The Intended (17 page)

“You mean, did he attack me? Just look at
him, Mary. Though he might muster up a moment of strength, ‘tis all
just bluff. The man is too weak to lift himself from that bed.”
Leading Mary by the hand toward the window, Jaime seated herself on
a bench, drawing her cousin down beside her. “Nay, he didn’t
do...well, he couldn’t do what you think.”

A sound something akin to a growl could be
heard from the seemingly unconscious Scot.

“Something provoked you, Jaime.”

“Aye, that is true. He has! He has been
trying my patience for days, now!” Jaime looked away, warming
herself to the discussion. “And the pigheaded brute is doing
everything he can to make more work for us. He was nothing but
trouble this morning with Caddy, and then he has continued his
ill-tempered, ill-bred behavior with me. Nothing is good enough for
him. He turns over the dishes—breaks the bowls—topples the chairs.
And on top of it all, he refuses to let us dress his wounds
properly. He is an insulting, arrogant, boorish ape of a man.”
Jaime puffed out her cheeks before letting out a breath. Setting
her lips in a grim line, she planted her elbows on her knees and
propped her chin in her hands.

Mary laid a hand on her cousin’s shoulder and
tried to soothe her obvious frustration.

“So I decided. Just before you came in.”
Jaime lifted her head and glared in the direction of the bed. “I
decided to kill him! And I would have, too, if you hadn’t come in
when you did.”

“Jaime,” Mary gasped. “You just can’t kill
the man.”

“I can. The blackguard doesn’t care to live
anyway—why else he would make life so miserable for the very women
who are trying to bring him back to health?”

Malcolm stirred and rolled slightly in the
bed, triggering a groan as he put pressure on his wounds. Both
women looked with concern in Malcolm’s direction, but the stream of
blasphemy and foul sexual reference that followed served to redden
Mary’s fair skin from her hair to the neckline of her dress. Jaime
seized the moment to get up and walk quickly to the edge of the
room where the knife had fallen. Banging the handle emphatically on
the bench, she placed the weapon beside her as she resumed her
place beside her cousin.

“He is like a mewling, whining infant, Mary.
He never stops. He is never content! Always wanting something.”
Jaime ran her hands down her skirts, smoothing them.

The Highlander lay on his side, his eyes
fixed on them, but he did not even raise his head to speak. “You
are a ghastly, unnatural whore, woman. Away! Get out of here. And
take your fishface of a friend with you. The sound of the two of
you is harsh and grating. You vex me to no end. Away, why don’t
you?”

“Fishface?!” Mary repeated indignantly.

“You see, Mary! You see how he is. If not a
mercy, death by this dagger would at least put an end to such
wickedness!”

Never taking her eyes off of him, Mary
lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “As despicable as he is,
Jaime, you must remember he is still Edward’s prize. He’ll be
angry—disappointed—to find out that you’ve killed his prisoner.”
Mary turned and faced Jaime. “The Scot
is
foul tempered, and
he certainly has no taste when it comes to a woman’s looks, but to
kill him for no more reason than the fact that the man is just
disagreeable...”

“I have seen Norwich Castle, Mary. Edward
kills for less reason than that.”

“Jaime!” Mary scolded in a hushed tones.
“What is wrong with you? Edward does what must be done at Norwich
Castle. But nonetheless, you do him wrong to speak as you do. He is
your betrothed.”

“He is
not
my betrothed, Mary!” Jaime
whispered back in anger.

“Not yet, cousin. But you know what is
intended.”

Jaime could see Malcolm straining to hear
their exchange. There was still a great deal that she needed to
explain to him about Edward. But they would need time alone to do
that. And there was no point in continuing this argument with Mary
now.

Following the direction of Jaime’s gaze, Mary
placed a hand on her arm. “You have taken too much on yourself. In
caring for him. In spending so much time here in this room.”

“But there has been no other way, coz. With
Graves off to Cambridge and every servant in the palace hostile to
him for being a Scot, who has there been to care for him?”

“Jaime,” Mary said, ignoring the question,
“since our earlier talk, I’ve been giving this a great deal of
thought. This is all for him, isn’t it? To please Edward? You might
not want to admit it openly, but I see it now. You are going
through a great deal of trouble to make this man well for Edward.
To surprise him with his prisoner’s recovery. After all, it was you
who gave this man to Edward as a gift, and you know that he is
worth a great deal more if he is mended!”

