Much Ado About Marriage (28 page)

Robert’s eyes blazed, but after meeting Thomas’s gaze, he subsided into his chair. “This man’s tongue is as forked as the devil’s.”

Thomas turned to the counselor. “Cease baiting him. He’s a good friend of mine. For that reason alone, he should be treated with respect.”

Walsingham shrugged. “As you will.” He leaned forward. “What of the letter? Did you find it?”

“Aye, but I was not allowed to return with it.”

“Not allowed? But it was prom—” Walsingham clamped his mouth closed.

Robert’s bright gaze locked on the minister. “The letter was
promised?
Is that what you said?”

“No,” Walsingham snapped. “I meant to say something else.”

“I think not,” Robert said, his voice flinty, his blue gaze icy. “Who promised you that letter? Damn it, what devil’s bargain have you—”

Walsingham slapped his fist on the table. “Leave it! I’ll say no more, damn it!”

Thomas raised his brows. In the fifteen years he’d known Walsingham, he’d never heard the man curse.

His surprise must have shown, for the minister seemed to collect himself. He spread his hands upon the table and grimaced. “I apologize for my outburst, but I dislike being hounded. Now tell me more of the missive. Did you see it?” Walsingham leaned forward, his pale gaze locked on Thomas. “Was it what we thought?”

“Nay, ’twas vague. ’Twould not have held before the privy council.”

Walsingham’s face tightened with anger. “It was to have been more.
Much
more.”

Robert paused in taking a drink. “You sent Thomas to risk his life for a letter of which you did not know the content?”

“I was given assurances—promises—that I believed.”

“Fool,” Robert spat.

Thomas held up a hand. “Leave it, Robert. I knew this before I left. ’Twas worth taking a chance upon.”

“I doubt that. And this weasel shouldn’t be so quick to toss your life before a mere possibility. Something about this situation smells like a two-week-old fish.”

Thomas couldn’t shake the same feeling.

Walsingham scowled. “Why must you persist in thinking I wish Rotherwood harm, Montley,?”

“Because he knows everything there is to know about you.”

“Oh, I doubt that, my fine friend.” Walsingham picked up one of the apples, fished out a wicked-looking knife, and delicately peeled a long curl of skin from the apple.
“Elizabeth is much more likely to hang Lord Rotherwood than me if he tells the world how I have been protecting her vast interests. She
wants
her interests protected, at all costs.”

“I wonder if she’d agree to that,” Robert returned. “Something was odd about this entire venture. In fact, I think MacLean knew someone was coming for that missive.”

“Nonsense. How could he?”

“He knew,” Robert said stubbornly. “He raced home when there was no reason to.”

Walsingham lifted a brow in Thomas’s direction. “Do you think the same?”

Thomas considered this. Finally, he nodded. “MacLean wasn’t surprised.”

“Hmm. The information had to have come from someone close to you . . .” The minister sliced the apple into six neat pieces, his gaze resting on Robert. “But who?”

Robert clenched his jaw. “Don’t even hint ’twas me. I didn’t know of Thomas’s errand ’til he needed rescuing.”

“If I had thought you were to blame for Rotherwood’s discovery, you would not now be in this room,” Walsingham said sharply. “Don’t underestimate my capabilities.”

Robert began to answer, but Thomas held up a hand, his gaze on the counselor. “Well? Who do you think might have sold me out? I deserve to know.”

“I have my own theories, but ’twill take some time to ascertain the truth. Of even more import, we must find out what the cunning Laird MacLean is up to. If he had that letter and then took it from you—” Walsingham’s gray eyes gleamed, his hand tightening on his knife. “He is not to be trusted, that one. He’s proven most recalcitrant.”

“How so?” Thomas asked.

Walsingham’s heavy lids slid down until his gaze was nothing more than slits of silver. “It matters not. Did anything else occur that I should know about?”

Now was the time to explain his marriage, but Thomas found himself reluctant to even mention Fia’s name. Whether it was this new uncertainty about Walsingham’s trustworthiness or the desire to protect Fia from this part of his life, Thomas didn’t know. All he knew was that when he went to mention her name, his lips refused to move.

When Thomas’s father had died, Walsingham had—in a vague way—taken the old earl’s place in Thomas’s life. It made sense, for his own father hadn’t been a close, friendly figure. The excitement of the challenges Walsingham offered through his service to the queen had given Thomas a purpose for his life, something to challenge the famed Wentworth luck and prove it yet again.

