The Intended

by May McGoldrick

  “I do not know...perhaps tonight.”

  Jaime stared at him as the glimmer of a plan began to emerge in her mind.

  “You’ll come to me later, then.”

  “Aye.” She nodded. After I have pursued a design of my own, she finished silently.

  Chapter 31

  “And you expect me to poison her?” The Welsh physician cut in on Malcolm with a tone that was more a growl than a response. The man was too thickheaded even to hear the Highlander out.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Malcolm asked angrily. “If she gets even a wee bit ill from this, if she has even the slightest discomfort, I’ll wring your scrawny neck with my own hands.”

  Graves shot to his feet, rising onto his toes like some outraged bantam cock. “You’ll wring my neck! Why, you arrogant, bull-necked savage! One moment, you’re asking me to find a way to sicken her so she can avoid going off to court—the next, you are threatening my life if I do just that! Which is it, man?”

  Malcolm forced down his anger. “I...I only asked you to help her feign an illness. It must all be pretense!”

  “And why would I do such a thing? You want me to risk hanging for disobedience of the duke’s wishes!”

  Frustrated, Malcolm fought the strong inclination to strangle the man. As good as it might make him feel right now, though, he also knew that such happy violence would do nothing to help Jaime. He let out a long, slow breath and tried to check his temper. “I appreciate your family loyalty, Master Graves. And after all you’ve done to help me these past days, after the messages you’ve had sent back and forth between me and my people, I don’t want you to think I’m slighting the trust between us.”

  The physician lifted a bony finger and pointed it at the Highlander’s chest. “I did all of that because Mistress Jaime asked it of me, you baboon. In truth, I’ve been wanting to get rid of you from the first moment they dragged your carcass in here. But what you are asking me to do now is to interfere with that lass’s marriage to my master’s son.”

  “She will not marry Edward Howard. You can take my word on it.”

  “Aye, so long as you are around, she won’t. But were I to get rid of you—if I helped you to go back to your people—then I believe she would.”

  “Nay, Master Graves. ‘Tis not so simple, as you well know.” Malcolm shook his head. “You know better than I that Edward is not deserving of her hand...”

  “And you are, I suppose?”

  “Perhaps not,” Malcolm answered seriously. “But I don’t intend to force her to go anywhere against her wishes. And I am not dragging her to court for some vile use designed to further my own interests.”

  “You’re saying that is what is being done to her?”

  “How do you explain this summons from the duke and his son?” Malcolm pressed. “If Edward’s intentions in wanting Jaime at court were honest, then why such a rush? What reason is there for all the secrecy? She has been told nothing but to prepare herself and leave on a day’s notice. So far as she knows, her life could be in jeopardy there!”

  “‘Tis not for me to question the duke’s plans for the woman.”

  “By the Rood, man!” Malcolm threw up his hands.

  “Aye, and though you’re allowed to walk about and ride with Lord Surrey, you’re still a prisoner here, and hardly in any position to be questioning anything, either!”

  “What I ask is for Jaime, you old fool!”

  The physician remained silent for a moment, running a hand over his bald head and studying the Highlander’s face as he pondered Malcolm’s words. “And you are asking me this on her behalf? You have no interests of your own at stake here?”

  Malcolm stared down at the little man. “Don’t twist my words, Master Graves. And don’t force me to lie. My motives I’ve voiced to Jaime already, since she is the only one concerned. But as far as what I am asking you to do, you can believe that I have her welfare and happiness in mind. You have to accept my word on that. But if she leaves for Nonsuch Palace as the duke has ordered—there will be no turning back. She will be lost...”

  A light knock on the door stopped his words, and the physician, ignoring the interruption, scowled at the Highlander. “Is this her wish, man? You must tell me that.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Aye.”

  “Then I will get word to you.”

  “When?” Malcolm pressed, ignoring a second knock at the door.

  The physician took a step toward the closed door. “What are you planning to do, Highlander? Burn down the palace if I don’t agree?”

  “I’ll do whatever needs to be done, Master Graves. She doesn’t wish to go, and I will do whatever I can to make that wish come to pass.”

