Much Ado About Marriage (12 page)

“He’s evil,” Mary said in a tight voice, her gaze direct and unflinching.

“You think he will hurt her?”

“He’s been known to beat the women servants.”

Thomas’s jaw tightened. “Surely he wouldn’t do such a thing to Fia. MacLean would kill him.”

“If he knew, aye. But after she marries it may be months before the laird sees her again, and by then—” Mary shook her head, worry darkening her blue eyes.

“What sort of an animal is this Malcolm Davies?”

“He’s a wee, mean, shallow youth protected by a doting mother who thinks he’s too important to be corrected.” She leaned closer. “Only male servants are allowed in Malcolm’s
rooms, fer fear he’ll kill the next female he puts his hands on. He has a terrible temper, he do.”

Thomas’s jaw ached at the thought of Fia—winsome, fey Fia, who could not walk past a half-dead animal without adopting it as a pet—at the hands of such brutality. “That would kill her spirit, if not her body.”

Mary’s lip quivered. “Sassenach, she
must
escape.”

Thomas nodded. “I will take her to London with me and put her under Queen Elizabeth’s protection.”

A smile burst upon Mary’s face. “Ye’re many things, but ye’re not a wee, mean-hearted man.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said drily.

She had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “Och, I’m sorry to speak so bluntly, but this is Lady Fia we’re talkin’ about. She has to go to London and produce her plays. ’Tis what she was born to do.”

Ah yes, the plays. He’d almost forgotten them. “Are these plays so important to her, then?”

“Have ye ever wanted somethin’ so badly ye were willin’ to give up everythin’ ye had to possess it?”

In the flicker of an eye, Thomas remembered when he’d been but a child of six, the agony of the days after his mother had fled. His father had been a madman, stalking about the house, screaming at the smallest of things, raging loud and long at everyone, including Thomas.

Thomas had been devastated by his mother’s desertion. He’d ripped apart her room, looking for a note, a letter, some sign that she would return, but he’d found nothing.

His father’s reaction had frightened Thomas, but he understood the feelings behind it better than anyone else. He became determined to show his father that he would never
leave, and he had stopped at nothing to please his remaining parent.

Much later, he realized that he had taken on an impossible task, but at the time, oh how he’d yearned for his father’s approval.

Gruffly, he said, “Aye, I know how it feels to want something badly.”

“Then ye understand that she’s made it her goal to reach London and see her plays upon the stage. Mistress Fia has a gift fer writin’. ’Twould be folly not to pursue her dreams.”

Thomas sighed. “It is a bigger folly to pursue them. No woman of good birth would allow her name to appear on a playbill. ’Twould be an enormous scandal.”

Mary clambered to her feet. “I dinna care what society thinks, and neither should you.” She collected the washcloths and put them over the edge of the tub. Then she placed the large towel near the tub and made her way to the door. “Lady Fia will come fer ye as soon as ’tis safe, so be prepared anytime. ’Twill be soon; a day or two at most.”

“Very well. I will be waiting.”

Mary whisked herself out the door, closing it solidly behind her, and the rattle of a key told him the guards had once again secured the lock.

Two days passed and still no Fia. The wait was maddening, made worse since he was tortured by the unmistakable sound of her voice floating up from the courtyard, ordering the servants to various duties as more of the Davies clan arrived.

Each time he heard that lilting voice, Thomas rushed his sore body to the window, but to no avail: he never caught sight of her. It was infuriating.

Now ’twas late at night. Thomas piled another log onto the fire as the clock struck two.

He leaned against the mantel, rerolling the sleeve that had fallen over his hand. The clothing Fia had sent was laughable. The doublet was so large that it was more like a cape with sleeves and the hosen so loose that they threatened to fall to the floor. He’d twisted the waist and tied a knot to keep them from slipping over his hips. Bloody hell, Duncan was a giant.

Damn it, when will she come?
He ground his teeth and paced his way about the room.

What was she waiting for? Was she attempting to procure supplies for their escape? Or had something happened? Was it possible that Duncan had discovered the plan?

Surely not. Surely she’d have sent someone to tell him. And if Fia had been caught, would her cousin take his ire out on her? Thomas could only hope not, though his jaw clenched at the thought.

