Much Ado About Marriage (11 page)

Every morning for the last week, Thomas had awakened to the sight of the maid’s wide, dimpled smile and freckled, weathered face. Until this week, he hadn’t realized how wearisome habitual cheerfulness could become.

Mary smiled brightly and placed the clothes in a chair, but there was something different about her, a squaring of her jaw that bespoke a decision of some sort.

Hmm. I wonder what’s toward now?
“’Tis kind of you to bring me better clothing.”

“’Twas no’ my idea. Lady Fia sent this.”

“A pity I won’t see her to thank her myself. I noticed the commotion in the courtyard. Visitors have arrived, I take it.”

The smile on Mary’s face dimmed. “Aye, we’ve visitors.”

“Who?”

Mary didn’t meet his gaze but began to straighten the clothing she’d brought, sorting through them to pull out a very fine lawn shirt with lace cuffs. “Clan Davies has arrived.”

“The whole clan?”

“Many of them; their laird and his mother will come soon.” She held out a shirt. “Do ye think ye might fit these? They may be too large.”

He accepted the shirt, noting that while ’twas of obvious quality, ’twas far too large for him. Fia must have pilfered her cousin’s wardrobe, probably without his knowledge. “’Twill fit well enough.”

“Good. I’ll tell Lady Fia; she was worried it might not.”

Thomas absently rubbed the finely woven cloth between his fingers. While he’d been unconscious, he’d dreamed of Fia—of her sitting beside him, regaling him with tales, her soothing voice sending him into a deeper and yet deeper sleep. He’d been so involved in his dreams that when he’d finally awakened, his first thought had been of her.

A large clang sounded in the hallway, and Mary said, “Ah, yer water.” She went to open to the door as the sound of voices rose in the hallway. “’Twill be good fer ye to soak in some hot water.” She opened the door and a group of men carried in a huge tub. More followed with buckets of steaming water.

Mary bustled about the room, straightening as she went. “Ye won’t believe what a flutter the whole castle’s in. Lady Davies and her son are to arrive on the morrow. They sent almost two hundred men to secure the way. They’ve set up camp outside the castle walls.”

He hobbled to the window, unlatched the shutter, and
threw it open, grimacing as his sore muscles protested. He leaned out the window, the waning afternoon sun unable to hold back the chilled wind. His room was on the third level, the surrounding wall across the courtyard almost even with his window. Lines of tents had been erected on the fields outside of the castle gate.
Bloody hell. The entire place is surrounded.

His heart sank and he closed the shutters. “That’s a large number. Do they always travel with their pennants flying?”

“’Tis a very important visit. The laird has had Lady Fia with a seamstress fer the last day, sewing pearls upon her best gown. She will be presiding over the banquet.”

He shrugged. “As is usual for the lady of the castle.”

Mary shook her head, her smile dimmed. “Nay, fer the laird would never allow it before. He’s very protective of her.”

“Why is she to be at this banquet, then?”

Mary glanced at the servants filling the tub and said in a low tone, “The laird’s decided ’tis time fer Lady Fia to do her duty.”

’Twas obvious there was more to it than that, but Mary would say no more in front of the other servants. Thomas waited impatiently until the men left, swinging the door wide as they did so.

Thomas took the opportunity to count the men posted as guards. One, two, three—ah. Five of them, and all burly men equipped with swords and knives.

He rubbed his black beard. Even if he did manage to overcome the guards, he would be lost in the maze of hallways. He needed a guide, someone who knew the castle and could find a way past the encampment outside the walls. Someone like Fia.

Mary closed the door and returned to place some thick towels by the tub. “Get in the tub, me lord. ’Twill help those aches and pains of yers.”

The clean, steaming water beckoned and he undressed as fast as his aching thigh would allow, Mary assisting as she could.

He soon slipped into the water with a thankful sigh. He had to find a way out of this predicament. Though the letter had been the ultimate prize and he’d lost it, he’d still managed to collect some good information that would benefit Walsingham and England. If he could just make it to his ship, his efforts would not have been wasted.

Mary placed the rest of the clothes upon his bed. “I dinna know if the clothes will fit, but they’re better than what ye had.”

Thomas slid deeper into the hot water. “So tell me more of clan Davies.”

Mary’s face darkened. “There’s not much more to tell. ’Twill be a grand banquet and the kitchens are cooking all sorts of fine dishes—ten geese, a roasted pig, and lamb stew.”

