Two Novels: The Intended and Flame

Chapter 2-2

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.

And during those years they had written each other many letters. She was certain that their relationship had changed, matured—that he was growing fonder of her with each missive. It hadn’t been her imagination, that she knew. His words had been caring; he’d written her long accounts of his life. He had led her to believe that he’d cared. He had.

But then, it all had happened so quickly. She had been ready to leave for Scotland when the letters arrived. The one from her parents telling her that Malcolm had decided to wed. And the one from Malcolm telling her of the continual feuding on his land, of his decision to wed, of his desire to bring about stability in his lands by producing an heir.

Even now, Jaime burned with the wish that the ground would open and swallow her whole for the mistake she had made.

The news had been enough to set her off blindly. She had asked no questions but had set out to plan her own wedding. Her wedding!

Feeling the tears starting to sting her eyes, Jaime looked about the room, unable to endure any more thoughts of that dreadful day.

But her parents had been wonderful throughout the ordeal. After the spectacle she’d made of herself, Elizabeth and Ambrose had excused themselves, taking Jaime back to Stirling as quickly as they could. And there she had remained in seclusion—until word from her ailing grandfather had come to her. She knew she needed to get away. As long as she stayed in Scotland, she would be forced to see him, forced to face his bride. She simply could not live there any longer, miserable, watching another bask in the glow of happiness that she’d always thought was intended for her. She needed to leave Scotland and never come back.

And she had left Scotland, arriving in time to see her grandfather die, in time to see Hever Castle reclaimed by the king’s officers. And when her great uncle, the duke of Norfolk had sent for her, she had gone with a grateful heart. Now she had no need for...

Stop, stop, stop, she commanded silently. Shaking off the darkness of her thoughts, Jaime forced herself to turn her full attention back to the people who now filled her life. From where she stood she could see Mary talking excitedly with Lady Frances, the beautiful wife of the absent earl of Surrey. The young woman caught Jaime’s look and smiled across the room. Odd, Jaime thought, still no sign of Edward.

“If I were to tell you that I’ve brought you ropes of pearls longer than the garlands that deck these walls, would you be impressed?”

Hiding her smile, Jaime shook her head. He was standing closely behind her. She could feel his tunic brush against the back of her dress.

“If I were to tell you that I’ve brought you sapphires as large and as black as your eyes, would you be impressed then?”

Edward’s soft breath now tickled her ear. For an instant she felt his lips brush against her neck. She took a quick step forward and turned to face him. He stood before her—fresh and bold and smiling.

“You are a bold, naughty creature, Edward Howard,” she scolded, bringing a laugh to his lips.

“I’m a lonely, forsaken, and rejected suitor, Jaime Macpherson.” He reached out and took hold of both of her hands. His eyes roamed meaningfully over the low neckline of her dress, over the curves of her high round breasts, and she blushed under his shameless inspection. “But you’re a fine sight for a returning warrior.”

“I would assume, Lord Edward,” she said, recovering her wit, “that after spending so many days at sea, even the sight of a mangy cur would be a pleasurable sight.”

“Ahh...your modesty.” He let go of her hands and slid his hands slowly up the bare skin of her arms beneath the long loose sleeves. She drew back and, smiling, he grasped her hands again. “So many nights I dreamed of this. Of coming back and seeing your shining face. Of feeling the silkiness of your skin beneath my lips.”

“Clearly I erred just now, Lord Edward,” she broke in, trying unsuccessfully to pull her hands from his grasp. “I believe you are the cur.”

“Aye,” he responded, bringing her hands to his lips. “But I’m no common cur. I’m a noble dog, a hound trained for the hunt, for battle.” Edward looked into her eyes. “Won’t you even pet this loyal and stouthearted beast who pants here at your heel?”

“You are a foolish puppy, Edward.”

“So true, my sweet.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But one whose blood smokes in his veins for the chase...for you.”

Jaime tore her gaze away from him and looked about the hall in hope of some relief. Crowds of people were still pouring in, but everyone seemed occupied with other matters. To her dismay, the tent served to shield them, and Edward seized the advantage of her looking away to grab her by the waist and pull her inside the canvas of the tent. Her eyes snapped back to him, her hands trying to keep his powerful body from crushing her to him.

“Edward, don’t,” she whispered. “There are so many here.”

“Then come with me to my chamber.”

She blushed crimson. “We’ve never before—”

“It’s time, Jaime,” he said hoarsely. One hand moved higher, his fingers following the curve of her waist. She felt his hand lift the weight of her breast, the friction from his thumb raising the n****e through the silk of her dress. “I’m tired of waiting, tired of these virginal games. I want you for my own, and you know it. I’ve courted you enough, and I’m not one to wait until our marriage night to take what is mine.”

“Edward,” she snapped, digging her fingers angrily into his wrist in an attempt to loosen his grip. “This is no way to talk to me. I’m your cousin, not some harbor wench for you to drag off to your bed whenever you come to port.”

The young man stared into her bloodless face. A regal coldness had hardened her features. He released her, and she took a step back, putting some distance between them and taking hold of the canvas wall.

“What’s happened to you?” she asked shortly. “You’ve never behaved this way before.” The faint blush on his tanned and chiseled face did not go unnoticed by her.

“I’m a man, Jaime. A knight. A warrior.” He drew himself up to his full height. “I am no monk.”

“And this is how a knight of your king treats a woman?”

