“Ah, the horse's ass,” Nick murmured, sitting forward in his chair as he spoke.
Jamie stared at Graceton's master.
“You mean the man's not an ass?” Nick said in false astonishment. “How could I have been so mistaken?”
Jamie grinned, charmed despite his worry over what his employer might have planned. “Oh, an ass Sir Edward surely is. But how is it you know this about him?”
“What do you think me, some invalid who never leaves his rooms?” Nick sniffed, teasing as his eyes filled with satisfaction at amazing his steward. “Kit wrote to warn me against him, although he was more circumspect in his phrasing than I've been. My brother wrote, asking after the date of my-” Nick’s voice broke as he tried to say the word wedding.
Behind him, Cecily made a tiny sound then pressed a hand to her lips. Again, that strange expression flashed across her face. As she realized Jamie watched her she hied herself to the window to stand with her back to the room.
Pity filled Jamie. It didn’t take much to guess what plagued the woman. He stared at her back, wondering if she now harbored regrets at refusing Nick’s many proposals. Not that she could have accepted, given her circumstances. Cecily's mother had been a strange woman, more at home with forest creatures than humankind. Between her mother’s oddness and her own unusual eye color, most of the villagers named Cecily the devil's spawn. It was Cecily’s fear of being hanged for witchcraft that kept her from wedding the villagers' noble master.
Nick cleared his throat and glanced from his paramour to his steward. “If Elizabeth gives him leave, Kit would like to attend the upcoming event,” he said, managing to completely skirt the word this time. “My brother also warns that Sir Edward’s dislike of Catholics and his ambition may lead him to do something I'll live to regret.”
Jamie nodded. “If Kit's said that much, then I owe him a debt. Best you heed your brother.”
“Ha! Those are words I never thought to hear from you,” Nick laughed, knowing full well how little his steward liked his brother.
All this gentle jibe won from Jamie was a narrow-eyed look. “Aye well, now that you’ve heeded Kit, listen to me. Nick, I've come ahead of Lady Purfoy’s party to make certain you know you must marry her, doing so as if she were your heart's own true love. Nothing can go amiss, not even something as small as Sir Edward witnessing Cecily coming and going from your bedchamber.”
Reaching out, Jamie laid a hand upon Nick's arm, hoping his touch would help drive home his next point. “More than anything, I believe the knight wants to find some misstep to carry back to Elizabeth, something that will convince her of your supposed faults and insults. Nick, if I’m right his intent is to drive the queen into a rage against you. If he succeeds, you can be sure Elizabeth's anger will be so great she'll order you into her presence, not caring that the journey could mean your death.”
At the window Cecily moaned. She turned, her fingers clasped as if in prayer, her face white. “Oh, Nick,” she cried.
So swiftly did Nick set his cup on the wee table between the chairs it nearly spilled. He leapt to his lover's side. As he pulled her close, she buried her face into his shoulder and sobbed. Pity for her again filled Jamie.
“Nay,” Nick murmured as he stroked her back, “I'll not have you crying when there's no need. You must trust me, love. Armed with Jamie’s warning, I can chart a course to avoid all the dangers he sees.”
Another shiver crawled up Jamie’s spine. May God save him, but Nick wasn't listening if he still thought he could slither out of the wedding. Across the room Nick leaned his forehead against Cecily's. She sniffed and rubbed away her tears, then caught her arms around his neck.
“But you cannot,” she began, only to have Nick place a scarred finger against her lips to silence her.
“Say no more,” he said, his voice low. Catching his arm around her, he led her to the hidden door in the wall. “Go now,” Graceton's master told his lover, “but not until you vow to return tonight.”
“I can’t, they'll be here,” she protested.
“Would you abandon me to them?” he pleaded. “Now vow.”
Beneath her fear what looked like frustration dashed across Cecily’s thin face. “You’re impossible, Nicholas Hollier. My mother warned me when she strove to heal you two decades ago. She said I’d come to no good if I let myself be charmed by you. See now how her words come to pass?”
Nick coughed out another laugh. “Your vow, love. Promise you'll come to me tonight.”
Cecily sighed as she relented. “Aye, I'll return. I’ve brewing to do, so don’t look for me until two hours after moonrise.”
