Much Ado About Marriage

  She’d felt so overshadowed by the house that she’d been doubly glad to see Duncan, although she’d been appalled at how he had made himself at home, locking Simmons and the servants in the cellar.

  She eyed her cousin now, wondering yet again what had brought him. His kilt was draped about him, a fur vest covering his broad chest, tall black leather boots strapped to his thighs. She stifled a faint smile. He and the men had done everything they could to appear less civilized than usual.

  She watched as he stared absently into the crackling fire, noting the faint shadows under his eyes and the whiteness of his mouth, his almost haunted gaze.

  What was causing him to look so bleak? “Duncan?”

  He lifted his gaze to her with an obvious effort. “Aye, lass?”

  “I know you’ve been concerned about the queen, but has something else occurred? I’ve never seen you so solemn.”

  He straightened in his chair, his lips curved into a false smile. “I’m fine, lass. ’Tis naught to worry your head o’er.”

  “But there’s something about you, almost as if—”

  “’Tis nothing.” Duncan stood and moved beside the fireplace. “We should see that lackluster husband of yours soon.”

  If Duncan wasn’t prepared to talk about whatever had upset him, he wouldn’t, so she shrugged. “Thomas may be stubborn but he’s definitely not lackluster.”

  Duncan’s gaze darkened. “Fia, you’re happy with him, aren’t you?”

  “I . . . I will be,” she replied, knowing he’d sense the truth if she didn’t offer an explanation. “We’re still new to one another, but I’ve come to care for him.” Far too much.

  “And him for you?” Duncan’s dark gaze didn’t waver.

  She lifted her chin. “Of course.” It wasn’t a lie so much as a hope expressed aloud.

  Duncan sighed and rubbed his neck. “’Tis a beginning, I suppose. I wanted . . . but this will have to do. As much as I miss you, ’tis here you belong.”

  Something about the way he said it made her frown. “Duncan, what’s happened? Something is not right.” Fia regarded him for a long moment. “Ah! Did the White Witch come for her amulet?”

  Duncan’s mouth tightened. “She’s not pleased with the MacLeans.”

  “You mean with you.”

  He shot Fia a hard look. “She won’t bother any of us again.”

  Trepidation gripped Fia. “God’s breath, Duncan! What have you done?”

  “As soon as she arrived, I had her confined.”

  Fia clapped a hand over her eyes. “Duncan, no!”

  “I had to do something; she threatened to put a curse on us all.”

  “You should never have taken that amulet!”

  “I’m glad I did! She’s done naught but torment our family, for no reason other than some ancient claim to our land that would never stand in a court of law.”

  “Have you examined this claim?”

  “Why should I? Our holdings were granted from King Edward’s time and are valid. She’s done naught but threaten and—” He scowled. “It matters not. I have captured her and she’s mine.”

  “Yours? You . . . you plan on keeping her?”

  To her surprise, he flushed. “Aye. I cannot allow her to roam about, casting curses.”

  “Has she cast one yet?”

  “Aye—I mean, nay! I don’t believe in curses.” Duncan raked a hand through his hair, the haunted look in his eyes stronger. “She’s a charlatan and I’ll prove her wrong. Besides, she can’t act without the amulet.”

  “I don’t know about that. She’s a witch; can’t she just make another one?”

  “God’s wounds, are you with me or against me?”

  “Neither. I’m for the truth.”

  Duncan scowled. “I don’t know what a witch needs. I just know she’s a thorn in my side, and I’ve had enough!”

  In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  Duncan’s head snapped toward the open window. He crossed to it and stared into the blue sky.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” he said tersely.

  The rumble repeated, a bit closer now.

  “That’s odd. It was clear outside earlier.” Fia started to join Duncan at the window, but he slammed the shutters closed.

  Moving with a sharpness that bespoke his anger, he crossed the room, slamming all the other shutters closed as well. “I am done being told what I can and can’t do,” he growled. “Let it be!”

  A crack of thunder ripped across the sky, so close that it made the floor tremble.

  Fia stared at the closed windows as the unmistakable howl of a storm began.