“Mary, I...” Jaime turned to Mary with a look
of denial.

“Oh, you may shake your head, but your
actions speak much louder, you know. Come now and admit it. Am I
not speaking the truth?”

“Very well, Mary! Have it your way, but what
is the point of all this.”

“Because we need to work this through.”
Patting her cousin on the hand, Mary looked about the room and then
looked back into Jaime’s face. “Let’s see, you do look tired!”

“Tired?! She looks like hell!” Malcolm
contributed from where he lay, now able to hear the two of them.
“Take her out of here, Fishface. Make her go.” As if suddenly taken
with a sharp pain, he twisted his body and lay back panting.

“Serves him right!” Mary started to whisper
again against Jaime’s ear. “But isn’t there anybody else we could
involve in taking care of this...this madman?”

“Aye, but try to find someone bonny if you
would, Mistress Carp, with a goodly sized bosom and at least
some
wee talent for healing a poor soul.”

“I’ll send for Reed, the jailer,” Jaime
answered. “He should be bonny enough for your tastes. Though his
bosom may be a bit too large even for a base, brutish lecher such
as yourself.”

“You are a hard, unfeeling wench! A poor
excuse for a woman, to be sure.”

Jaime glanced into her cousin’s shocked face
before quickly looking away. The last thing she wanted was to laugh
out loud at Mary’s expression. Staring instead at Malcolm, she
continued in a calm voice. “I’ve been using Caddy as much as
possible, Mary.”

“Aye, another beauty. Old Dame Stickleback.
Silent as the dead, and the manner of a...”

“I wouldn’t speak of anyone else’s manners,
if I were you,” Jaime snapped before turning back to Mary. “But
other than Caddy...well, I just don’t trust anyone else. Who knows
what might happen!”

“Perhaps he should be chained,” Mary
whispered. “You don’t think he would hurt himself?”

Jaime shook her head vehemently. “Nay. That
would only make matters worse. He is still quite weak. Though a gag
might improve him somewhat.”

“Cousin, does he truly need an attendant at
all times?”

“From the flapping of his tongue you wouldn’t
think so, but...” Jaime fell silent, pondering an answer to that.
As bad as he looked, it was difficult to think of Malcolm as weak
or ill, at all. She could still feel his body pressed against
hers...Jaime shook her head quickly and looked away to hide the
blush that she knew was coloring her cheeks. “Nay, Mary. He no
longer needs to be attended at all times.”

“So perhaps he
won’t
need someone—in
the night, I mean,” Mary put in. “With the number of soldiers
posted about, I am certain if he raises a fuss, they could handle
an emergency.”

“Aye. That’s so.”

“And perhaps I could help,” Mary continued.
“Perhaps between Caddy and me...”

“Nay, cousin,” Jaime interrupted quickly.
“You’ve already had more than a sample of his abusive, slandering
tongue. I cannot do that to you. Heaven only knows what corruptible
filth will come out of his mouth.” Jaime almost smiled openly as
Mary threw a disgusted glance in Malcolm’s direction. The
Highlander did
look
like a ruffian, to say the least,
unshaven and battered as he was. But as she gazed at him, Jaime
realized that she’d hardly noticed any of that herself. Even now,
conscious of his condition, she thought he looked quite handsome.
With an effort, she turned her gaze back to Mary, trying not to
lose her train of thought. “Nay, Mary, your help won’t be
necessary. This is something
I
want to do for...Edward.”

“Then, Jaime, you cannot allow yourself to
give way to your feelings...to your anger.”

Jaime smiled abashedly at the scene Mary had
nearly walked in on. “As you say, coz.”

The two sat silently for a moment, each given
to their own thoughts, before Mary spoke again.

“Jaime, when I came in, you were trying to
force him to give you his word about something.”

Jaime racked her brain. They’d hardly had
time to think before Mary had pushed open the door. “I want him to
stop fighting with us.”

