Highland Surrender (26 page)

“Good morning, m’lady. I’ve brought ye—” The maid’s voice cut short as she halted near the end of the bed. “Oh, good morning to ye as well, m’lord. I dinna—” She stopped again, her eyes going wide as Myles lifted his head from the pillow.

Still hazy from slumber, Fiona had forgotten he was there, but the night came rushing back in vivid detail. Him tumbling over the chair, the nosebleed, and the aftermath.

But ’twas daytime now, and the maid stood gaping at her husband, her expression indicating more than just surprise at Myles’s presence. Fiona looked at him and gave a tiny gasp. He sat up and whisked a hand through his hair to smooth it. “What?” His voice rasped with sleep.

Fiona sat up next to him and looked back to Ruby.

“What?” he demanded once more.

“Forgive me, m’lord. You have a bit of a blackened eye,” Ruby answered.

“Bring me a looking glass,” he said thickly.

Ruby scurried to set the tray upon the table and found the mirror where it had been left upon the floor. She brought it to him, her lips betraying nothing, pursed together as they were.

Myles took the glass with some hesitation. He looked at Fiona first. “Is it awful?”

She shrugged. “Not so very awful.”

With a sigh of resignation, he gazed into the glass and let out a huff. He ran his hand through his hair again and held the mirror higher, to see himself in better light.

“Christ,” he muttered.

“Come on, now,” Vivi prodded. “Tell me how you blackened my nephew’s eye. A randy scuffle twixt the sheets, yes?”

“No, ’twas just as I explained. I left the chair in his path, and in the dark, he tripped.” She’d come to Vivienne’s solar in the hope some sewing might purge her restlessness, but the task at hand merely made her neck ache and her temples throb.

Vivienne frowned and plucked at her mending. “Have you worn your new nightgown yet?”

Fiona squirmed in her chair. “You are inordinately interested in my bedclothes. I should think you’d have more important things with which to occupy your mind.”

“Well, I haven’t. I cannot find a man for myself until I’m back at court. You are my only source of entertainment.” She jabbed her needle through the fabric and straight into her finger. “Ach!” She popped the finger into her mouth and mumbled around it. “By all the saints in heaven, how I detest mending.”

Fiona smiled despite her somber mood. “I’m sorry I cannot distract you, but there is simply nothing to tell.”

That was not entirely the truth, of course. There was much to tell, but Vivi would be disappointed it had gone so poorly. As was Fiona, for Myles had not said another word after she’d pushed him away. He’d stared into the fire for so long she’d finally returned to the bed and lain awake for near on an hour, waiting for him to come to bed. At last, she’d fallen asleep and had been surprised to see him next to her in the morning.

“Oh, there must be something. At least tell me you’ve gotten better acquainted since your wedding night.”

Fiona felt her cheeks burn bright. She ducked her head over her own sewing and offered a tiny shrug of her shoulders.

“Haven’t you?” Vivi’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. Then she chuckled and fell back against her chair. “I cannot think how Myles is holding himself back. I told him to be patient, but I had no idea he’d take my advice so to heart.”

“You told him to be patient? With me?”

Vivi’s expression showed no remorse. “Yes, I did. And I told him to be nice as well. But it isn’t very nice of him to leave his bride chaste as a pockmarked nun. And shame on you for making him wait so long.”

A rush of uncertainty rose within Fiona, and yet she was in no mood for a scolding. “No shame on me. I never wanted him in the first place.”

Vivienne cocked her head. “But you’d have him now, yes?”

Fiona’s shrug was noncommittal. That necklace had felt like a yoke when she’d thought he’d meant to bribe her with it. But when daylight came, she wondered if she’d been too hasty.

“He’s a lovely man, Fiona,” Vivi said, “and a fine husband. Why would you not want him?”

Fiona’s jaw tightened, even as tears puddled in her eyes. “It isn’t that, Vivi. But it’s not so simple. Do you forget who I am? And what pain his family has caused mine?”

Vivienne twisted her mending into a thick knot and tossed it aside. “Fiona, honestly, you carry this burden too far. I know you think Cedric had something to do with your mother’s death, but I’m just as certain he did not.”

“He is your brother-in-law. Of course you’d think the best of him.”

