The Intended (2 page)

Jaime gazed at the little girl’s pink cheeks
as the child glanced nervously to her right and left. Kate was at
the moment the youngest of the nine children belonging to Evan, the
duke’s falconer, and she was surrounded by two girls who were each
a head and a shoulder taller than she was. But Jaime knew for
certain that in that small body lay hidden the pure notes of a
child soprano. She’d heard hints of it on a number of occasions
already.

Turning to the rest of the children, Jaime
raised a finger, and on the cue they all began their version of “I
Will Give You Joy.” The trilled notes of the pipes and the deeper
tones of the lutes played in perfect harmony, and Jaime prompted
her chorus encouraging them as they sang. The three older girls
were magnificent, but Jaime's eyes watched Kate’s trembling lips as
she barely mumbled the words. With a raised hand, Jaime silenced
the group. Reaching forward, she gently drew the small child to
her.

“I did try, mistress,” Kate said nervously.
“This is as loud as I can be.”

Jaime placed a hand around the little girl’s
shoulder and nodded in understanding. After a moment, though, she
looked up into the bright green eyes. “Your mama told me how much
you liked the pink ribbon I gave you yesterday.”

Kate nodded her head up and down with glee.
“Indeed I do, mistress. I put it next to my bed last night. I am
saving it for Midsummer’s Eve.”

Jaime nodded with understanding before
continuing. “I want you to imagine this, Kate. You get home from
our lessons here, and your ribbon is missing.” The look of horror
on the little girl’s face told Jaime she had captured the child’s
full attention. “So you run outside and into the mews, and you see
your brother Johnny has tied the ribbon around one of the falcons’
feet. Now, a hunting party is preparing to leave and your brother
is taking the falcon with him. Don’t forget, all your brothers and
sisters are there, the grooms are milling about, and ‘tis really
quite noisy in the mews. He is leaving now, and there is no way you
can catch up to him before he goes. Call to him, Kate! Go ahead,
call out to him and let him know you want your ribbon back.”

The little girl’s shriek brought everyone’s
hands to their ears. Then, after a moment of complete silence, a
burst of childish laughter by the entire group followed the shock
of her cry. Jaime's eyes were smiling as she cradled Kate’s
giggling face with her hand. “I knew you had it in you.”

With a gentle pat on the cheek, Jaime nodded
Kate back to her place.

Once more through the piece—with a tremendous
difference in the little girl’s contribution—and Jaime decided to
dismiss the children for the day. No sooner had she uttered the
words, though, before the door of the music room burst open and in
flew an energetic figure, her blond hair fluttering behind her.

Standing to the side and holding the door
open for the escaping onslaught of children, Mary Howard smiled as
the last ones filed out.

“That little red-haired imp in the front of
the pack almost knocked me down,” she said to Jaime. “She was
certainly in a rush!”

“I believe she has a ribbon to rescue.” Jaime
smiled after the departing children and began to sort the loose
sheets of music before her. She stood and moved toward a table by
the window with Mary on her heels.

“Leave your music, silly. Can’t you hear the
excitement? Lord Edward has returned!”

Jaime glanced over her shoulder into the
bright face of her cousin. With a twinkle in her eye, Jaime
carefully stacked the sheets, and laid the bound book of music upon
them. “Oh, Mary, must we make a spectacle of ourselves every time
an eligible man rides into the courtyard?”

“Pooh, Jaime! Pooh! You know that Edward is
interested only in you. And now he’s home from a grand sea battle
with the enemy!”

Jaime shook her head at her vivacious cousin.
Though the duke’s household seemed to be filled with Howard nephews
and nieces, as well as with the children of other noble families,
Jaime had never ceased to be amazed that from the first day of her
arrival from Hever Castle—following the death of Thomas Boleyn, her
grandfather—her cousin Mary had attached herself to her with an
almost childlike affection. And indeed, though they were both
cousins to the duke’s sons, Mary had never shown anything but
delight in the fact that Edward Howard had taken such an evident
liking to Jaime.

