Sandra Madden (9 page)

And there her fate was written, written in the stars.

"Kate!"

"Edmund?" She looked up to find him looming above her. He held a torch, which cast flickering shadows and golden ribbons of light across his face and chest. "You gave me a start."

"I did not mean to."

Kate looked back into the garden.

He sat beside her, his long legs dangled two stone steps beyond. "I went to Aunt Cordelia's chambers to be certain she, and you, had all that you needed. But I discovered you gone."

"I could not sleep."

"Is the bed not comfortable?"

He smelled faintly of sandalwood and deep, lusty maleness. His fine lawn shirt exposed a tantalizing patch of crisp raven chest hair.

She should not look. He should not have removed his doublet.

"Aye, the bed is fine," she said. " Tis excitement that keeps me from sleep."

Edmund cocked his head, eyeing her closely. A stubble of beard darkened his strong, square jaw. "Has your excitement anything to do with Digby? Did you favor the limner?"

"He is likeable."

"Pray, what did you talk about?"

"You."

Edmund's brows shot up in surprise. "Me?"

"Your limner is quite fond of you, Edmund."

"Oh." His brow gathered in a bunched, ill-humored frown before he spoke. "Think no more of Digby."

In fact Kate had not given the limner a thought since her conversation with him. "What truly excites me is the prospect of visiting at least one goldsmith on the morrow."

"I shall see to it, then."

Kate's joy was tempered by the realization that if Edmund moved only a bit, he would brush against her. If that were to happen, she would surely burst into flame.

"If only I could read the stars like Jutta does," she said, diverting her shameful thoughts and feelings. "Then I might know what will happen on the morrow. I could foresee my future... and my past."

"Do you truly believe the stars can be read?"

"Does not Queen Elizabeth have her own astrologer in George Dee?"

"She does," Edmund conceded. "But I doubt if our queen consults Dee daily on affairs of the kingdom,"

"He chose the most propitious day for her coronation."

"Did Dee also select the time for the defeat of the Spanish Armada?"

"I do not know. I only know that the position of the stars affects our body and mind, the crops and the tides."

"There are scholars who doubt these theories, Kate."

"Do you?" She looked up and into Edmund's eyes. As her gaze came to rest on his, her heart swelled up and against her chest, pressing painfully against fragile walls.

Oh, fie! The Earl of Stamford would be the death of her—in a most pleasant manner.

With his deep green gaze still locked on Kate's, Edmund's lips turned up in a wry, half smile. "Let us just say I have reservations."

She sighed. He'd been a cynical soul even as a boy. She, on the other hand, was not limited by suspicion or doubt. "I should like to find an astrologer to consult while in London."

Edmund sighed, a resounding sigh of resignation. "Aunt Cordelia plans to see a fortune teller; you should accompany her."

"A fortune teller is not the same as an astrologer," Kate reminded him. " 'Tis guesswork involved in fortune telling."

"But an astrologer—"

"Astrology is a science."

"You would lead your life according to the stars?" Edmund asked.

"I cannot entirely," she admitted. "I do not know the exact date of my birth nor the time. Jutta warned me that my chart will never be true unless I discover—”

"Who is Jutta? An astrologer?"

"Aye, the village stargazer." When indecision plagued Kate, Jutta's insight helped her determine the proper course.

"Did Jutta advise you as to what would happen to you during your stay in London?"

"She counseled me to be on guard."

"Being on guard is sage advice for those visiting a bustling city where beggars and pickpockets abound," he said.

"I believe the warning goes deeper. Jutta's words were: 'Be on guard without and within.'”

Edmund rubbed the back of his neck and made a grunting sound beneath his breath.

Kate waited silently, expectantly. 'Twas the perfect setting for him to steal a kiss. But since he'd kissed her in the country, he no longer appeared interested. 'Twas her lack of experience to blame. Not that she wished to be taken advantage of and then discarded as her natural mother must have been. Still, for one more kiss... oh, hey-ho!

Beside her Edmund whistled softly. He idly pulled at weeds, twisting their blades absentmindedly before tossing them aside. The uneasy silence, save for the low whistling, fell between them like an invisible curtain. Could Kate go around the barrier, leap over it? Was it even penetrable? What to do? What to do?