  The physician walked stiffly toward the door. “You’ll hear from me before nightfall.”

  Catherine wished she could make out the muffled words coming through the door. The voice of the Highlander was consistently the most distinct, though every now and then the pitch of the other’s voice reached her more clearly through the thick oak door. They were clearly arguing over something, and Catherine’s curiosity was aroused. Fanning her golden brown tresses over her shoulders, she waited, straining to hear what Malcolm was saying. Interestingly enough, the Highlander aroused more than just curiosity in her, and she had missed seeing his ruggedly handsome face.

  Aye, she thought, the man definitely interested her. Last night, lying alone in the huge bed of her cold chamber, she had found herself considering the fact that she had never had a Scot. There was no reason why she should let her plans to punish Edward interfere with her sport. Indeed, this man, Malcolm MacLeod, had much more presence than Edward. Taller, he was, and far more handsome with his tumbling brown hair and dark, brooding looks. His broad, powerful build; the way he’d looked last night at dinner with his arms crossed over the black velvet of his tunic; the way the muscles of his thighs and calves showed through his hose. Catherine’s lips parted at the memory as she felt the start of that familiar stirring at the juncture of her thighs. He would be an excellent lover, she was certain of that. And that silly Mary—with her infantile crush on the man! Catherine smiled and drew in a deep breath. What would a dim-witted virgin like Mary know about satisfying a man like Malcolm?

  With a glance up and down the corridor, Catherine ran her hands over the bodice of her dress, smoothing the quilted velvet. Seeing no one, she let her fingers linger on her breasts. She could feel the aroused nipples through the fabric. She would have him in her bed, and she would have him soon. Her body cried out for a man’s touch, and the Highlander would do quite nicely.

  The voices on the other side of the door were no longer audible at all. Impatiently, Catherine raised her hand and knocked at the door. She had to settle this business first. She was too smart to allow Edward to ruin her plans. He had yet to suffer for his sins against her.

  Catherine’s bright eyes never left Malcolm's face as she called over her shoulder. “I’ll speak with you in a moment, Master Graves.”

  Malcolm let his eyes travel from the woman’s face to the small, white hand resting on the crook of his elbow. He tried to hide the annoyance he felt at having Catherine accost him so openly in the corridor.

  “I would like to see you in my chamber tonight, sir,” she whispered in a tone meant, no doubt, to be inviting.

  Malcolm continued to stare at the thin, jeweled fingers and thought himself extremely lucky that the physician had moved away into the murky interior of his surgery. He was glad the old man hadn’t heard this woman’s invitation. Aye, he thought, that was all he needed—to have Graves think he was having an affair with every female in Kenninghall. That would certainly help to advance his character in the man’s mind, Malcolm thought wryly.

  “‘Tis something specific, m’lady, that you would care to see me about?” He tried to think of a way of not directly offending her, for there was something about Catherine that made him believe she would be extremely dangerous when crossed.

  “Must I rea
lly tell you in detail what I have in mind?” she cooed, her voice still soft and seductive.

  “Perhaps not,” he replied quickly. “But I am afraid, m’lady, that I do have other commitments for the evening.”

  “Are you to be put back in chains?” she asked.

  Malcolm looked into her face, uncertain if her words were a suggestion or a threat.

  “The earl has asked to see me,” he said, moving enough to cause her hand to drop away from his arm. “I believe he wishes to spend some time going over some manuscripts he’s just received from the library of our late master, Erasmus.”

  “Well, that should take no time.”

  Malcolm took another step back. “Ah, one never knows with Lord Surrey.” He bowed chivalrously in her direction. “But I mustn’t detain you, m’lady.”

  “Perhaps another time?” she called after him.

  But Malcolm said nothing as he disappeared down the corridor.

  Catherine straightened her skirts around her feet, folded her hands in her lap, and looked coyly at the aging physician. “Oh, Master Graves, I think I have never yet known a man to age as handsomely as you. I was just telling Lady Frances last night that at court we are not blessed the way she is, having such a fine-looking man to look after her health.” Her ample bosom rose and fell as she sighed, and looked at him from beneath her fluttering lashes.