Thomas’s stomach rumbled and she nodded. “Aye, ye’ll get a portion, too. Lady Fia will see to that.” Mary pulled a small stool to the side of the tub and sat, then took a small cloth and a cake of soap and began to lather it. “I worry fer Lady Fia, I do. Ye should worry, too.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because once she’s gone, no one will stand betwixt ye and the laird. ’Twill be the dungeon wit’ ye then.”

Thomas didn’t like the enthusiasm Mary was displaying as she lathered her hands, her expression determined, as though she were getting ready to attack an especially crusted and greasy pan.

“’Twill be a fine banquet, indeed. There’s to be raspberry tarts, savory turtle soup, bread pudding—”

“I’m sure ’twill be a fine feast.” He eyed her narrowly. “Mistress Mary, is there a reason you keep bringing up this banquet? I cannot help but notice that you are upset.”

The maid’s lips quivered, and for a horrible moment he thought she might burst into tears. She gave a great sniff, wiped her eyes with the back of one hand, and then began to scrub his shoulder as if her life depended upon it. “I’m upset because the laird’s decided ’tis time to marry Fia off to Malcolm Davies.”

“The laird of the clan?”

“Pssht. His mother rules that clan, and everyone knows it. He’s the laird in name alone.”

“God’s wounds, you cannot be serious.”

“Aye, the ceremony is to be held before the week’s end.”

“That’s rather sudden, isn’t it?”

“In some ways, aye. The laird wishes his cousin to be safe. The Davies are a powerful clan and should be able to withstand any number of attacks, even in these coming times.”

“Coming times?”

“Aye. The troubles have come to Scotland. The queen—” Mary’s lips folded together in a straight line. “Howe’er ’tis, the laird’s decided Fia’s to marry Malcolm Davies and will no’ listen to reason.”

Thomas couldn’t shake the thought of Fia getting married. Not that he wished to marry her himself, for he didn’t. Fia was not the type of woman one married; she was too impulsive, too wanton, too everything. When he married, it would be to a properly raised Englishwoman who would benefit his name and knew how to control her
spirit. Nothing led to ruin faster than marriage to a woman of passion; his own history told him that.

Still, he couldn’t help damning the fates. First they put that maddening Scottish wench in his path, with her tempting mouth and lush curves, and then they expected him to sit idly by while her giant cousin married her off. “When’s the wedding?”

“Sunday.”

“At one time, I thought Duncan and Fia were to be married.”

“Whist, now! Shame on ye fer thinkin’ such a thing. The laird treats Fia like a sister, he does. And now he’s marryin’ her to that Malcolm Davies.”

“And Fia is not pleased?”

“She’d rather eat rusted nails.”

Thomas frowned. “I do not hold with forced marriages. They benefit no one.”

The maid looked at Thomas speculatively.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she replied in a tone that said the opposite. The maid rubbed his shoulders with the warm cloth, her touch brisk and impersonal. “So . . . it seems that both ye and Lady Fia are in a mite of a fix. Once Lady Fia’s away with her new husband, there’s no reason fer the laird to keep ye alive. ’Tis only because of her that ye’re not restin’ in the damp cellar, trussed like a Michaelmas goose.”

Many times in the last four days Thomas had heard from Mary the story of how Fia had intervened for him with her cousin, so he wisely didn’t say a word.

“’Tis a good thing she put her foot down and demanded ye be given this chamber,” Mary continued. “Ye’d have not lived long in the damp cellar. Not to mention the laird’s
been a bit distracted this week, and ’tis possible no one would have thought to feed ye.”

So Fia had that much influence over MacLean. It was strange that Walsingham, with his endless web of information, hadn’t mentioned the laird’s taking cousin before now.

“Aye,” Mary continued, “the laird loves only two things: Scotland and his cousin. Fia has been his charge since she was a wee mite. Lord MacLean had just begun to scrape the whiskers from his chin when the little lass was brought here at her parents’ deaths and placed in his care. I was a scrub maid at the time and I took to her right away, as we all did. She’s brought light and happiness to the household ’til we canno’ remember what ’twas like without her. Now she’s to be wed to a weak-kneed brute and I—” Mary wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Och, now. Look what ye’ve made me do! I was goin’ to offer ye a way to escape from certain death, and instead ye got me weepin’ like a babe.”