Mary, quite a prize herself, prided herself
on her knowledge of every noble family and every eligible man in
England. So after seeing her cousin Edward’s infatuation with
Jaime, Mary had been quick to remind Jaime that even as second son,
Lord Edward was a Howard and had wonderful prospects as a husband.
He was, after all, handsome, wealthy, and the ideal embodiment of
knightly behavior. Jaime—Mary argued—had to wed someday, so why not
open her heart to someone so worthy, one who sought her heart so
resolutely.

Jaime had not disagreed with her cousin’s
position. Marrying Edward would certainly be an excellent match.
One that would settle—once and for all—the question of her desire
to live outside of Scotland. Jaime knew that Elizabeth and Ambrose
Macpherson, her parents, would grant their approval—albeit
grudgingly—to the match. After what she had faced at the Priory on
the Isle of Skye little more than a year ago, after the
embarrassment from which she had felt compelled to run, Jaime knew
that her parents would agree to whatever she wished. She knew they
understood her desire to begin her life anew, even though it meant
a life far from the rugged Highlands of Scotland.

Jaime took a deep breath and gazed vacantly
at the portrait above the fireplace. Holbein had painted it just
that winter. Edward and his older brother Henry mounted on great
hunters before the palace, their dogs and servants around them.
Very well, it was settled. That was how it must be, she thought.
Edward wanted her. That was obvious to Jaime and everyone else. She
knew he was just waiting for some sign from her—something that
would tell him that she was ready to accept all he was ready to
give. But that was the difficult part, she thought with a sigh. He
wanted her to open her heart and take him in. This she hadn’t been
quite able to do...yet.

Jaime looked at the orderly pile of music
sheets on her desk. Music. She realized, looking at the neat inked
lines on the top sheet that she would have been perfectly happy
busying herself with music for the rest of her life. She had no
need for love. She felt no desire for passion in her life. She
longed for no husband.

Jaime wished Edward were not so
persistent.

Mary’s voice broke into her thoughts. “The
messenger said the ship had been laden with
treasure
, coz.”
She took hold of Jaime’s elbow and turned her around, surveying her
dress. “What treasure do you think he has plucked from the French
this
time
to bring his sweet Jaime?”

“Stop it, Mary! You really do talk so
foolishly, sometimes.”

“But it is true. On his last excursion out
onto the German Sea, when he came upon that Spanish galleon, you
were given the most prized gem of all he brought back. That
medallion with the giant ruby...”

“I didn’t ask for it. Mary. I don’t even like
it. I have no need for treasures nor for precious gifts. You know I
haven’t worn it even once.”

Mary let out a deep sigh. “Oh, to have such
choices. Ah, well. Perhaps his gift will be more suited to your
taste, this time.” The young woman paused. “Now that I think of it,
I am certain you’ll accept and cherish this one. After all, the
ship Lord Edward has taken was French and, knowing you and your
inclination to their styles, you’ll probably treasure whatever it
is he gives you.”

Jaime shook her head indifferently. “Nay, my
love, no matter how charming the token might be, I will accept
nothing stolen off a French ship. You know that it is impossible
for me to think of them as the enemy.”

“Play Lady Disdain to Lord Edward’s
attentions if you like, Jaime Macpherson,” Mary said, frowning and
shaking her head in disapproval. “But you’d best refrain from such
talk of the French. It’s bad enough that you’re half Scottish, but
talk like that is treasonous, I’m quite sure. The French are our
enemy, now, and that you
must
accept.”

Jaime knew that it would be fruitless to
argue with her cousin. Mary—as dear as she was—had been raised in
the duke of Norfolk’s household from childhood and would never
understand anything beyond the walls of her narrow world. And
Jaime—at least for now—was only a guest, and it was hardly
appropriate that she should raise havoc in the household simply
because her view of the world was a bit broader.

“Very well, my patriotic cousin.” Jaime said
resignedly, sensing Mary’s anxiety. “I promise I will limit myself
to less dangerous topics. And therefore, armed with my promise, you
may feel comfortable leading me on to our cousin Edward, the
conquering hero—as I know you must.”

An hour later, Mary was still pulling her
cousin along. Dressed in their finest gowns of summer silk, trimmed
in velvet and gold, the two young women made their way into the
Great Hall of the palace, and into the crowd already gathered for
the celebratory feast.

