Meggie hated this room. It was as dark and dismal as the rest of Pendragon, except, of course, for Madeleine’s room.
Meggie looked around as she said, “Are you certain, Aunt Libby, that you don’t wish me to make your bedchamber a bit more cheerful? Perhaps more light could come in if we took away those dark draperies. Thomas and I will be going to Dublin soon to visit the furniture warehouses. You could accompany us, if you would like to.”
Libby just shook her head, her smile never faltering. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning, Meggie? Would you care for a sweetmeat? The almond ones are exquisite. Niles tells me they have no substance to them at all so I can eat as many as I wish without gaining flesh. As for having more light in this room, goodness no. A woman of a certain age looks much fresher if there isn’t too much ghastly sunlight showing all the imperfections, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” Meggie said and stared at Libby. She knew to her toes that Libby had been with Lord Kipper. She recognized that very self-satisfied look, that air of utter complacency, that sparkle that came from somewhere in the inside that made one want to hum and smile and fold one’s hands across one’s lap and do nothing at all except enjoy the sweet flow of life. She’d seen it on her own face when she’d looked in the mirror that morning. If William weren’t such a rotter, she’d still have that smile on her face, damn him.
“Thank you, but I’m not all that fond of almonds, Aunt Libby.”
Libby stopped humming. She rose slowly, shook out her skirts. “What is wrong, Meggie?”
“It’s William.”
“Oh my God—my precious boy is hurt? Someone has harmed him? Oh no. Don’t keep me waiting, Meggie, spit it out.”
“No, your precious boy is just fine. However, he has done a very bad thing.”
“Not just a simple bad thing? A very bad thing? That’s impossible. He is delightful. He is perfect, or nearly so. Now, what is this all about?”
“Come downstairs with me and I will let Thomas tell you.”
“Thomas is a man. Thus he will be rough and not at all conciliatory. You will tell me.”
“William has evidently gotten a local girl pregnant. Her father was here and quite enraged. He wanted to kill William. Thomas told the father that he would see to things, and so he will.”
“Oh, is that all?” Libby heaved a huge sigh of relief and sat herself down again. “Thomas can give the father a bit of money, tell him boys will be boys, and all will be well. You frightened me, Meggie. It wasn’t well done of you. Do tell Mrs. Black to bring me a bit of tea. Thank you.”
“But, ma’am—”
“Go away, Meggie.”
Meggie went. Pendragon Castle—it sounded so very wonderfully gothic, so very mysterious, filled with romantic legend. It sounded as if ancient memories and perhaps a sprinkling of magic could make their way into your bones if you lived here.
Surely Pendragon Castle hadn’t expected to have such a strange concatenation of people living in it, giving it not a whit of mystery, romance, or magic. What would future generations believe permeated the castle walls after this crew departed?
Thomas was pacing the estate room. He looked harassed. He looked to be talking to himself.
Meggie said from the doorway, “Aunt Libby doesn’t care. She doesn’t think it’s anything at all. She says you’ll just give the father a bit of money and that will be that.”
Thomas looked heavenward in utter weariness and said, “Why am I not surprised?” He sighed, plowed his fingers through his hair, which made her smile even through the dark cloud of misery William had brought into the castle.
Meggie said thoughtfully, “I suppose you could have him gelded, like a horse.”
“Now, there’s a good thought. Who would we get to do it?”
“The girl’s father,” Meggie said without any hesitation at all.
Thomas walked over to her and pulled her against him. “This is a damnable situation,” he said against her hair. Her hair—it smelled of some sort of flower, he didn’t know which. He found himself rubbing his nose in her hair, realized what he was doing, and pulled back.
“I am going to tell William that he will marry the girl, if, that is, she and her father will have him. I will also give her a dowry. And I will tell William if he doesn’t change his colors and become a decent husband, I will have him join the King’s navy. What do you think? I will also cut him off without a cent. That will doubtless provide his biggest incentive to keep his male parts at home with his wife.”
