The Intended (39 page)

Malcolm touched Jaime’s hands. They were cold
and clammy. “Who has been looking after her when you are not
here?”

“One of Lady Frances’s servants has been
sitting with Mistress Jaime whenever I go to the kitchens for
food.” The woman leaned over and took the soaked linen cloth out of
Malcolm's outstretched hand and gave him a dry one in its
stead.

“Who else?” Malcolm questioned as he gently
wiped Jaime’s wet brow. “Who else has been left alone with your
mistress?”

The woman followed Malcolm's gaze as he
nodded toward the table. Understanding his request, she poured some
water from a pitcher into a wooden bowl.

“No one else,” she said, handing him the
bowl.

As he began to dip the cloth in it, Malcolm
stared down at the liquid, then lifted it to his face and sniffed
at it.

“Something has been added to this. Has she
been drinking water from this pitcher today?”

“Not today, m’lord.” The woman leaned over
and stared in disbelief at the cloudy liquid. She shook her head
firmly. “On my mother’s soul, she hasn’t! I tried to have her sip
some broth I brought back from the kitchen earlier, but she was too
sleepy to have anything to do about it. But then...I know I washed
out this pitcher and put fresh water in it this morning. But
here...these things on the table. Perhaps someone mixed in
something.”

Malcolm glanced in the direction that the
older woman pointed. There were still remnants of what the
physician must have used earlier laying about. “Who else, other
than the servants you spoke of, has been here? Who from the
house?”

As she talked, the older woman began to
gather what remained of the medicines onto a tray. “Lady Frances
comes in every few hours to check on the mistress, but whenever
she’s come—I’ve been here. And Mistress Mary was here the first day
that this poor child took sick, but she hasn’t been back since. In
fact, she has already had all of her things taken out of this
chamber.” The woman paused a moment, and then brightened as a
thought struck her. “Wait! The serving girl that was here when I
got back with the broth told me that Mistress Catherine had stopped
here before her ride.”

Malcolm looked over his shoulder. “Was Jaime
left alone with Catherine?”

The woman reddened in the face before nodding
in assent. “She did tell me...she said something about Mistress
Catherine sending her up to her chamber for a cloak. Oh my, she did
also mention that this was the second day in the row that Mistress
Catherine was forgetting something in her room and sending her
after it. And yesterday, too, the girl told me that her ladyship
waited here with Jaime until she returned.” Caddy held a small sack
of herbs to her chest. “You don’t think that
she
would want
to hurt...”

The look of anger in the Highlander’s face
silenced her.

Malcolm turned his gaze back to Jaime as he
threw the linen cloth to the side and framed Jaime’s cold face in
between his hands. She looked pale and lifeless, her breathing
heavy. He stared at the dark circles under her eyes. Damn
Catherine, Malcolm swore under his breath. This was her doing. It
was all clear, now. She had been poisoning Jaime, giving her more
than she needed...or giving her something else.

“But why, m’lord?” Caddy croaked. “Everyone
loves...”

The older woman continued to talk but Malcolm
was too angry to listen. He should have guessed that Catherine was
up to no good two nights ago when she had invited him to meet her
in Jaime’s chamber—as she lay unconscious. Malcolm swore under his
breath, the filthy wench! He would kill her right now if she were
near!

“Go after the physician,” he barked to the
older woman. “Go after him and bring him here at once.”

Caddy, moving like a woman half her age,
scurried out of the chamber and down the corridor.

The long stone corridor wound downward into
the dark, ever downward into the void. Hands caught at her as she
ran, holding her back, pushing her on. Her heart pounded so hard
she thought it ready to burst; her lungs were at the point of
collapse. Jaime twisted and turned, tearing away the hands, trying
desperately to push ahead.

And the sound of Edward’s steps—sharp,
terrifying as thunder—grew ever nearer.

“Whore! Slut! WHORE!” His shouts continued,
wavering in their clarity, as if his words were being plunged—over
and over—in some thick cloud, in a swirling muddied pool, in a
shroud.

