The Intended (33 page)

“To pursue an idea, lass. If I am successful,
we might have our way out of this.”

She held on to his hand. “But when will you
know?”

“I do not know...perhaps tonight.”

Jaime stared at him as the glimmer of a plan
began to emerge in her mind.

“You’ll come to me later, then.”

“Aye.” She nodded. After I have pursued a
design of my own, she finished silently.

“And you expect me to poison her?” The Welsh
physician cut in on Malcolm with a tone that was more a growl than
a response. The man was too thickheaded even to hear the Highlander
out.

“Have you lost your mind?” Malcolm asked
angrily. “If she gets even a wee bit ill from this, if she has even
the slightest discomfort, I’ll wring your scrawny neck with my own
hands.”

Graves shot to his feet, rising onto his toes
like some outraged bantam cock. “
You’ll
wring
my
neck! Why, you arrogant, bull-necked savage! One moment, you’re
asking me to find a way to sicken her so she can avoid going off to
court—the next, you are threatening my life if I do just that!
Which is it, man?”

Malcolm forced down his anger. “I...I only
asked you to help her feign an illness. It must all be
pretense!”

“And why would I do such a thing? You want me
to risk hanging for disobedience of the duke’s wishes!”

Frustrated, Malcolm fought the strong
inclination to strangle the man. As good as it might make him feel
right now, though, he also knew that such happy violence would do
nothing to help Jaime. He let out a long, slow breath and tried to
check his temper. “I appreciate your family loyalty, Master Graves.
And after all you’ve done to help me these past days, after the
messages you’ve had sent back and forth between me and my people, I
don’t want you to think I’m slighting the trust between us.”

The physician lifted a bony finger and
pointed it at the Highlander’s chest. “I did all of that because
Mistress Jaime asked it of me, you baboon. In truth, I’ve been
wanting to get rid of you from the first moment they dragged your
carcass in here. But what you are asking me to do now is to
interfere with that lass’s marriage to my master’s son.”

“She will not marry Edward Howard. You can
take my word on it.”

“Aye, so long as you are around, she won’t.
But were I to get rid of you—if I helped you to go back to your
people—then I believe she would.”

“Nay, Master Graves. ‘Tis not so simple, as
you well know.” Malcolm shook his head. “You know better than I
that Edward is not deserving of her hand...”

“And
you
are, I suppose?”

“Perhaps not,” Malcolm answered seriously.
“But I don’t intend to force her to go anywhere against her wishes.
And I am not dragging her to court for some vile use designed to
further my own interests.”

“You’re saying that is what is being done to
her?”

“How do you explain this summons from the
duke and his son?” Malcolm pressed. “If Edward’s intentions in
wanting Jaime at court were honest, then why such a rush? What
reason is there for all the secrecy? She has been told nothing but
to prepare herself and leave on a day’s notice. So far as she
knows, her life could be in jeopardy there!”

“‘Tis not for me to question the duke’s plans
for the woman.”

“By the Rood, man!” Malcolm threw up his
hands.

“Aye, and though you’re allowed to walk about
and ride with Lord Surrey, you’re still a prisoner here, and hardly
in any position to be questioning anything, either!”

“What I ask is for Jaime, you old fool!”

The physician remained silent for a moment,
running a hand over his bald head and studying the Highlander’s
face as he pondered Malcolm’s words. “And you are asking me this on
her behalf? You have no interests of your own at stake here?”

Malcolm stared down at the little man. “Don’t
twist my words, Master Graves. And don’t force me to lie. My
motives I’ve voiced to Jaime already, since she is the only one
concerned. But as far as what I am asking you to do, you can
believe that I have her welfare and happiness in mind. You have to
accept my word on that. But if she leaves for Nonsuch Palace as the
duke has ordered—there will be no turning back. She will be
lost...”

A light knock on the door stopped his words,
and the physician, ignoring the interruption, scowled at the
Highlander. “Is this her wish, man? You must tell me that.”

Malcolm nodded. “Aye.”

“Then I will get word to you.”

“When?” Malcolm pressed, ignoring a second
knock at the door.