  Grim-faced, Duncan turned away, grabbing the poker and stirring the fire as if desperate for some heat.

  Fia frowned. “How could a storm come so quickly?” She turned to go to the window, but Duncan threw up a hand.

  “’Tis naught! Just . . . leave it.”

  “Duncan, you’re pale. And your hand . . . it’s shaking. What’s wron—”

  A muffled shout sounded in the hallway outside, then a voice she instantly recognized growled a command before something thudded against the wood panels. Fia was halfway to the door before Thomas stormed into the room, brandishing a sword, his face white lipped and grim.

  His gaze found her the second he crossed the threshold. His clothing was torn and a thin trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his fine mouth. “Are you well?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice quavered and he gave a muffled curse and stalked to her side to pull her close.

  Fia sank against him, realizing for the first time how worried she’d been for him. She slipped her arms about him and hid her face in his neck, savoring his warmth. “I’m glad you’re well,” she whispered.

  His arm tightened about her as he rested his chin against her temple.

  “Well, if ’tisn’t the Sassenach,” Duncan reminded them of his presence.

  “MacLean,” Thomas sneered through his teeth.

  Duncan returned the poker to its holder and turned to face Thomas. “You finally made it. I come to your house, and my cousin arrives by herself.”

  “She had an escort.”

  “Aye, of servants. Where were you? Shouldn’t you have welcomed her to your home?”

  Fia had been reveling in the feel of Thomas’s arm about her waist, but Duncan’s words reminded her that this warmth was not real. The closeness she shared with Thomas was temporary at best.

  She tried to school her wildly beating heart as she gazed into Thomas’s deep brown eyes. Sweet Saint Catherine, why did I marry such a handsome man? Just looking at him could make her body heat as though a fire were lit inside her. But pressed against him, his perfect mouth just inches from hers, she couldn’t speak or even think.

  Of their own volition, her fingers slid across his lower lip, her gaze locked on that perfect morsel. Her mouth felt swollen; it almost ached to be touched by his. Thomas caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers.

  “Stop it, the two of you.” Duncan’s voice rumbled over them like the cold sea. “’Tis a fine cloak ye have on, Sassenach. ’Twould be a pity to have to run my sword through it to pry you away from my cousin.”

  Fia’s cheeks heated even as Thomas’s arm tightened about her shoulders. “A pox on you, MacLean,” Thomas said. “Were you not my wife’s only living relative, I’d slice you in two.”

  Duncan eyed him for a long moment. “Rotherwood, you’re fortunate I’ve been attempting to hold my temper.”

  “I don’t care about you or your temper. Where are my servants?”

  “Locked in the cellar. One or two are in the kitchen getting their broken heads seen to.”

  “You will pay for that, MacLean.”

  Duncan gave a mirthless smile. “I already have. You just don’t know it.”

  “You are speaking in riddles,” Thomas snapped. “What do you mean by invading my house with your accursed army?”

  “Invade?” Dun
can looked genuinely surprised. “I came in peace, as a relative.”

  “With over a hundred men?”

  Duncan pursed his lips though his eyes gleamed with humor. “’Tis a bit much, eh?”

  Thomas regarded him with a flat stare.

  Och, they’re going to keep this up until one or the other of them starts a fight, then we’ll all lose.

  As though aware of her thoughts, Thomas’s hand slid beneath her hair to rest on her neck, warm and possessive, and she fought a shiver. He was merely letting her know he was concerned for her, that’s all. It was a kind gesture, she told herself, nothing else.

  As if to belie her thoughts, his thumb began to trace feather-light circles on her sensitive skin. She risked a glance up at him. His eyes locked with hers, and for a wild moment, she thought she could see into his soul. He was looking at her as if he cared about her. The realization gave her pause.

  What if he did but was unable to show it? Maybe he wasn’t sure how to act otherwise.

  Hope flew through her and she leaned forward, lifting her face to his as—

  Duncan gave a muffled curse. “Cease that!” Outside, a sudden wind rattled against the house, shaking the heavy shutters and puffing down the chimney to sputter the fire.