“William doesn’t have any money? From his mother?”
“Oh no, my father kicked her out not long after William was born, didn’t give her a sou. I have paid for Oxford, for tutors.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Thomas. It should keep him in line.” She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his mouth, running her fingertips over his black, black eyebrows. “If I were the girl’s father, I’m not so sure I’d want William as a son-in-law.”
“I think Teddy MacGraff will be quite pleased. He’ll see William as being completely in his power, which he will be.”
She thought about that a moment. “Is Teddy MacGraff big and tough?”
“Very.”
“Let’s do it. We can announce it this evening.”
“Perhaps we can even tell Aunt Libby that she will shortly be a grandmother. It will rile her no end to have a grandchild before Madeleine.” He laughed.
“Good heavens, why?”
“She is very vain, just like my mother. Only thing is, Libby is younger than my mother by two years. Yes, my mother is going to be delighted.”
Lord Kipper came to dinner, as he did nearly every evening since he and Libby had become involved in an affaire. At the end of the meal that still wasn’t very good, even though Cook swore she’d followed Mary Rose’s recipe for the stewed mutton down to the dash of thyme, Thomas rose and tapped his fork on his wineglass to gain everyone’s attention. “William,” he said to his younger brother, “you look less dead this evening than you did this morning.”
William raised hopeful eyes at the sound of his half-brother’s jovial voice. “Yes, I am fine now, Thomas.”
“You will be more than fine very shortly. Actually, very shortly you will be a married man. You will wed Jenny MacGraff right here next Sunday. You and Jenny will live here, of course. I will provide Jenny a dowry.”
With surprising agility, Libby jumped to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over she came up so quickly. “You cannot mean this, Thomas. It is absurd. The idiot girl’s pregnant, who cares? It happens all the time. Give Teddy MacGraff a couple of pounds, he’ll go away happy.”
Madeleine said, “Thomas, Libby’s right. This can’t be the best way to solve this problem. The MacGraffs are nothings—nobodies! Goodness, Teddy MacGraff is a merchant! Oh, wait a moment—goodness me, can you believe it? Libby, you will be a grandmother! Ah, what a terrible thing, just terrible.”
“No, I will not be a bloody grandmother! I do not recognize this child as William’s. Indeed, I imagine he isn’t the father at all. She drew him in, seduced him. He is a boy, incapable of producing a child.”
Thomas laughed, he just couldn’t help himself. He looked over at William, who was pale as the tablecloth, his fingers clutched around his wineglass, his eyes glazed.
Thomas said, “Yes, you will indeed be a grandmother, Aunt Libby. And yes, William is the father. The wedding will take place next Sunday right here at Pendragon or—please listen to me, William. Are you?”
William jerked his eyes up from the wine that was such a lovely red. “I am listening, Thomas.”
“You will marry Jenny MacGraff. You will be a good husband to her and a good father—at least better than our own father, which isn’t saying much at all—or you will never again be welcome here at Pendragon. I will also cut you off without a sou. That is your choice. William, it is your decision. What say you?”
William looked from his mother back down to his wineglass. He picked up his
fork and played with it, then slumped down in his chair. He raised pitiful eyes to Thomas. “Perhaps it isn’t my child, Thomas. Perhaps Jenny has bedded many men and—”
“Don’t be a fool, William. She was a virgin. Or will you try to tell me that she wasn’t?”
“Perhaps a girl can have many virginities, perhaps she can develop a new one to lure in young men—”
“Which will it be, William?” Thomas asked with great patience, his voice implacable. Thomas had said earlier to Meggie that he couldn’t imagine why any girl would want William, but the girl did. As for her father, Teddy had rubbed his hands together and smiled. It hadn’t been a nice smile. “I’ll see to it the lad behaves himself,” Teddy had said, and Thomas believed him. He then gave Thomas a ferocious smile and shook his hand to seal the bargain.
“Marriage,” William said into his lower lip. “I choose marriage.”