The physician took a step toward the closed
door. “What are you planning to do, Highlander? Burn down the
palace if I don’t agree?”

“I’ll do whatever needs to be done, Master
Graves. She doesn’t wish to go, and I will do whatever I can to
make that wish come to pass.”

The physician walked stiffly toward the door.
“You’ll hear from me before nightfall.”

Catherine wished she could make out the
muffled words coming through the door. The voice of the Highlander
was consistently the most distinct, though every now and then the
pitch of the other’s voice reached her more clearly through the
thick oak door. They were clearly arguing over something, and
Catherine’s curiosity was aroused. Fanning her golden brown tresses
over her shoulders, she waited, straining to hear what Malcolm was
saying. Interestingly enough, the Highlander aroused more than just
curiosity in her, and she had missed seeing his ruggedly handsome
face.

Aye, she thought, the man definitely
interested her. Last night, lying alone in the huge bed of her cold
chamber, she had found herself considering the fact that she had
never had a Scot. There was no reason why she should let her plans
to punish Edward interfere with her sport. Indeed, this man,
Malcolm MacLeod, had much more presence than Edward. Taller, he
was, and far more handsome with his tumbling brown hair and dark,
brooding looks. His broad, powerful build; the way he’d looked last
night at dinner with his arms crossed over the black velvet of his
tunic; the way the muscles of his thighs and calves showed through
his hose. Catherine’s lips parted at the memory as she felt the
start of that familiar stirring at the juncture of her thighs. He
would be an excellent lover, she was certain of that. And that
silly Mary—with her infantile crush on the man! Catherine smiled
and drew in a deep breath. What would a dim-witted virgin like Mary
know about satisfying a man like Malcolm?

With a glance up and down the corridor,
Catherine ran her hands over the bodice of her dress, smoothing the
quilted velvet. Seeing no one, she let her fingers linger on her
breasts. She could feel the aroused nipples through the fabric. She
would have him in her bed, and she would have him soon. Her body
cried out for a man’s touch, and the Highlander would do quite
nicely.

The voices on the other side of the door were
no longer audible at all. Impatiently, Catherine raised her hand
and knocked at the door. She had to settle this business first. She
was too smart to allow Edward to ruin her plans. He had yet to
suffer for his sins against her.

Catherine’s bright eyes never left Malcolm's
face as she called over her shoulder. “I’ll speak with you in a
moment, Master Graves.”

Malcolm let his eyes travel from the woman’s
face to the small, white hand resting on the crook of his elbow. He
tried to hide the annoyance he felt at having Catherine accost him
so openly in the corridor.

“I would like to see you in my chamber
tonight, sir,” she whispered in a tone meant, no doubt, to be
inviting.

Malcolm continued to stare at the thin,
jeweled fingers and thought himself extremely lucky that the
physician had moved away into the murky interior of his surgery. He
was glad the old man hadn’t heard this woman’s invitation. Aye, he
thought, that was
all
he needed—to have Graves think he was
having an affair with every female in Kenninghall. That would
certainly help to advance his character in the man’s mind, Malcolm
thought wryly.

“‘Tis something specific, m’lady, that you
would care to see me about?” He tried to think of a way of not
directly offending her, for there was something about Catherine
that made him believe she would be extremely dangerous when
crossed.

“Must I really tell you in detail what I have
in mind?” she cooed, her voice still soft and seductive.

“Perhaps not,” he replied quickly. “But I am
afraid, m’lady, that I do have other commitments for the
evening.”

“Are you to be put back in chains?” she
asked.

Malcolm looked into her face, uncertain if
her words were a suggestion or a threat.

“The earl has asked to see me,” he said,
moving enough to cause her hand to drop away from his arm. “I
believe he wishes to spend some time going over some manuscripts
he’s just received from the library of our late master,
Erasmus.”

“Well, that should take no time.”

Malcolm took another step back. “Ah, one
never knows with Lord Surrey.” He bowed chivalrously in her
direction. “But I mustn’t detain you, m’lady.”

“Perhaps another time?” she called after
him.

But Malcolm said nothing as he disappeared
down the corridor.