At first he’d reveled in the assignments, but lately he’d found himself holding back. When all was said and done, Walsingham stood for Walsingham and the queen, and no one else.

Walsingham took a bite of his apple, his teeth showing briefly, sharp and small. “Thomas, perhaps you should—”

A sharp rap came upon the door and Annie whisked into the room. She crossed to Walsingham’s side and whispered into his ear.

Robert’s gaze met Thomas’s. Thomas gave a small shrug to indicate he had no idea what was happening. Robert scowled and returned his gaze to the minister.

Walsingham’s gaze widened and he gave Annie a hard look. “When?”

“The messenger arrived but a moment ago.”

“Wait for me in the carriage. The queen must know, in case he decides to intrude upon the court.”

Annie left immediately.

Walsingham placed the apple core in the center of the table. “Laird MacLean has become even more of a liability.”

“MacLean?” Thomas frowned. “How so?”

“He is even now ensconced at Rotherwood House.”

“At
my
house? But why would he come here—”
He’s come for Fia.

The thought slammed into Thomas’s chest with an almost physical pain.

Robert frowned. “He must have left within a few days of our departure.”

“Aye,” Thomas said hoarsely. “With good horses, he could have beaten us as we were blown off course.”

Walsingham’s hooded eyes followed every nuance of Thomas’s expression. “It’s worse than you might think. Duncan MacLean didn’t just bring his usual retinue; he brought an entire army.”

Walsingham stood. “I must inform the queen. She will be alarmed to hear that a Scottish army has marched upon her land.”

A dull roar swept through Thomas’s head. Through a fog, he heard Robert say, “I don’t understand. Why would MacLean bring an army?”

Thomas didn’t hear anything else; Duncan’s last words to Fia rang in his ears.
If you’re not happy, I’ll come for you.

Duncan hadn’t waited for Fia to send word. Had he changed his mind about the marriage? Had he come to take Fia back?

Thomas was faintly aware of standing, of his chair crashing against the wall, of the startled expressions on Walsingham’s
and Robert’s faces, of Goliath’s roar as Thomas yanked the door open and toppled the huge man over.

Then Thomas was out in the street, his blood pounding through him hot and furious as he ran. He was heedless of the damage he inflicted on those he pushed past and only dimly aware of Robert’s steady footfall behind him.

All he knew was that Duncan had brought an army to reclaim what rightfully belonged to Thomas. Fia was
his.
And God rest the soul of the man who tried to change that.

Rotherwood House

Outside of London, near Somerset

May 31, 1567

Men in plaid kilts stood by the house and massed at the gate, their swords strapped across their shoulders with insolent intent.

Thomas ground his teeth and started forward, hand fisted about his sword.
By the rood, I will
not
let any half-dressed savage take my wife and—

Robert held him back, the Scot’s voice calm and purposeful.
“Mon ami
, we are outnumbered. If we walk straight into their clutches, we’ll never reach Fia alive.”

Montley was right. Thomas cursed a thousand times under his breath, even as he fought his own temper.
He will not hurt her. And he cannot have left and taken her with him, for his men would not remain behind. She is still here. She
has
to be.

Thomas silently counted the Scotsmen. Already he and Robert had been noticed and the group about the gate had doubled. He cursed again.

Robert rubbed his beard. “We need a plan. Something to get us through this morass and into the house.”

There was a side door that led directly to the major rooms. All he had to do was slip past the guard. Hmm . . . what would keep a Scottish army distracted for the time he needed to reach the door?

He cast a glance at Robert. “I have a plan.”

Robert turned toward him, excitement lighting his face. “What is it?”

“We need a diversion to distract them while I slip into the house.”

Robert’s eyes gleamed as he stroked his beard. “And what for a diversion?”

“You.”

Robert looked from Thomas to the men, and a slow grin spread across his face. “’Twill be the best sport I’ve had in a twelvemonth.”

“Just don’t win too quickly.”

“I shall toy with the bastard, slash his clothing, and make him dance until he cannot lift that heavy sword from the ground. His companions will not be able to look away and no one will see you leave.”

“Exactly. Let us proceed.” Thomas strode toward the gate, Robert falling in beside him.

“Halt!” A red-haired guard stepped from the crowd and stood menacingly in his path. “State yer purpose, English dog.”