Jamie hid his flinch as she named the hour. Since he didn’t much care to be undressed and abed when she came through his chamber, two hours after the moon’s rise meant he wouldn’t see his pillow until well after midnight. Ah well, there was a month’s worth of work waiting for him in his office and he could nap in the afternoon once Graceton's visitors were settled.
Nick set his knuckles to a spot on the wall near the end of the crucifix’s crosspiece and pushed. The hidden catch snapped as it released. With a well-oiled whisper the door swung wide. Air drew from one room to the next, making Jamie’s blue bed curtains stir.
Jamie eyed the doorway. If Graceton's previous lady had walked this path more than a dozen times before her husband moved to the gatehouse, he’d have been surprised. He, on the other hand, often slept with the door ajar. Nick's ailments were such that he might need aid at any minute.
With a brief kiss to the spot where Nick’s jaw met his ear, Cecily stepped out of her lover's embrace. Then, ducking her head to hide her tear-stained face, she slipped from one chamber to the next. Nick waited until he heard Jamie's apartment's outer door open and close before he shut the panel.
Once they were again private, Jamie came to his feet and faced his employer. “Nick,” he said, warning deep in his voice, “I heard what you didn’t say to Cecily. If you'll not heed me for yourself then listen because she cares so deeply for you. There's no way to escape this marriage.”
Nick's brows rose to the limit of their mobility as his gaze hardened. “But of course there is and you'll help me do it. No one, not even a queen, is going to tell me who I must wed. I’ve thought it through. We need not defy Her Grace directly, only postpone, delay, and reschedule until she’s lost interest in the union.”
Frustration rose. Nick had a talent for hearing only what he wanted to hear. “Try it and you'll lose not only your title’s restoration, but her approval for your brother's wedding,” Jamie warned. “Listen to me again. Sir Edward knows you don’t wish to marry Lady Purfoy. He's waiting for you to do something, anything, to avoid it. And no matter how innocent the ploy, he'll find a way to use it to twist Elizabeth into raging against you, doing so to protect himself from his own political missteps.”
“Oh come now, Jamie.” Nick lowered himself back into his chair. “The queen can only be pleased by what’s happened. After all, Kit’s now my proxy in all matters regarding the title she’s to restore on me. This gives her yet another Protestant nobleman in the House of Lords.”
Jamie picked up his employer's cup, holding it out until Nick caught it between his scarred palms, then returned to his own chair with a hopeless sigh. “Four weeks ago, such a thing would have been more than enough to soothe her. Unfortunately, Lady Montmercy's plot to destroy her maid, along with the duke of Norfolk's ongoing attempts to wed the Scots queen and the threat of rebellion by the northern barons to put Mary Stuart on Elizabeth’s throne, leaves our queen like dry tinder, ready to ignite at the slightest spark.”
Nick shrugged. “Aye, so I must be cautious in the sort of excuses I offer up for my delays. Jamie, everyone knows weddings take time to plan. Say I desire oranges for the feast and suddenly discover they'll take weeks longer to arrive than I expect? I'll do nothing rash, only stretch the process until these larger events you mention overtake us. Against their diversion, she'll forget all about
me and this marriage.”
“That would work if the only thing driving Sir Edward was a dislike of Catholics,” Jamie replied, leaning forward in his chair to brace his elbows on his knees. “Just now he's watching his career at court disintegrate before his eyes. If he can find a way to save it by using you, he will.
“Do you see now why you cannot delay in marrying the lady?” Jamie went on, filling his voice with every ounce of sincerity he owned. “Although I believe every one of your servants loyal, who can say that enough coin might not sway one into revealing something untoward? Nick, imagine what Sir Edward could do with those letters you received from the earl of Northumberland urging you to join him in his rebellion? What if the earl writes again? God save you, but Sir Edward will be rushing back to Elizabeth denouncing you as a conspirator the instant he catches sight of the messenger.”
Nick stared into his cup. Jamie knew him well enough to see him work through the maze of possible events, reading his progress in nothing more than the flicker of his gaze. So too, did Jamie know the instant Nick realized there was no escape from his marriage. It was the same moment the contentment drained from his face.