“The best of him?” A delicate snort escaped Vivienne’s nose. “He has been a rogue and a knave. He broke my sister’s heart. And though he’s tried to make amends, I have not forgiven him. Still, for all his flaws, Cedric is a lover of women, not a murderer of any.”

A tingling began at the base of Fiona’s spine and scuttled upward to the nape of her neck. She felt at once both hot and cold. “He broke Marietta’s heart? How so?”

Vivienne stared at her, for once serious, as if she strove to choose her words with great caution. “No one is infallible, you know. Not even those we love with all our hearts.”

“I don’t understand.”

Vivi glanced about the room, as if someone might be peeping through a crevice or listening at the door. She leaned forward in her chair, and Fiona did the same until their faces were mere inches apart.

“If Mari knew I shared this with you, she’d burn me at the stake. But I will tell you nonetheless, if only so you might stop with all this foolishness.” She looked around once more, then locked her gaze on Fiona. “Cedric and Aislinn were lovers.”

Fiona thumped back in her chair, frustration echoing in her chest. “Oh! That nonsense. Myles tried to ply me with the same story. They think to convince me it was
my
father and not the
earl. ’Tis nothing more than rumor and Cedric’s way of tricking me into compliance.”

But Vivienne grasped her wrist, hard. “’Tis a good deal more than rumor. I have proof.”

Fiona’s breath turned to dust in her lungs. “What proof?”

“Come with me, and I will show you.” Vivienne stood up, letting the rest of her mending fall from her lap onto the floor. She held out a hand to Fiona. “Come on, then.”

She let Vivi pull her from the chair and out the door, down one corridor after another, until they stood outside the chapel.

Vivienne clutched her hands and squeezed. “What I am going to show you, Fiona, is not meant to tarnish any memory you have of your mother. She was a woman, same as you and me, forced to make difficult choices.” Her voice was an earthy whisper. “My only wish is for you to be happy here at Dempsey.”

Fiona’s heart plummeted and bounced back into her throat. She had no idea where Vivienne was leading her or what they might discover. She only knew there was no turning back.

Vivienne eased open the wooden door and they stepped inside. The interior of the chapel was dim, smeared with blurry colors made by light shining through the stained-glass windows. Intricate carvings covered the dark paneled walls, and several rows of candles surrounded the altar. At the front hung an ornate cross with Jesus looking down on them in pity.

They walked down the aisle of the nave and turned to the left, toward another door. Vivi knocked softly. “Father Darius?”

Silence answered.

She turned back and motioned for Fiona to come closer, and then she pushed the door open. “Father, ’tis Vivienne. I need a word with you. It seems I’ve sinned again.” She let out a chuckle at her joke, and still more silence answered.

She nodded then and stepped inside Father Darius’s chamber.

“We can’t go in there.” Fiona’s admonishment was barely above a whisper.

“Of course we can. It’s the only way to the sacristy.”

“The sacristy? We can’t go in there either.” What antics had Vivi pulled her into? They were treading over holy ground as if it were no more sanctified than a mucked-up stall.

But in Vivi went, past the priest’s bed and kneeling bench and straight to yet another door. This one small and tucked into a corner. She plucked a taper from his bedside table and lit it. She looked over her shoulder, saucier still. “Stand there, and he’s likely to discover you. Follow me if you’ve no wish to be caught.”

Fiona peered back into the chapel. It remained empty, with no sign of Father Darius. Vivi disappeared into the stairwell behind the tiny door, the meager glow of the candle lighting her way.

With fear tapping on one shoulder and curiosity tapping the other, Fiona closed the door to the priest’s chamber and scampered along behind Myles’s aunt.

Vivienne lit sconces along the wall as she made her way downward. It was a short staircase and opened at the bottom into a room of cupboards, some with locks as heavy as an anchor. A ring of metal keys hung on a peg, and Vivienne set down the candle and scooped them up. She fumbled for a moment until she found the one she sought.

“They should be in here.” Vivi put the key into one of the smaller locks and jiggled it until the thing fell open with a scrape and click.

Fiona jumped at the sound, for in the tiny chamber, it echoed like a slap. “I’m sure you’re not supposed to open that.”

Vivienne cast an exasperated glance over her shoulder. “If God didn’t want me to unlock it, He’d not have left the keys where I could find them. Trust in the Lord, Fiona.”

