The Intended (34 page)

Catherine drew her face together in a tight
frown and laid the rosemary on the table. “Oh, you haven’t seen her
since she got the news today, have you?”

“What news might that be, mistress?” Graves
said evasively, turning and looking at the jars of ingredients that
lined the shelves of the surgery.

She stepped around the table and shook her
head in exaggerated distress. “The poor creature. She is being
dragged to Nonsuch Palace to be with Lord Edward at a time when he
is...well, let us just say this is not the best time for her to
go.” Catherine picked up a bundle of nightshade and another of
wolfbane and gazed at them. “Perhaps whatever you’re planning to
send me might not be strong enough for all she must bear.”

The old man’s frown told her that she had his
attention.

“Few people here at Kenninghall know what is
happening to Lord Edward at court.” Her voice carried a
confidential tone as it lowered to a whisper. “He is in a great
deal of trouble, Master Graves. He has fallen from favor with the
king.” She lowered her voice even more and placed the herbs back on
the table. “I know the truth only because I just left him there. He
is guarded by the king’s men at all times, and he isn’t permitted
to leave the palace grounds. I fear for him. And the duke, he is
trying as best as he can to keep it all hushed.”

“What kind of trouble is he in, Mistress
Catherine? And what purpose is served in bringing that poor lass
into the middle of it?”

Catherine shrugged her shoulders in
ignorance. “I wish I knew more. Perhaps they are thinking Jaime
might charm the king with her looks and her music. But I cannot see
anything she might do that would soften His Majesty. After all, I
did all that I could, and to no avail, I fear. And she is
half-Scot, besides.” She looked knowingly at the physician. “You
know what it feels like to be an outsider, Master Graves. Jaime
will be miserable. She is already quite, quite distressed.”
Catherine shook her head. “And she has every right to be. My future
husband’s wrath is nothing to trifle with; Jaime knows full well
the sad end that came to our cousin, Anne Boleyn. And now, here is
our Jaime, a Boleyn and a Scot, besides. I worry about her safety,
for who knows that Henry’s ire will not extend to Jaime. Who knows
if she may not turn out to be the one who really suffers in the
end.”

Catherine turned her back on the physician,
patting tears away from dry eyes and giving him a chance to ponder
her words. Short of assigning someone to hurt Jaime, which she
wasn’t ready to do, yet, this old man offered her the best way of
stopping that wench from going to Edward. She thought her words had
been effective, quite convincing. That might be all it would take—a
medicine of some sort—a potion that would make her ill to travel.
Catherine wanted Jaime here, alive, within her grasp. This was
where she could turn the wench’s mind from thoughts of Edward. One
more twist of the knife to make him suffer all the more.

Catherine swung around and faced the
physician. “There must be something that we can do. We must! Don’t
you agree, Master Graves, that it is our duty to help her through
this—before she does something rash on her own?”

“You think she might?”

Catherine nodded. “She is so proud and yet so
timid in seeking other people’s help. I fear she very well could.
Who knows what trouble she might get herself into!”

The physician’s bushy brows bunched up in a
frown. “I’ll see what I can do, Mistress Catherine.”

She successfully fought back a smile of
triumph. “Should I remain here? Perhaps I might be of some
help!”

“Nay, I thank you!” The physician quickly
walked to the door, pulling it open wide. “Be on your way, Mistress
Catherine. I can manage quite well!”

As she strolled toward the door, she
considered whether she should do any more prodding. But the
physician’s grim expression told her that he was convinced and that
he was already designing a plan.

“You will not forget me?”

“Nay, mistress. I’ll not be forgetting
you.”

“Very well,” Catherine said, smiling to
herself as she left the physician’s chamber.

“But why must I wait? I want to go to court
now!”

Jaime ignored Mary, but Frances, obviously
far more annoyed by the young woman’s whining complaints, snapped
at her.

“This is hardly the time to discuss
your
wishes, Mary! Things are difficult enough trying to get
Jaime ready.”

With a sigh loud enough for everyone in the
room to hear, Mary sat down on the edge of her bed and sulked.

