Much Ado About Marriage (37 page)

“Nay, you have not,” Thomas said dully, rubbing his neck with an unsteady hand. “I am a lost cause, Robert.”

Robert leveled a steady gaze at him. “No one is a lost cause,
mon ami.
You showed me that.”

“Then I was wrong. Before you leave, see to it Fia is fed well. Take Mary to her.” He drew a shuddering breath. Somehow he would find a way through this agonizing madness.

Robert’s face lit up. “Oh-ho! So you can’t even bear for her to miss a meal. There is hope for you yet.” He returned to his barrel and leaned forward. “Listen to me. You should know this: Walsingham—”

“Let it die, Robert. Walsingham told the truth.”

“Some of it was true. But as usual, he didn’t tell you all.”

Thomas stilled. “You’ve mistrusted Walsingham from the start. What would he have to gain by telling such a foul tale about himself?”

“Lying is mother’s milk to that pox-ridden pig’s bladder. There
was
a deal between Walsingham and MacLean, but neither you
nor
Fia knew of it. You were both manipulated. MacLean deliberately chose Malcolm the Maiden as a bridegroom, counting on Fia taking action, enlisting you to help her escape.”

Thomas took a deep breath.
Sweet Jesu, what if Fia . . .
He refused to finish the thought. “Who told you?” he asked harshly.

“Goliath. Since he sits so near the door, I thought he probably heard many interesting things, and I was right.”

“What else have you learned?”

“Goliath overheard all of the negotiations between MacLean and Walsingham. One part of the bargain was that Fia was never to know.”

Suddenly, the memory of MacLean saying to Fia that he’d done what he could to help her, to keep her safe, flashed through Thomas’s brain.
She didn’t know.

Joy, pure and sweet, coursed through his blood. Walsingham had used him, sold him, but Fia was blameless.

“She’s innocent,” he said wonderingly.

“Aye.” Robert crossed his arms. “A pity she’s locked away in her room, else she could breakfast with us in celebration.”

Guilt hit Thomas and he sagged against the wall, seeing Fia’s pale, desperate face. “God’s wounds,” he whispered. “I accused her of so much.”

Robert frowned. “Surely you said nothing that can’t be unsaid. Once she realizes how Walsingham used you—”

“She tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen.” He could barely stand, remembering the anguish he had seen in Fia’s eyes. He needed to go to her, to tell her what happened, explain everything.

Then
he would deal with Walsingham. The idea of exacting vengeance gave his thoughts a more positive focus. He pushed away from the wall. “I shall beg her forgiveness.”

“Good!” Robert said. “Go on bended knee. Surely she will listen if you woo her with flowers and sonnets.”

Thomas looked around the room. He couldn’t afford to think what he would do if he had killed Fia’s love. “There was a key . . .”

Robert slid his hand into his pocket and withdrew it. A large iron key lay in his palm. “’Twas on the floor.” His eyes were somber. “Was it so necessary?”

“She would have left,” Thomas said. “Even furious, I couldn’t let her.”

“You love her,” Robert said quietly.

Thomas took a deep breath and held out a hand. “Give it to me.”

Robert idly swung the key on one finger. “Perhaps
I
should release the sweet Fia and assist her in escaping such a tyrant.”

“Do, and I will kill you,” Thomas growled. “Sweet Jesu, Robert—if Goliath speaks the truth, we don’t know anything of what Walsingham is about.”

“I have been saying the same to you these past five years and you would have none of it. ’Tis time you saw the dark side of that conniver.”

“Nay, I knew of it. His motives were to strengthen England, as were mine.” Thomas closed his empty hands into fists. “But there is a limit. I will not have him near Fia. After I have released her, we will find him and explain how things will be.” He stared at his fists, trying to grasp some elusive fact, some cloaked truth that lingered just out of sight. He raised his head and looked at Robert. “Why did Walsingham say Fia was involved in the trade if she wasn’t?”

Robert’s brows lowered. “Does he need a reason? He makes mischief to amuse himself.”

“Nay, everything Walsingham does is for a purpose, usually cloaked in some intrigue to benefit Elizabeth. He told me Fia was involved to gain something.” He walked to the window and stared out.
What is the old fox trying to accomplish now?

“Perhaps,” Robert said slowly, “he told such vile lies because he thought he knew how you would react.”

“Like my father.”

“Aye. And never again speak to her or of her.” Robert smirked. “He didn’t know you cannot even bear to see her miss her breakfast.”

