I could bear more children, blast
him!”

“Look at you, Nell. You are still young
enough for another half dozen, at least.”

“Aye, a half dozen, at least, she says.” Nell
let out a long breath. “Oh, I love them, mistress. But after ten of
them, a woman has to be wondering about her sanity, I’m
thinking.”

“I’m certain you know best, Nell,” Jaime
replied.

Nell shifted uncomfortably, and Jaime looked
at her over the baby’s head. She clearly had something more to say,
but was struggling for a way to say it.

“I am here, Nell,” Jaime whispered, her
fingers gently stroking the baby’s soft hair.

“‘Tis the birthing, mistress!”

Suddenly, she felt ashamed at not seeing it
herself. It was not her sanity that concerned Nell, but the ability
to bring so many children into the world, and still live to see
them grow. Jaime waited until the woman looked up into her face.
When she did, she could see worry etched in Nell’s large, green
eyes.

“‘Tis not an easy thing to be saying,
mistress. But...well, I am afraid at the thought of having any
more.”

“But, Nell,” Jaime replied, trying to ease
her worries, “this delivery went so well.”

“Aye. It went well enough. But there is a
fear of dying that grows stronger with every babe I bear. Oh, the
Lord has looked after me pretty well for ten times, I know. I’ve
given Evan a healthy bunch of little tikes. But...but you hear
stories more and more, I’m thinking. Women dying bringing their
babes into the world. Not six months ago, little Annie, the wife of
one of the stable hands died giving birth to her fifth. And then
last month ‘twas Ellen, the gardener’s wife.” Nell’s eyes fixed
with concern on her child’s little face. “This tiny creature needs
me. My children, they are all so young. They—all of them—need me.
And as much as he is a grown man and all, Evan needs me, as well. I
have too much here to want to let go of it.”

Jaime looked gently into the flushed face of
the mother. “Don’t you think Evan would understand this?”

Nell shook her head. “I’m thinking I could
never tell him...not the way I just told you. He is a proud man,
Mistress Jaime. Proud of himself. Proud of the brood we’ve
produced. I’m thinking, as fond as he is of me...and I know he is,
surely...I’m thinking he’d find it hard to see it my way.”

Jaime held the baby close as she considered
the problem.

“But there is something, mistress.”

“Aye, Nell?”

“Well, I don’t truly feel comfortable asking,
Mistress Jaime. It mightn’t be right, you dirtying your hands in
it.”

“What is it, Nell?” she asked encouragingly.
“You know I’ll help, if I can.”

“I’m thinking, mistress, suppose Master
Graves were to hint to my man that with ten healthy children, ‘tis
time for quitting.”

“The healer! Would he do that?”

“He knows you, mistress. If you were to ask
him...”

“I?” Jaime asked, surprised at the
request.

“Aye, mistress.” Nell nodded shyly.

Jaime gave her friend a little smile. “I
don’t know that he’d do it, Nell. What’s between you and Evan is
between you and Evan.”

“That’s what the village priest told me a few
years back. But I’m thinking we both are needing some new advice.
Evan will listen to Master Graves.”

“But for me to ask?”

“Aye, mistress. You are the only woman the
healer will hear.”

“If you think...”

The falconer’s wife looked at her, hope and
trust in her eyes. Jaime knew she could not refuse.

“I could go to him and say something. He’s a
trustworthy man—that I know.”

Nell nodded—relief written on her
features—and rubbed her callused hands against the rough wool of
her skirts. “What you say is true, mistress.”

Jaime stared as Nell lowered her head once
again. “Is there something else, Nell?”

She nodded. “Aye, there is one fear—he’s a
man, and men folk are bound together thick as flies. And being that
they’re both of Welsh blood makes it only worse, I’m thinking. If
he don’t agree, would he go to Evan and take his side?”

“It doesn’t have to be a matter of sides,
Nell. You are doing this not for yourself. This is for both of you.
For all of you.”

“You are right, mistress. And with you
talking, I am sure he’ll see it that way.”

Jaime let out a nervous laugh. “You have
great faith in me, Nell!”

“I do, Mistress Jaime.” Nell’s face cleared,
and her hands reached out, touching her skirt. “You are a good
friend to me, mistress. A good friend, indeed.”

Both women fell silent, each touched deeply
by the rush of emotion that suddenly permeated the room.

Nell broke the silence, clasping her hand
over Jaime's. “I know I’m being bold, claiming you for a friend,
Mistress Jaime. But I’m thinking the Lord is blessing us in a
special way with you becoming Lord Edward’s wife. We’re all getting
more than we deserve when it comes to you, mistress. For such a
kind and gentle soul as you to accept His Grace’s son.”