“When the time comes, Mary, you will be
leaving with Catherine, if she’ll have you. Don’t forget, though
her entourage is large now, after she is wedded to the king she
will have countless more attendants. Just think, aside from the six
‘great ladies,’ there will certainly be at least four or five
ladies of the privy chamber, and a dozen attendants of exalted
rank, besides the maids of honor.” The countess motioned to the
servants to bring out an empty trunk and leave it open before them.
“Surely, there will be a place for you, as well, but right now we
are here to help Jaime prepare. Have you already forgotten that you
volunteered to be of some use?”

Frances’s question was never answered and
Mary continued to groan and complain about the unfairness of it
all. But as the two woman continued with their argument, Jaime
turned a deaf ear to them. She didn’t want to do this. Looking
about the room, she shuddered at the mess surrounding her. Like
snares of twisting rope, everything seemed to catch at her—to trap
her at every turn.

Jaime stepped back as a serving girl opened
another trunk before them. She was supposed to be choosing her
wardrobe for court. Glancing in the direction of Frances and Mary,
who continued to bicker by the bed, Jaime could not help but smile
wryly. With a wave of her hand, she motioned the serving girl away
and gestured for her own servant, Caddy, to help her. She didn’t
need all this attention; she didn’t need all these servants. She
wished all of them would simply go away and let her be. Jaime
reached blindly into the depths of the trunk and pulled out some
rolled-up material and handed it to Caddy.

It wasn’t until she was handing Caddy the
next item, a carefully folded dress, that Jaime realized her
serving woman had not moved and stood still, holding the unraveled
material out in front of her. With a frown, Jaime snatched the
dress back and stared at the torn shoulder. Suddenly feeling
extremely embarrassed, she balled the garment in her hands. This
was the dress she had worn that night—the night she’d crept up to
Malcolm’s room and to his bed. Holding the bundle to her chest,
Jaime quickly looked around. Caddy was already occupying herself
pulling other garments from the trunk and laying them out for
Jaime’s choosing, as Mary and Frances continued to argue.

Holding the soft wool against her breast,
Jaime thought of Malcolm. He had told her that he would come up
with a plan—one that would keep her from being sent to Edward. Now,
though, feeling more and more desperate as the moment of departure
crept ever nearer, she worried about how much danger he might bring
upon himself. He had no connections—no trusted friends—no kin or
fellow warriors in this palace. How could he save her from her
uncle and her cousin without exposing himself to terrible, perhaps
insurmountable risk?

Trying to distance herself from all the
commotion around her, Jaime moved to a small worktable by the
window. Glancing over her shoulder, she found, interesting enough,
that her retreat was viewed with very little concern by anyone in
the room. Turning her back on them all, she stared out into the
gardens, spreading out beneath the window and bursting with
color.

Malcolm had mentioned there was a vessel
coming in to a nearby fishing village within a week. All she had to
do was to somehow drag her feet for that time—until they could
escape to Scotland. With that simple thought, a warmth spread
through her, and Jaime felt her heart bloom with joy. It would be
so different this time, she thought. She would go back to Skye
knowing that he wanted her for his wife. Closing her eyes, she
tried to imagine her family—their loving faces. By the Holy Virgin,
how much she missed them now. What a fool she had been to think
that she could distance herself from them and still be happy.

The sun, golden in its descent, radiated
warmth through the diamond-shaped panes of glass. On impulse, Jaime
pushed open the window and breathed in the sweet smells of summer.
But soon the joys of nature dropped away into oblivion as she
considered, once again, the pressing matters still before her. For
how could she remain where she was...and still keep Malcolm from
laying siege to Kenninghall.

Jaime stared in confusion as the physician
scowled at her and blocked her entry into the surgery.

“I said you don’t waste much time, do you,
young woman?”

Jaime glanced behind her into the empty
corridor, searching for the person who Master Graves’s words were
intended for. “I don’t?” she said at last, raising her eyebrows
questioningly.

“Nay, not you, mistress. The pixies and
fairies dancing in the corridor there behind you.” The man shook
his head and swung the door open, heading back inside the chamber.
Totally perplexed, Jaime silently stepped in and closed the
door.

“Of course, you!” the physician continued
irritably, slapping his linen coif on his head and tugging it
roughly into position. “Your last messenger left only a moment ago.
And the one before that...”

“My messengers?” Jaime interrupted, following
closely behind the physician.