Thomas rubbed his forehead. “I am weaker than he thought.”

“Nay, you are infinitely stronger. Love requires strength of mind and spirit,
mon ami.
You have both.” Robert frowned. “But why did he try to break you from her? What purpose does he have?”

“That’s what we must discover.” Thomas held out his hand for the key.

“Release her quickly,
mon ami.
Fia is not the type of damsel to languish in a tower.”

Thomas closed his hand around the cold metal. “I’ll release her now and—”

A long wail rose through the morning air and then dropped into whimpering silence. Thomas locked gazes with Robert.

Zeus.

A stab of fear ripped through Thomas. He grabbed the key and his boots, and raced outside and across the courtyard, his bare feet cold on the hard stones. He took the stairs two at a time and soon slid to a halt in front of Fia’s door.

The horrible moan rose again. Thomas dropped his boots outside his bedchamber door and unlocked it with hands that fumbled in haste.

The room seemed cold, empty. Trailing from the bed, knotted end to end, were the bed curtains. The makeshift rope trailed to the open window and disappeared over the sill.

Zeus sat staring out the window, his face mournful. Nose quivering, the brown rabbit regarded him from the bed.

Fia was gone.

Thomas’s throat tightened in fear. He crossed to the window and leaned over the edge. No broken body lay in the garden. A heavy sigh of relief escaped him, and he sagged against the windowsill.

“What’s happened?” Robert spoke at his shoulder.

“She escaped.” He was amazed he sounded so calm, for his heart was lodged in his throat.

“What?” Robert leaned over the sill, then turned a stern face to Thomas. “Damn your temper!”

Thomas stared blindly at the sky, his brow creased in concentration. “Where is she? We must think; she—”

Below them, a servant appeared carrying a basket.

Robert leaned out the window. “Hold!”

The man halted and looked up, shading his eyes with his hand.

“Have you seen the countess this morn?”

The servant shook his head. “Nay, yer lordship. I jes’ . . .” he trailed off as he noted the makeshift rope hanging from the window, his mouth gaping in surprise.

Thomas pushed Robert out of the way. “Go on, man! What did you see?”

“I’ve been picking apples here in the garden all mornin’, yer lordship, and I ne’er saw hide nor hair of the lady.”

“Did you leave at any time?”

“Only when th’ basket was filled. I was gone but a moment.”

“When was that?”

“About a half an hour ago, yer lordship. It couldn’t have been more’n that.”

Thomas felt a stirring of hope. “Then she can’t be far.”

“Or perhaps she was long gone before this man arrived in the garden. We’ve no way of knowing,” Robert said.

“Pardon me, yer lordship,” the servant said eagerly, “but I did hear of two horses missin’ from the stables jus’ ten minutes ago.”

“Which horses?”

The man scrubbed at his ear. “That be the strangest thing. Of all the horses in the stables, the thieves took a pretty mare, a large bay, and then the ugliest and meanest horse alive.” He held up his hand. “The blasted thing bit me yesterday.”

Thunder
. Thomas nodded his thanks, then strode to the door, grabbed up his boots, and tugged them on.

Robert leaned against the bedpost. “She doesn’t know anyone in London.”

“Nay, she is alone.” Alone and lost, looking for God knew what.

A cold, wet nose nudged his hand. Thomas looked into Zeus’s eyes and rubbed the dog’s good ear. “We’ll find her, Zeus, I promise. She couldn’t have just . . .” His voice trailed off.

Wherever she was, he would bet she was concocting a plan to overcome Walsingham’s scheme. A thought settled.
Sweet Jesu, surely she wouldn’t . . .

He looked at Robert. “Go see if Mary and Angus are still locked in their quarters.”

“You think she took them with her?”

“Aye, which is why she needed three horses. If she’s gone to do what I think she has, she’ll need their help. I only pray it is enough.”

Robert’s eyes widened. “Walsingham,” he breathed. “Good God, she’s gone after Walsingham.”

I’ve come to see Letty,” Fia announced. Garbed in a coarse brown dress that reeked of stale onions, she looked like one of the dubious patrons of the tavern.

Beady eyes glared at her. “Letty’ll not see th’ likes o’ ye.” The giant stuffed a huge slab of meat into his mouth, red juice dripping onto his stained shirt.

Fia repressed a shudder.
A play. ’Tis just a play.
Across the room she caught Mary’s frown and shook her head. She could deal with this. “Tell Letty I’ve somethin’ of hers she’ll be wantin’.”