“And you swear you will do your best to be a good husband and a good father?”
“I swear.”
“Good. Niles, will you attend William’s wedding?”
Lord Kipper raised a sleek brow, smiled, and raised his wineglass. “It will be a very nice wedding,” he said. “To William and—what’s-her-name?”
“Jenny MacGraff.”
“To William and Jenny.”
Everyone drank except Libby and William, who both moaned into their glasses.
“It’s done,” Thomas said when he and Meggie were finally alone some two hours later in the White Room, the door closed and locked. “It’s been a very long day. Now, at last, I can concentrate on you. I’ve been thinking about this since this morning.”
“Yes, it’s done. Let me tell you, Thomas, Mrs. Black is thrilled about it. Your mother is chortling because Libby will have a low-born daughter-in-law and be a grandmother before she will. Really? Since this morning?”
“Remember when you were dancing down the corridor and I ran into you? Yes, since that moment when I saw exactly what you were thinking. Your eyes tell me everything, Meggie. Everything. Come here.”
Meggie went, nearly skipping to him since she was so very eager. It was much a repeat of the previous night, but better, Meggie thought, grinning down at her husband, who looked nearly dead. She felt so good she wanted to sing, perhaps write a ditty for Mrs. Mullins about Mary Rose’s stewed fish stew.
She whispered against her husband’s ear, “Perhaps we could hold a cat race to celebrate the wedding.”
Life, Thomas thought, would never be boring with Meggie in it. He kissed her temple and wondered what the future would bring. More lovemaking, that was what he wanted, much more.
“Should you like to go to Italy, Meggie?”
“I should love it above all things.”
“Soon,” he said. “Soon.” He pressed his forehead against hers, breathed in her scent, unique to Meggie. “I was just wondering what life would bring us.”
“Lots of good things, I hope,” she said, and kissed his chin. “You know, Thomas, when I take you into my mouth like that and you—”
He jerked. He was hard that instant, something he’d sworn was beyond him for the next twelve hours. When she was moaning into his mouth, he was the one who wanted to sing with the pleasure of it.
31
MEGGIE WAS WALKING along the trail that led to the Pendragon cliffs, whistling, occasionally flinging a stick for Brutus to retrieve, which he did with great enthusiasm. “Too bad,” she said, scrubbing behind his ears, “that there can’t be dog racing, but it just isn’t possible. Can you imagine racing, Brutus? No, you’d just sit there wagging your tail, wouldn’t you, or rush to bring back sticks. Your brain just isn’t fashioned for racing.” And she’d throw the stick again. Brutus was one of Thomas’s dogs, an exuberant terrier who looked more like a Clara, in truth, than a Brutus. One stick flew too close to the edge of the cliff. Brutus skidded at the edge and slunk down onto his haunches, whining softly. He would go no farther.
“What’s the matter? Oh, I see, you’re afraid the ground isn’t steady and you’ll go right over. You’re right. I’m too strong in my throwing. Let me get this stick, Brutus, and I’ll hurl it in the other direction.” She leaned down to get the stick when she heard a snicker of sound right beside her. She turned, then there was another snicker of sound and this one landed in her shoulder, hurling her backward off the cliff.
She screamed, loud, wailing, and hit the water below. She struck the water flat on her back and sank like a stone. She was sure she’d broken her back. She hit the bottom, but thankfully not hard. Waves washed over her head, rocks and sand tore her clothes and scraped her skin. She swallowed water, gagged.
It was the gagging that brought her right back up. The water was just over her head, and even though her clothes were heavy, she managed to struggle to shore. She was wheezing, choking, gagging on the harsh salt water, trying to get her breath and ignore her back, which felt like a large sofa was sitting atop her from striking the water so hard. Think about now, just about now. She pulled herself out of the water and fell on her face onto the sand.
She vomited up all the seawater. She was shaking so badly that she could barely catch her breath. Then she realized that blood was dripping onto the wet sand.