Thomas straightened in the tub. “Escape? Do you know a secret way out of the castle? One that would avoid the men camped outside?” Many castles had such passageways; it was how their inhabitants restocked their stores or escaped when under seige.

The maid nodded, her graying red curls bouncing along. “Aye, I know the secret way.
But”
—she eyed him with a somber expression—“there’s a price fer such help.”

“Name it.”

“Ye have to take the lass with ye.”

“You mean Lady Fia?”

“Ye heard me. Ye
and
the lass must escape, and soon. She canno’ marry Davies, and ye’re wantin’ to return to
London, which is where she wishes to go. ’Tis the perfect solution.”

“Mary, I can’t take Fia with me. The laird would come after us—perhaps all the way to London.”

“Then ye’ll have to protect her,” Mary said stoutly. “Ye’ve no choice, me lad. Ye’ll be a dead man the minute Lady Fia sets foot outside the gates. Ye
must
to take her to London with ye or ye’ll die here—alone, a failure, yer life wasted.”

A failure.
The words echoed with the bitter salt of truth. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Though if he did take Fia to London, she might prove useful to Walsingham. If she was as close to her cousin as Mary suggested, then it was entirely possible that Fia knew MacLean’s position on the coming uprising.

That could be very valuable information indeed. “Very well; if you will help me escape, I’ll take Lady Fia.”

“And me and Angus, too.”

“What? I can’t—”

“Yes, ye can. I canno’ allow Lady Fia to go unchaperoned.”

Thomas scowled. “Very well, but you’ll have to travel light.”

Mary beamed. “Of course, me lord. Angus and I dinna own enough to fill a sack.”

Thomas relaxed. “Very well. How many men does the laird have?”

“MacLean put five of his best men to watchin’ ye. He has a hundred or more here within the castle walls, with the remainder of his men and those who came with the Davies clan camped without. Over three hundred in all.”

It was worse than he’d thought. “Where’s the secret passageway?”

“Lady Fia will come to ye when she can and ’tis safe to leave. She knows the way, she do.”

“When will that be?”

Mary frowned. “I dinna know. As soon as she can do so wit’out the laird knowin’ her intention.”

“Mary, tell me the way out of this blasted castle. The sooner I know the route, the better.”

“Lady Fia will tell ye,” Mary repeated more firmly. “I’ll not have ye leavin’ without her.”

“I give you my word I will not do that—though ’twould be easier to escape without her.”

Mary scrubbed with vigor. “Lady Fia may be a mite different from the fancy women ye’re accustomed to, but she’s a rare one fer all that.”

“Aye. Rarely properly clothed, rarely where she ought to be, rarely thinking before she speaks, rarely anything other than cursed infuriating.”

Mary’s lips thinned and she began scrubbing his arm with such effort that it made his skin red. “The mistress is as proper a lady as any!”

Thomas winced at the strength of her touch. “If it weren’t for your mistress, I wouldn’t have been captured,” he stated. “She’s too flighty by half. I don’t mind taking the lot of you with me, but I won’t leave the details of this endeavor in her hands.
I
will be the one in charge of the escape.”

Mary threw the washcloth into the tub, splashing sudsy water in Thomas’s face. “Fine! Ye can be in charge, but dinna be a fool and forget that the lass grew up in this place and knows every nook and cranny.”

Thomas wiped the water from his face.
God save me from all Scots
, he thought.
They’re all cursed lackwits
.
’Tis a won
der the country exists at all.
“Fine. I’ll listen to Lady Fia, so long as you both know I’m in charge of this venture.”

Mary looked slightly mollified. “Ye promise?”

“Aye. I promise.” Thomas lifted his shoulders and winced in exaggerated pain. “My back is sore; I would appreciate it if you’d scrub it for me.”

She nodded stiffly and then grasped his shoulder and shoved him forward until his head was but inches from the water. He managed to swallow his grunt of pain, holding himself at the ready for her not-so-gentle touch. But to his surprise, Mary dropped the cloth and began to knead his back with exquisite thoroughness, every movement easing his sore muscles.

A warm lassitude seeped through him. “You are washing away every ache.”

“The mistress will have more bruises than this if she’s made to wed Malcolm Davies.”

Frowning, Thomas lifted his head. “What do you mean by that?”