“Don’t!” Jaime blurted out. There was no
point in going around and revealing her true feelings, even to
Nell, but hearing the woman speak so openly of it sent a shiver
down her spine. The best course, as Jaime saw it, was to deter such
talk as being premature. “None of that has been settled, Nell.
There is still so much that needs to be worked out between Edward
and me...and between our families, for that matter.”

With a slow nod of her head that betrayed her
curiosity at the young woman’s words, Nell acquiesced to Jaime’s
wishes. The infant quickly came to Jaime’s rescue, squirming in her
arms and moving his mouth in a persistent attempt against her
breast. Jaime smiled down at him.

“Ahh, I’m afraid I cannot help you with
that,” she whispered, reluctantly handing the child back to the
waiting mother.

While Nell eased back onto the settle to
nurse her son, Jaime stood up and moved to the small table by the
fire, and the two women continued their conversation—this time
about the children and about Kate’s musical progress. As they
talked, Jaime realized that if she could remain anywhere—other than
beside Malcolm—there was no place she preferred to be as much as in
this cottage. Whenever she came to visit Nell, a comfortable sense
of contentedness would creep into her. But now, the morning was
wearing on, and Jaime knew Nell had little time this day for idle
chat.

Walking across the cottage floor, Jaime
emptied the basket of food and put out the small presents she had
made for the mother and son, before heading outdoors and starting
back for the house.

Her dealings with Nell and with the other
folk working on the duke’s land and in the palace always brought
back memories for Jaime of her childhood in Scotland. There, in the
Macpherson clan lands, the separation of the noble family from the
people like Nell and her husband was unheard of. In many clans that
Jaime knew of, the lairds and others of noble blood worked side by
side with the common folk. The clan folk were loyal enough—they
would die for the honor of their name without thinking twice—but
the bonds that secured that loyalty were the thick cords of
compassion and fair dealing. And this was the only way for
Jaime.

Looking about and nodding to the passing
workers, Jaime made her way through the grounds while her mind
tried to think of ways to occupy the rest of her day. She had
already held her music lessons with the children early this
morning, so that was done. Breathing in the fresh spring air, she
glanced over at the direction of the stables. But she shook her
head. In spite of the fine weather, the idea of staying outdoors
and going for a ride held no interest for her today. And she had
every good reason for avoiding the falconer, so she steered away
from the mews. But she also was in no mood to return to her room
for an idle chat with Mary over the plans for the wedding that her
cousin was busily fancying in her mind.

Jaime shook her head again. She had been
intentionally ignoring all thoughts of Edward over the past few
days. She had absolutely no desire to think of a wedding.
Especially not one that tied her to him for life. She didn’t want
to spoil her day with such images, so she thought of Malcolm.

She hadn’t seen him since the day before.
Between Caddy caring for him, and the return of the physician,
Jaime had decided that—since her own emotions were undoubtedly
apparent—she should keep her distance. To be sure, she needed time
to gather her wits about her and put a lid on the boiling pot of
her passion. They had come far too close to being caught the day
before. And they had gone way too far in giving in to their
desires.

Even now, her heart pounded to think how
forward she had been. How bold he must have thought her in
presenting herself to him so openly. A mere kiss hadn’t been
enough. She had encouraged him to touch her in places she’d never
been touched before. She had asked him to treat her as a woman. For
one with no intimate experience, she had almost fooled herself.
Groaning inwardly as she thought of their encounter, Jaime now
decided that killing herself for her boldness might not be out of
the question. Now that he’d had time to think back over how
wantonly she’d behaved, his earlier opinion had probably been
confirmed. In Malcolm’s eyes, she thought, Jaime Macpherson had
become nothing more than an English harlot.

A discomforting, prickly heat swept through
her, and Jaime decided that the music room could offer her the best
refuge. As she strode up the path past the gardens, troubling
thoughts continued to burden Jaime’s mind; and a gnawing, empty
feeling that accompanied those thoughts filled her with a
restlessness and occupied her completely. Stepping across the
threshold of an open door, Jaime looked up, suddenly conscious that
her legs, of their own accord, had carried her to a place other
than her intended destination. Looking down the corridor that held
the surgery, Jaime let out a long, slow breath.

Consciously, she had not wanted to be here,
but here she stood, nonetheless. Against her better judgment, she
had been drawn to his room. Something had taken control of her, led
her to him, and—suddenly—Jaime felt somehow liberated by the
moment. Moving down the corridor, she realized it didn’t matter
what he thought of her. It didn’t matter if all the others—if
everyone in England, for that matter—thought she spent too much
time by his side. She would take the abuse. The only thing that
mattered was that she wanted to see him. She needed to see him. She
would
see him.