Much Ado About Marriage (10 page)

“I’m never going to get married,” said Fia sharply.

“‘Never’ is a big word, lassie.”

“In some cases, ’tisn’t big enough.” She turned from the bed and began straightening the room, pouring fresh water into the pitcher on the washstand and dusting a small pile of
books that hadn’t been moved in weeks. The morning light from the mullioned window streamed across the stone floor and turned the dust motes to glittering fairy dust.

She returned to the bed. “His poor eye is black and blue. And that welt on his cheek—tsk.”

Fia lightly traced a bruise on his cheek to the corner of his mouth. She should have been glad he was having such a restful slumber, but she wanted him to waken and look at her the way he had when he’d kissed her in the forest. The passion in his brown eyes had melted her into a puddle of desire. Even now, just looking at his handsome profile made her stomach tighten.

“Lassie, are ye ill? Ye look a might heated.”

“Nay, I’m fine,” Fia said, though her neck and face prickled with warmth. Mary eyed her suspiciously and Fia hurried to change the subject. “I hope Duncan hasn’t been harsh on you for helping me on my journey to London.”

“Och, don’t ye worry ’bout me, my lady. Jenny Dow used to be Duncan’s nurse when he was a babe, and she’s my third cousin.” Mary grinned. “Nothing can hush a man quicker than a good memory, especially when it involves the changin’ of swaddlin’.”

Despite the feeling of hopelessness that had begun to seep through her, Fia had to laugh.

“Do ye know what is really surprising?” Mary asked. “That the laird hasn’t put a stop to these sickroom visits of yers. Chaperone or no, the man is fine to look upon.” She squeezed one of Thomas’s finely muscled arms. “Hale and hearty, and as tasty as fresh-made pottage.”

“And he’s an earl,” Fia said proudly. “A favorite of Queen Elizabeth’s. They say she loves a good play.”

“’Tis a pity the laird caught ye afore ye could escape.”

“Aye, a great pity.” Fia perched on the side of the bed. “’Twas a higher power that caused an English earl to fall into my lap just as I was setting out for London, and so I told Duncan at breakfast this morning.”

“What did he say?”

“Och, he will hear none of it.”

“The laird has a hard head, he does. My second husband, James Brodie, used to say ’twas an ill wind as blows ’gainst a storm. If anyone would know of ill winds, ’twould be the Brodies. Horrible short on good fortune, they were.”

Fia traced a finger down Thomas’s fine arm. “Duncan says war is coming.”

“Pshaw,” Mary scoffed, tossing her short red curls. “There’s naught but a thimbleful who’d support the queen.”

“Aye, but that thimbleful will pull the rest into the fray—including the English.”

“If the English come onto Scottish soil, ’twill unify the clans. I dinna think Queen Elizabeth will be wantin’ that.”

“Do you think we could beat the English?”

“O’ course we could! One or two bouts and we’ll rout those spalpeens like the dogs they are.” Mary reached over and smoothed Thomas’s hair from his brow. “Yer Sassenach is a hearty sleeper. The sign of a clear conscience, milady.”

“’Tis a sign of a good drubbing, too.”

Thomas stirred in his sleep, one long, beautifully muscled leg shoving aside the covers. Fia’s breath caught in her throat.

Mary examined the huge bruise that covered his thigh. “La, the laird’s men must have used a tree branch to make such a mark.”

Fia inwardly cringed at the colorful weal. It was a perfect imprint of Thunder’s shoulder.

Mary clicked her tongue. “I wonder why they trounced him so thoroughly. Did he try to hurt ye, lassie?”

“Nay, he just kissed me.”

“That’s no’ so much. Why, I’d been kissed two dozen times by the time I was yer age.”

“I’ve not had your opportunities.”

“More’s the pity, lass.”

Fia had to grin. “To hear Duncan tell it, ’tis a wonder I’m not with child from such a seductive kiss.”

“The laird o’erspeaks at times. I’ve noticed it now and then.” Mary shot Fia a sharp look. “Tell me about this kiss. Did ye kiss him in return?”

Fia shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“I wouldna blame ye a bit. This man was made fer kissin’.”

“He gave me a present, too—a wee rabbit.”

“Nay! Not the one that’s fallen in love with the laird’s right shoe?” Mary chuckled, her girth shaking like pudding. “I never saw Lord Duncan so discomforted. There he was, meetin’ with an envoy from clan Davies, when the rabbit hopped up and started humpin’ his foot like—”

“The Davieses? Here?” Fia asked, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear herself. She’d thought to convince her cousin to give up his plan once he was in a better mood, but he’d refused to speak about it again.