This odd silence was a prickly new phenomenon Kate had never experienced in Edmund's company. All had been playful and harmonious with them in the past. Silences had been sweet.

Edmund's whistle ceased. "Are you feeling weary?"

"Aye." Kate yawned to emphasize the fact. She would say or do anything to escape from the breath-quenching nearness of his body, the unnerving silence. "I feel now as if I shall sleep till past dawn."

"Come. I'll see you to your bedchamber door. Early on the morrow, we shall visit my goldsmith. The search for your natural mother begins."

Chapter Six

Look for a warm, early summer

The old Scottish castle was cold, the corridors damp, the walls crumbling. Donald Cameron, the Duke of Doneval, could no longer delay making the necessary repairs. The remote Downes Castle lay south of Moffat on the road to England. Perched high on a bluff overlooking the village below, it discouraged all but the most desperate visitors. Which he had been.

The aged structure was several days' travel from his own palatial estate in the highlands. Doneval Manor nestled in the shadows of Stirling. Donald might never have known of Downes's existence but for a twist of fate.

Seeking shelter from an approaching storm, he had approached its doors with his entourage almost twenty-five years ago.

Donald had been a regular visitor ever since. He stopped at Downes Castle whenever traveling to England as an emissary of his king, James the Sixth. He came to see the beautiful Englishwoman who had lived in Downes, never straying beyond the bailey walls. As far as he knew the beauty known as Anne had lived there all of her life.

Beguiled by the mysterious lass at first sight, Donald looked forward to his visits but found himself at the mercy of Anne's whims. Sometimes he stayed for days at the castle without ever seeing the reclusive woman. Enamored beyond good sense, he suffered, without complaint, the eccentricities of the fragile lass who had quickly become his lover.

Donald had lost his wife the year before he first passed through the portals of Downes Castle. He had been content in his marriage with Caragh for near ten years. In his grief, he thought never to care for another woman, never to know contentment again. Unexpectedly, he found more than contentment with Anne.

He was invited to sup with her on the eve he sought shelter at Downes. One expected a hag to be hidden away but not a fair, gossamer beauty. Donald had stammered like a schoolboy. He lost his heart before the first candle flickered out.

Over time, Anne shared her feelings with Donald, her opinions, her talents, and her heart. She shared all but her past and her future.

A year after their meeting, the pale, blond beauty asked him to make love to her. Donald had been shocked at her invitation, but did not hesitate. He'd never made love to another woman since.

Anne did not always see him, and Donald was forced to deal with Sally, the old retainer who doted on her mistress. Whether Anne remained in seclusion because of a low mood, ill health, or simply because she was unwilling to see him, Donald could never be certain. After several years of perseverance, the duke developed a trusting relationship with the plump, cherry-cheeked guardian of his cloistered lover.

For Anne's own safety Donald resolved to start the repairs on Downes Castle immediately. He would not ask her permission and risk refusal; he would tell her.

"Weel na, Sally, I must see me lady today."

Belying her jovial appearance, Sally possessed a somber demeanor. "Lady Anne is indisposed, my lord."

"Aye? An' what ails the lass?" he asked suspiciously. Anne frequently avoided him claiming ill health. While she did indeed look delicate, Donald believed her claims were often ruses. She was a wily one. Unlike other women he'd known, the mysterious English lass enjoyed solitude. "Has milady caught a chill from this damp prison she calls a castle?"

" "Tis a fever she does not wish to pass on to you, my lord."

Donald felt like a swine. "Wish milady a swift recovery."

"Aye, my lord."

He started away and then stopped. "Be a kind lass and convey my intent to begin repairs on this ruin as soon as I return from England."

"Aye, my lord."

"Tell her I must leave for London at dawn. I am expected at court and canna delay."

"Aye, my lord." The old woman shuffled off.

Although Sally never showed disrespect, 'twas evident early on that she held a duke in no higher regard than any other man.

"There is more."

Sally stopped, gazing at him over her shoulder.

Donald lowered his voice. "Tell me lady Anne, I hold her close to me heart. An' I pray to find her in good health upon me return."

