Much Ado About Marriage

  “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.”

  Annie grinned reluctantly. “’Tis difficult to remember, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, though you do it quite well,” Fia said with an admiring look, wishing she had thought to smear dirt over her hands and face.

  “I’ve had more than my fair share of practice, milady.” Annie took a chair and regarded Fia with calm green eyes.

  Fia sipped her water. “I have a message to deliver to Letty.” She looked about the small room. “Do you work here? I mean, with Walsingham?”

  Annie’s frown was as quick and sharp as a strike of lightning. “Hold your tongue if you wish to keep it!”

  “Is he so fearsome?”

  “He can be.”

  Fia shrugged. “Then leave.”

  Annie’s face reflected a moment of hope before she shook her head. “Nay, I’m of no account here. ’Tis you who should leave.”

  “I’m of no more worth than you,” Fia returned.

  “I know exactly who you are. He’s been expecting you. For that reason alone, you should go quickly. There are other ways to discover things. I’ll help you.”

  “He knew I was coming because I sent a message for him to meet me here. Walsingham and I have a thing or two to discuss.”

  “I don’t know if you’re brave or foolish. He leaves nothing to chance. He knows everything.”

  “My dear Annie,” said a dry voice from the doorway, “you make me out to be a mystic. Lady Fia will run in fear if you continue.”

  Fia studied the man she suspected of attempting to ruin her marriage. He was tall and slender, with silvered hair and a sharp face. In the tattered cloak, he appeared like an evil magus. A shiver slithered up her back.

  Annie flushed and stood. “I was just—”

  “Leaving,” he said, finishing her sentence, and draped the cloak across a chair. “I will speak with you later.” He dismissed her with a curt wave of his hand.

  Annie exchanged a level look with Fia and slipped silently from the room.

  Walsingham sighed and crossed to close the door. “Servants. You can never train them properly.” He looked at Angus, who stared back with an impassive gaze, his hand resting on his sword. “But I err. Mayhap yours are better trained than mine.”

  He pulled a chair near to hers.

  Fia wished he hadn’t moved quite so close. Her knife was tucked inside her boot, but it suddenly seemed too far to reach. She shot a glance at Angus and was reassured when he winked.

  She returned her attention to Walsingham. “There are so many servants at Rotherwood that I don’t know them all. But I am sure you are familiar with at least one.”

  “Why would I be familiar with any of the servants at Rotherwood House?” he asked.

  “Because you needed someone who knew the house well enough to know about the secret hiding place.”

  He raised his brows. “My, this sounds very dramatic. Why would I need to know the location of this, ah, secret hiding place?”

  “To steal the letters.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “You’ve a wonderful imagination. Tell me, child, do you think this is one of your plays?”

  “You had better hope not, for the villain always dies at the end of my plays.”

  “I’m no villain—not any more than your cousin.”

  “My cousin. I have been thinking of him all morning. You know how ’tis when you behold a puzzle. It lingers, annoying and teasing your mind until you are nigh sick of it.”

  A politely bored expression settled on his thin face. “We are wasting time, my dear. I hear your husband locked you away and has all but cast you out. Perhaps you should return to Scotland. I could arrange passage for you on the next ship. You could leave today if you wished.” His sympathetic smile encompassed Angus. “And your servant, as well.”

  “I’ve not come here to seek your help in leaving. I could do that on my own.”

  “Even though your husband wishes it?”

  “Thomas loves me,” she returned calmly.

  “And he shows it by locking you in your bedchamber and accusing you of lies? A strange love, if ’tis love at all.”

  “That is my concern and not yours. Why did you steal the letters Duncan so freely delivered?”

  The sharp, steely eyes flickered briefly. “You are in no position to accuse me of anything. Your husband has already branded you a liar and worse, milady. You have no recourse but to return to Scotland.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. ’Twas Thomas’s anger speaking, not his heart. Now tell me of this bargain that was struck between you and Duncan, or I’ll go to the queen.”

  Angus stirred. “I have a letter fer the lass that will get her to the queen, e’en without yer help. The laird gave it to me afore we left Scotland.”

  Walsingham regarded them both with the incurious gaze of a serpent. “So tell the queen. Who would listen to a half-wild Scot? No one. Go home, milady.”

  “Nay, Duncan wanted me here. ’Twas that very thought that kept occurring to me this morning. I remembered how happy he seemed when Thomas and I finally wed.”

  “’Twas a wedding he’d planned himself. Of course he was pleased.”

  “Aye, he wished me out of the country in case there was a war. ’Tis one reason why he bargained with Queen Mary’s letters.”

  The minister lifted a brow. “There were other reasons?”

  “Duncan wants Elizabeth’s help to keep Scotland from war. He thought of a way to accomplish all of his objectives at once.” She smiled proudly. “There are few men who have Duncan’s genius at scheming.”