Mary sent Fia a sly glance. “I know a bit about the message, if ye care to hear.”

“Yes?” Fia asked eagerly.

“Caroline Davies, the iron fist of the Davies, sent the message that she and that rat-faced son of hers are within a week’s ride.”

“Och!” A band of fear tightened about Fia’s stomach. “What . . . what did Duncan say?”

“He ordered Cook to prepare a banquet fer their arrival and told me to see to it that more bedchambers were made ready.”

Fia’s heart sank.

Mary wrinkled her nose. “If ye ask me, ’tis a waste of good spice to feed the Davies, although the laird looked pleased enough to spit gold.”

“That’s because Duncan’s made up his mind that I am to wed Malcolm Davies.”

“What?
Ye canno’ be serious!”

“Aye. I tried to dissuade him, but he was adamant.”

“But the laird hisself called the lad Malcolm the Maiden!” Mary shook her head. “Meanin’ no disrespect to yer intended, lass, but they say he’s a childish boy and a fumblin’ fool to boot.”

“Duncan thinks I’ll be safe with the Davies clan.”

“Phsst. Ye need a strong man—not some snivelin’ weasel who hides in his mother’s skirts.”

Fia’s spirits sank even lower. “It can’t be all bad. I-I’ve heard it said that Malcolm’s fluent in languages, philosophy, and history.”

Mary snorted. “How wondrous fer his tutor.”

Fia rubbed her temples. “Aye, I’d rather die than marry such a mealworm, but unless we can think of something to change Duncan’s mind, I will be wed whether I wish it or not.”

She leaned against the bedpost and regarded Thomas’s sleeping form. “I don’t know what Duncan is thinking. For so many years, he looked for far too high and mighty a husband, and now at the mere suggestion of war, he settles on one who’s less than half a man. It makes no sense.”

“Och, lass, men ne’er do.”

Fia absently traced the pattern that adorned Thomas’s pillow. It was one of her favorite designs, colorfully embroidered with leaping unicorns. The fanciful pattern belonged on the bed of such a handsome man, she thought wistfully. They both looked as if they had sprung from an ancient fairy tale. “There’s only one bright spot in this for me. Duncan said he has a promise from Malcolm and his mother to take me to London.”

Mary snorted again. “They’ll take ye to London, but if ye think they’ll sponsor yer plays, think again. Caroline Davies will allow no slight to her noble name, and havin’ a playwright as a daughter-in-law will not sit well with her. ’Tis not respectable in the eyes of some.”

Fia’s threatening headache began to thrum in earnest now. “That’s what I am afraid of. That I’ll be worse off than I am now.”

“Ye
should
be worried. I’ve buried four husbands, so if anyone would know about what makes a good one, ’tis me. Malcolm is a horrible choice fer any woman, but especially for a headstrong lassie like ye.”

Fia sighed. “It would be better to be married to the Sassenach. A pity Duncan would never agree.”

Mary looked thoughtfully at Thomas’s still form. “I wonder if the Sassenach is already married?”

Married? God’s breath, surely not!
The idea burned in Fia’s stomach like a live coal. “He can’t be,” she said stiffly.

The maid sent her an amused glance. “A pity ye didn’t take the time to find out before ye cavorted with him in the forest. Och, now, don’t glare at me. We’ll find a way out of this mess. Have a seat by the bed and make sure his lordship does not try to climb from his bed if he awakens, fer
he’ll no’ have any strength at first. I dinna want him fallin’ and bruisin’ yet more of his fine self.”

“I’ll make sure he stays in bed.”

“Good. I’ll fetch a bit of soup fer us both and some extra fer the Sassenach, should he wake. We’ll eat here, where we can keep an eye on him.”

“But Duncan said—”

“That ye were not to be left alone with the Sassenach. I know, I know.” Mary gathered some folded bandages and tucked them into her pockets. “There are guards in the hallway should the Sassenach miraculously awaken wit’ enough strength to sit.”

Fia nodded and settled into a chair as Mary whisked her wide girth out the doorway with surprising grace.

When the door closed Fia leaned forward and placed both elbows on the bed, rested her chin in her palms, and stared intently at Thomas.

