The Lady Series (53 page)

“She won’t!” This pained shout cost Nick another, blessedly shorter round of coughing.

When he caught his breath he reached out to curl a desperate hand into the front of Jamie’s doublet. Despite all the pain Nick's ailments had cost him over the years, Jamie had never seen him give way to tears. Now, they gleamed in his eyes.

“Jamie,” he pleaded, an agonizing, rasping grate. “I cannot live without her. She’s my wife.”

“What?” So great was Jamie’s shock that the word came out a bare breath.

“My wife,” Nick repeated hopelessly.

Jamie shoved back from Nick. Emotions tumbled through him. There was anger at how Nick had used him. This swiftly became disgust, aimed at himself for not realizing this was what Nick had been hiding from him. Fear followed, against what this attempt to outmaneuver the queen would cost his employer.

Lastly, there was selfish relief. If Nick was married to Cecily then he wasn’t married to Belle. There could be no bedding.

But if there was no bedding Elizabeth would drag Nick to Windsor.

Rage tore through Jamie, strong enough to drive him off the bed. Stumbling back into the remains of the chair, he glared down at his employer. What sort of choice was this? Either he aided Nick in making Belle into a whore, or he stood aside and watched the queen kill his dearest friend.

“May God damn your soul to hell!” he roared.

Nick only stared at him, his gaze dull. “He already has.”

“Well, do not look to me for rescue,” Jamie shouted, venting weeks of tension in these words. “This is one mess you’ve made all on your own. I won’t be the one to sweep up the slop.”

“I'm not asking you to,” Nick said, then slid down onto the mattress.

Jamie stared at his employer. It wasn’t like Nick not to tease him into compliance.

Nick's gaze was deadly dull. “I love her, Jamie, and she, me. Despite that she's going to annul me so I can get children on the wife Elizabeth sent.” He paused to cough then looked up at his steward. “If this is the price I must pay to regain my title, I’d rather die. Kit can restore it once I'm gone.” With that, he turned his back to the room.

Anger drained from Jamie. “Nay,” he said.

Reaching into the bed, he forced Nick onto his back. His employer gazed up at him, a terrifying blankness filling his eyes. New panic soared through Jamie. Nick meant it.

“Coward,” Jamie goaded. “Will you dishonor Cecily’s sacrifice by refusing to live?”

“Poor Jamie,” Nick breathed, the flicker of a sad smile appearing and disappearing in one swift instant. “Rescuing me has become a habit for you. Not this time.”

That blankness in Nick's gaze had eaten up his soul. He closed his eyes. It was death's mask Jamie saw hovering over his friend’s face. He shook his head in refusal. He wasn’t going to lose Nick, not this way. Aye, but how was he to prevent it, when Nick refused to bed Belle?

What a fool he was! He was worrying about putting Nick in Belle’s bed, when that wasn’t what needed to happen. Nay, all that he need do was convince Sir Edward that the consummation Elizabeth expected had occurred. That, he could do but only if he had an ally.

Belle stood at the center of the parlor, her back to its closed door. As she stared up at Jamie she bit her lip in confusion. He couldn’t have said what she thought she’d heard.

“But how can I not be married to the squire? Didn’t you stand as his proxy today and speak his vows?”

Jamie closed his eyes then drew a deep breath as seeking calm. “Pardon, my lady. I fear I’ve made a mess of the explanation and started at the wrong end. You cannot be married to the squire, because he married another in secret.”

“Ah,” Belle breathed. The face of the woman at the church today rose in her inner vision. She sighed, understanding that poor creature’s misery. “She was at the church.”

Jamie nodded. “Cecily Elwyn.”

Belle turned her gaze away. So, the squire had toyed with her. She waited for rejection's searing pain to fill her. Instead, there was nothing.

This was so unexpected Belle probed her heart, seeking some explanation for it and found it in the congregation's vicious reaction to the woman. Not only was the squire's true wife as plain as she, but the two of them had suffered a similar scorn and spurning in their lives. Between that and the fact that Belle didn’t want to be married to Nicholas Hollier, it was hard to feel anything save relief.