Sally smiled.

* * * *

Edmund guided Kate through the bustling Cheap-side section of London. Street vendors hawked their wares and dust billowed from the road to smite the eyes. Above them, thick smoky, gray clouds rolled across the sky in silent warning of rain to come.

"I would not take you away from your duties at Parliament, Lord Stamford."

"And I would not have you venturing about alone on Goldsmith Row, Mistress Kate."

Kate's eyes were large with the sights and smells of the city. "Lady Cordelia means to shop on the morrow. I could have waited," she replied, her gaze on several large penned peacocks, brilliant of plume and proud of bearing.

"Last eve you sounded impatient to begin. I feared for your wits were you to wait another day," Edmund teased. "What better time than now, whilst Jane's personal physician is attending Aunt Cordelia? You will not be missed."

In order to escort Kate this afternoon, Edmund had declined an invitation from the Earl of Cheltham to play billiards. He and Robin played once a week. The loser provided dinner to the winner. But as Edmund accompanied his childhood companion along the street, taking in the sights through Kate's marveling eyes, he did not miss his game nearly as much as he'd anticipated.

Kate held her pomander close to her nose. Unused to city smells, she more than likely suffered from an unsettled stomach—not that he expected her to admit as much. 'Twas common for country visitors to react badly to the city stench. She slowed as they reached Goldsmith Row, passing the elegant shops of London's foremost jewelers.

"I did not expect so many goldsmith shops," she confessed a bit breathlessly. "How long will it take me to visit every shop?"

"Mayhap you will not need to visit each shop. Come, this is the shop of my goldsmith, Beacham." Edmund held the door for her.

Pausing to give Edmund a small, tremulous smile, Kate entered the shop.

"Beacham, good morrow."

"Good morrow, Lord Stamford."

"I have brought a friend seeking information about a ring she wears."

" 'Twill be my honor to help if I can," the young jeweler replied. Edmund did not miss the light in his eye as Beacham dipped his head to Kate. "How do you do, milady?"

Edmund did not have the heart to embarrass Kate by correcting the goldsmith. Although not a lady, Edmund fancied others would make the same mistake regarding the gardener's daughter. ‘Twas the proud angle of her chin, the Cleopatra smile upon her lips, and the curiosity shining in her eyes that made Kate appear manor born.

In the garden last eve 'twas all Edmund could do to keep his hands to himself. He'd torn countless weeds to shreds in the effort to exert self-control. He had taken far too much liberty when he had kissed her in his old tree castle. The soft, moist warmth of Kate's mouth still haunted him. The faint cinnamon taste of her had left him with an unfulfilled craving, a forbidden craving. One he could not satisfy.

Remorseful ever since, for taking advantage of his childhood friend, Edmund vowed not to impose upon the woman she'd become again. He'd vowed not to even think of her lips—as he was now.

Compounding matters was his mistake in selecting Digby as a potential suitor for Kate. A fop with a speech impediment.

Edmund knew it to be in his own best interest to make a proper match for Kate as soon as possible. For he did not know how much longer he could be expected to resist the temptation of her. He was a man of hearty appetites.

"I am well," Kate was saying. "And you, Mr. Beacham?"

Beacham appeared taken aback to have a lady inquire of his health. Though his mouth dropped open as if he would speak, he only nodded.

Edmund stepped between the two. "Prithee, Beacham, will you examine my lady's ring?"

"I cannot remove it, Edmund," she whispered tersely, tugging on his sleeve.

" Why? Is it too small? Or have the stars said nay?" he asked, unable to resist the jibe.

Kate raised her chin a notch higher. "Mama and Papa Beadle vowed I would never remove the ring."

"May I remind you?" One day long ago, she had allowed him to hold her precious ring.

"I may have removed it once, when I was too young to understand."

For you,
were her unspoken words. She had removed it for him. Inexplicably, Edmund's heart pitched against his chest.

"But now with full understanding," Kate continued, "I am breaking one of their promises by seeking my ring's origin."

"They promised?"

"Aye, but not I. I did not promise."

Edmund nodded. "Show the goldsmith."