Robert stepped between Thomas and the Scotsman. “Och, now, do my eyes lead me astray, or are you not a Douglas?”

Thomas hadn’t heard Robert speak with so pronounced a Scottish burr since his first arrival in England years ago.

The man regarded Robert with a suspicious frown. “Aye, I am Kinnish Douglas. And who are ye?”

Robert swept an elegant bow. “Robert MacQuarrie, Viscount Montley, at your service.”

An angry mumbling rose at the name but Douglas looked almost pleased, his yellowed teeth showing in a wide grin. “Well, now. So I have the pleasure of meeting the Coward of Balmanach. ’Tis a rare honor, that.” Douglas called out, “What do ye think, men? Do I let the Coward of Balmanach pass unmolested?”

The men broke into a jeering mass of shouts and yells.

Robert seemed unconcerned, his eyes never wavering from Douglas. “Are you challenging me to a duel?”

“A duel with a white-livered traitor like yerself?” Douglas sneered. “Nay, MacQuarrie. Ye deserve no such honor.”

Robert clicked his tongue as he regarded Douglas with polite disbelief. “If you’re afraid, then so be it.”

A dead silence fell.

Kinnish’s face flushed red. “Fool! Foul pretender! I am no more afeared of ye than of a wee ant!” He threw his cloak to the ground and drew his huge sword, the steel flashing.

With no expression on his face, Thomas regarded the two-handed claymore. Robert’s long, thin rapier would make mincemeat of this buffoon in no time.

Robert gave Thomas a quick wink and began to walk about, kicking loose stones out of the way, all the while taunting his foe. As he neared Thomas, he pushed Douglas’s fine cloak toward him with a careless shove of his foot.

Thomas took the cloak and waited for the yelling to reach a fevered pitch. Every man crowded in a circle around Robert and Douglas, yelling taunts and exchanging money as the wagers began to flow.

No one paid him the least heed as he slowly melted into the crowd, the cloak crumpled in his hands.

Duncan leaned back in the chair and stretched his feet toward the fire. “Duart Castle is warmer than this even in the midst of winter. You’ll freeze here, poppet.”

Fia crossed her arms and frowned. “Surely you’ve not traveled all the way from Scotland just to compare your fireplace to my Sassenach’s.”

“I told you I came to see that you were well.”

“I’m fine, as you can see. And yet you make no effort to leave. Duncan, what’s toward?”

Duncan’s dark gaze flickered over her, lingering on her face. “Are you truly well?” His voice was soft.

For a moment, the desire was strong to return to her childhood, when she could throw herself into his arms and weep for all that was or was not. But those times had passed. Now, if she wept, he would think she was sad, and she wasn’t. She merely felt a deep sense of longing for what she didn’t have—her husband’s regard.

When she could trust her voice, she shrugged. “I am a wee bit tired from the voyage, perhaps, but that is all.”

“A good nap will cure all, eh? Fia, I don’t know if I—”

A sudden clamor arose outside and Duncan’s brow creased. “Berwick!” he bellowed.

The door opened and a grizzled face appeared. “Aye, yer lordship?”

“What in the blazes is going on out there?”

“’Tis Robert MacQuarrie, me lord.” Berwick’s voice quivered with excitement. “He approached the front gate and challenged Kinnish Douglas. Ye can see them fighting
from the window at the end of the hall.” Berwick’s eyes shone. “Robert MacQuarrie’ll rue this day if’n he lives long enough. There’s none like Douglas with a sword.”

Duncan snorted derisively. “Fools! There’s none like MacQuarrie with a rapier. Douglas’ll not last a minute.”

Berwick blinked rapidly. “Ye think MacQuarrie will win?”

“Aye, you fool. Where’s the Sassenach?”

“I dinna know, me lord. There’s naught but MacQuarrie.”

“Like hell. Where you find MacQuarrie, you find that damned Englishman. Go now, and find him.”

Though Duncan hadn’t raised his voice, Berwick gulped and scurried from the room as if the hounds of hell pursued him.

“Coward,” scoffed Fia. Thomas would have never been so quickly cowed. The thought made her chest ache. She and Thomas hadn’t had another conversation since the morning after their tryst, for she could call it little else.

She didn’t want to think that might be their last conversation, for they’d left on such a sour note: his less-than-romantic offer to confirm their marriage for all the wrong reasons, and her less-than-accepting answer for the right ones.