“Here is the heart of the matter,” Jamie said hastily. “In only a little while Sir Edward will return to demand the bedding. Rather than dishonor his marriage vows or misuse you, the squire is content to let Elizabeth wreak her vengeance on him.”

Sometime in the last moments Jamie had lost his cap. Now he ran his fingers through his hair. “You've seen him, my lady,” he went on. “The squire’s not a well man. He'll never survive a journey to court.” He shot a pained glance up the stairs. “God save him, he’s up there willing himself to death as we speak,” he said in what was more a comment to himself than to her.

“Why would he do that?” Belle asked.

This brought Jamie’s attention back to her. His attempt at a smile was but the gritting of his teeth. “It's complicated, but Mistress Elwyn has asked her husband for an annulment.”

He paused, the harried look in his eyes softening for a moment. “You see, she cannot give him children. You can.”

Belle loosed an awed breath. Her esteem of both the squire and the woman he’d chosen over her rose. Cecily would give up her noble husband so he might have an heir, and the squire would rather die than lose the one he adored.

“This he does when he could have used me and satisfied his queen with no one the wiser to his ploy,” she said in wonder.

The squire had held success in his hands. No one, not even Jamie, had known he was wed. If anyone had then the news would have been spilled at church today when his secret wife appeared. The hatred the villagers had aimed at the woman guaranteed that.

Jamie reached out to catch her gloved hands, his fingers lacing with hers. “Do you trust me, Belle?” he asked, daring to step over the barrier of custom to use her name.

“Aye,” she answered without hesitation.

“Then help me concoct a ruse,” he nearly begged. “Help me convince Sir Edward he has seen you and the squire to your marriage bed and witnessed the union’s completion.”

“You mean to take his place,” she breathed, a strange tangle of desire, fear and joy filling her. Then she shook her head. “It won’t work.”

Relief that she didn't refuse him out of hand made him smile. “I'll be masked and robed, as is the squire's custom.”

“That's all fine and good where your face is concerned, but it's all of us that will be exposed,” Belle told him. By tradition the bridal couple stood fully disrobed before their witnesses, to guarantee there were no hidden flaws that threatened the marriage’s vitality. “The squire is a frail man, while you”—she let her gaze run from his head to his feet—“are tall and strong.”

With those words, she thought of seeing Jamie unclothed. There was nothing more she wanted to do than feel his skin against hers. With a gasp, she snatched her hands from his and took a backward step, her fingers pressed to her burning cheeks.

“Lord save me, what am I thinking?” she whispered, although she knew exactly what she was considering.

“Nay, you mistake me, my lady,” he said with a shake of his head. “It’s a ruse I plan, nothing more. On my honor and my oath, I intend that we should occupy the bed for an hour, rustling about long enough to satisfy Sir Edward.”

Of his honor Belle had no doubt. But then, it wasn’t him she mistrusted. Belle didn’t think she could lie next to him and not touch him. Aye, and if she touched him once, she'd want to touch him again. Before long she'd be skipping happily down the road to sin. And, although that road was no longer called Adultery, it did, indeed, have a name: Fornication.

Although it needn’t be sin for long. After all, if she wasn’t married to the squire, she was technically free to wed Jamie. Belle sighed. It was a shame they couldn't wed between now and the bedding, then there’d be no question of right or wrong.

With that, the memory of today's ceremony filled her, bringing with it the recall of their silent vows. Belle caught a surprised breath. But they were married!

True, their banns had not been called, and the sharing of their vows had been private. But the courts had more than once adjudged folk wedded because of a single sentence spoken in some field with but one other person there to witness. Here, the sharing had been done before God’s own altar and in the presence of His anointed minister with at least four hundred folk to watch. And she hadn’t spoken the squire’s name in her vow.

Joy filled her. Certainty grew. She and Jamie were married, wedded good and true. In that case, there was no need of pretense. Sir Edward would have his consummation, just not of the union he expected.

Belle looked up at Jamie, ready to share her new understanding with him. Worry creased his brow as he watched her. “Time is very short, my lady, with much that must be prepared if this ploy is to succeed. A nod to say you'll aid me is all I need.”