The Welshman never answered her question nor
did he acknowledge her interruption. Coming to a stop by his
worktable—which was strewn with different herbs, a mortar and
pestle, and some bowls of various sizes—he appeared to spoon
something into a small leather pouch. Jaime looked with curiosity
over his shoulder, but she couldn’t make out exactly what he was
doing. However, she could see that his motions were quick, angry.
She watched with a frown as he turned his back and blocked her
view. His sour mood made no sense, but he was obviously angry with
her for something she’d done. Well, for the life of her, she didn’t
know what it was she
could
have done, but if he wanted to
have it out with her, then he’d have to be the one to pursue it.
She had more important matters to attend to, and if the old man was
going to be disagreeable, then she would need time to figure out
something else.

“Master Graves,” she said, clearing her
throat. “I came down here to ask a favor of you reg...”

“So you don’t have any intention of marrying
my master’s son!”

Jaime opened her mouth and then closed it
again as the elder physician turned and faced her. The man’s direct
question and chilly gaze left no choice for her but to speak the
truth. “Nay, sir. That I don’t,” she acknowledged firmly, shaking
her head.

“Too good for him, I suppose.”

“‘Tis really not a matter...”

“And does he know of this, mistress? Does
Lord Edward know?”

Jaime again shook her head in answer.

“And His Grace, the duke?” The physician’s
face was accusing.

She let out a long breath, temper
unexpectedly bubbling up within her. “Nay, Master Graves. None of
the Howard family has been told of my decision regarding this
marriage. And I’d like to know how you...”

“Then don’t you think it’s time you told them
of the truth—of your wishes?” The man waited for her answer,
holding the small bag in one hand, and then in the other.

“Aye, ‘tis true,” she replied after a moment.
Jaime searched for words to explain, but then smashed her fist into
the palm of her other hand in frustration. “But I will be damned if
I’ll do it at the king’s court. If I go there now—as I’ve been
summoned to do—then I am declaring publicly that I am agreeable to
this match. What voice would I have when I get there? I, a Scot and
a woman. None!”

The man peered into her face, and Jaime found
herself glaring back at him.

“‘Twas my doing, was it not?” he asked at
last. “You would have stayed here in England and married Lord
Edward if it hadn’t been for me meddling with the Highlander’s
life, helping you to keep him alive, passing on your letter to
those who could send it north!”

Shocked by the turn in the conversation,
Jaime gazed back at his darkly frowning face. There was a gentle
heart beyond that rough exterior, and evidence of it was peeking
through.

“Nay, Master Graves. None of this was your
doing. It was fate—a turn of Fortune’s wheel. ‘Twas meant to be
this way.” She looked beyond him at the fresh and dried herbs on
the table. “Malcolm and I were destined to be together and nothing
he nor I did—no matter how great the distance we put between
us—nothing could keep us apart. I believe that regardless of
whether you helped us or not, we would still somehow end up
together.”

“Aye, you’ll end up in some dungeon, and I’ll
be keeping you both company, I fear.”

“And whose company do you think I’d prefer
being in?”

The man’s bushy eyebrows seemed to relax a
bit. “You are trying to make me feel better, lass.”

Jaime couldn’t hold back the smile that was
breaking through. “Did you say ‘lass,’ Master Graves? I’m beginning
to think you have more Scot in you than you’ll admit to!”

He waved a hand in the air denying the
accusation. “I just want to make sure that I won’t be held
responsible for you leaving us for good. And ‘tis not for the fear
of any men that I say this,” he was quick to add. “‘Tis
just...well, I think the folks that really matter around
here...well, with you leaving us...” He pulled his coif from his
head and tossed it onto the table, running his hand over his
balding skull. “Look at the children—the joy they get out of
spending time in that music room of yours. Just think of the
women—how they think of ways to draw you to their cottages just to
chat, so as how they can brag to the rest of their cronies how
you’d been spending all day with them, how you shared a meal with
them. And have you seen the men? ‘Tis a wonder the women are not
tearing you limb from limb with how well the men think of you. If
it weren’t for the fact that you are as good as you are beautiful,
I don’t know what their feelings would be regarding you. One
passing smile from you and the young lads, at least, are
dreamy-eyed for a fortnight.” The physician paused and frowned.
“You leave, Mistress Jaime, and I think it’ll not go easy with any
of them.”