And on she ran. Jaime glanced over her
shoulder at the masculine shape lurching after her. She fell
against the wall. The grasping hands were gone, replaced now by
wet, slick stones that stung her skin like poison. Needles of pain
shot through her flesh, etching her bones in a thousand places.

Her legs were failing now. Her shoulders and
face ached with fatigue. Further, she thought. A bit further. She
could see the abyss. Blackness gaped ahead. The stones moved
beneath her feet, and still he came nearer.

Sound of men. Other men. Their muffled voices
nearer. Above.

Jaime tried to scream, to ask for help. But
there was no voice. No sound.

Edward’s breathing was right behind. She must
cry out! Jaime’s hands clutched desperately at her throat, her
mouth. Her fingers clawed in panic at skin and bone, until a horror
swept through her with the cold dampness of death.

She had no mouth.

“You can’t get away, whore. Your end is
here.”

Malcolm pinned Jaime’s arms to the bed as the
physician barked orders at Caddy, who hustled about the chamber. As
the young woman thrashed about in the bed, her head twisted from
side to side and her legs kicked viciously at the bedclothes.

“Jaime.” The Highlander shook her softly.
“‘Tis a dream, my love. A dream.”

She opened her mouth in her sleep, but there
was no cry. In a few moments the agitation began to subside, and
she grew somewhat calmer, though her hands continued to pry at his
grip on her.

“Wake up, Jaime!” Malcolm said, releasing her
and pulling the covers over her shivering frame.

The Highlander had to fight back his emotions
when he saw the stream of tears roll down her eyes and disappear
into her dark hairline. Malcolm wrapped the blanket tightly about
her and lifted her onto his lap, holding her tightly against his
chest. His eyes carried more than a hint of accusation when turned
on the physician.

“How is it that she sleeps so quietly for
three days and then suddenly comes down with this attack?”

The older man never took his eyes off the
mixture that he was preparing.

“Catherine must have given Jaime something
more than what was here. ‘Tis a risk to give her anything more, but
if we can neutralize the...”

Suddenly, before her loomed a man, blocking
her way with his broad, powerful bulk. Her eyes were drawn to his
eyes, glinting in a fleshy face that looked shockingly soft, even
in the darkness. His hands reached out, and Jaime felt herself
being lifted into the air. Far into the space above, and then
falling, falling. Down past the portly giant, down into the
darkness, falling and then landing. A stairwell and the damp, heavy
smell of death.

She could feel Edward coming. There was
nowhere but down. Around and around the dark steps she flew, more
like falling than running. But downward, ever downward.

His curses swirled about her head like
burning wind. Edward was still right behind her.

But there! Again she could hear them. The
sound of voices. So close!

Graves stood at the end of the bed with the
empty cup in his hand.

“There is nothing more we can do now but
wait.”

Malcolm looked down at Jaime, huddled in his
arms. Droplets of the liquid still glistened on her lips. She
hadn’t opened her eyes. She hadn’t spoken a word. But she had
allowed him to give her the drink.

He cursed Catherine again. How easy it must
have been for the devil-woman to prey on Jaime while she was so
vulnerable, while she was so incapable of fighting back. But why
this way? Did the woman really intend, after toying with her, to
murder Jaime? What motive could she have for such evil?

He clenched his teeth in silent fury. How
could he have been such a fool as to let this happen?

“How long before she awakens?” Malcolm asked,
holding her closer to his chest.

The physician looked wearily into the fierce
face of the Highlander. “I wish I knew. The body has it own ways.
And what we have always believed about it is changing.”

“How long, Welshman!”

The physician pulled off his coif and ran his
hand over his bald head. “These medicines have been making her
sleep for days now. It might take her at least that long to come
out of it. But then again...she may never awaken.”

Malcolm looked away for a moment. When he
looked back, his face was a mask. He glanced over at Caddy, who was
now busily working on the other side of the room, too far to hear
their words. “I am taking her with me.”

The physician looked down at the empty cup in
his hands. “Mistress Jaime told me as much herself. But I have to
warn you that ‘tis best for you to wait until she has her legs back
under her, before you drag her overland to some ship...”