It could wait. After all, they had all night. “Aye,” she said. “Do as you must to rescue your squire, knowing I will be your ally in it.”

Relief and happiness mingled in his gaze. He lifted her hand to press his lips to her knuckles, giving Belle reason to regret her gloves. “You have my undying thanks, my lady,” he said as he released her then nigh on raced to the parlor door.

“Tom,” he bellowed almost before it was full open then disappeared into the crowd.

Belle was content to exit the parlor at a slower pace. With each step, her desire grew, turning her lips upward against its pressure in her heart. Anticipation added its spice, giving that longing a richness she'd never dreamed possible. In less than an hour she would share a bed with the husband she adored.

With the wind howling at his back, Ned climbed the stairs that led to the gatehouse’s second-storey residence. It roared past him as he opened the door, filling the forward most of the apartment's two chambers until the windows rattled in their frames and sudden flames leapt from the embers in the hearth. When he shut the door he leaned his back against it, staring at the single empty stool set before the dying fire.

Since Brigit wasn't here, there was only one other place she could be. Lady Hollier's warning, that the governess might ask him to wed with her, echoed in his mind. Ned looked toward the bedchamber door. Now, a different sort of offer came to mind.

His eyes closed. The image of Brigit on that first night in the inn's courtyard filled his inner vision. Then, her expression had been innocent as she looked up at him. That woman would never have dreamed of waiting for a man in his bedchamber.

He started for the bedroom doorway, trying to convince himself that all she’d wanted was a fire’s warmth. The quiet desperation he’d seen in her face these past weeks wouldn’t let him lie to himself. He’d done this to her. His ambition had tainted something sweet, leaving it befouled and ruined.

In the bedchamber a far friendlier blaze danced upon the hearth, tossing its merry light against finely plastered and paneled walls and illuminating the depths of the tall-backed chair that sat before the fireplace. Brigit’s cloak was thrown carelessly over its arms.

With a sinking heart he looked at the bed. It was a piece fit for a lord, with ornate posts and curtains of rich red velvet. Brigit sat at its center, her back braced against the headboard. Her hair was unbound, the firelight finding hints of red in her ebony tresses, and her shirt collar, open, so the linen slipped far down her arms to bare her chest from chin to the white swell of her breasts above her bodice’s upper edge.

“Brigit,” he breathed, incapable of louder speech and unable to bear that she was making him this offer. It demeaned what they felt for each other.

A nervous smile flickered across her lips. “I did as you asked and searched the steward's office. I found this.” She touched the mattress, drawing Ned’s gaze to sheet of paper that lay on the bed beside her. It owned more creases on its face than did Graceton's elderly housekeeper. “It says Squire Hollier sent his cannon to the earl of Northumberland to support him in his rebellion. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Now you can return to our queen and show her that her squire is nothing but a Catholic traitor. I hope it's enough to restore your good name with Her Grace.”

It came too late to save him. Leicester had failed and Norfolk had fled Elizabeth’s presence all while he’d been trapped here, incapable of offering a word in his own defense. His career at court was finished.

When he made no response, she touched the mattress beside her in invitation. “Now that I’ve done as you need, come sit by me, Ned,” she invited, her husky words promising a pleasure about which she knew nothing.

Ned shook his head. He wouldn’t take another down with him as he drowned. “I won’t,” he told her gently. “Close your shirt, lass, and bind up your hair. It’s time for you to leave.”

She gasped. Raw color flooded her face. Hunching her shoulders, she pulled her shirt closed and knotted the strings at her collar. Then, slipping from the bed, she dashed to the chair with a quiet sob and threw her cloak over her shoulders, pulling up its hood to conceal her hair.

“But I did as you asked,” she cried in shamed surprise. She stretched out her hand toward him. “You cannot send me away when I did what you asked.”

He shook his head. “Brigit, I don't want you to lose your home because you dared to help me.”

“Home?” she spat out. “I have no home. I am nothing but a servant.”

