Much Ado About Marriage (36 page)

As Fia watched the flames lick hungrily at the parchment, her heart hardened. Whatever ailed Thomas, she was not about to accept his vile temper. “I know not what demons possess you this eve, my lord, but I will not stand for your wretched manners.”

She gained her feet shakily and crossed to the door. Grasping the handle, she threw it open. “Leave my chambers immediately. We will speak when you have slept through your ill humors.”

He laughed, a low, taunting laugh. The sheer ugliness of it made Fia shiver. “Aye, you would love to write Duncan of how you threw me out of my own bedchamber, wouldn’t you? How amused he will be to see how well his plan has worked.”

“Plan?”

His grin thinned into a bitter snarl. “You may think you have purchased a gullible, manageable bridegroom, but you are wrong, madam.”

She frowned in confusion. “You make no sense.”

“Determined to play an innocent to the last, aren’t you?” He shrugged. “And why not? It has been amusing thus far. So let’s continue this charade a bit longer. Allow me to recount my discovery. This very eve, I found ’twas no coincidence we were thrown together at Duart Castle.”

Fia thought he looked like an avenging angel, beautiful yet dangerous. She clutched her hands tightly together.

“You and MacLean may have purchased me outright from Walsingham like a side of beef in a butcher’s shop, but no more. I have cut my fetters and I stand before you a free man.” His gaze bore into her before he turned away, as if he could not stand the sight.

“Who told you such nonsense?”

“Cease your playacting, madam,” he snapped. “You know it all! I was traded for a packet of letters proving Queen Mary’s guilt.”

“You have been misinformed. Neither I nor Duncan would do such a thing.”

“Duncan delivered those very letters into my hands and bade me carry them to Walsingham.” Thomas chuckled harshly. “But then, you know about the letters, don’t you, comfit? After all, you stole them, did you not?”

“I haven’t stolen anything!”

“What happened, Fia? Did you and Duncan think you could make a deal with the devil and not pay?” His eyes raked her body with insulting intent. “Wasn’t I worth even that? Didn’t I meet your expectations? God’s wounds, I made you cry with pleasure. Surely
that
was worth payment of some kind.”

Heat washed through her and then receded, leaving her cold and shaking. “I don’t know anything of these
letters, but if you mean to suggest that Duncan or I had any kind of dealings with Walsingham, you err. I’ve heard Duncan mention Walsingham before and he holds no faith in him.”

“There is little trust on either side of that fence. But I am far from mistaken in my beliefs.” Thomas spoke with a quiet, merciless certainty that chilled her. “I will never forget the duplicity of your behavior. Never. Even if we remain married for all eternity, I will hate you every minute of every day. I will despise your breath, your laugh, your love—I will hate you, madam.
That
is what your perfidy has purchased you.”

Fia almost gasped from the pain. “
No more.
I will not hear this! I am tired and confused and . . .” She pressed a trembling hand to her head. This was a nightmare. She wished with all her heart she would awaken to find the Thomas she loved nestled in bed beside her. Anything but this bitter, angry stranger who stared at her with such virulent hate. “I-I cannot bear to hear this. Please stop.”

Thomas stared at her quivering lips. Pure desire, hot and immediate, raced through him. He cursed himself that she still had the power to stir his blood. “Don’t bother to act so tragic, madam. There is no need.”

“There has been some mistake. If I could but speak with Duncan, I could—”

“Did you not hear me? Duncan asked me to deliver those damn letters to Walsingham myself. I had the casket from his own hand.” His mouth curved into a derisive smile. “Sweet Jesu, he even told me to tell Walsingham that they were now ‘even.’ How he must have laughed, to have me deliver the payment.”

Fia wrung her hands and took a step toward him. “Duncan
would never do such a thing! Walsingham must be telling a lie and—”

“Do you think I have not considered that?” he snapped. “But what has he to gain from such a stratagem? What reason would he have to speak falsely? Meanwhile, Duncan and you gain all. Duncan found a fool to wed his cousin and take her safely away from war. And you, sweet, were ever loud in your demands to go to London.”

“Nay!” She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. “Thomas, you must listen to me—”

“Silence!”
His eyes hardened. “I know you for what you are: a liar and worse. There is nothing you could say that would make me believe otherwise.”