She watched as a smile broke across his lips. He reached for her, but this time she was prepared and quickly slapped away his darting hand. He laughed in response.

“You are an innocent, Jaime Macpherson. But trust me—that is soon to change.” He took a step toward her, and as she turned to escape, he caught her wrist and drew her fiercely to him. His voice was ragged whisper. “I always get what I want. During this trip I took the time to think—and I’ve decided that I’ve left things in your hands too long.”

“Don’t, Edward,” she whispered as he used one arm to mold her body to his. She didn’t care for the glazed look that was darkening his gray eyes.

“Aye, I’ve decided that it’s time to teach you a few things about pleasure.” Jaime felt her spine involuntarily stiffen and her blood run cold as Edward’s mouth descended to capture hers.

“Please,” she gasped, turning her face abruptly, avoiding his lips. His teeth took hold of her earlobe and moved greedily to her neck. She felt herself sickening as one hand moved up to squeeze her breast through her dress. She tried to push away at him, but he was too strong. Frantically, she looked around for help—she even considered crying out.

“Please stop, Edward. Please,” she begged softly. “Not now—not here.”

She knew only a moment passed, but it seemed like eternity before he straightened up. Then, with a look of longing, he eased his grip on her body. She felt an overwhelming need to pull away, to run, but he wouldn’t let her go entirely. Holding on to her hand, he hooked it into his elbow and pushed open the canvas wall for her to pass.

“You will sit beside me at dinner, my reluctant little raven. Then perhaps we can pick up where we left off. Tonight, after all these meddling interlopers have gone their way.”

But Jaime just looked away, avoiding his gaze.

The dinner, sumptuous as it was, held little joy for her. Seated quietly beside the guest of honor, Jaime listened to the conversations going on around her, partaking only when necessary.

Few were interested in the progress of her music students. The family and the retainers of the duke of Norfolk had considered her thinking far too radical at first, and Jaime was certain that more than a few still thought her that way. Being well-trained in music herself, she had taken great pleasure in setting up music classes for the children when, upon arriving, she’d found the music master had recently and—for mysterious reasons—abruptly departed.

Jaime's problem from the start had been that she had chosen to accept her pupils not on the merit of their lineage but their desire to learn music. So when it was discovered that she’d had a washerwoman’s son sitting beside a nobleman’s daughter, a small furor had erupted—only to subside when the duke himself surprisingly declared that he could see no harm in the innocent mingling of voices in song.

Now nearly a year had passed, and Jaime felt that she was at least winning the battle. While it was true that not everyone was attending the lessons that could have, it was also true that many were. The dishonor of sitting beside someone the world esteemed as less worthy for an hour a day was a concept totally lost on a young child, but unfortunately many parents continued to be horrified at the prospect. Nonetheless, the lessons had survived, and the young musicians were improving.

Later on, as trays of cakes and other sweets were being cleared, Jaime found herself at the center of the discussion between Edward and the duke. She had tried to ignore the young knight’s flirtatious behavior during most of the meal, but now the conversation seemed to have taken on a more serious note.

“Aye, Your Grace,” the young warrior was saying. “Tomorrow I’ll steal this maiden away to the castle in Norwich.”

“Not an altogether pleasant place for a young woman, Edward.”

Jaime’s eyes looked questioningly into Edward's face. She had heard grim tales of the Norwich Castle. Less than half a day’s ride from the palace, it was—by all accounts—a place of death and horrors too terrible to behold. And it was the place where Edward kept all of his captives taken in battle.

“Will you go there with me, Mistress Jaime?” he asked casually.

She didn’t know how to refuse his request. But after what had occurred earlier—with so many present in the hall—she could hardly feel safe alone with him. Nay, not even for the briefest of moments. “The lessons...I have the children’s lessons...”

“The devil take me,” Edward interjected, “but I’m quite certain those brats can survive a day without you.”

“Edward, this is certainly no way to impress a young and gentle woman.” The duke could easily see Jaime’s hesitation. “There is nothing about a handful of prisoners you’ve captured at sea that would be in the least bit pleasing. On the other hand, the size of some of the gems you captured might interest her a bit more...”

“Father.” Edward's determined voice quieted the older man’s speech. “Mistress Jaime has never had the opportunity to see the Norwich, the center of our family’s power and wealth, and I believe it is important to see if the English half of the blood that flows in my lovely cousin’s veins warms to the sight of one of England’s greatest cities. As indeed it should.”

The two men just stared at each other, a silent message passing between them. Then, as if understanding his son’s meaning, Norfolk nodded in agreement.

“As indeed it should, my boy.”

“Well, m’lady?” Edward asked again, directing his attention back to her. His gray eyes flashed his challenge. “Will you accompany me and my officers to Norwich on the morrow? We can leave at daybreak and shall return no later than sunset.”

Every eye at the head table was upon her. She understood the test she was to go through. The ship he’d just captured was French and there were, from what the duke said, prisoners that had been taken to Norwich Castle. And now Edward wanted to sound the depths of her loyalty. Mary had told her that it was treason to think of the French as friend rather than a foe, and now Jaime was about to be tested. But what option did she have? She had, long ago, set her mind that she would live in England, and now she had to prove her intentions. She must make her break with the past. Make her future with Edward a reality. Edward's methods were rough, but he left her little choice. He wants to be sure of me, she thought, and that is his right.

“I’ll go,” she answered Edward at last. “I’ll go to Norwich with you.”