The Intended (32 page)

Malcolm raised her chin and looked into her
glistening eyes. “It is only foolish to blame yourself for how you
feel!”

“She did change so much before she died,”
Jaime whispered. “I think she even tried to make peace with me—as
few as the days were that she had left, she did her best to show me
that she loved me. I know that’s what I should remember her by and
not what went before.”

“We don’t choose what we remember and what we
forget, lass. But I believe that, in time, once you’ve learned to
forgive, those last days with her may be all you remember her
by.”

She nodded in response and once again melted
into the warmth of his embrace.

“You never knew about Henry of England, did
you?”

Jaime shook her head. “And I don’t care to
know anything more about him. To me he is nothing more than a
lecherous man who has brought only misery to so many women in his
wretched life.”

“But you
are
his daughter.”

“And that means nothing to me, Malcolm. Mary
could have slept with the lowliest of peasants, it makes no
difference to me.” Jaime realized that her closed fists were
planted firmly on his chest. “With regard to my life, ‘tis not the
one who planted the seed that matters, but rather those who raised
me. Those are the ones that I cherish.”

Malcolm gathered her tightly to his chest. “I
wish Elizabeth and Ambrose could have been here to hear these
words. Your mother was heartsick with worry before I left Scotland,
fretting over how you would feel when you finally knew the
truth.”

Jaime pulled back and looked questioningly
into Malcolm’s eyes. “You spoke to my parents about this before you
left Scotland?”

“Well, aye, Jaime.” The Highlander cast
around for the right words. “Elizabeth thought...well, that if I
were to come across you in my travels...”

“You said you were going to Rotterdam, not to
England. How could you come across me...?” Jaime stared at the
suddenly sheepish expression on his face. “Malcolm! What are you
holding back?”

“What makes you think...”

She thumped her fists once solidly on his
chest, her eyes blazing. “I’ve had quite enough of playing the
half-wit for one day. Don’t treat me like one any longer.”

He gathered her hands into his and brought
them to his lips. “Never, Jaime. I shall never again treat you ill
nor think you any less than the marvel that you truly are.”

“Don’t try flattering me with your Highland
charms, Malcolm MacLeod. Speak the truth. For what reason did my
mother take you into their confidence? I know Elizabeth, and she
would not have spoken of this to anyone unless there were a good
reason for it. So tell me what reason you had for knowing,
Malcolm.”

The Highlander placed both hands on her
shoulders. “Ambrose and Elizabeth told me everything just before I
left Scotland on this trip...well, because...” He paused and looked
deep into her eyes. “Because they knew I was to be a son to
them.”

“A son?”

“Aye. Well, a son-in-law!” he clarified.
“Husband to their daughter! They thought ‘twas important for me to
know the truth, and also they felt that it imperative that I tell
you everything...before I spirited you out of England.”

Her heart soared at his words, but she shook
her head, perplexed by them, as well. “Elizabeth and Ambrose knew
of our intended marriage before I knew of it? You asked their
permission first—and they accepted—without knowing if I would even
have you?”

The Highlander took both her hands in his. “I
don’t think such things as logic or propriety apply to us, my love.
After all, you yourself announced our marriage to the world without
ever consulting me on the subject. You did all of that before the
age of five.”

“Not
before
, you bold-faced liar...I
was
five!”

“Very well!” he responded, conceding with a
shrug of his shoulders and a crooked smile. “Have it your way. But
even so, after what you’ve done, I cannot see any wrong on my part
in speaking with them!”

She placed her hands around his neck and
glared into his eyes. “Whatever I did, m’lord, I did before your
wedding. Things changed after that day. Or have you forgotten that
I was hurt, wounded, humiliated!”

“Nay, lass,” Malcolm replied, his face
growing serious. “How could I forget such a thing?”

“How indeed?” Jaime looked into his solid,
handsome face. How long had she loved this face, the look of
tenderness in these dark eyes. A feeling of warmth, of happiness
flowed through her. “But, Malcolm, you were not headed for England.
As far as you were concerned I was staying in this land for good.
As far as anyone could know, I had no intention of ever returning
to Scotland!”

