The Intended

by May McGoldrick

  Frances’s question was never answered and Mary continued to groan and complain about the unfairness of it all. But as the two woman continued with their argument, Jaime turned a deaf ear to them. She didn’t want to do this. Looking about the room, she shuddered at the mess surrounding her. Like snares of twisting rope, everything seemed to catch at her—to trap her at every turn.

  Jaime stepped back as a serving girl opened another trunk before them. She was supposed to be choosing her wardrobe for court. Glancing in the direction of Frances and Mary, who continued to bicker by the bed, Jaime could not help but smile wryly. With a wave of her hand, she motioned the serving girl away and gestured for her own servant, Caddy, to help her. She didn’t need all this attention; she didn’t need all these servants. She wished all of them would simply go away and let her be. Jaime reached blindly into the depths of the trunk and pulled out some rolled-up material and handed it to Caddy.

  It wasn’t until she was handing Caddy the next item, a carefully folded dress, that Jaime realized her serving woman had not moved and stood still, holding the unraveled material out in front of her. With a frown, Jaime snatched the dress back and stared at the torn shoulder. Suddenly feeling extremely embarrassed, she balled the garment in her hands. This was the dress she had worn that night—the night she’d crept up to Malcolm’s room and to his bed. Holding the bundle to her chest, Jaime quickly looked around. Caddy was already occupying herself pulling other garments from the trunk and laying them out for Jaime’s choosing, as Mary and Frances continued to argue.

  Holding the soft wool against her breast, Jaime thought of Malcolm. He had told her that he would come up with a plan—one that would keep her from being sent to Edward. Now, though, feeling more and more desperate as the moment of departure crept ever nearer, she worried about how much danger he might bring upon himself. He had no connections—no trusted friends—no kin or fellow warriors in this palace. How could he save her from her uncle and her cousin without exposing himself to terrible, perhaps insurmountable risk?

  Trying to distance herself from all the commotion around her, Jaime moved to a small worktable by the window. Glancing over her shoulder, she found, interesting enough, that her retreat was viewed with very little concern by anyone in the room. Turning her back on them all, she stared out into the gardens, spreading out beneath the window and bursting with color.

  Malcolm had mentioned there was a vessel coming in to a nearby fishing village within a week. All she had to do was to somehow drag her feet for that time—until they could escape to Scotland. With that simple thought, a warmth spread through her, and Jaime felt her heart bloom with joy. It would be so different this time, she thought. She would go back to Skye knowing that he wanted her for his wife. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine her family—their loving faces. By the Holy Virgin, how much she missed them now. What a fool she had been to think that she could distance herself from them and still be happy.

  The sun, golden in its descent, radiated warmth through the diamond-shaped panes of glass. On impulse, Jaime pushed open the window and breathed in the sweet smells of summer. But soon the joys of nature dropped away into oblivion as she considered, once again, the pressing matters still before her. For how could she remain where she was...and still keep Malcolm from laying siege to Kenninghall.

  Jaime stared in confusion as the physician scowled at her and blocked her entry into the surgery.

  “I said you don’t waste much time, do you, young woman?”

  Jaime glanced behind her into the empty corridor, searching for the person who Master Graves’s words were intended for. “I don’t?” she said at last, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

  “Nay, not you, mistress. The pixies and fairies dancing in the corridor there behind you.” The man shook his head and swung the door open, heading back inside the chamber. Totally perplexed, Jaime silently stepped in and closed the door.

  “Of course, you!” the physician continued irritably, slapping his linen coif on his head and tugging it roughly into position. “Your last messenger left only a moment ago. And the one before that...”

  “My messengers?” Jaime interrupted, following closely behind the physician.

  The Welshman never answered her question nor did he acknowledge her interruption. Coming to a stop by his worktable—which was strewn with different herbs, a mortar and pestle, and some bowls of various sizes—he appeared to spoon something into a small leather pouch. Jaime looked with curiosity over his shoulder, but she couldn’t make out exactly what he was doing. However, she could see that his motions were quick, angry. She watched with a frown as he turned his back and blocked her view. His sour mood made no sense, but he was obviously angry with her for something she’d done. Well, for the life of her, she didn’t know what it was she could have done, but if he wanted to have it out with her, then he’d have to be the one to pursue it. She had more important matters to attend to, and if the old man was going to be disagreeable, then she would need time to figure out something else.

  “Master Graves,” she said, clearing her throat. “I came down here to ask a favor of you reg...”

  “So you don’t have any intention of marrying my master’s son!”

  Jaime opened her mouth and then closed it again as the elder physician turned and faced her. The man’s direct question and chilly gaze left no choice for her but to speak the truth. “Nay, sir. That I don’t,” she acknowledged firmly, shaking her head.

  “Too good for him, I suppose.”

  “‘Tis really not a matter...”

  “And does he know of this, mistress? Does Lord Edward know?”

  Jaime again shook her head in answer.

  “And His Grace, the duke?” The physician’s face was accusing.

