Two Novels: The Intended and Flame

Chapter 9

9

Peering through the diamond-shaped panes of the upper gallery window, Jaime winced each time she saw Malcolm’s body shift in the approaching cart. She could see the physician upbraiding the carter each time his human cargo jounced, but from the vacant expression on the driver’s face, Master Graves’s words hardly seemed to be penetrating the thick-necked man’s bald head.

“Go slower,” she said quietly, unaware of the auburn-haired woman coming up behind her. “There’s a hole ahead. Go to the right of the lane. Don’t you see it? Go to the...Oh! By the Virgin, are you trying to kill him?”

“Aren’t they doing a satisfactory job of it, Jaime?” the countess of Surrey asked, looking out the window as the cart lurched out of view beneath them.

Jaime blushed crimson, embarrassed at having forgotten the presence of the earl of Surrey’s wife in the gallery. It took her a moment to find her voice. “I believe Master Graves has done all he can for...for the prisoner.”

“You know the man, I take it?”

“He...He’s a great laird in the western Highlands. Many know him.”

“And he’ll fetch a great ransom for Edward, I understand.”

“Aye, if we can restore his health. He’s been horribly wounded, and he took a severe beating in the castle at Norwich.”

“So I understand.” Frances’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she took Jaime’s hand. “But how on earth did you manage to convince Lord Surrey to allow the Scot into the manor house?”

Jaime flushed at the question. She had gone to the earl, knowing of his kindness but with little hope. Nursing Malcolm back to health in the stable cell seemed an impossible task. Master Graves had said as much himself. Malcolm had a fever. And the physician could hardly be expected to watch over him carefully there. And the idea of her going to the stables every day was sure to create a ruckus. So Jaime had to ask. The one question she would never had dared to put to Edward, she felt quite differently posing to the earl of Surrey.

“It took no effort at all, Frances,” Jaime said softly, speaking truthfully. “Your husband knows the man. When I told him the prisoner’s name, his face lit up immediately. It seems that Malcolm MacLeod visited his old teacher Erasmus at a time when Lord Surrey was under the old scholar’s tutelage.”

Frances shook her head with a smile. “Leave it to Surrey to have a bond of friendship tying him to one whom Edward considers a foe.”

Jaime looked up and studied the soft features of the countess’s face. The affection for her husband glowed like embers in her eyes. Frances caught Jaime’s gaze and returned a smile.

“Surrey tells me that we’ll soon be sisters,” Frances said casually, glancing out the window. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and slipped her arm through Jaime’s, leading her away and down the hall. “I suppose you already know that it is hard for Edward to restrain himself once he’s set his mind on what he wants.”

Jaime played with the folds of her skirt as the two women made their way down the hall. “I’ve seen more variations of Edward’s moods these past few days than I’ve seen in the past year.” She paused not knowing how much she could reveal about her recent discomfort. With Mary, it was difficult to discuss Edward’s ardent advances, since she was an innocent—like Jaime herself. Mary had only a romantic vision of life around her. When Edward had forcibly kissed Jaime in the garden only yesterday—right before her very eyes—Mary had thought it a romantic gesture, one she’d become dreamy-eyed about when they’d gotten back to the bedchamber they shared. She hadn’t even paused to think of Jaime’s reaction to the moment.

But here, with Frances, Jaime weighed the risk of unburdening herself. The countess, though only four years her senior, was an experienced woman in matters of the heart. She was a woman happily married to an adoring husband. And she understood the difference between l**t and love. There were times that Jaime sorely missed her own family. Right now, she especially wished she had her mother here to talk to.

“Is something bothering you, Jaime?” Frances probed. “Because if Edward’s moodiness gives you pause at all, then you should talk about it, before all this marriage talk goes much further.”

“There’s so much that is being assumed by Edward and by the family.” Jaime caught the other woman’s concerned gaze and quickly placed a hand on hers. “Please don’t take my words incorrectly, Frances. There’s very little in this world that I would cherish more than becoming a sister to you. This family has done so much for me this past year. And my affection for Edward...well, I respect him and have been honored by the attention he has bestowed on me since my grandfather died.” She searched for the words to explain Edward’s latest behavior—and her response to it. “But lately, and especially since this latest conquest, I find myself...well, fearing him. I’m discovering things about him that I hadn’t seen before. But if only there were some way. You see, I never know.”

“And you wish Edward were a bit more predictable,” Frances put quietly.

“Aye.” Jaime looked down, suddenly ashamed and unsure of herself. “Frances, I’m so uncertain of this match. The world seems to know my future, but, to be honest, neither I nor my family have given any consent to such a union. Again, I know I should be honored by Edward’s attentions, but he is...he is so...”

Jaime stopped, suddenly concerned that the discomfort she felt from discussing this topic would far exceed the benefit she might gain from it. This was Edward’s family, the Howard household, after all, and she still merely a guest. And an ungrateful guest, at that. She glanced up at her friend’s pretty, composed face as Frances began to speak.

“When I was sixteen, my father and Surrey’s father sat down together and arranged our marriage.” Frances held Jaime’s hand as they walked, but her eyes took on a faraway look. “Surrey had seen me at court, and of course, I’d seen him, as well. He was—as he is today—dashing and courtly, handsome and yet...there was something more. I suppose it was the poet in him that won my heart.”

“And you got to know him well at court?”

“Nay.” Frances smiled. “I was too shy. A mere slip of a girl. We hardly exchanged a word. But he approached his father anyway, and the families were delighted with the match.”

“As you certainly must have been.”

“I? My dear, I was terrified. You see, what you perceive in Edward, I, too, could see in Surrey. I thought him moody and...well, rough. I feared what marriage to a man like that would bring.” She looked into Jaime’s eyes. “But unlike you, I had no choice in the matter. No consent to bestow or to withhold. I simply obeyed my parents’ wishes. I don’t know if I would have married him if I’d been given the choice.”

“But you have such a wonderful marriage, Frances.”

“Aye, Jaime. But that’s the point, isn’t it? We women never truly know our future in marriage until our fates are sealed.”

Jaime considered the depth of her friend’s words as they descended the circular stone steps to the palace’s ground level. Was Frances telling her that she should close her eyes and assume that Edward would become the wonderful husband that Surrey became? Or was she just simply telling her the futility of such worries? Either way, Jaime would have to accept Edward for what he was...and pray for good fortune. Sometimes Jaime felt she was a bit too practical for such religion.

“Well, we are here,” Frances said, raising her finely arched brows and inclining her head in the direction of the corridor that led to Master Graves’s surgery. “I believe this is where you were headed, my dear friend, before I took to boring you with my silly tales.”

“I? Headed to the surgery?”

Knowing from Frances’s look that it was foolish to try to deceive her, Jaime turned and looked down the hall. There were so many prying eyes and wagging tongues in the palace. She hesitated, trying to decide on the wisdom of going openly to Malcolm—and the safety of caring for him there. With Edward gone for at least a fortnight, she knew that he offered no immediate threat to Malcolm’s life. But what about the others? she wondered. Undoubtedly, there would be gossip. She tried to consider what would come of her actions once Edward returned to Kenninghall.

“Go, Jaime,” Frances whispered encouragingly. “There has been no arrangement made for you to marry him, yet. Do what your heart and your head tell you is the right thing. And if any problems arise from your care, tell Edward that I insisted on you caring for his prize.”

With a quick nod to her friend, Jaime scurried away down the corridor, her thoughts now only on Malcolm and on the rough handling he had endured on his journey here. She wondered if he still burned with fever.