He shook his head. God’s wounds, but he was tied in knots over a mere slip of a girl with a penchant for collecting mangy animals like most women collected jewels.
She’s an unruly, undisciplined, disheveled, impulsive, un—

Voices rose in the hallway, followed by the sound of Fia’s voice. She was chuckling, the guards laughing with her. He heard her say, “Aye, ’tis late; I should be abed. Good night, gentlemen. ’Til the morrow.”

Then there was only silence. He curled his hands into fists, unable to believe that she’d left. Why hadn’t she at least tried to see him or—

Several thuds in the hallway sounded, like heavy bodies falling down. After a long moment, the door slowly creaked opened. “Sassenach?” came Fia’s low whisper.

Thomas took an eager step forward just as Zeus stuck his head into the room. Fia glanced down at her dog and held the door wide. “Stand guard.”

The dog cast a longing look at the fire but walked into the hall, his crooked tail sagging between his legs, and Fia shut the door. “He’ll bark if he sees anyone.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Thomas said drily. “Where are the guards?”

“Sleeping like babes. I gave them a wee dram of whiskey with their dinner, and I mixed a good dose of sleeping draught in it to make sure they’d sleep heavily.”

“Mary says you know a way from the castle.”

“Aye, I do.” Her gaze flickered over him, resting on the knotted hosen. She grinned.

“I’m glad you’re amused; I am not. I’ve been waiting for two days to leave this godforsaken place and my temper is thin.”

“I couldn’t come while the Davies clan was still arriving. The last few came this evening, so now the focus will be upon the banquet hall and kitchens.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Mary’s down the hall, serving lookout. Are you ready to leave?”

“I’ve but to pull on my boots.” Thomas limped to retrieve them, pushing his stiff leg to one side as he bent over. As he did so, he lost his balance.

Fia was there in a trice, pressing a bracing shoulder to his, and in the space of a shocked second, Thomas found himself staring into the her eyes, surrounded by a wildness of sooty lashes. His body came alive with a burning heat.

Thomas couldn’t tear his attention from the curve of her lips, wondering if she remembered the kiss in the forest as well as he did.

“We . . . we must go,” she said huskily. The richness of her voice swirled through his stomach and below. He shifted restlessly, and Fia’s gaze locked onto his thigh.

He knew she was wondering about his bruises, but some imp of mischief made him flex the muscle. She wet her lips with the tip of her pink tongue and his body tightened with desire. He ached for a touch, a kiss.
Just one
, he told himself.
A very quick one.

So he kissed her—this fascinating, frustrating, innocently wanton woman-child who’d captured his imagination far too much. He kissed her with a thoroughness that
allowed for no thought beyond the feel and taste of her. All of his earlier arousal returned in triple force and he caught her against him. She twined her arms about his neck and pressed against him, instantly as aroused as he.

He wanted more. He parted her lips and gently ran his tongue across the smooth edge of her teeth. She moaned into his mouth, pulling him closer, and Thomas knew she was his. Then Zeus scratched at the door.

It took every bit of his self-control, but Thomas freed himself from her luxuriously sensual embrace, panting as he said, “Mary awaits.”

Fia flushed, stepping back even farther. “Aye. That wasn’t—” She bit her lip.

He captured her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. “As soon as we reach London, comfit, those plays of yours will have their sponsor. I swear it.”

Her embarrassment fled before a visible wave of happiness. “Thank you.” She looked delightfully, sinfully mussed, her black eyes awash with passion.

“In return for assisting me in escaping, you may have anything that is in my possession to grant you.”
I only hope one of the things you desire is me.
He cupped her face between his hands and ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.

Her eyes closed, a deep shiver going through her. He could feel her passion-heated skin beneath his fingers and see her nipples peaked against the fabric.

God, she is beautiful. Beautiful and as intoxicating as the whiskey the Scots produce.

“Come,” she said huskily, shaking her head as if just waking from a deep sleep. “The guards will only sleep an hour, no more.”

“Where are we going?”

“In the kitchen storeroom behind the flour barrel, there’s a small trapdoor that leads down some stone steps into a natural cave that leads to the creek. It’s far behind the Davies encampment.”