  Thomas eyed the window with a frown. “I entered from the courtyard not ten minutes ago, and the sky was as clear as—” A crack of thunder rumbled outside. “Odd. Still . . . MacLean, you’d best leave before the storm hits.”

  “I wish I could.” Duncan’s voice seemed to carry the weight of the world.

  Fia frowned. He seemed shaken, almost. She put her hand on Thomas’s arm. “Thomas, Duncan is my cousin and guardian and I will not have him thrown out of the house when the weather’s so dreadful.”

  Thomas scowled but he turned to Duncan and said grudgingly, “Fine. You may stay until the storm blows over. But not with such a large retinue, and not if you harm my retainers.”

  “You’ve a piss-poor bunch of servants, Sassenach. Not a bit of backbone in the lot.”

  “They were frightened, and who would blame them when you showed up with a bloody army?”

  “I brought my men to protect me and mine. You never know what you might run into in this godforsaken land.” Fia tried to warn Duncan with a frown, but he ignored her and continued. “In fact, we were viciously attacked just after we crossed the English border.”

  “No doubt some landowner took offense at your carousing through his lands,” Thomas suggested.

  “Mayhap.” Duncan flexed his massive shoulders. “I didn’t have the time to ascertain the nature of his grievances. We trounced him right well and continued on here.”

  Fia winced at the sound of Thomas grinding his teeth.

  A loud knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” bellowed Thomas and Duncan at one and the same time, their voices blending as beautifully as a chorus. They glared at one another, then Duncan said in a grudging tone, “Fine. ’Tis your house.”

  “Aye, ’tis.” Thomas growled, then called, “Enter!”

  The door opened and a disheveled Robert was shoved into the room.

  “Robert!” Fia gasped.

  He stumbled against a chair but forced himself upright as two men Fia recognized as Magnus Lindsey and MacKenna followed.

  “Welcome, Coward of Balmanach,” Duncan said.

  “Go on!” Lindsey rudely shoved Robert toward the fireplace. Robert stumbled into a stool and fell to the floor. Smirking, Lindsey strode forward and shoved Robert with his foot. “The laird is wantin’ to speak to ye, ye cowardly traitor.”

  “Enough,” MacKenna snapped, his brow low. “The lad fought and fought well. He deserves better than to be kicked whilst upon the ground.”

  But the guard was too enthralled with his power. He lifted his foot to kick at his prisoner again, aiming for Robert’s unprotected back.

  MacKenna started forward, but Thomas was across the room in an instant, the flat of his sword slamming the Scotsman into the wall.

  Fia went to Robert and slipped an arm beneath one shoulder, MacKenna assisting with the other. Together, they lifted Robert and gently set him in a chair.

  Then Fia looked around for her cousin and found him standing beside Thomas, appearing every bit as furious. “Only a coward or an ass would kick a man when he is down,” Duncan said with deadly quiet.

  The wind picked up yet again, and hail pecked against the glass windows.

  Fia shivered and rubbed her arms, glancing at the shuttered windows. The storm seemed oddly intent on punctuating Duncan’s words.

  Lindsey struggled to his feet. “I respect ye, me lord, but that coward—” The Scotsman wiped his bloody mouth, then spat toward Robert.

  The hilt of Thomas’s sword slammed into the Scotsman’s stomach and sent him into a group of chairs by the wall.

  Duncan chuckled darkly. “Let that be a lesson to you, Lindsey.”

  MacKenna nodded in agreement and went to the fallen man. “The fool’s out cold. He’ll have a hell o’ a headache when he awakes, and he’ll deserve every bit o’ it.” He lifted the inert body and dragged the man out the door.

  Fia bent to examine Robert’s battered face. “You poor thing!”

  “Sacre Dieu,” he murmured. “My head has a thousand needles sticking in it.”

  “I was sure you could take Douglas,” Thomas said.

  Robert winced. “’Twas not Kinnish but his brother. The filthy whoreson attacked me from behind.”

  Duncan’s frown was sudden. “One of my men?”

  “Aye, one of your men.”

  “That coward will be hideless when I finish with him.”

  “It seems your army is peppered with cowards,” said Thomas.

