Much Ado About Marriage (31 page)

His mouth curved sweetly. “Nay, you’d still have but
one. There wouldn’t be enough left of him to bury, much less bandage.”

Fia gave an inelegant snort. “Men. Fools and brawns, they are one and the same.”

“A lovely sentiment,” a deep voice drawled from the doorway. “Though hardly a welcome one to hear from one’s wife.”

Fia jumped guiltily off Robert’s bed.

Thomas leaned in the doorway, one hand cupped about a bundle that seemed to be all rags.

“I would enter, but this thing”—he gestured at Zeus—“halts me.”

Fia called sharply to the dog, who only twitched slightly. Sighing, she went over. With much shoving and tugging, she hauled the animal from the door.

Dusting her hands, Fia sank into a curtsy. “Your path is now cleared, your lordship.”

“I thank you.” Thomas deposited his bundle onto a table by her small writing desk, then pulled her up. A thrill ran through her as his large, warm hands slid down her arms to capture her hands, and he pressed a kiss to the back of each.

The backs of her hands tingled and burned, and her heart pounded so loudly she was sure everyone in the house could hear it.

He released her and grinned. “Lady wife, though I enjoy your wit, I find it much more humorous when ’tis pointed elsewhere. Why not sink your barbs into Robert? He is much more worthy of your scorn.”

“And here I am, wounded nigh to death,” Robert protested. “Surely I don’t deserve such abuse!”

Thomas lifted his brows. “I’ll cease abusing you when
you explain how ’tis that your bloodied head is upon
my
pillow and not one of the other twenty-two bedchambers?”

Fia whirled on Robert. “Montley, you said
this
was a guest chamber!”

“’Tis
a guest chamber, as I am a guest and I am using it,” Robert said impishly. “And as I am sore wounded . . .”

Thomas pulled Fia beneath one arm and lowered his voice to whisper conspiratorially. “See how he plays upon your sensibilities? Shameless.”

“Aye, shameless,” she echoed breathlessly. It felt so
right
standing there with Thomas, held against him. She wished she could capture this moment forever, to hold tight during darker moments. All she could do was savor the strength of his arm about her shoulders and inhale his scent of fresh salt water and sandalwood.

Robert waved a hand. “Rotherwood, you would refuse your bedchamber to the man who provided you with a tactical diversion?” He touched his forehead. “And at such cost, too.”

“You enjoyed taunting those Scotsmen. Deny it if you can.”

“It was enjoyable . . . until they attacked me from behind, the miserable spalpeens.”

“Aye, there was no honor there. MacLean was mightily upset.”

Fia looked up at Thomas. “We should prepare a bedchamber for Duncan, too. And what about all his—”

“He has already left.”

“But . . . he didn’t say good-bye.”

“I think he feared he would be overcome. Say what I will about your cousin, he holds you very dear in his heart.”

To her surprise, Fia’s eyes filled with tears. Suddenly
she felt alone. She didn’t know if it was the large house, or being in such space after weeks on board the ship, or standing here so close to Thomas and knowing it would not last—but whatever caused it, sadness suddenly pierced her heart.

Thomas pressed a kiss to her forehead and then turned to say something taunting to Montley, allowing her to collect herself. It was done with such quiet consideration that her tears welled all the more freely, and it took her even more time to stanch them.

Robert moaned loudly. “Thomas, leave me be. I’m too ill to move. Besides, this bed is softer than the one in the chamber you usually assign to me. The mattress must have been made of rocks, for I could sleep nary a wink.”

“I don’t believe it was the mattress that impeded your sleep as much as the enthusiasm of the woman you brought to that bed.”

Robert reddened and cast a hurried glance at Fia. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. You met the chit at some tavern and brought her—”

“Thomas.” Fia interrupted, feeling sorry for Robert. “I should assist Mary with dinner. I fear your servants were very poorly treated by my cousin.”

He looked down at her, and she found herself unable to look away. He had the most remarkable eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes that would be the envy of any woman.

He smiled. “Very well, comfit. If you need aught, tell the housekeeper, Mistress Hadwell.”