  She let out a long breath, temper unexpectedly bubbling up within her. “Nay, Master Graves. None of the Howard family has been told of my decision regarding this marriage. And I’d like to know how you...”

  “Then don’t you think it’s time you told them of the truth—of your wishes?” The man waited for her answer, holding the small bag in one hand, and then in the other.

  “Aye, ‘tis true,” she replied after a moment. Jaime searched for words to explain, but then smashed her fist into the palm of her other hand in frustration. “But I will be damned if I’ll do it at the king’s court. If I go there now—as I’ve been summoned to do—then I am declaring publicly that I am agreeable to this match. What voice would I have when I get there? I, a Scot and a woman. None!”

  The man peered into her face, and Jaime found herself glaring back at him.

  “‘Twas my doing, was it not?” he asked at last. “You would have stayed here in England and married Lord Edward if it hadn’t been for me meddling with the Highlander’s life, helping you to keep him alive, passing on your letter to those who could send it north!”

  Shocked by the turn in the conversation, Jaime gazed back at his darkly frowning face. There was a gentle heart beyond that rough exterior, and evidence of it was peeking through.

  “Nay, Master Graves. None of this was your doing. It was fate—a turn of Fortune’s wheel. ‘Twas meant to be this way.” She looked beyond him at the fresh and dried herbs on the table. “Malcolm and I were destined to be together and nothing he nor I did—no matter how great the distance we put between us—nothing could keep us apart. I believe that regardless of whether you helped us or not, we would still somehow end up together.”

  “Aye, you’ll end up in some dungeon, and I’ll be keeping you both company, I fear.”

  “And whose company do you think I’d prefer being in?”

  The man’s bushy eyebrows seemed to relax a bit. “You are trying to make me feel better, lass.”

  Jaime couldn’t hold back the smile that was breaking through. “Did you say ‘lass,’ Master Graves? I’m beginning to think you have more Scot in you than you’ll admit to!”

  He waved a hand in the air denying the accusation. “I just
want to make sure that I won’t be held responsible for you leaving us for good. And ‘tis not for the fear of any men that I say this,” he was quick to add. “‘Tis just...well, I think the folks that really matter around here...well, with you leaving us...” He pulled his coif from his head and tossed it onto the table, running his hand over his balding skull. “Look at the children—the joy they get out of spending time in that music room of yours. Just think of the women—how they think of ways to draw you to their cottages just to chat, so as how they can brag to the rest of their cronies how you’d been spending all day with them, how you shared a meal with them. And have you seen the men? ‘Tis a wonder the women are not tearing you limb from limb with how well the men think of you. If it weren’t for the fact that you are as good as you are beautiful, I don’t know what their feelings would be regarding you. One passing smile from you and the young lads, at least, are dreamy-eyed for a fortnight.” The physician paused and frowned. “You leave, Mistress Jaime, and I think it’ll not go easy with any of them.”

  Jaime paused and stared at the man. She’d never heard him say so much, so eloquently. She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat.

  “Nor with me, either,” she said gently, placing a hand on the physician’s arm. She had to say her peace, though she feared that—once she started—she might find it extremely difficult to keep her emotions in check. “I’ve grown fond of the folk here at Kenninghall. But I have to go back to where I belong, Master Graves. I have to wed the one I love. Fate has given us a second chance by crossing our paths, here. I cannot turn my back on Malcolm. I cannot simply forget the love I have for him.”

  She looked down at her hands, fighting the surging emotions that threatened to bring forth tears. She didn’t want to weep here before this man, when she still had yet to ask his help. The thought that he might consider her tears a cunning, feminine way to convince him to help her was not a particularly attractive one to Jaime. Especially after all he’d said of how upsetting her departure would be to the people he cared for the most.

  Blinking the tears from her eyes, she looked up into his face. “The reason why I came here, Master Graves...”

  “Aye, mistress. ‘Tis ready,” he said, holding out the pouch to her.

  She stared at the gray bag that the physician held in his burly fist. “What is ready?” she asked quietly.

  “They won’t question my judgment, mistress. No one will be taking you away to court—not unless that is where you want to go.”

  She reached out, and he placed the pouch in her hand. “But I don’t...”

  “You take this tonight before you go to bed, and tomorrow morning at first light I’ll find an excuse to send a servant for you. And when they cannot get you to wake up, then I will come in myself to check on you.”

  Jaime opened the tie of the pouch and peered inside. “What is this that I will be taking?”

  “A compound of gilded lettuce seed, white poppy, and mandragora seed. Mix in a drink no more than this much.” He showed her, demonstrating the measurement with the end of his little finger. “‘Tis sure to give you a good night’s sleep. I often give it to folk who cannot sleep.”

  She looked up at the physician. “And what will happen when I do finally wake up?”

  “By then, Lord willing, someone will be frightened enough to send for me.” He reached up and massaged his sore shoulder. “After checking on you, I’ll tell them you could have green sickness and a touch of spleen. They’ll take my word for it when I tell them you must remain in bed.”