Her hand fell to her side. “Then there is naught left.” Her voice was hollow with disbelief and loss.

“Oh-ho, a playwright
and
an actress!” He clapped loudly. “Excellent! Such unexpected talents!”

She stiffened. “Enough! You barge in here, calling me names and accusing me of vile crimes; then you refuse to believe me no matter the truth. Well, I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”

“So have I, madam. I have been made a fool a thousand times since we met.” He threw himself into the chair, his face contorted in fury. “I even asked Essex to give the queen one of your plays, hoping she would sponsor you.”

Her lips parted in amazement. He had never said a word. Through the pain came a thrill that he had thought her plays of a quality to have risked giving one of them to the queen. “I . . . never knew you had read them.”

He stared at her, his eyes lingering on her mouth. “I have read every word that has ever come from your pen.” He met her surprised gaze and a bitter smile curved his
mouth. “I thought ’twould please you if the queen took you to heart.” His laugh was full of loathing. “A romantic lackwit, was I not?”

A smile trembled on her mouth. No matter what he said, he loved her. But Walsingham had led Thomas astray.
Why?

“Well, madam, you will have no chance for fame and fortune now.” He stared into the fire with bleak eyes. “’Twas all a lie, and I shall inform the queen of it first thing tomorrow.”

Fia’s throat tightened painfully. She wanted to tell him that she loved him now and forever, but he would just use the words to wound her more. Whatever poisonous lies Walsingham had told Thomas, she must find the truth. Find the truth and cure him.

Fia struggled for breath. “You are just angered. In the morning we will talk, and this misunderstanding will end.”

He smiled, his mouth a grim curve. “Oh ho, but I have barely begun. I will spend the rest of our time together reminding you of your trickery and deceit.”

Fia gathered the last vestiges of pride she possessed and said tiredly, “Then there is no more to be said.” She turned and went to the bed. Grabbing up the blanket and a pillow, she headed for the door.

Thomas reached it first. He kicked the heavy panel closed and leaned against it. “Nay, madam. You will not leave this room until I have decided your fate.”

“Decided my
fate
?” Her brows drew together. “I vow, sirrah, you test my temper. I want nothing more to do with you.”

“You no longer desire my presence? Is your purchased husband too base, too loud for you?”

“Aye, and boorish and rude as well. I will not listen to any more of your false accusations.” She lifted her chin, her hands clutching the blanket and pillow like a shield. “Move.”

He pushed away from the door, and for a heart-stopping moment Fia thought he meant to grab her. She backed warily away.

He smiled, satisfaction curling his mouth. “Finally, you begin to realize your danger. But ’tis too late. I know you well and true now.”

“And I know you,” she replied evenly. “There is no more to be said.”

The dull pain in her eyes gave him pause and suddenly, his anger disappeared, leaving him hollow and aching. He was silent for a long moment. “You’re right,” he said wearily. “We will wait until tomorrow to continue this. By then I will know what to do with such a beautiful, willful little liar as you.”

“There will be no tomorrow,” Fia snapped. “Don’t expect me to be here when you return.”

“Oh, but you will.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key, opened the door, and inserted the key into the outer lock.

“Don’t!” she cried. If she wasn’t free to find out the truth, how would she ever be able to prove Walsingham’s base lies?

“Do not think, Mistress Deceit, that Angus or Mary will come to help you, either. I will have them closely guarded. I will leave you here to think on your sins. Come morning, you will have one chance—only one—to confess your sins and return the letters.”

“And if I don’t have them?”

“Then you will be banished, my lady. Banished where the sound of your voice will cease to torment my soul. Locked away and forgotten.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He gave her a mocking bow, then slammed the door shut.

The sound of the key grated in the room.

Fia sank to the floor, despair filling her. “What will I do?” she whispered. “What will I ever do?”

A shaft of sunlight streamed directly into Thomas’s face, the bright light blinding him. He groaned and closed his eyes against the glare, vaguely aware he lay atop a sack of grain in his own storehouse.

“Oh-ho! It awakes!” Robert announced.