Then, her face softened. She dared to come close enough to him to place her hands upon his chest and look up into his face. “I cannot bear it, Ned. I cannot bear to live out the whole of my life as another woman’s servant. Why should one as plain as Lady Hollier get two husbands when I am denied even one? Your servant Dick says that my beauty could be a great help to you at court. He says we could go far together, you and I.”

It was a breathy promise. As she made it, her eyes darkened, her lips parted in invitation. All Ned saw in her face was a reflection of his own ambition and greed, and it was an ugly picture indeed.

He grabbed her by the wrists and stepped back from her. “You’re trying to use me,” he stated in accusation, then wondered if the affection he’d believed she had for him was true, or if he’d but seen what he wished for in her face.

Brigit frowned at him, tugging at her trapped hands. “It’s only fair,” she protested. “Didn’t you use me when you begged me to find your precious piece of evidence? Now that I’ve done what you asked you must do something for me. Marry me, Ned. Take me from this place.”

Ned's eyes narrowed. “I won’t. Take that back to Master Wyatt’s office,” the jerk of his head indicated the note on the bed. “I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want the queen's favor or the constant scheming or the ever-present fawning. I'm done with it all!” With each word his voice rose until his rejection of courtly life thundered in the chamber around them. When he was done, he shoved her back from him.

She caught herself against the chair. As her pretense of bold worldliness dissolved, tears glistened in her eyes and her mouth quivered downward. She looked like what she was, a frightened but still defiant child.

It was her defiance that made Ned turn on her. “And I don’t want you,” he told her. “Get thee gone from me little girl, taking your ploys and wiles with you and knowing that the next man you try to use may not be as kind. What if I had accepted your invitation tonight and planted a bastard in your womb and left? Do you think your lady would yet keep you after that, offering naught but a lecture to chide you then?”

Brigit choked on her sob. She whirled, her cloak flying out behind her as she raced for the bedchamber door. A quiet wail escaped her before she'd reached the outer door.

Ned listened, waiting until he heard the slam of the door behind her before he dropped to sit in the chair. Minutes ticked away as he stared at the fire, watching the flames as they leapt and played upon their tiny stage. Like a mouse emboldened by the night, the room’s quiet crept out of its corners to enfold him in its embrace. There was something comforting in the stillness.

After who knew how long, his gaze slipped to the crumpled paper on the bed. The fire's light gave it an ivory cast. The temptation to use it woke but so too, did the desire to throw the thing in the fire and be done with it and all else that had to do with Elizabeth and her court.

As the two urges warred, they tore his heart to shreds. Ned felt it die. A new coldness seeped through him. Only then did he realize he was late for his return to the hall.

He came to his feet and started toward the door only to stop at the thought of Dick finding this note. Retrieving it from the bed, he smoothed it out, refolded it and tucked it into the breast of his doublet.

Whatever else, the note was his to reveal or not as he chose. It was the only thing left in his life over which he maintained a choice.

Jamie drummed his fingers against the tabletop. It was so loud in the hall he couldn’t hear the sound they made. His jaw clenched. His ridiculous ploy wasn’t going to work, although not for any of the reasons he'd expected it to fail. Nay, it wasn’t going to work because Sir Edward was late for the bedding.

Jamie snatched up his cup and drained it to its dregs. When a maid appeared, the lift of her pitcher an offer to refill it, he nodded. Would that the wine could give him a little of the serenity Belle seemed to possess tonight.

The woman who should have been Nick's wife sat on the next bench, Lucy cradled in her lap. Tired circles clung beneath the child's eyes as she rested her head against her mother’s breast.

Jamie almost smiled. The lass was doing her best to remain awake for the bedding, but he feared she was losing the battle.

Hovering behind Belle, her face awash in impatience, was that coarse maid of hers. As she caught Graceton’s steward's eye, the servant had the impertinence to speak. “I vow, Master James, this is the strangest place. Doesn’t anything happen here as it should? Where is that knight?”

“There,” Belle said softly, lifting her chin a little to indicate the far side of the hall.