Thomas withdrew his arm from Fia’s shoulders, feeling an instant loss. She looked like an angel, her dark hair a nimbus about her head, the curls caressing her cheeks and
neck, her cheeks light pink with color.
Sweet Jesu, I would give all I have to take her right now and—

Robert cleared his throat, and Thomas met his amused gaze. Thomas turned his back on the lackwit. “Thank you for seeing to our dinner. I’m sure even Robert will be grateful for something to eat.”

“Actually,” Robert said, “I’d just like some thin gruel and—”

“He will eat in the dining room with the rest of us.”

Fia nodded. “Where are my trunks? I’ll need to change for dinner.”

“I had them delivered to the chamber next to this one.”

The color in Fia’s cheeks deepened, and she bobbed a quick curtsy and left.

Thomas followed her to the door and watched her walk down the hallway, her skirts swaying with each step.

“I die, and all the world falls in love.” Robert’s voice drifted out into the hallway. “’Tis a cruel, cruel world.”

“What? Still in my bed? Get thee gone, lazy slug.”

Robert gestured to the heavens. “Am I to receive no comfort? No care? No kind words?”

“None.”

“I am sadly unappreciated, my genius wasted. I don’t know why I even try. First I am attended by a beauteous woman who only showers her care on fattened rabbits and”—he gestured at the snoring Zeus—“
that;
then a warm and generous maid, who is too focused upon securing dinner to pay me the slightest heed; and now you, smiling like a besotted prince.”

“I am just overjoyed that the Scottish giant has left us.” Thomas crossed to a window where the sun streamed through, the final clouds resting on the horizon. Odd, he’d
thought it would rain, but ’twas now as clear an evening as could be.

Robert sat up and slid off the bed with a surprisingly lithe move. “I think you’re making a mistake to establish your wife in a bedchamber not your own.”

Thomas carefully hid his expression. “Most married couples have separate chambers.”

“Not all wives are as charming to behold as Fia,” Robert tucked a pillow under each arm. “She’s been good for you, too. You used to be the most ill-tempered man I knew, forever grumping and grumbling.”

“I was not so bad as that.”

“Aye, you worried constantly whether you could meet the impossible dictates of a man long dead.”

Thomas frowned. “This is not about my father.”

“Everything is about your father. Even now, you strive to please him.” Robert’s gaze softened. “You take everything too much to heart,
mon ami.
You always have.”

“I take my responsibilities seriously. What man doesn’t?”

“’Tis more than that. You have something to prove. Where other men stop, you forge on.”

Over the years, Thomas had taken pride in that. Now he wasn’t so certain. In fact, he wasn’t so certain of anything anymore.

Over the weeks they’d spent on his ship, something had changed. For the first time in his life, he understood how his mother, as passionate and fanciful as Fia, must have felt married to his father, who had been so determined to control every aspect of her life, including her emotions. Before he’d met Fia, it had never occurred to Thomas to wonder what his mother had thought or felt.

“Robert, I appreciate that you are concerned for Fia and me, but we must set our own course.”

“I cannot allow it when you’re being such a fool. Give up this ridiculous idea of an annulment. ’Tis time you focused your energies on making this marriage work, rather than finding ways to tear it apart.”

“If you’ve grown such a liking for wedded bliss, I’ll speak with the queen. I’m sure she has a lady-in-waiting or two dying for the married state. Of course, they might be with child from another, but such is life in court, eh?”

Robert scowled. “I think I liked you better without humor.” He turned toward the door, halting as he spied the bundle Thomas had brought into the room. “What’s this?”

“Ah yes. I almost forgot. Open it.”

Robert did so, blinking in wonder at the silver casket. “Thomas? Is this—” He reached out and ran a finger over the engraved “F” on the lid.

“It is for Francis II, Mary’s first husband.”

His eyes widened. “Queen Mary’s?”

Thomas nodded. “’Tis the rest of Walsingham’s proof. I’m to deliver it along with Duncan’s compliments.”

“Is it conclusive?”

“If the letters are real, they will seal her fate.”

Robert yanked his hand away as if the box were a live coal. “By the rood, but you’re a cold fish to stand there and speak so calmly! Men would die for this.”

“I imagine they would. In fact, some might still.”

Robert looked puzzled. “Why does MacLean provide so much for Walsingham?”

“I don’t know. He spoke of a debt paid, but no more.”

“I
knew
Walsingham was dealing below the table!”