Mary was right; his color was better today. Fia noted his even, steady breathing, which relaxed her even more. He was going to be fine.

He looked so peaceful. With a sigh, she leaned forward and gently rested her head on his broad shoulder. A deep sense of peace immediately drifted through her.

She could feel his warmth through his sleep shirt, his heartbeat comfortably strong and steady beneath her ear.

Life seemed so uncertain lately, with the pending war and the dreaded arrival of the Davies. Worst of all were Duncan’s unexpected actions. For the first time in her life she felt distant from her cousin and alone.

What could she do to stop the swiftly turning events? She turned her face into the Sassenach’s shoulder, hiding it in the clean shirt Mary had dressed him in. She rubbed
her cheek against him, savoring the feel of his muscled shoulder. If Duncan could have seen her he would have been furious, but that did not frighten her. Far more than Duncan’s anger, she feared her own weakness where the Sassenach was concerned.

The mere memory of their kiss in the forest was as warm and real as if it were happening again, at that very instant, and it took all of her strength not to lift her head and place her lips upon his once again.

She shut her eyes tightly and kept her head upon his chest.
I am becoming bewitched. But how can I forget this man and content myself with the boy my cousin has chosen?

She opened her eyes and sighed. It seemed so spiritless to do as she was told, to follow the well-worn path of all womankind since the beginning of life.

Well, she was certain she’d think of something.

She had to.

Thomas paced in front of the fire in his bedchamber, wincing every time he put his weight upon his bruised leg. It hurt, but he knew the only way to work out the stiffness was to walk.

He scowled. His mission was foiled, for not only had he been caught, but when he’d awoken, the letter he’d come to fetch had been removed from his tattered clothes.

He ground his teeth at the thought. It had been tempting to ask after it, but that would only have exposed him more thoroughly, if that was even possible.

He limped on, glancing around the pleasant room. Laird MacLean must be more financially set than Walsingham realized. Thick, richly woven rugs covered the polished flagstone floor and complemented the large ornate trunk and a pair of fine red-cushioned oak chairs. A cheery fire warmed the smooth stone walls and lit the rich red velvet hangings that hung about the huge bed.

As prisons went, this one was grand enough for royalty. But even more impressive had been the number of visitors
he’d been allowed. Not only had Mary, Fia’s troublesome maid, visited him, but so had Fia and Laird MacLean.

He saw Fia the least, which irked him. She darted in and out, always in the presence of Mary. While Fia’s gaze assessed his well-being, she never remained long enough for a genuine conversation. Thomas found it exasperating; the tantalizing glimpses only fanned the attraction he felt for her.

And he did feel an attraction; he couldn’t deny it. But what man would not? The woman was beautiful, her dark eyes mysterious and warm, her movements graceful, her voice rich and seductive—he ached just thinking of her.

He found himself hoping that every step in the hallway outside his door might be hers, though far too often it was not.

Where Fia refused to linger, her cousin surprisingly seemed to have too much time upon his hands. When the laird came to visit, he stayed talking of this and that, carrying on a conversation of a depth normally reserved for close compatriots.

MacLean asked as many questions as he answered and seemed determined to take Thomas’s measure, though to what end, he would not say.

Thomas soon discovered that MacLean was very well-read and could discuss politics, religion, travels, philosophy, even music and plays with great ease. If nothing else, the visits made the days pass.

Today, though, something was happening. For one, he’d been left alone for most of the day; even Mary’s visit this morning had been rushed and distracted.

For another, the courtyard bustled with people arriving hourly, the hallways noisy with the call of servants. Something—or someone—had arrived.

Thomas paused by his door and listened. Though he could hear the calls and murmurs, none of them told him anything. He grasped the handle and slowly turned it . . . to no avail. He was still locked in, a prisoner.

Cursing under his breath, he resumed pacing.
Damn it, what does MacLean have planned? And where is Fia? Do these visitors have anything to do with her?

I shouldn’t be thinking about her. I should be thinking about escaping.
He glanced at the fine clock that adorned the mantel. It was nigh on three in the afternoon. Perhaps this commotion was just what he needed to escape. If he could twine his bedsheets into a rope that could reach the top of the second floor, at least, he might be able to—

He paused, hearing the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching down the hall, followed by the murmur of someone greeting the guards. Then the oak door opened and Mary entered, her arms full of clothing. “Och, ye’re up! Good, fer I’ve ordered a nice hot bath fer ye.”