Malcolm’s growling voice had the fine, soft
feel of crushed stone when he spoke. “You’re a pair of damned
corbies, you are, screeching and cawing till my head is about to
split. Now, I’m telling you both to clear out of here. I’ll not be
needing or wanting either of you, so away...the two of you.” The
Highlander’s eyes were just slits in his battered face. “I am tired
of your bitching. Tired of your rough handling of my bruised body.
Tired of
you
! I’m through fighting with
you.”

The two women watched as he closed his eyes
and rolled onto his back. Mary turned and looked at Jaime
questioningly. “Did he just surrender?” she whispered.

“I believe he did, at that.”

“And that was it? You were ready to kill him
if he wouldn’t stop fighting?”

“Aye, for that and to hush his filthy
mouth!”

“But still!”

Jaime shrugged her shoulders. “I got my way,
did I not?”

As long as he had a breath in his body, she
would strive to make him suffer.

Preparing to leave the king’s study,
Catherine Howard paused as the door swung open to reveal a dark
robed figure beyond. Face to face with the earl of Essex, the new
Lord Great Chamberlain, Catherine smiled pleasantly, working hard
to hide the anger that had been coming over her in waves for the
entire morning. His respectful greeting, couched in the most
courteous of terms, reflected his awareness that she would soon be
his queen, but his deep bow filled her with a satisfaction that
only lessened to a degree the humiliation that Edward had heaped
upon her. Catherine answered the man’s courtesy with a friendly nod
of the head and curtsy, and then continued past him into the
corridor.

There was too much on her mind and too much
to be done.

Edward was an arrogant, insufferable,
damnable pig, she swore under her breath. He was jealous of her.
Catherine was certain of it. He had not even a fragment, a shred of
the power she held—and he knew it. But he would pay for his
behavior toward her. He would pay dearly.

Moments ago, Catherine had spoken
confidentially to the king. She knew how to play her part. Coyly,
playing the role of the dutiful and devoted intended, she had
planted in Henry’s mind seeds of suspicion regarding Edward that
would quickly sprout and bear bitter fruit. Whisper and innuendo
about dishonest dealings after successful conquests were a
sensitive subject for the king. But, even though a Howard herself,
she had seen it as her responsibility to relay to His Majesty the
talk she’d heard of her cousin Edward’s...well, lack of
forthrightness with regard to the loot taken in the course of his
privateering along the coasts of Europe.

Catherine knew that an open accusation might
mean Edward’s beheading. But after his treatment of her last night,
she didn’t care. He could take his chances. He had belittled her,
shamed her, used her. To think that for so long, he’d been the only
man she’d truly fancied. He had been the standard she’d used to
compare other men. The arrogant, ruthless pig, she murmured under
her breath. Short of raping her, he’d taken everything she’d been
willing to give, and then had tossed her away. Used her and
discarded her like a rag. Like a worthless rag. Nay, she fumed
inwardly, no one would do this to Catherine Howard and get away
with it. No one.

With her blood hot and roaring in her brain,
the king’s intended turned a corner and stormed toward her uncle’s
chambers. Henry would act eventually, but not quickly enough for
her liking. In response to her words, the king had sent for the
Lord Great Chamberlain, mentioning to her that, to start with, he
would cancel Edward’s next royal commission in favor of some other.
While inquiries were being made, he could very well throw him in
the Tower, but Henry had come to believe over the years that
keeping an ambitious lad like Edward Howard waiting and ignorant
rendered nearly as much satisfaction.

That was what the king had told her, but
Catherine knew the truth. Future queen or no, her word alone was
not good enough to put Edward Howard’s neck on the block.

So now Catherine would attack him from a
different angle. Taking away his glory, threatening his life, was
not enough. Edward could very possibly weather the storm clouds
that she had positioned around his head. She knew he was not one
who would easily accept defeat. But there were other ways that she
could bring about his destruction. See what use his pride would be
when
she
was finished with him.

Edward Howard would know—without a doubt—how
dangerous she could be, once wounded. Indeed, he would learn just
how vicious his lecherous act had made her.

Vengeance! Retaliation! Catherine found
herself getting excited at the thought. But to accomplish her plans
she would have to return to Kenninghall—alone and at once. The king
had—albeit reluctantly—given her permission to go. But since she
was being married to His Majesty in little more than a month, it
was understandable that she would wish to go and begin her
preparations for the wedding.