  The man’s skin reddened, the blush spread from his cowled neck to the top of his balding head, and he busied his hands straightening rows of herbs laid out on his worktable. “What might I do for you today, Mistress Catherine?”

  “I have this pain.” She reached a hand behind her head and rubbed at the base of her neck. “Here, Master Graves. It began last night and kept me up half the night. There is a knot—I feel it right now...ouch!” She frowned, feigning a sudden discomfort.

  The physician walked around the table and moved to her side. Gently pushing her hand away, he placed his callused fingers against the skin of her neck.

  Catherine tilted her head and moaned seductively in response to his touch. “Oh, Master Graves, you certainly have the touch.” The man’s hand continued to search for the nonexistent knot. “Aye, that is feeling so much better already,” she whispered.

  The physician pulled back sharply, but she turned quickly and took a hold of one hand. “Oh, don’t let me continue to suffer, Master Graves.”

  “I can find no lump...no knot indicating a spasm. I...I cannot find anything wrong with you,” the man stuttered.

  Without releasing his hand, Catherine came slowly to her feet and stepped closer to him. “Oh, but just now, when you were touching my neck...I felt a sharp pain go right to my heart...here!” she whispered, lifting his large hand and placing it firmly against her left breast, just above the low, square neckline of her dress. He tried to pull back again, but she held him there. Stepping even closer, she pressed his fingers into the firm flesh. “What do you think this could be from, Master Graves?”

  The man’s eyes were riveted to her chest and his mouth hung open.

  “Oh, perhaps you need to take a better look,” she cooed. Slowly reaching up with her free hand, Catherine pulled down the bodice of the dress, exposing the rosy tips of her full breasts. With a jerk of his hand, the panicked physician withdrew and practically ran to the other side of the room. She watched his back with a smile and then pulled her dress back up in place. “Do you have any idea what my ailment might be, Master Graves?”

  With his back still to her, the man shook his head and mumbled something inaudible in response. Greatly satisfied with herself and the success of her teasing, Catherine moved across the room in pursuit. She couldn’t let her prey off so easily.

  “Oh my,” she said with surprise, coming to a stop behind him. “Look at the marks your fingers have left on my skin.”

  Graves whirled and stared with dismay at the red imprints on her milky-white bosom.

  “Master Graves, certainly you—an esteemed scholar and physician, a man of science, a healer of renown—certainly you must be able to do something for me. You won’t just let me suffer now, will you?”

  The physician backed away as the young woman stepped closer. Scurrying around the worktable, he held up a hand to ward her off. She stopped, smiling innocently.

  “Aye, mistress. I’ll make up something for you. A potion to drink. I’ll send it up to your chambers. It will relax the knot in your neck...help you to sleep.”

  “Ah, a potion to help me rest!” Catherine smiled as she picked up a bundle of rosemary from the table. She held it to her face and inhaled the distinctive scent. She pursed her lips and looked at the physician. “But how will I know how much to take? If I take too much, won’t I get ill?”

  “Of course you will, mistress!” the physician growled, running his hand over his glistening pate. “But I’ll...”

  “Perhaps you should come up and administer it yourself, Master Graves...as I prepare for bed, you could...”

  “Nay, nay, enough of that, Mistress Catherine! I’ll send up clear directions with the potion.”

  Catherine pouted at the man, and then held the bundle of herbs up again, seemingly studying them. “Whatever you send up, Master Graves, would you send up enough that I might share some with my cousin, Jaime!”

  The man’s eyes snapped up to hers. “You let that lass be. She has no sickness that I know of that requires the medicine I’m sending up to you.”

  Catherine drew her face together in a tight frown and laid the rosemary on the table. “Oh, you haven’t seen her since she got the news today, have you?”

  “What news might that be, mistress?” Graves said evasively, turning and looking at the jars of ingredients that lined the shelves of the surgery.