“Aye, you did. I’ve already sent word to Walsingham and asked to meet.”

Robert nodded, a cold smile on his face. “I shall look forward to that meeting.” He placed the casket back on the dressing table beside Fia’s small writing desk. He looked at her desk for a moment, then asked abruptly, “Thomas, have you read any of Fia’s plays?”

“Nay, why?”

Robert flipped open the small desk and took out a sheaf of papers. He paged through them, selected a section, and held it out to Thomas. “This is my favorite. Fia read it to me while we were on the ship and it was vastly amusing.”

Thomas looked at the sheaf of papers. What would Fia write about? Hopeless passion? Murder and mayhem? ’Twould be interesting to find out. He took the play and thumbed through it.

Robert was already digging back through the writing desk. “I vow, that’s a beautiful jewel.” He withdrew a large amulet, the center a large piece of the purest amber.

The stone gleamed, overshadowing the elegantly chased silver edging that held it in place. It was beautiful. Thomas held out his hand and Robert reverently placed it into Thomas’s palm.

His fingers closed about it, the smoothness of the metal work hinting at its age. The jewel was oddly warm against his skin. “This must be part of the MacLean jewels, although the laird spoke only of rubies.”

Robert lifted a strand of large rubies from the box. “Mayhap he meant these? ’Tis rare to see jewelry of such quality.” He examined them a moment, then replaced them. “Shall I return the amulet?”

“Nay. I’ll hold this a moment more.” What was making
it so
warm?
The warmth was invading his thoughts, calming him, allowing him to see things—life—more clearly.

“Very well. Read that play. ’Twill impress you.” Robert rubbed his forehead as if it ached. “Be certain you hide yon casket, too. ’Twill be difficult enough to sleep without
that
lying about.”

“I’ll hide it, never fear.”

Robert’s gaze brightened. “The secret hiding place?”

“I must have been mad to tell you about that.”

“Nay, you were drunk on Michaelmas ale. I remember it well.”

Thomas looked at the huge, black hearthstone that outlined the fireplace. “I hope I can remember how to trigger the latch. It’s been years since I last tried.”

Robert regarded him with a jaundiced eye. “Had I a secret hiding place in
my
house, I would keep all my silks within.”

“’Tis not a closet, Robert. There’s barely room for the box. I shall lock that away immediately, but first, pray replace my pillows.”

Robert looked at the pillows still tucked beneath each of his arms, blinking as if surprised to find them there. “But you’ve many more. I count two, three, four—seven pillows still upon your bed. These would scarcely be missed. Besides, I need them for my sore head.”

“’Twill make you even more sore if I have to yank them from beneath your slumbering head.”

Robert sniffed. “Fine. Take your damned pillows.” With a great show of dignity, he laid the pillows on a chair by the door. Then, after a slight bow, he quit the room, slamming the door in his wake.

Thomas tucked the play under his arm and hung the
amulet about his neck, then he quickly hid the casket, closing the latch and smudging the area with soot to make it blend in once again. As he crossed to wash his hands in the washbasin, he glanced up and caught sight of himself in the mirror. The sunlight caught the silver chain where it pooled on the dark wood and brightened a warm glimmer in the amulet. His gaze narrowed. The inside of the stone seemed to swirl like a mist washing over stone. Thomas shook his head and looked again. The mist still swirled, mysterious and beckoning.

Good God, what’s this?
He picked up the amulet, but in the direct light, all he could see was a faint outline of his own reflection, the center of the stone cold and still. Frowning, he dropped the amulet back to his chest and reached for the play, glancing back in the mirror as he did so.

The mist in the center of the amulet grew lighter, almost white, and Thomas was unable to look away or move. It was as if his entire body was frozen inside the amber, locked between times or places.

The mist in the amulet parted and there, in the center, was the ghost of an outline of a woman. He knew immediately who the woman was, her long hair tumbled about her, her feet shod in sensible boots as she made her way between the rocks, the mist alternately concealing and revealing her.

Thomas fought with all his being to look away, but the illusion was just as stubborn as he and it would not let him go.

The figure came closer and finally seemed to catch sight of him, for her face brightened. A glorious smile parted her lips and she said in her honey-rich voice, as clear as
if she were really standing in front of him, “Thomas, I am your—”