“‘Tis true. And I knew that you hated me, as
well! I remember very well, my love.”

“Then what, in the Holy Mother’s name, gave
you the idea...the idea...”

He placed his hands lightly around her waist.
“The idea of seeking your hand in marriage by talking to your
parents first? Of traveling to Rotterdam with plans already in
place to come and get
you
? Of having thought so far ahead as
to have a ship meet us on the coast of England at the right
time?”

She couldn’t find words for the uneasiness
that was beginning to settle in. This was madness—he couldn’t
possibly have known.

“I had a dream,” he whispered as he nestled
her closer to his body.

She stared at him in awe.

“Aye.” He nodded. “You forget that I am the
laird of a people who believe in fairies and spirits.”

“And the dream told you what was to
come?”

“Only partly, lass. James, the seer, came to
me in this dream.”

“Who is this James, Malcolm?” she asked
softly.

His hand caressed her back. “An old man,
ancient when I was no more than a bairn. To everyone’s thinking, he
died long before you ever set foot on the Isle of Skye. When I was
a lad, I used to see him sitting by the gate of the old Priory and
talking to all who passed. Many islanders said that he had the
second sight. Others said, when the old prioress wasn’t in earshot,
that he was a spirit—passing through the old man’s ailing frame for
the time being. There were even stories of him appearing to the
king before Flodden Field and warning him of his coming death. And
there were many other tales of James giving warning of what was to
come. He always scared me as a lad—until one day when his words
actually saved my life.”

“He foretold some danger?” she asked.

“That he did!” Malcolm added. “Danger to me
and to Fiona. But being eager, I ignored his warning. And when it
all came true, he appeared to Alec Macpherson and sent him to save
us.”

Jaime ran a light finger over his knotted
brow. “You believe in his magic.”

“I believe in his sight,” Malcolm corrected.
“He disappeared after that, and everyone figured he was dead. But I
saw him again—the day of the gathering when I became a laird. He
was there. Many whispered ‘twas James who had hidden the Fairy Flag
for so long, waiting for a just man to become laird of the
MacLeods. Others must have seen him, as well, for word of his
presence there spread like a moorfire through the Great Hall at
Dunvegan. I think it convinced many that I was indeed their
rightful leader.”

“His spirit may have helped, Malcolm,” Jaime
argued. “But you
are
the true heir.”

He shook his head. “I was Torquil’s only son,
but illegitimate, being born out of wedlock. My father had been
laird, that was true. But he was a man who had sold his soul to the
devil in his youth and had never cared spit for his people during
his treacherous and miserable life!” Malcolm let out a deep breath.
“And my mother was a simple crofter’s lass seduced or forced—it
does not matter which—by Torquil’s wickedness. They told me she
didn’t even live long enough to look into my face after I was
born.”

Jaime didn’t try to hold back her emotions as
she embraced him tightly in her arms. “Oh, Malcolm! We were both
such lost souls. Born of fathers who cared nothing for us, and
mothers who died too young.”

The Highlander gazed lovingly into her eyes.
“And we were both fortunate enough to be found and cared for by
folk who loved us as their own. To think that your path and mine
would never have crossed at all if it weren’t for these
Macphersons.”

Jaime drew back and smiled tenderly as she
ran her fingers over the chiseled edges of his broad face. “You
said he came to you in your dream? This James, the seer!”

Malcolm nodded. “Aye. After Flora died, my
life became as dark and bare as the dungeons at Dunvegan. Empty,
but for the ghosts that were haunting me day and night. And believe
me when I tell you, ‘twas not love for her nor even grief that
created that terrible...void. It was just that I knew I’d done a
great wrong somehow. That by marrying her I had betrayed some
trust. That I had perhaps even caused her death—and robbed myself
of...” He took her chin between his fingers and raised it, until he
could gaze into her eyes. “And you had disappeared, you minx. I
could find you nowhere.”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to see me just
then, I think.”