The guard removed a cleaned bone from his mouth, wiping away the grease with a dirty sleeve. “Ye do, do ye? Suppose ye tell me what ye have t’ sell?” His little eyes lingered appreciatively on her low neckline.

Fia crossed her arms. The dirty gown lacked fastening of any kind, and the stained leather girdle did little more than push her breasts up into the ragged opening. Perhaps trading her new gown and cloak for this garment hadn’t been such a masterstroke after all.

But it was too late to think of that. It was too late to think of a lot of things. She was committed to this venture, however it turned out. At least she had had the forethought to bring Mary and Angus with her.

Mary wanted to charge up to Walsingham’s fine house and demand the truth. Fortunately, Angus had known about the tavern. “’Tis a fittin’ location fer such vermin.”

“How do you know of it?”

“The laird told me. He said to go there and ask fer ‘Letty’ if we ever needed to return to Scotland.”

Now Mary sat by the door, keeping her eye on their horses and ready to run for help should anything go awry. Angus stood stoically by Fia, one hand resting on his claymore.

Looking at Goliath, Fia was glad for their presence. She forced herself to grin. “Well, now, I might have a lot to sell. Ye ne’er can tell. Me name is Kate.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Fine an’ brawny, ye are, like a bull. And what be yer name?”

“Most calls me Goliath. I am very strong,” he replied with pride. Throwing the bone over his shoulder, he flexed a massive arm.

“My! What an arm ye have!” Fia wondered to see the giant grinning like a lad.

“I can lift three barrels at once.” He beamed at her. “I bet I can lift a lil’ wench like ye wi’ but one finger.” Goliath reached out with hands the size of platters.

Angus stirred uneasily as Fia skipped out of the way. “Not ’til I’ve seen Letty, ye don’t.” She lowered her lids, hoping she could keep this lumbering romancer at a distance without resorting to her knife. “Perhaps afterward, if yer still of a mind, I could be persuaded to serve ye.”

“Ye can’t git in. Ye might as well spend the time wi’ me.”

“I might, if ye’ve got the proper coin,” Fia replied, noting with relief the dimming of his enthusiasm.

“I has t’ pay, do I? How much?”

How much?
Fia blinked. She wondered what Kate was worth for a brief pleasuring.

She was still involved in her calculations when Goliath leaned closer to rumble in her ear, “Ye know, Kate, I could get ye in to see Letty if ye were nice wi’ me.” His foul breath seeped through the gaps in his lecherous grin.

“Goliath, let the chit be.” Fia turned and met the green gaze of a tavern maid. The woman held a mug of ale in one hand, the other resting on her hip as she surveyed Fia from head to foot, her critical eyes assessing every detail.

“What are ye doin’ here?” the woman asked, her reddish hair curling from beneath a dirty scrap of lace.

“I came to see Letty. This lout was tryin’ to charge me,” Fia returned, frowning sternly at Goliath.

“Here, now, Annie!” Goliath seemed to cower before the bright green gaze. “I wasn’t doin’ no—”

“Let her in,” the woman interrupted.

“But I was told not t’ let no one in but the coun—”

“Let her in.”

With a great show of reluctance, the huge man opened the door. Fia scurried past, Angus close behind her. Annie lifted her brow at the burly Scotsman, who positioned himself in a chair by the fire and crossed his arms, clearly intending to stay put.

“I’ll go an’ get ye a drink,” the maid announced.

As the door closed, Fia gave a sigh of relief. She tested a rickety chair and sat on the edge, then waited, shivering at the dampness of the room.

The door swung open and Annie returned. “Here,” she said, plopping a mug on the table. Water sloshed onto the dirty surface.

“Thank you. I’m very thirsty.” Fia offered a tentative smile.

“Aye, ye were so thirsty ye have forgotten how to talk,” returned Annie, her own mouth curving in response. “Ye’ve lost yer accent, Katie.”

“I don’t suppose you would believe
this
is a fake accent and the other my real one?” Fia asked hopefully.

Even Angus smiled at that.

Annie’s mouth twitched. “I’m no’ such a fool as that.”

Fia sighed. “Then I suppose I’ll have to tell you the real story. You see, I’m hiding from the unwholesome regards of my evil uncle, the baron.”

“You’re an heiress, no doubt?”

“Och, now you’ve lost your accent as well.” Fia sniffed the air. “There must be an evil wind as sneaks up and steals them.”