Fiona thought to ponder this but had not the time, for the cupboard door creaked open and Vivienne shuffled several items aside, at last pulling from the farthest recesses a dusty bundle wrapped in faded muslin. It was tied with a simple leather cord. She set the bundle on the floor and made deft work of unknotting the string.

“I think this is it,” she said, and worked loose the last of the tie. The fabric fell to the sides, and there sat a stack of folded papers, tied with another ribbon, this one of deep crimson.

Fiona could not breathe or swallow, for though she had yet to learn the contents of those letters, she knew beyond reason that they were about to change everything.

“What are those?” Her voice cracked; her palms went moist.

Vivi looked into her eyes and held up the bundle as if it were the chalice from the Last Supper. “Letters. Love letters from your mother to Cedric Campbell.”

Fiona’s stomach rolled, and she felt dizzy and confused. So much so that Vivienne stood up fast and clutched her arm. “I told you I had proof,” she said. Still holding Fiona steady, Vivienne leaned down and grabbed the cloth and other tie. “We cannot read them here, though. Hold these. Let me lock the cabinet again, and we can take these to my chamber.”

Dazed, Fiona accepted the bundle, and even managed to wrap the cloth around it once more as Vivienne fastened the lock and put the keys back on the peg. Then Vivienne spun her by the shoulders, turning her around and pushing her back up the stairs, blowing out the candles as they went.

At the top, she grasped Fiona’s elbow. “Let me go first.” She stepped around and went into the priest’s chamber once more. Crossing to the other door, she opened it a crack, peeking into the chapel. She motioned for Fiona to follow and stepped through.

Up the aisle they rushed, but before they reached the door leading to the corridor, it opened and Father Darius stepped through. Fiona crossed her arms over the bundle as Vivienne stepped in front of her to shield it from the priest’s view.

His smile was warm, and Fiona thought once more how unlike Father Bettney he seemed. But that might change, once he realized she’d just stolen something from his sacristy.

“Father Darius.” Vivienne’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “How lovely to see you.”

“And you,” he answered. “I did not see you at mass this morning.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Or nearly any morning this week, if my memory is correct.”

“I’m sorry, Father. Mornings are such a sad time for me. ’Tis when I miss my dear dead husband the most, and I fear my weeping would distract your congregation.”

Priests should not scoff and roll their eyes, but this one did. “Vivienne, the Lord is everlasting in his patience, but even He must be getting tired of your fibs. However, come to mass tomorrow, and both He and I may forgive you. You wound my pride when you do not listen to my sermons, you know.”

Vivienne’s lips turned up in humor. “Isn’t pride the work of the devil, Father?”

Father Darius laughed, a rich, warm sound that echoed through the chapel. Fiona had never heard a priest laugh before. In fact, she could not recall a time when Father Bettney had done anything other than scowl and scold.

“Your wit has bested me, my lady. But I should like to see you at mass occasionally nonetheless. Now, what brings you to the chapel today? Is there something I can do for you and Lady Fiona?”

He nodded at Fiona, and she gripped the bundle more tightly still. She felt like Herod snatching the baby Jesus from his manger.

“No, thank you, Father,” Vivienne answered smoothly. “We are done. We came to offer prayers for Lady Fiona’s mother and father.”

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry for your loss, my lady. I will add them to my prayers this evening.”

“Thank you, Father.” Fiona could not seem to raise her voice above a whisper, choked as it was with a myriad of emotions.

“Thank you, Father,” Vivienne said as well. “That is kind of you, indeed. And I vow to make more effort to attend mass. But now we must be going.” With a fast smile, she pulled Fiona the length of the aisle and out the chapel door.

Shutting it behind them, the women leaned back against the wood. Fiona’s heart raced as if she’d run for miles, and the bundle of letters weighed a stone and plenty.

Vivienne took them from her. “Best let me carry these.”

They quickly made their way back to Vivienne’s chamber and sat upon her bed. She unwrapped the bundle once more.

“Would you like to be alone to read these? Or shall I stay?”

Fiona stared at them, as if each letter might turn into a snake and writhe around in a dark and twisty pile. She dared not touch even the crimson ribbon binding them together.

“I should like you to stay, please. But first, you must tell me how you knew of them, locked up as they were.”