“Excellent!” Thomas scooped up his boots and crossed to her side. “I’ll carry these; ’twill be quieter.”

“Very well. First we’ll stop by my room for Lord Thomas, and then we’ll—”

“Lord Thomas?” he said, stopping by the open door.

“The wee rabbit you gave me.” She smiled almost shyly. “I named him for you.”

“I don’t give a damn who you named him for; we can’t take your animals. ’That got us captured last time.” Irritation washed over him. “I vowed to help you, not those decrepit animals.”

Her chin lifted. “I am not leaving without them.”

“And I am not leaving with them,” he ground out. “We cannot escape with those animals slowing us down. We tried that once.”

“I have Angus and Mary to help with them now. You won’t even know they’re there.”

“No.”

She jutted her chin. “Either we take the animals or you’ll stay here by yourself, and Mary and Angus and I will go without you.”

“I know the secret escape route now so I don’t need your help. I will just go on my own.” He’d find his own way to the harbor where his ship was waiting.

“You can’t just go!” She stood there like a mast, straight and immovable. “You
promised.
”

“Fia—” He took a steadying breath. “We’ll send for your pets as soon as we arrive in London.”

“
No.
They come
now.
”

A rumble of anger streaked through him like an arrow. “You had your chance. Now I’ll take mine.” He made a quick bow. “Thank you for the information on the escape route. I shall be forever in your debt.” He strode down the hallway, refusing to look back.

Her footsteps sounded in the passageway behind him. “Thomas, wait!”

Finally, she is seeing reason.
He smiled to himself and turned to face her, ready to be magnanimous. “Yes, my—”

She snatched his boots from his hands and ran, her skirts flying, her boots slapping on the flagstone.

Thomas lunged for her, but the dog was in the way, making him stumble as Fia flew on. He regained his footing and bolted after her, his loose hosen slipping down one hip. He jerked them back into place as he raced on.

Damn the woman!
He reached the corner and tried to turn, his hose-covered feet slipping on the smooth flagstone. He scrambled madly and slid right into Fia, who had stopped dead in the center of the hall.

She grabbed at his arm, trying to remain upright. Thomas’s boots went flying and they both flailed wildly, struggling to keep their balance.

Zeus, who’d loped after them unnoticed, decided to join in the fun. With his tail wagging furiously, he gave a joyous bark and leapt against them. Thomas and Fia crashed to the floor, arms and legs tangled in a tumbled heap.

When Thomas’s breath returned to normal, he realized he was lying on the floor with Fia on top of him, her knees straddling his head, her skirt covering his face. Worse, his hose were now about his ankles and he could feel her cheek pressed against his bare thigh.

Thomas shoved skirts out of his face. “Fia, move your—”

“Damnation!”
rumbled a deep masculine voice.
“What is the meaning of this?”

Thomas looked up and saw Duncan’s scowling face. Beyond that he saw a bejeweled older woman who smirked like a cat with a bird, and behind her was a thin, pale youth dressed in a manner befitting a prince.

And in that moment, Thomas knew his fate. He closed his eyes and cursed.

Thomas urged his horse to a faster pace, ignoring MacLean’s men doing likewise at his sides. In a few moments he would be back on his ship, casting off from this cursed Scottish isle. He tried to forget that he had failed in his mission. Failed like the veriest of fools, and even worse, he’d fallen into the oldest trap in the world. Somehow, some way, he’d landed at the altar, an unwilling groomsman.

Damme, how did I allow myself to be put in such a position?
He’d fallen for Fia’s painfully obvious plan like the veriest schoolboy.

At first he had wanted to blame MacLean, but who could do so when Lady Davies and her gawking mealworm of a son had been there, snickering at his predicament? MacLean had done the only thing a sane man could have done—he’d demanded Thomas and Fia wed at once.

And they had.

Thomas ground his teeth and urged the horse on.

Bloody hell, this sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to him. He was Thomas Wentworth, the famed Earl
of Rotherwood, known for his great fortune and brilliant future. Now, in a mere week, he’d been bitten, bruised, dismissed, captured, and worst of all, forced to marry the most unconventional, the unluckiest, the most ink-stained Scottish playwright to ever grasp a quill.