“I just didn’t see it all,” Nick muttered as he looked at his steward. “Tell me this. If I marry the lady, is it assured I'll get my title’s restoration and Kit's marriage?”
Jamie nodded. “If Sir Edward can find no reason to complain, then the queen has no reason not to honor her bargain with you.”
“Then I'll marry the lady.” Nick's voice was harsh and low, sounding as if he spoke of his damnation rather than agreeing to enter into a sacred estate.
“What is it?” Jamie asked in concern.
Nick's head lifted. “You mean other than the fact you've told me I must marry a stranger and a heretic?”
Alarm bells rang in Jamie's head. Instead of the disappointment or anger any other man might have owned over such a turn, Nick's gaze was blank.
“Tell me,” Jamie demanded. “What is it you haven’t said?”
Nick might as well have been a brick wall.
A worried breath hissed from Jamie. If Nick wasn’t willing to tell him, there was no way to wheedle it out of him. More importantly, Nick’s silence meant he knew whatever he was hiding would distress his steward. The certainty of catastrophe settled heavily on Jamie's shoulders.
“I pray you know what you’re doing,” he warned as he gave way.
“You’ll have to trust me, just as Cecily trusts me,” Nick replied. “As to this wedding, the queen doesn’t expect me to attend the ceremony, does she?”
“No doubt she does. It's customary for men to attend their own weddings,” Jamie replied, trying for a lighter tone.
Although Nick was completely at ease with those few folk allowed to see his scarring, he hated meeting outsiders. Their inevitable reaction to his face, or even to the mask he wore to conceal his scars, left him depressed often for weeks afterward. He hadn’t traveled outside the house's walls during daylight hours since Cecily's mother had returned him here two decades ago, his health, such as it was, restored.
Nick shook his head. “I'll not do it. Stand proxy for me again.”
Jamie cringed. That strange sense of connection to Lady Purfoy rose. If this was what came of his first round of vows spoken to Nick's wife, the second round would only make matters worse. He couldn't.
As Nick read the resistance in his steward’s gaze, the fear in his own deepened. “I can’t, Jamie,” he almost pleaded, “not even for the queen. There must be some way around this.”
Affection for Nick battled with Jamie’s reluctance. At last, he sighed, his need to comfort Nick stronger than his fear of standing at an altar with Lady Purfoy once again. He gave way with a shrug.
“Whether it’s you or me speaking for you, the marriage is just as legal. It's the consummation Elizabeth requires. She’d like nothing better than to have you produce an heir, thereby denying the family of Kit’s betrothed any chance at owning your title. Sir Edward has been commanded most strictly to see the bedding witnessed.”
Worry flickered behind the relief in Nick’s gaze. “I suppose I must,” he said. “Now tell me how soon we can accomplish the wedding. A month hence? Or will so swift a ceremony be objectionable to Sir Edward?”
“A month! Wait until he tells you what the queen expects before you suggest anything,” Jamie replied. “And once he’s gone, we still have Lady Purfoy to guard against.”
Nick's brows lifted again. “We're guarding against her?”
“We can’t afford to be careless,” Jamie advised, “not when we've so much to lose. I know Sir Edward has tried to recruit her to his cause. Although I believe she continues to resist him I still intend to examine all the correspondence she sends or receives. There’s no sense letting her pass damaging information to someone outside the walls.”
Consideration flickered through Nick's green gaze. “You’re certain this is necessary? Kit speaks highly of the lady in his letter.”
“So writes the man at whose feet lies more than a little fault for this unholy union,” Jamie said, his voice laden with scorn. “Best remember it was your disrespectful brother, along with Lady Montmercy, who used your name in their filthy plot. It's also Kit who planted the notion of you marrying Lady Purfoy in the queen's brain.”
“Enough Jamie,” Nick replied gently. “Kit sent an apology and explanation for the wrong he did and I’ve accepted it. If his words are enough for me, they'll have to satisfy you as well.”
Jamie wasn’t the least bit happy about Nick closing the subject of Kit Hollier. He was even less happy to learn Nick intended to once again forgive his obstinate younger brother. Kit deserved a scourging for promising to seduce an innocent in return for the repayment of his debts, rather than borrowing the coin he needed from his brother. Aye, but to pursue the subject when his employer had closed it was just as disrespectful as Kit was disobedient. He gave way with a heated breath and little grace.