  “They’re better than yours, which are all locked up in your cellar as we speak.”

  “At least my men don’t—”

  “Enough!” Fia yelled. “Poor Lord Montley needs his wounds seen to.”

  Thomas shrugged. “If Robert wanted a surgeon, he’d ask for one.”

  “That’s true,” Robert agreed, blinking unsteadily, blood running down the side of his head and soaking into his doublet.

  Fia cast her eyes heavenward. “Heaven grant me patience!” She slipped his arm about her shoulders and pulled him to his feet. “We’ll leave these fools to bray at one another like the asses they are.” Casting a sweeping glare at Thomas and Duncan, she helped Robert across the room.

  Thomas watched, both relieved and sad that she was leaving. It was difficult to pay attention to Fia’s dangerous cousin while she was there, all flashing eyes and kissable lips.

  Worse yet was her hair. He had almost lost control when he’d slid his hand under the silken mass to caress the warmth of her neck. Sweet Jesu, but he wanted to run his hands through her curls even now as they frothed about her shoulders and tangled beneath Robert’s arm.

  Thomas frowned. Had Robert been holding his wife a bit too tightly?

  He walked to the door and peered into the hall, wondering if he should say something. But every time he tried to speak with Fia, he ended up sounding like a lackwit. Only when he held her did he get the response he wanted.

  Hmm . . . maybe that was the key: less talking and more touching. As soon as they were alone, he would—

  “By the holy cross, Rotherwood, leave her be.” MacLean’s irked voice recalled Thomas to his senses. “She’s safe with MacQuarrie. He barely has the strength to stand, much less make love to her.”

  Thomas turned from the doorway, managing a stiff smile. “You haven’t yet explained why my household has been overrun by an army of Scotsmen.”

  “I came on an errand.”

  “Then perform it and be gone.”

  “With pleasure.” He walked past Thomas to the door and bellowed, “MacKenna!”

  The guard ambled back into the room. “Aye?”

  “Bring me the casket.”

  MacKenna nodded and left.

  Thomas turned to Duncan.
“Casket?”

  “Aye.” MacLean returned to the fireplace, the heat stirring the bottom of his cloak. “I came to present you with a gift and to see if Fia is well.”

  “And?”

  “She’s not as happy as I’d like, but she’s well enough,” MacLean said in a grudging tone. “I wished to see how she truly fared, so it had to be a surprise. With forewarning, a clever man can hide a great many ills.”

  “As you can see, she is well.” And perhaps with child. Thomas was surprised when the thought didn’t settle into his chest like an aching weight. I am getting used to the idea. That is something, at least.

  Duncan clasped his hands behind his back. “Sassenach, you’ve spent nearly a month with my cousin as wife. You’re fond of her?”

  “Fond” wasn’t the word he’d have used. “Befuddled” was. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  MacKenna returned carrying a silver casket Thomas recognized, set it on the table, then left the room.

  As the door closed behind him, Duncan said, “You saw this casket when you stole the missive from it, but you missed the most important part. There’s a false bottom.” He nodded toward it. “Look for yourself.”

  Thomas first opened the jeweled latch. Inside lay the missive, just as before. He removed it, then carefully examined the velvet-covered bottom of the box. Just as he was ready to give up, he saw a tiny thread. He tugged on it and the bottom of the box lifted to reveal several more letters, a silver cross on a chain, and a small miniature that he recognized as Lord Darnley, Queen Mary’s dead husband.

  Thomas opened the top missive and scanned it. The words seemed to leap from the page. “Sweet Jesu, if these are authentic—”

  “They are.” MacLean spoke with telling softness. “’Tis enough evidence of Queen Mary’s trickery to warrant her execution.”

  Thomas swallowed against the dryness of his throat. Walsingham’s final evidence. He carefully replaced the letter, closed the secret drawer, and set the casket back onto the table. By the saints, I need some ale.

  “The Scottish queen has betrayed us all.” MacLean’s face was frozen and hard. “She married that treacherous fool Bothwell, who wants nothing more than to rule in her name. Such a foolish woman, to believe words of love. No queen can afford such.”