Jamie looked toward the opening in the screens. Sir Edward was threading his way into the crowded room. Jamie drew a deep breath and reminded himself that what he wanted would happen one step at a time. The first step would be to convince the knight to dispense with the bedding's customary disrobing.

Sir Edward stopped before the high table. “My pardon for being away so long Master Wyatt. Can we finish this? It seems I must make an early departure on the morrow.”

Jamie stared at the young knight in shock. It was the first time since their meeting that Sir Edward hadn’t spoken to him with either rancor or a note of challenge in his tone.

Rather than assure him, Jamie’s worry deepened. The last thing he needed tonight was another surprise.

“But of course,” he replied, giving the only answer he could. “However, before we proceed with the bedding, the squire has some conditions.”

“Now?” The word exploded from the knight with all the usual animosity Jamie expected of him.

“Now,” Jamie repeated. He dared to smile. “Of course, if you feel any of them inappropriate, the squire will happily submit his requests to either Her Majesty or the archbishop for clarification on their legality.”

Sir Edward released a steaming breath. “Spew them, then. I'll hear you out, making no guarantees of agreement but know I don’t much appreciate the way the squire misuses me in this.”

Jamie's brusque nod hid his heart's leaping. They were halfway over the hurdle. He laid out the first condition.

“The squire will come to the lady’s bed masked, gloved and robed. Since neither his frailty nor his disfigurement is at issue in this marriage, he sees no reason to expose them. Only within the confines and privacy of the bed curtains will he disrobe.”

Sir Edward scowled at this but they both knew he had no cause to complain since disrobing in public was meant to discover hidden deformities rather than reveal acknowledged ones; it was public knowledge that Nick was anything but vigorous or whole.

“And?” the knight asked, the word serving as tacit agreement to Jamie’s first condition.

Jamie fought to keep from grinning. “And I, my servant and a footman will remain in the sitting room with you. We come not only as witnesses but to minister to the squire should the exertion be more than he can tolerate.” This was Jamie’s second step, the creation of a screen behind which he could hide.

“And?” the knight replied without hesitation.

“And that's all he asks,” Jamie said, his shrug casual.

Sir Edward blinked as if so simple a list surprised him. “I can see no reason to object to these.”

Amazement took Jamie for a ride only to drop him back into worry. This had been too easy.

The knight turned to Belle. “What of you, my lady?”

“I have no objection,” Belle answered, her words almost too quiet to be heard over the room’s noise.

As she spoke, her coarse maid threw back her head and bellowed, “It's time! It's time for the bedding!”

The urge to throttle the woman took Jamie. Not only wasn’t it her announcement to make, she was making it too soon! Belle couldn’t leave yet.

There was no taking it back. From all across the hall chambermaids rushed toward Belle, crowding around their lady, hissing and giggling about the bedding like the geese they were. Yet carrying her child, Belle came to her feet and started toward the parlor door to the accompaniment of whistles. Catcalls echoed up into the rafters, lusty acknowledgment of what was to come. The musicians mustered, grabbing up their instruments, ready to pave the way to the bridal chamber with as much noise as possible.

Desperate for some way to stall, Jamie shot a frantic look toward the screens at the hall’s end. A miracle trotted in, wearing the guise of Belle’s footman Richard, Jamie's second ally in this plot. The man’s hat was gone, his hair stood on end. There was a tear in the front of his doublet. As Richard’s gaze met Jamie’s the corners of the footman's mouth lifted ever so slightly.

“Lady Hollier, isn’t that your servant?” Jamie called in a clumsy effort to draw Belle back into the hall.

Startled, Belle shot a look over her shoulder then gasped. “Richard!”

She handed Lucy to her maid, then rushed back into the hall, bringing the women with her, and grabbed Jamie by the arm. “Something’s amiss,” she cried to him. “He looks all undone.”

Having counted on her affection for her man to wring an honest reaction from her, Jamie wasn’t the least disappointed. “What goes forward, man?” Jamie shouted to Richard as the footman pushed and shoved his way toward the front of the room. “What’s happened to you?”

At his call even the musicians fell silent. As everyone in the room watched, Richard nigh on sprinted to the high table.