At the sound, Nick lifted his chin to better ignore the frustration he no doubt saw shining in his steward’s eyes.
“Although I haven’t much hope they'll comply, you'll instruct the household to accept this lady as their own. I fear all they can see is that she's a heretic. A day ago I hadn’t given much thought to their reaction; now their rejection will seem all the more sinister against Sir Edward’s intent. Warn them I said that anyone who raises either hand or tongue in assault will immediately find themselves without a position.”
“Mistress Miller, as well?” Jamie asked, already knowing the answer to this. For reasons he couldn’t fathom Nick was inordinately fond of Graceton's old crone of a housekeeper.
Nick coughed out a laugh. “She wouldn’t leave even if I told her to go,” he retorted. “If she's rude to the lady, offer my apologies to the lady on her behalf. Aye, tell Mistress Miller I want an even finer meal for tonight than what is now planned. That should keep her busy and out of the lady's sphere for most of the day. Also, tell Father Walter to keep to his chambers until Sir Edward departs.”
Father Walter, Nick’s priest, occupied the lower floor of the ancient keep tower. That old construct’s hall had been converted into a chapel for Nick's use.
Quiet settled between them for a moment then Nick sighed. “I suppose I'll have to meet them.”
“You will,” Jamie replied with a nod of his head. “There's no escaping that.”
“It'll have to be after the sun's setting.” Nick needed the dimness to shield his fragile self-image. “See to it that the meal's late, so it doesn’t seem I'm putting them off. I don't think it’d be any good having them in there.” He gestured nervously at his wreck of an office. “Can I use your sitting room?”
To bolster his friend's confidence Jamie answered the question with a jibe. “And if I refuse? What if I insist you straighten that rat's nest in there?”
The smile returned to Nick's gaze. “Then I'm doomed never to meet my visitors. It’d take more than one day t
o clean that.”
“God’s own truth,” Jamie replied with a laugh. “My sitting room is yours, Your Worship,” he teased with a half-bow, then turned to leave through the hidden door.
“Jamie?”
It was the sudden fear in Nick’s voice that brought Jamie back around to face his employer. “What is it, Nick?” he asked in concern.
Worry filled Nick's eyes. “Only that I need your vow,” he replied, his voice low and intense. “Swear to me you’ll not tell Cecily I’ve agreed to wed the lady. Let her continue to believe that the wedding plans are nothing but a ruse as I originally intended. Her heart’s a tender thing and she already worries overmuch about me.”
The request stung right smartly. In all the years Jamie had been Nick's steward not once had he shared their conversations outside this chamber, something Nick knew well enough. For his employer to ask him to vow silence now was tantamount to calling him a gossip.
Drawing himself up to his tallest, he offered Nick a stiff and formal bow. “You have my word, Squire Hollier.” He tried to keep the emotion from his voice.
“Ach, what have I done,” Nick cried at the realization of the insult he’d just given. He came to his feet to lay his hands on his steward's shoulders.
“I beg your pardon, Jamie. I was only thinking of Cecily and her tears. I vow this whole affair has me in such a whirl I cannot think at all.”
His pride soothed, Jamie smiled. “God knows you're not alone in that. I’m off then to tend to your guests.”
A new smile lit Nick’s eyes. He pressed a bony finger to his nose. “Best you bathe first. They won’t be guests for long, not the way you stink.”
Laughing despite himself, Jamie gave Nick a gentle cuff then exited the chamber through the hidden door. Once that panel closed behind him, he leaned against it. As he stared into his familiar bedchamber, his spirits drifted down to the toes of his boots. Whatever scheme Nick had up his sleeve guaranteed this was going to be a hellacious wedding.
“See Mama, am I not riding well?” Lucy's piping voice floated back to the wagon on a gusty breeze. Belle looked up from the petticoat she was making for her child, a hand atop her hat to keep the wind from stealing it. Because the day had dawned clear and cloudless, they’d stripped the wagon of its canvas covering, which meant there was nothing to block her view save the arched ribs of the canopy's frame.
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