Aside from the king’s palace at Hampton
Court, there was no other palace in England that could rival
Kenninghall, the home of the duke of Norfolk, in size or in
magnificence. Designed in the shape of a great H with its open
wings extending to the north and south, the palace was, by its very
design, a tribute to the Howard family that called it home and used
it as the center of their vast holdings in East Anglia. The night
that Jaime had arrived from Hever Castle in Kent, she had entered
this very hall only to find two dwarves from a traveling show
mounted on ponies and charging toward each other from either end of
the huge room in a mock joust. Tonight, however, the festivities
focused on Edward and his successful return, and garlands of
flowers—strung gracefully from one long window to the next—decked
the walls of the hall.

Disengaging herself from her cousin, Jaime
moved to one side and stood in the shadow of a huge tent-like
marionette stage that had been erected for the evening’s
festivities. There, half hidden from the boisterous throng, Jaime’s
eyes traveled over the room. It was difficult not to be impressed
by the magnificence of the place, even after almost a year. In an
exaggerated way, its opulence reminded her of the houses that her
parents kept in various cities across the continent.

Her parents...she thought of them with a
swelling heart. She could still see them in her mind’s eye,
Elizabeth’s sad tears and Ambrose’s fierce embrace when she had
told them of her desire to escape Scotland. But as difficult as it
had been for them to let their only daughter go, as painful as her
departure had been from those she loved, all had agreed that it was
the best thing for her to do, under the circumstances.

Jaime stared vacantly at the crowded hall,
her mind traveling back in time to the events that had led her to
the small chapel at the Priory on the Isle of Skye.

Nay, she thought, her face darkening. Why
must she—for the thousandth time—recall in anguish how she fell in
love with Malcolm MacLeod the first moment she had ever laid eyes
on him that summer at Benmore Castle, so long ago.

She still remembered it as if it were only
yesterday. There had been so many new things she had faced that
summer. First, her brother Michael had been born soon after their
arrival at the Macpherson’s ancestral stronghold on the north bank
of river Spey. Suddenly she had been surrounded with
family—cousins, grandparents, people she had never known. And then
she had met Malcolm. Jaime had been only a child of four and he a
man of sixteen. She had not been able to call him cousin, since he
had been the ward of her uncle Alec Macpherson and not a true
relation by blood. But she had all the same taken to his
kindness—to his courage—to the compassion he showed to all he
loved. And she so desperately had worked hard to be included in
that love.

It had all started there, Jaime thought with
embarrassment. A silly, childish love. And the pursuit that had
begun then had ended with the bitter taste of reality fourteen
years later when he had taken another woman as his wife.

Jaime wrapped her arms around her middle to
soothe the still lurking misery she felt at her memories. To think
how foolish she’d been, how idealistic and innocent—until that day.
She had grown up knowing him, seeing him, cherishing the moments
that she could be beside him. For her, during all those years, he
had been the Sun and she the Moon, crossing the sky in pursuit of
her love. She shivered at the thought.

She had thought he loved her. All the while
that he was off at St. Andrew’s and with Erasmus, being educated.
All the while that he was fighting on the borders, and in with the
French. All the while that he was working so hard to bring peace to
his own people in the Western Isles. She had thought he’d been
waiting for her during the three years that she was sent to France.
Before she’d left, he’d always been loving—he never balked at
spending time with her. But now she understood clearly that he had
never treated her with any passion. Nay, she had been only, at
best, a friend—that wee lass who always tagged along after him.

Jaime brought her hands to her face to try
and soothe her burning cheeks. She still remembered how desperately
she had wished for him to kiss her before she’d left on that ship
for France. She’d been fifteen—a woman, she had thought—but he
clearly had not thought so. He only placed a gentle kiss on her
brow and wished her well.

Three years in France and she had grown, she
had changed, she had become educated. But, all the while that she
had been reciting her poems, she had only seen Malcolm in them.
When she had played her music, she had felt only Malcolm in her
heart. She had mastered her studies, and she had done it all only
with the thought of returning to Skye as his woman. As his
wife.