Two Novels: The Intended and Flame

Chapter 13-1

13

The light from the chamber’s one window was growing dim, and with the growing darkness, a damp breeze began to make its presence felt. Malcolm, bored and frustrated with the forced inactivity of his convalescence, threw back the blanket covering his chest. He glared defiantly at his keeper, more than half hoping the sight of his bared wounds would bring some curse, some verbal response from his imperturbable keeper’s lips. But the resigned sigh from the old woman only served to evoke a pang of guilt in him. He watched in silence as Caddy wearily placed her sewing aside and stood up, rubbing a stiff or sore lower back with a gnarled and bony hand. Wordlessly, she shuffled to his side and covered his chest again with the blanket.

Surly and hostile, Malcolm looked away from her, too proud to admit that his anger had nothing to do with her nor with her treatment of him. She had stayed beside him all day—ever since Jaime had deserted him this morning. He would have thought she’d have checked on them at least once during the day. Not that she’d worry about him, of course, but how about this poor old crone? How did Jaime know that he hadn’t strangled the dear old creature during the day? By the Rood, Malcolm could have broken her in two and succeeded in escaping.

Escape? Well, there was something laughable, he thought bitterly. The extent of his movements today had consisted of a short and exhausting lurch around the bedchamber, his blanket clutched about his shoulders, and the old woman eyeing him almost encouragingly from the door. That little jaunt had consumed most of his strength, a fact that grieved him dearly. Well, perhaps tomorrow he would be stronger. He was surprised they hadn’t put him in chains already. It wouldn’t be long—that he knew. He needed to find a way out.

Malcolm looked in the direction of the window again with a heave of his chest. Another day like this and the boredom would surely kill him. This Caddy woman had not so much as uttered a word all day. He knew she could talk, though—he’d heard her conversing with her mistress this morning. But since Jaime had left, no matter what Malcolm asked, the woman had simply stared at him blankly before turning back to her sewing. So much for getting information out of her.

He ran a hand over the rough texture of his unshaven face and rubbed his eyes. He pulled slightly at the linen bandage that encircled his head. He must look like the devil himself, Malcolm thought. If only he could close his eyes and sleep, he would dream all these people to hell. But even that simple desire seemed to be beyond his reach.

The sound of the door swinging quietly open brought a pleased smile to Malcolm’s haggard face. It was the she-devil herself coming in. But at least it was company.

Jaime had hoped he might be sleeping. But now, staring at the roguish gleam in his eyes, at a face alert and—for some reason—amused, she knew she’d wasted a wish.

“It took you long enough to show yourself, though I suppose that’s all understandable.”

Jaime ignored him and turned to Caddy. Spending a few moments talking to the older woman, she continued to ignore Malcolm’s comments as she tried to listen to Caddy’s obviously valid complaints.

She complained of him talking ceaselessly.

He complained of her being no more than a mute.

She grumbled of him being far too bold for a man in his condition.

He muttered under his breath and called her a broken-down nag.

Mustering all her patience, Jaime shot Malcolm a withering look and ushered Caddy to the door, asking the woman to bring the man the dinner she’d had the kitchen prepare. But Caddy turned at the doorway and absolutely refused to set foot in his room again—for today, anyway—and warned that she’d only come back as far as his door and leave the dish there.

In a way, Jaime was quite proud of her serving woman’s behavior. She knew Caddy still held a grudge against the man for the debacle of a year ago. Caddy was nothing if not loyal. But Jaime was also grateful that Malcolm didn’t know anything about her servant’s familiarity with their past, for if—out of sheer perverseness—he had dared to open the topic, Jaime might had renewed bloodshed to deal with as a result.

Caddy left the room with a huffy toss of the head and a reminder that she was done with him for the day.

That was perfectly acceptable to Jaime. Looking around at him, she decided he certainly appeared improved enough that no attendant would be warranted during the night. In fact, she herself was impatient to settle him in and escape this chamber. The sleepless nights and the stress of her quarrel with Mary had taken its toll on her today. She couldn’t wait to get back to her room and crawl into bed.

But no sooner had Caddy left the room when Malcolm began his verbal assault.

“So, and where might a young lady such as yourself have spent such a day as this?” His voice dripped with irony. “Counting the gold, no doubt, that you and your lover are going to split selling me back to my people...or were you simply continuing to play the w***e?” His sarcastic smile broadened upon seeing Jaime's eyes dart to his face. But she was quick to regain her composure, even as he continued. “I have to tell you, lying here all day with nothing to do is not as useless as it seems. Aye, indeed. I’ve heard the talk, in spite of this deaf-mute you’ve put in here to torment me. And I’ve heard what they say. Is it truly required that you should make a public spectacle of yourself, pleasing him in the garden before a crowd of servants?”

Jaime knew there was no point in arguing with him. He was baiting her, and she was not about to participate in his game. So, biting her tongue and trying to ignore his taunts, she busied herself preparing to change the dressings on his head. That had been one area Caddy had not attempted. She’d probably been afraid to get too close to his sharp tongue. Frankly, Jaime couldn’t blame her.

“Aye, and look at you. You shame yourself.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Look at the clothes you wear. English. Where’s your modesty, woman?”