“You know better than I that we have no time
left.” Malcolm’s eyes were piercing. In three nights he would meet
the ship. This meant Jaime had to be well enough to travel in two
days. “If she is still unwell when the time comes, I will need your
help again.”

The physician turned and placed the cup on
the table. “Even if she has awakened, ‘tis doubtful she will be
ready to travel. And you must consider the great danger you are
putting her in. Traveling with a sick, or weakened woman...with the
duke’s men sent after you. How far do you think you will be able to
get before they overtake you? What do you think will happen when
they drag you back? What do you think will happen to Jaime when
they do?”

“Don’t waste your words, Master Graves. I am
taking her with me.” Malcolm’s tone carried the power of his
conviction. “You have already helped us a great deal, but let me
assure you there are others who will help us find our way to the
coast.”

“Then what more do you need of me?”

“If she remains ill,” Malcolm replied, “I
will be needing you.”

The older man stared at the Highlander and
then placed his coif back on his head. “Ah! Well, a fool’s life is
a merry one.”

The torture of each step threatened now to
kill her. Jaime had been running for her whole life. Down the
steps, forever downward.

And Edward was not giving up on her. She
heard the sound of steel as she reached another landing. As she
glanced over her shoulder, she could see the long, broad sword in
his hand. Plunging headlong into the darkness, she pushed on
against her pain.

“You will never escape me, whore!” His voice
pounded in her brain. “You are mine. Mine! And you’ll pay with your
blood.”

When Jaime moaned and stirred,
Malcolm—holding her securely in his arms—shook her slightly, but to
no avail. The young woman fell silent and still once again.

The Highlander glanced up at Caddy, who had
been hovering nearby, and who again took her seat by the end of the
bed. He cleared his throat and looked for the right words.

When she glanced up at him from her sewing,
he nodded to her. “I haven’t been very kind to you in the past. And
yet you’ve treated me very decently. Better than I’ve deserved, I
would say.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Malcolm nodded again with a gentle smile.
“You have been with Jaime since she left Scotland for England?”

“Nay, much longer, m’lord,” the woman
answered. “I first came to my mistress when she was being sent to
France. She was just a lass, though a bonny one...as you know.”

“I do not think I knew...” Malcolm’s eyes
rounded in surprise. “So you were with her when she came to
Dunvegan Castle?”

She nodded. “Aye.”

Malcolm shook his head in disbelief. “Then it
truly amazes me that you just didn’t kill me instead of taking care
of me when I was wounded.”

“I could never do that,” the woman said
simply. “My mistress has always cared for you far too much.”

“Aye,” Malcolm whispered softly, looking at
the sleeping woman in his arms. Since he had lifted her in his lap
hours earlier, she seemed to be fretting less.

“I am staying here with her if you want to go
after your supper.” Malcolm looked up encouragingly at the older
woman.

“Perhaps I might bring you something,
m’lord?”

He shook his head. “Just go, Caddie. I’ll
look after her.”

The older woman nodded in response as she lay
aside her sewing, and rose from her chair. Pausing by the door, she
turned and looked at the Highlander and her mistress.

“I know you will, m’lord,” she said. “Look
after her, I mean.” With a curtsy she scurried out of the room.

“Jaime! Can you hear me, lass?”

“Help me, Malcolm.” She ran toward the sound,
suddenly aware that she was calling out. She felt for her mouth,
lips, teeth. She cried out again, stumbling over her torn skirts as
she moved on toward his voice. “Where are you, Malcolm?”

Edward answered from behind her. “You can
never get away from me, wench. Never!” She heard the whistling
sound, felt the cold wind of his sword cutting through the air. The
blade tore through her hair, nicking the skin at the base of her
neck.

“Here, Jaime. I am here. Just reach out,
lass. Take my hand.”

“I cannot, Malcolm!” she screamed in fear.
The feel of blood trickled down her back. “MALCOLM!”

“You must be punished, adulteress.
Whore!”

“MALCOLM!”

She saw the pane of glass straight ahead, and
through it, the outline of a man beyond. It was his shadow.
Malcolm’s shadow waiting, his hand out stretched.