  Walsingham frowned. “This is foolish—”

  “Nay, ’tis not. You thought to outwit him by stealing the letters and sending me home disgraced. Duncan would be furious, but there would be naught he could do. And you’d have it all: the letters, the proof of Queen Mary’s perfidy, and—”

  A crash sounded in the outer tavern. The minister came to his feet, a small short sword appearing in his hand. Angus stood as well, his sword drawn and ready. Another crash followed and then another, until Fia wondered if a single table remained standing upright.

  The
door creaked open slowly. Goliath stood in the entry, a thin line of blood dripping down his cheek.

  “Speak, fool!” Walsingham snapped.

  The giant swayed, his face pale, and Fia noted his blank expression. With a gusty sigh, Goliath toppled facedown on the floor.

  Walsingham stiffened. “By the rood, what is the meaning of this?”

  Thomas stepped over Goliath’s slumbering body, and his eyes found Fia’s. “I came as soon as I could.”

  She lifted her chin. “I am not—”

  “Comfit,” he said softly. “I was wrong. So, so wrong.”

  The simple words released a torrent of emotion in Fia. “Aye, you were.”

  He held out a hand. “If you will give me the chance, I’ll never doubt you again.”

  Fia instantly placed her hand in his, wondering when she had forgiven him.

  “Very touching,” said Walsingham. “You have come just in time, Thomas. Your wife was just telling me the most wondrous tale.”

  “If my wife says ’tis so, then ’tis so,” Thomas answered quietly. “She never lies.” He slid his sword into its scabbard and flashed Fia a quiet smile. He looked like a tousled hero, his shirt undone and his doublet left behind. “I’ve a lamentable temper. I should have believed you.”

  Robert lounged in the doorway, his rapier ready. “Don’t give him quarter, Fia! Make him sing for you!”

  Thomas scowled over his shoulder. “Perchance you should secure the door. I wouldn’t want any unpleasant surprises.”

  Robert chuckled and turned to Angus. “Mary has hit some poor man over the head with a tankard, and I fear there’s to be a good brawl. Would you like to assist me in cleaning up a bit?”

  Angus nodded and left.

  With a brief salute of his sword, Robert disappeared back into the tavern.

  Thomas sniffed the air, then looked down at Fia. “I see you’ve managed to be authentic in odor as well as garb.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I thought I’d be less obvious if I came dressed as a tavern wench.”

  He pulled her closer. “You’d need more than a dress that reeks of onions to appear like a tavern maid.”

  Walsingham gestured impatiently. “Have you forgotten she betrayed you? Think of the whispers, the laughter.” He leaned across the table. “Think, Thomas, of your father and all he suffered. ’Twill be the same for you.”

  “If all I ever have to bear is the laughter of the court, then I am indeed the most fortunate of men.” To Fia’s astonishment, Thomas clutched at his heart. “There are many things worse than the laughter of fools. There is loneliness and lost love. There is sadness so deep it wrenches your gut into a thousand pieces and you bleed with every breath. Worse yet, there is life without sun, without warmth. Life without Fia.”

  Fia stared at him. “Thomas! That was from my play, Duke’s Paradise! You sound just like the hero, Sanctus.”

  Laughter twinkled in his brown eyes. “I liked the heroine, but the hero is sadly lacking in certain virtues.”

  “Then I’ll rewrite it.” Her smile was blinding.

  Thomas caressed her hair. She was more precious to him than life. “Let’s finish this.” He lifted his gaze to the minister. “Speak now.”

  The minister sank into a chair. “I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he said with weary resignation. “The chit will get the whole story from MacLean and you will believe every word.”

  “Aye,” Thomas answered. “I will.”

  “As you know, MacLean wanted a noble bridegroom—and he chose you. When he came to me, he knew everything there was to know about you—your title, lands, everything. All I had to do was deliver you. In exchange, he was to send the letters.”

  The minister shook his head. “Though you might not credit it, I tried to talk him into choosing someone else: Essex, Hatton, anyone. But he was adamant. ’Twas you or none. I was at a loss.”

  “Not for long,” said Thomas.

  The counselor smiled tiredly. “True. I thought I detected an error in his thinking. He didn’t know Elizabeth. I knew the queen would never let the wedding stand once she discovered it had been forced.”

  “I suspected as much myself.”

  Walsingham nodded. “So when MacLean delivered the letters, I decided to make certain you were granted an annulment.”

  “You planned to trick Duncan from the beginning,” said Fia.

  “I had no wish to sacrifice your freedom, Thomas, but MacLean was a step ahead of me the entire time. He had already thought of that possibility. That’s why he arranged for Malcolm Davies to come to Duart.”

  Thomas frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Fia touched his arm. “I think I do. Malcolm Davies may be the biggest maw worm to ever grace Scottish soil, but as a witness, you could ask for none better.”