“But I did,” he answered. “That last look you
gave me—while you stood in that stunning white dress, by the chapel
door. I couldn’t forget that look. You were haunting me, Jaime,
even from far away.”

She blushed under his burning gaze. “You said
the seer came to you in your dream!”

“He did,” Malcolm’s fingers caressed her
face, tracing the outline of her dark hair. “He told me that ‘twas
time I came after you.”

“After
me
?”

He nodded. “He asked me to go to the far
land, England, and bring back my true intended to Skye. The one
with good blood, he called you. The woman who still suffered by my
past wrongdoing. For she’d done nothing to deserve such
unhappiness, he said. Then he said ‘twas time—that my soul would
never be truly at ease until ‘twas matched with its fitting
mate.”

She melted at his words. “How did you know
I
was the one of whom he spoke?”

“Because I saw you.” Malcolm’s large hands
framed her face. His eyes were as dark as the night sky and yet
trusting. “As James spoke—there were no other visions before my
eyes than you. Your face was all I could see. Your beautiful body
wrapped in that white dress, haunting me, punishing me for being
such a great fool.”

“Malcolm,” she whispered his name while
brushing a kiss across his lips. “I never intended to bring you
pain.”

He held back his desire of crushing her mouth
to his. “Leave with me next week—go back with me to Scotland.”

Remembering the horrible news that Frances
had brought, Jaime jerked back in his arms in a sudden panic. Her
eyes filled quickly with tears. “But they are sending me to court
before then. I cannot go to Nonsuch Palace, Malcolm. I cannot. But
how can I stop them?”

Malcolm's voice was reassuring. “Your father,
Henry of England, cannot know of the truth of your identity. If he
did—if he had recently learned of it—there would be an entourage of
knights and ladies ready and waiting to escort you back to court. I
assume that in summoning you to come in such haste, the duke of
Norfolk—or Edward—must have some underhanded plan for gaining power
or favor with the king.”

“But how will that bring them anything?
Surely, now that he has heir, Prince Edward, the king will care
nothing...”

“Nay, lass. I don’t think it is succession
that the duke is thinking of.” Malcolm released her and turned
toward the window. “There is something else...”

“Whatever it is, Malcolm, I must find a way
to convince Surrey not to send me there!” Jaime could hear her
voice quivering. “I’ve made a mistake of placing myself under the
Howards’ care—and now I am as much a prisoner as you are.”

Malcolm, his face animated and alert as he
thought the problem through, turned at her words and again caught
her up in his arms.

“Perhaps if I tried to run,” Jaime cried in
despair. “Perhaps if I disguised myself and disappeared into the
dark of the night.”

“You will do no such thing, Jaime.” Malcolm
scolded. “Where would you go in this countryside? Who do you know
outside of this palace?”

“But my own mother did it. And
Elizabeth...years ago...while my mother was still carrying me.”

Malcolm placed his hands firmly around her
waist and glowered at her. “Think no more on that, Jaime. Those
were different times, and Elizabeth had help. We, however, have
other possibilities that we haven’t pursued.”

“Aye?” she asked, staring up at him. “What
possibilities, Malcolm?”

“I told you before about arranging for a ship
to meet us. Well, ‘twill be arriving by the full moon at
Midsummer’s Eve, at a small fishing village north of Harwich.”

“A ship! So it is real,” she whispered.

“Aye, as real and sure as you and I standing
here!”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed as a thought struck
her. “But Midsummer’s Eve is more than a week hence! I could be
sent off to Nonsuch Palace long before that.”

“You will not,” he promised. “I give you my
word...that will not happen.”

Threading his fingers into her hair, Malcolm
pulled her forward and kissed her. A moment later, still dazed from
the suddenness, from the thoroughness of the kiss, Jaime opened her
eyes as he drew away.

“But promise me that you will not do anything
foolish, Jaime.”

“Foolish?”

“Aye. You must trust me when I tell you that
we have friends.” He placed a finger on her full, soft lips, and
then moved as if to back away. “You cannot be running away—or going
into hiding—or putting yourself in danger. Promise me?”

“Where are you going?” she asked, instead on
making the pact.