Catherine straightened her skirts around her
feet, folded her hands in her lap, and looked coyly at the aging
physician. “Oh, Master Graves, I think I have never yet known a man
to age as handsomely as you. I was just telling Lady Frances last
night that at court we are not blessed the way she is, having such
a fine-looking man to look after her health.” Her ample bosom rose
and fell as she sighed, and looked at him from beneath her
fluttering lashes.

The man’s skin reddened, the blush spread
from his cowled neck to the top of his balding head, and he busied
his hands straightening rows of herbs laid out on his worktable.
“What might I do for you today, Mistress Catherine?”

“I have this pain.” She reached a hand behind
her head and rubbed at the base of her neck. “Here, Master Graves.
It began last night and kept me up half the night. There is a
knot—I feel it right now...ouch!” She frowned, feigning a sudden
discomfort.

The physician walked around the table and
moved to her side. Gently pushing her hand away, he placed his
callused fingers against the skin of her neck.

Catherine tilted her head and moaned
seductively in response to his touch. “Oh, Master Graves, you
certainly have the touch.” The man’s hand continued to search for
the nonexistent knot. “Aye, that is feeling so much better
already,” she whispered.

The physician pulled back sharply, but she
turned quickly and took a hold of one hand. “Oh, don’t let me
continue to suffer, Master Graves.”

“I can find no lump...no knot indicating a
spasm. I...I cannot find anything wrong with you,” the man
stuttered.

Without releasing his hand, Catherine came
slowly to her feet and stepped closer to him. “Oh, but just now,
when you were touching my neck...I felt a sharp pain go right to my
heart...here!” she whispered, lifting his large hand and placing it
firmly against her left breast, just above the low, square neckline
of her dress. He tried to pull back again, but she held him there.
Stepping even closer, she pressed his fingers into the firm flesh.
“What do you think this could be from, Master Graves?”

The man’s eyes were riveted to her chest and
his mouth hung open.

“Oh, perhaps you need to take a better look,”
she cooed. Slowly reaching up with her free hand, Catherine pulled
down the bodice of the dress, exposing the rosy tips of her full
breasts. With a jerk of his hand, the panicked physician withdrew
and practically ran to the other side of the room. She watched his
back with a smile and then pulled her dress back up in place. “Do
you have any idea what my ailment might be, Master Graves?”

With his back still to her, the man shook his
head and mumbled something inaudible in response. Greatly satisfied
with herself and the success of her teasing, Catherine moved across
the room in pursuit. She couldn’t let her prey off so easily.

“Oh my,” she said with surprise, coming to a
stop behind him. “Look at the marks your fingers have left on my
skin.”

Graves whirled and stared with dismay at the
red imprints on her milky-white bosom.

“Master Graves, certainly you—an esteemed
scholar and physician, a man of science, a healer of
renown—certainly you must be able to do something for me. You won’t
just let me suffer now, will you?”

The physician backed away as the young woman
stepped closer. Scurrying around the worktable, he held up a hand
to ward her off. She stopped, smiling innocently.

“Aye, mistress. I’ll make up something for
you. A potion to drink. I’ll send it up to your chambers. It will
relax the knot in your neck...help you to sleep.”

“Ah, a potion to help me rest!” Catherine
smiled as she picked up a bundle of rosemary from the table. She
held it to her face and inhaled the distinctive scent. She pursed
her lips and looked at the physician. “But how will I know how much
to take? If I take too much, won’t I get ill?”

“Of course you will, mistress!” the physician
growled, running his hand over his glistening pate. “But
I’ll...”

“Perhaps you should come up and administer it
yourself, Master Graves...as I prepare for bed, you could...”

“Nay, nay, enough of that, Mistress
Catherine! I’ll send up clear directions with the potion.”

Catherine pouted at the man, and then held
the bundle of herbs up again, seemingly studying them. “Whatever
you send up, Master Graves, would you send up enough that I might
share some with my cousin, Jaime!”

The man’s eyes snapped up to hers. “You let
that lass be. She has no sickness that I know of that requires the
medicine I’m sending up to you.”