  Walsingham’s thin smile appeared. “Aye. As a jilted bridegroom who would sneer about his betrothed’s sordid behavior in the hallways with an unclothed Englishman, Malcolm had an important part to play. As soon as we tried to arrange an annulment, MacLean would step forward with his witness to refute any claims of your innocence. Queen Elizabeth is not a prude, but even she would not accept such behavior. Your marriage would stand.”

  Thomas blinked. “MacLean planned all along to claim that I’d taken Fia’s innocence in Scotland and to use clan Davies as witnesses?”

  “Exactly. Unfortunately I didn’t realize this until it was too late.”

  “That doesn’t explain why Duncan gave the letters to me.” He looked at Walsingham. “You were surprised by that move, too, weren’t you?”

  “Very. They were supposed to be delivered to me here, within two days of your wedding. Instead, he showed up protected by an army and refused to see me.”

  Fia nodded. “He gave the letters to Thomas because he suspected you would try to secret them away and say you had never received them.”

  “I had thought of it,” Walsingham admitted.

  “By giving them to me,” Thomas added, “and making sure I knew what they were, MacLean had arranged for another creditable witness.”

  Walsingham spread his hands upon the rough table. “I had no choice. If the queen had discovered the trade, I would have been severely discredited. I had to get those letters. More importantly, I had to separate you, Lord Rotherwood, from your bride.”

  “Why?”

  “As protection. If you sent Fia away in disgrace, ’twould make anything MacLean said look like the ranting of an injured guardian. ’Twould merely discredit him with the queen.”

  “I would never have sent her back to Scotland,” said Thomas.

  “I erred. I thought honor was all that held you to the marriage, that you had been compromised by passion.”

  Thomas caught Fia’s gaze. “I worried you would miss your breakfast this morn.”

  She laughed softly. “I ate on the way here. Mary insisted.”

  Thomas wanted to lift her in his arms and kiss every last inch of her. He turned back to the minister. “Where are the letters now?”

  “Safe. Queen Mary’s existence puts Elizabeth in danger, though she won’t hear of it. The letters will give us enough information to convince Queen Elizabeth to keep Mary locked away for years to come.”

  “You do everything for Elizabeth.”

  Walsingham nodded. “Everything that she will allow. She has far more qualms than I do; ’tis quite tedious at times.” He heaved a sigh. “Well, my friend, we are at checkmate. I can’t tell the queen the truth, for fear she would send me to the Tower or worse. You dare not tell her, for fear she will cast aside this marriage you have come to value.”

  “She wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Fia hotly.

  Thomas looked down at Fia’s hand resting in his. It fit perfectly, the graceful fingers spread across his rough palm.

  As much as he hated it, Walsingham was right. Elizabeth’s pride was legendary. If she knew how a renegade Scottish lord had purchased a titled English bridegroom, she would d
emand an annulment forthwith.

  Walsingham stood and gathered his cloak. “I had best be on my way. The queen has yet to see the letters. I was waiting until I could tie up these few loose ends.” He looked from Fia to Thomas. “Such passion. Had I known there was such a bond betwixt the two of you, I would have approached this in an entirely different manner.”

  Thomas crossed to Walsingham and hauled the older man forward with a hand bunched in his velvet doublet. “One last word. If you ever attempt to meddle in our lives again, there will be no bargaining. Just you and my blade.” He released the minister.

  Walsingham stumbled slightly, then righted himself. Though his face was red, he managed a wan smile. “Let’s hope the need never arises.”

  Fia crossed to the doorway and looked out, motioning to Angus, who was picking up the few unbroken chairs in the taproom.

  He came at once. “Aye, lass?”

  “Lord Walsingham requires an escort to his carriage.”

  Angus nodded, looking pleased.

  “Well, that is that.” Walsingham gave a bow and disappeared into the taproom; Angus silently followed.

  Thomas looked down at Fia. A mischievous smile curved her lips.

  “What?” he demanded suspiciously.

  “I’m thinking of all the ways I am going to make you suffer for your lack of faith.”

  He laughed and swung her into his arms. “Are you, now?”

  “Aye. Some of them cannot be played out in public.” She placed her hand on his cheek. “Perhaps we should retire.”

  “Fia, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me for—”

  She placed a finger to his lips. “Do you love me?” she whispered.

  “With all of my heart,” he answered fervently.

  “Then I promise to be easy on you.”

  He laughed. “And how do you propose to do that, my lady wife?”

  Robert stormed into the room. “Thomas! You can’t allow that poisonous bastard to just walk away!”

  “We have to,” said Thomas. “If the truth ever came out, Fia would most likely bear Elizabeth’s wrath.”

  Robert cursed. “I will at least make sure that scurvy hagseed doesn’t lurk about to cause more problems. What of Fia?”

  “She stays as my wife. I shall ask the queen to bless the union as soon as I can.”