Agony pounded through Thomas’s skull. The memory of the previous night wavered to the fore. Clamping his jaws against a wave of nausea, he struggled upright.

Fia.
The pain left him panting and retching.
How could she? How could she?
The thought echoed over and over.

“Easy, Thomas,” Robert murmured, handing Thomas a rough cloth that had been hung on a peg by the door.

Thomas gratefully wiped his face, squinting against the sun. ’Twas a beautiful day, and he cursed every gleaming beam, twittering bird, and dewy morning flower.

Robert shook his head. “The Earl of Rotherwood, most fortunate of men, asleep atop sacks of moldy grain. You have come to a sad pass,
mon ami.
You are fortunate that
Cook sent a boy for some wheat this morning or no one would know you were here.”

It pained Thomas too much to glare. “I feel as if I died sometime last week,” he muttered through the foul taste in his mouth. He peered into the gloom and found his mug on the floor behind him. Grabbing it up, he gulped the remaining whiskey, welcoming the acrid burn.

“Similia similibus curatur,”
Robert murmured.

“Aye,” Thomas grumbled. “Hair of the dog. A foul cure for a foul illness.” He wished he could just vomit and be done with it. He stood and slowly made his way to a pail of water that stood by the door.

“I planned on dumping that on your head, but you awoke before I could do so.”

Thomas regarded Robert sourly. “And you call yourself a friend?”

Robert quirked a cool brow. “You are fortunate I didn’t do more. Your behavior is unacceptable. I tell you this
as
a friend.”

Thomas rinsed his mouth and then dumped the rest of the water over his head.

“A foul illness for a foul temper,” Robert returned.

Thomas dried himself with the rough cloth, wondering if anyone had brought Fia her breakfast. The idea of her locked in her room was painful; the thought of her going hungry was agony.

He immediately pushed the traitorous feelings aside. It would serve her right to miss a few meals. It would serve her even better if he locked her up for the rest of eternity, as he’d threatened.

But he knew it had been an empty threat. He covered his eyes wearily. He should send her away and be done.
Duncan would take her back, and Thomas would be free to return to his life as it was before he had met that saucy, conniving little thief. His life would be orderly, with no unexpected twists and turns.

The thought ripped new agonies in his chest. He could no more send her away than he could cut off his own arm. Pressing his hand against the ache in his chest, he wondered if he should take her to his estates in Northumberland until he could decide how best to deal with her. Time would lessen the hold she had on him. It must.

He leaned his forehead against the cool wall and tried to force his swollen brain to reason.

Robert sat on a barrel. “I spoke with Mary. ’Twas difficult to hear through the locked door, but we managed well enough.”

Thomas closed his eyes.

“She says she and Angus are confined by your orders. I hear Fia is also locked away.” He waited for Thomas to respond, then asked, “You trust Walsingham before you trust Fia?”

“I do now,” said Thomas shortly, wishing Robert would have the decency to at least lower his voice.

“Had I known what you were about, I wouldn’t have spent near an entire evening tracking a certain fat, bumbling oaf to his filthy lodgings in an effort to discover the truth.”

“Robert, let it go. There is nothing more to be said. She lied to me,” he whispered.

Robert bared his teeth. “You know,
mon ami
, I never before realized how greatly you resemble your father at times. It ill becomes you.”

“My father was right. Look where trusting has put me.”

“How can you speak of trust when you locked away a beauteous maid who has done nothing but love you and honor you? When you take the word of that spineless maggot Walsingham over the word of your own wife?”

Thomas rubbed his forehead. “My head aches.”

“Because it is filled with rocks,” Robert said coldly. “She loves you. It shines from her every time you enter a room, though you are too blind to see it.”

“I have never known love,” Thomas scoffed, wondering how anyone could bear the pain.

“You do. You were a man changed this past month.”

“Whatever I felt for Fia is no more. It must be so.”

“I can’t believe you! You meet with the most incredible good fortune! You find a woman made for you, a woman who loves you, and you throw it away. You—”

“Silence!” Thomas roared, shuddering as the echo pounded through his head. “I will hear no more.”

“Sod you and your festering anger! I have tried to help, to be a friend when no one else would.” Robert stood and stiffly turned toward the door. “I have wasted my time.”