She stared at the blood, at first not understanding. Blood, it was her blood. She hadn’t seen her own blood since she’d gotten scratched by Tiny Tom. It was faded, all that blood, since is was mixed with water. It had turned the bodice of her blue muslin gown into a faint pink color, and now, it was oozing out of her, snaking downward. She swallowed, realizing now that the strange snicking sound—it had been a bullet and it had gone into her body, hurled her backward over the cliff and into the sea below.
Thank God it had been high tide, otherwise she would be dead now.
She didn’t want to think about that.
She tried to straighten, to push herself back onto her knees, so she could stand up, but ferocious pain suddenly ripped through her shoulder, and she groaned with the shock of it, the unexpected clout of pain, and fell back onto her face. I’ve got to move, got to move. Someone tried to kill me and he can do it again. I’ve got to get away.
She heard Brutus barking his head off above her on the cliff edge.
She had to get up. She had to get back to Pendragon. She just couldn’t remain here. Where was the person who should be close by protecting her?
Oh, God, the person who had shot her could simply walk down the cliff walk and shoot her again. This time, dead. She wouldn’t stand a chance.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, do that to Thomas.
Get up, get up.
Slowly, her chest blazing with such pain she was gasping with it, Meggie managed to come up onto her hands and knees. She looked up. There was someone up there, she felt it. Then she heard Brutus growling, then barking loud and louder still.
She saw movement, then a shadow through the bright morning sunlight, saw a gun, a hand was raising it, raising it and pointing it downward, toward her. Meggie crawled toward a boulder, managed to fall flat behind it. A chip of the rock flew off.
Oh God, he was going to kill her. At least he was up there and not down here.
Was it really a he?
She didn’t know.
She lay there, panting, trying to control the pain, listening to Brutus barking louder and louder, then heard the dog cry out.
The bastard had hit Brutus.
Silence.
Where was he? Was he coming down that path? She had to move, she had to do something, but there was nowhere to go, just miles of beach strewn with heavy boulders, seaweed drying on chunks of driftwood. No place, no cave, where she could hide. She could arm herself, yes, that was it. She looked around to find a rock. Too small. No, that one she couldn’t begin to lift even if she hadn’t been injured.
There was one. She managed to pull herself within reach of a round black rock, sitting just beyond her fingertips, all by itself, as if waiting for her. She pulled herself toward that rock, th
en got her hand around it. It felt nice and heavy. She gripped it against herself, then managed to get back up onto her knees. She pressed against the boulder, then slowly, carefully, eased her face around to look toward the cliff path.
She didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anyone climbing down.
She didn’t hear Brutus.
She hurt, but she kept her eyes on the cliff trail. She ripped a long strip of wet material off her skirt and wrapped it as tightly as she could around her shoulder. It wasn’t a very good job since she had only one hand, but it was the best she could do.
Time passed. She blinked, cursed herself, tried to hum a song, anything to stay alert, but it was hard, her shoulder hurt so badly. She felt tears trail down her cheeks, couldn’t stop them. She tasted her tears mixed with the salt water.
More time passed.
Where was Brutus? She prayed he hadn’t been shot.
Then she heard a man’s voice yelling her name. She nearly shattered from fear until she realized it was Thomas. She tried to call back to him, but just a very thin whisper came out of her mouth. It didn’t matter. He would come to her. She smiled even as she sank down to rest her cheek against the wet sand.
She saw his shadow over her, felt his hands on her, and opened her eyes. “Is Brutus all right?”
“Oh yes, the man just knocked him in the head, but he’s all right. As for you—”
She heard him say her name, faintly, faintly, then she was gone, away from the pain, away from the fear. Everything would be all right now. Thomas was here.
Panic nearly sent Thomas over the edge. He pressed his hand against her chest, felt the smooth, slow beat of her heart. She was unconscious. He lifted his hand, covered with her blood. He gently tied the ripped material more tightly over her shoulder.
He prayed she would remain unconscious. He lifted her into his arms and began the long trek back up the narrow cliff path.
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