  She stepped around the table and shook her head in exaggerated distress. “The poor creature. She is being dragged to Nonsuch Palace to be with Lord Edward at a time when he is...well, let us just say this is not the best time for her to go.” Catherine picked up a bundle of nightshade and another of wolfbane and gazed at them. “Perhaps whatever you’re planning to send me might not be strong enough for all she must bear.”

  The old man’s frown told her that she had his attention.

  “Few people here at Kenninghall know what is happening to Lord Edward at court.” Her voice carried a confidential tone as it lowered to a whisper. “He is in a great deal of trouble, Master Graves. He has fallen from favor with the king.” She lowered her voice even more and placed the herbs back on the table. “I know the truth only because I just left him there. He is guarded by the king’s men at all times, and he isn’t permitted to leave the palace grounds. I fear for him. And the duke, he is trying as best as he can to keep it all hushed.”

  “What kind of trouble is he in, Mistress Catherine? And what purpose is served in bringing that poor lass into the middle of it?”

  Catherine shrugged her shoulders in ignorance. “I wish I knew more. Perhaps they are thinking Jaime might charm the king with her looks and her music. But I cannot see anything she might do that would soften His Majesty. After all, I did all that I could, and to no avail, I fear. And she is half-Scot, besides.” She looked knowingly at the physician. “You know what it feels like to be an outsider, Master Graves. Jaime will be miserable. She is already quite, quite distressed.” Catherine shook her head. “And she has every right to be. My future husband’s wrath is nothing to trifle with; Jaime knows full well the sad end that came to our cousin, Anne Boleyn. And now, here is our Jaime, a Boleyn and a Scot, besides. I worry about her safety, for who knows that Henry’s ire will not extend to Jaime. Who knows if she may not turn out to be the one who really suffers in the end.”

  Catherine turned her back on the physician, patting tears away from dry eyes and giving him a chance to ponder her words. Short of assigning someone to hurt Jaime, which she wasn’t ready to do, yet, this old man offered her the best way of stopping that wench from going to Edward. She thought her words had been effective, quite
convincing. That might be all it would take—a medicine of some sort—a potion that would make her ill to travel. Catherine wanted Jaime here, alive, within her grasp. This was where she could turn the wench’s mind from thoughts of Edward. One more twist of the knife to make him suffer all the more.

  Catherine swung around and faced the physician. “There must be something that we can do. We must! Don’t you agree, Master Graves, that it is our duty to help her through this—before she does something rash on her own?”

  “You think she might?”

  Catherine nodded. “She is so proud and yet so timid in seeking other people’s help. I fear she very well could. Who knows what trouble she might get herself into!”

  The physician’s bushy brows bunched up in a frown. “I’ll see what I can do, Mistress Catherine.”

  She successfully fought back a smile of triumph. “Should I remain here? Perhaps I might be of some help!”

  “Nay, I thank you!” The physician quickly walked to the door, pulling it open wide. “Be on your way, Mistress Catherine. I can manage quite well!”

  As she strolled toward the door, she considered whether she should do any more prodding. But the physician’s grim expression told her that he was convinced and that he was already designing a plan.

  “You will not forget me?”

  “Nay, mistress. I’ll not be forgetting you.”

  “Very well,” Catherine said, smiling to herself as she left the physician’s chamber.

  Chapter 32

  “But why must I wait? I want to go to court now!”

  Jaime ignored Mary, but Frances, obviously far more annoyed by the young woman’s whining complaints, snapped at her.

  “This is hardly the time to discuss your wishes, Mary! Things are difficult enough trying to get Jaime ready.”

  With a sigh loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, Mary sat down on the edge of her bed and sulked.

  “When the time comes, Mary, you will be leaving with Catherine, if she’ll have you. Don’t forget, though her entourage is large now, after she is wedded to the king she will have countless more attendants. Just think, aside from the six ‘great ladies,’ there will certainly be at least four or five ladies of the privy chamber, and a dozen attendants of exalted rank, besides the maids of honor.” The countess motioned to the servants to bring out an empty trunk and leave it open before them. “Surely, there will be a place for you, as well, but right now we are here to help Jaime prepare. Have you already forgotten that you volunteered to be of some use?”