  Jaime glanced hesitantly from the bag back up to the physician’s face. “Do I have to pretend to be sick? I am afraid they’ll see through such a ruse.”

  “I don’t see how they could,” Graves answered confidently. “Tomorrow, when I come in to you, I will put a cloth treated with a strong medicine on your forehead. That should make you sleep the day away. Trust me, the earl will not send you on the road when he sees your pale face in that bed tomorrow.”

  “What will be in that medicine?” Jaime asked curiously.

  “Oil of violets, a bit of opium, and milk. I mix them and wrap them in a linen cloth, and lay the poultice against your temple for a few moments at a time.”

  “And that will make me sick?”

  “Nay, mistress, only if you use too much of it. The way we will do it, you will just sleep and sleep. And the beauty of it is that we can do this for as long as you want to remain an invalid. Just take the compound I’ve given you each night, and I’ll have the poultice prepared beside your bed, so we can place it on your temple as required.”

  Jaime clutched the pouch tightly in her hand and gathered it to her chest. “Will I be able to snap out of this when the time comes to...” Her words trailed off, though she continued to gaze at the Welshman steadily.

  “Aye, mistress,” he answered. “Just stop taking the compound, and don’t use the poultice for a day before...before your time comes, and you’ll be fine.”

  She placed the leather pouch in the pocket of her skirt and then reached out and hugged the man. “Thank you, Master Graves!”

  “Just go before I change my mind, mistress,” he replied gruffly as he patted her gently on the back. “Just go, lass.”

  Chapter 33

  Malcolm stretched his arm out of the window and drew her into the chamber. She was as light as a bird.

  “You must promise me not to make this climb again, lass,” he said, pulling her into his arms without even giving her a chance to remove her cloak. “You’ll be sure to break your neck if you so much as miss a foothold.”

  She tilted her head back and smiled into his handsome face. “Well, there was little chance of me falling. I think the angels would have held me up.”

  His hand reached up and pushed back the hood of her cloak. His fingers gently traced the softness of the skin at her temple, her cheek, her parted lips. The cloak was cool and damp from the night air, but her skin was warm, and her eyes sparkled like stars in a moonless sky. “Were you so eager to come to me?”

  She nodded, placing a kiss on the tips of his fingers.

  “Oh, Jaime,” he groaned, unable to hold back. He crushed her body to his chest as his lips devoured her sweet mouth. “It has been hell, my sweet, waiting up here for you. I cannot tell you how many times I thought to come down that wall after you.”

  Teasingly, she placed light kisses along the line of his chin. “I am glad you didn’t come after me. The room I share with Mary is a battlefield of unwanted people and trunks. Lady Frances! Caddy! Every servant in Kenninghall! It took me quite a while to push them all out. And then I went to see Master Graves.”

  Malcolm reached under her chin and undid the tie of her cloak. “So he thought of a way to keep you from being sent to Nonsuch Palace.”

  She pulled back and looked him in the eye. “You know?”

  “I knew he would.”

  She placed her hands against his chest. “So you went to him, as well?”

  “What do you mean, as well?”

  “I went, too,” she answered. “But by then he was already determined to help us through this.” She hugged him tightly and then looked into his face again. “We thought the same.”

  “Aye, lass,” he said hoarsely, suddenly entranced with her shining eyes and beautiful face. His hands moved on their own accord and pushed the cloak from her shoulders and onto the floor. He gathered her roughly to his heart.

  Jaime wrapped her hands around his neck and raised herself on her toes. “I love you, Malcolm. And I know everything will be fine. We’ll be leaving this place within a week, and we will sail to Scotland.”

  “And we will be married at Skye, if that suits you,” he whispered in her ear.

  Malcolm closed his eyes for a moment and silently vowed once again to keep her safe until the time came for them to leave. The last message Graves had delivered said that the ship was still due to arrive as originally planned during the Midsummer’s Eve celebration. Malcolm knew
that if he were not in a longboat at the meeting point, they would sail away and return at the next full moon. But he would be there...with Jaime. And for now, the two of them would just have to sit back and bide their time. It was simple enough to say, he thought. Actually doing so was another matter entirely.

  “Malcolm!” she whispered, snuggling closer against his chest. “When I went to Master Graves at first, he said something...he implied that there was more than one person who had visited him today, before I arrived, asking the same thing of him on my account.”

  “You think there was someone other than me?”

  She nodded. “Aye, he was irritated to see me, at first. He said something about me sending messengers!” She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Other than you, I just cannot think of anyone who would want to side with us on this. I believe everyone at Kenninghall wants to send me packing for Nonsuch Palace.”

  Malcolm ran a hand through her silky hair. “When I was leaving the physician’s chamber—I did see Catherine go in. Do you think she might do something on your behalf?”

  Jaime rolled her eyes. “I would be afraid to hazard a guess why my cousin might have a need to see the physician, but I doubt very much she would do so for my benefit. I have had the honor of spending a few moments in her company since she returned, and I can assure you that she has no interest whatsoever in helping me. Catherine doesn’t like me much, Malcolm.”