She glanced down at her attire. She was wearing a summer dress of yellow linen, with a square neckline that barely exposed the flesh on top of her breasts. This was probably one of the more modest fashions worn by any woman in the household.

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

“Nay, not for an English whore.”

Jaime glared at him from where she stood.

“Well, if that’s what you’ve become, there’s little to be done about it.”

She shook her head and tucked everything she needed under her arms, vowing to herself that she’d not be reduced to his level. That was what he was after. A reaction. An unpleasant reaction.

Malcolm continued as if her silence were a confirmation of what he’d said. “Aye, it’s a pitiable condition, but there you are. What’s done is done. Well then, what are we going to do tonight, wench? You might as well sleep here as on that chair.”

Jaime moved her supplies next to his bed and placed them all on the nearby chair, all the while avoiding his eyes. She could feel her face burning, but she held her temper and concentrated on her pile of dressings. She was now angry enough that she knew even one look in his direction, and she would burst like a bubble.

Malcolm pulled the blanket aside—exposing a thigh and hip—and patted a spot next to him on the bed. “Aye, dearest. You can sleep here. But I have to warn you that even in this weakened condition, I can still outmatch any English lover, never mind that yellow-livered pustule of a man you’ve taken up with.”

“That will do, Malcolm,” she replied curtly, unfolding the strips of linen on the edge of his bed.

“You think so, lass?” He brushed his knuckles roughly against the back of her hand, and Jaime withdrew it as if she’d been stung. “We haven’t even started yet.”

This time her control snapped. “Stop it,” she nearly shouted.

“I won’t,” he growled, grabbing her fiercely by the wrist. “I’m no fool. You came to this room of your own free will. And not for any reason of nursing me to health, was it? Your l**t drives you to me. You want to compare me to that carrion of a lover, now don’t you?”

Jaime stared in silence.

“I know he is away, dearest. So, now that you’re not bound by any need to appear decent, you come here to relieve your l**t and sharpen your skills—in bed. In my bed.” His hand tugged harshly at her wrist, making her lose her balance and lean heavily on the bed. “Well, here we are, my sweet. I’m more than willing. Let’s begin. Now, lass, while the evening is young.”

She struggled against his grip using her other hand to keep from falling into his lap. A feeling of helplessness—desperation even—swept coldly through her. She turned her gaze and looked into his embittered face.

“You’ve gone mad, Malcolm.”

“Then it is you who have driven me to it.”

“Let go of my wrist.”

“I shall. When we’re finished.”

“Malcolm, listen to yourself.” Hurt crept into her voice. She could not keep it out. “It is I, Jaime. It is Jaime you’re treating like a w***e. Jaime, the woman you’ve known all your life.”

“Don’t waste your breath. You’re not that woman.” He laughed, his tone scornful. “But in case you’ve forgotten, dearest. The woman I knew would never have delivered me to these devils. She would never have betrayed my trust. The Jaime I knew was gentle and kind. She was passionate and giving. She was a woman raised with love. She was loyal...”

“The woman you knew was a fool.” Jaime straightened her arm to give herself more distance. “Nothing more than a dreaming simpleton. She was a child, blinded with lies. She believed in love and promises. But that child grew up and opened her eyes to the painful truths about what happens to those who blindly keep faith.”

“Seeing the change in her, I wish she had truly gone blind.”

“Why?” she shot at him. “So she might lock herself away forever, to mourn her treacherous love?”

“She was too young to know the meaning of the word.” Malcolm turned his eyes away for a moment, letting go of her wrist. “How could she mourn the loss of something she’d never known?”

“Never known?” Jaime's voice crackled with rage. She straightened up, but made no attempt to walk away. “But that’s where your mistake lies, knave. She had more affection and love in her, even as a child, than you could possibly know. But she... she was misled by false words and impossible dreams.”

He began to respond, then paused, a troubled look momentarily crossing his face as he seemed to ponder her charge. “False words by whom? We had always been friends. What false words? What have I ever said that you could construe as a promise of any kind?”

Jaime turned her back on him.

“You cannot walk away,” he barked. “I’m tired of having to fight false accusations. Tired of this cloud that hangs over me. This cloud that smacks of wrongdoing when I don’t know how I could have done wrong.”

“I have never openly accused you of anything.”

“It would be much easier if you did,” he answered sharply. “The puzzle would be much simpler to solve if I were at least given the pieces.” He reached out and, this time, more gently took a hold of her wrist, causing her to turn and face him. “Jaime, since I last laid eyes on you, the Macphersons—with the exception of Fiona and Alec—have never treated me the same. Your parents, most of all, seem distant. If I have committed some great injustice, then it is one that I’m neither prosecuted for nor pardoned. There is a mist that surrounds me, and though I walk on, there are things that I cannot see. How did I mislead you? Tell me now if...”

“You never misled me, but don’t blame me for your misfortunes.” Jaime wrenched her wrist free. She already knew that he spoke the truth. He had never asked her to marry him. In her mind, though, he was still guilty of allowing her to hope. But she wouldn’t reveal that to him.

Taking a deep breath, she reached down to undo the wrapping around his head. She would finish her tasks here quickly and flee this room. Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to concentrate.