Maggie Mine Page 17

Not for the first time, she wondered how this had happened. Who could be responsible for having stabbed her husband? Of course he had enemies from the battles he’d fought in, from those men jealous of his substantial holdings. But she didn’t think anyone who lived within the castle grounds felt that way. She couldn’t remember seeing any signs of dislike or unhappiness from his men or any of the staff. Only two people seemed to harbor any ill feelings toward him at different times: Lady Stanhope and her. Anyone who’d been in the great hall recently had been aware of the strain between she and Nicholas. Many had even heard her vicious words thrown at him about Brodie, but she hadn’t meant them. And it greatly hurt her to think the people she’d worked with and begun to care for had clearly thought so little of her as to believe her guilty of attacking her husband. They must believe that or surely someone would have tried to visit her or tried to defend her. Although, she didn’t truly know whether or not anyone had stepped forth on her behalf. She just didn’t have much faith in anyone or anything at the moment.

  She rubbed at her aching forehead. Lady Stanhope. The woman had been a thorn in Maggie’s side since the moment they’d first met in the bailey on her arrival here. She’d seen the flash of jealousy in the older woman’s eyes. She’d felt the disgust, the hatred even, whenever they were near one another. Maggie didn’t think Mary actually lusted after Nicholas, although she didn’t understand why not since he was such a handsome, virile man. No, she was certain Mary lusted after the power of his status with King Edward, after the status she, too, would have at Edward’s court as his wife, which was where she longed to go. But did Mary want all of that enough to have attacked Nicholas and named Maggie as the guilty party? Was she really that vicious a woman? Or was there someone else within the walls of Middleham that wished Nicholas dead? Someone else who had hidden their dislike of her? What could anyone killing both of them have to gain? Middleham would fall back under Edward’s control. None here had anywhere near the power and earned honor to hold the castle for the crown.

  Somehow she had to prove her innocence…assuming Nicholas didn’t awaken…didn’t live.

  A shudder passed over her at the thought of him dying. She really had thought they were finally making progress in their marriage. Sure they’d argued about Brodie, but she never would have wished Nicholas dead just because he was too stubborn to let her go to Urquhart now.

  The distant sound of a heavy door creaking open somewhere in the darkness captured her attention. Footsteps started down the stone stairs, at least a couple sets of them. Angry words reached her ears in the vast oppressive silence. Fia raging at Gerald. And then the light of a torch took away some of the darkness, making her blink to adjust even to that small amount of change.

  “Ye’ll never get in me bed again, ye sorry sot,” Fia snarled, hurrying closer. Her footsteps sounded quick, determined. Her long skirt brushed over the stone floor in a ruffling whisper.

  “I had no other choice,” Gerald grumbled back as he strode next to her, carrying the torch. “I’ve told you over and over that Lady Stanhope said—”

  “Ye big, beetle-headed clod, how can ye believe the likes of her? She has nay love fer yer lady. Ye ken it. Everyone with half a mind kens it.” Fia headed straight for Maggie’s cell.

  Gerald strode by Maggie’s friend, towering over her and stopping in front of the locked door. He glowered at the woman he loved and they silently battled a moment. Holding himself stiff in anger, he turned his glower to Maggie but said nothing.

  After a hairsbreadth of a second, he looked away; apparently unable to withstand the way she returned his glower with righteous indignation. She had no love—even like—for the man any longer. Not after he’d ignored her declaration of innocence and ordered her locked in this wretched dungeon.

  “Fia,” Maggie croaked out, her throat too dry for speech. She stepped weakly forward. Her friend hadn’t forgotten her as it seemed everyone else had. She found some strength in that.

  “Oh, Maggie. Dear God, jist look at ye!” Fia gaped at her and then punched Gerald in the arm with a fisted hand. “I will never forgive ye fer this. Never.”

  Maggie smiled gently at her furious maid, wishing she could have punched the big man herself. “Even though I ken he believes he is trying to do right by his lord, I dinna think I can ever forgive him fer turning so quickly on his lady.” The words came out rustily.

  Regret flashed in his eyes, but it didn’t change anything. She’d thought they were friends of a sort, that he knew her better than this. She turned her gaze from him, dismissing him as easily as he had turned on her.

  “’Tis quite a muddle, this. If only Lord Middleham would wake up,” Fia said, her voice filled with worry.

  Maggie’s stomach tightened, fear tightening an invisible noose around her neck. Her time was limited. She didn’t understand why he was still unconscious since no one would even talk about him to her. She stepped closer and asked in dismay, “Did he lose that much blood? So much that his life hangs on a thread? Has a fever settled in?”

  Gerald growled low as if to warn Fia not to discuss Nicholas, but she ignored him. “Cook told me he lost a lot of blood before she could stop the flow. But it was the hard knock of his head against the desk and the large knot he gained that keeps him unconscious. Or so she thinks.”

  “”Twasn’t enough you stabbed him, but you had to—”

  Fia dared to shove at him and he slammed his mouth shut in surprise. “I will no’ listen to more of yer false accusations! More of the lies from Lady Stanope.” She said the word “lady” with disdain.

  She focused again on Maggie, worrying her lower lip for a second. “Cook said his wound festered a bit with infection, but ‘tis better now. Yet he developed a fever a day ago. She’s more than a bit worried aboot that.”

  “Oh no,” Maggie said in distress.

  Fia blew out a breath of disgust. “I havena been allowed in his bedchamber. Only the cook and Lady Stanhope.”

  Maggie glared at Gerald. “Lady Stanhope is helping care fer my husband?”

  He had the good sense to take a step back. “The cook is elderly. She couldn’t watch over him by herself. Lady Stanhope said she’d be glad to help, insisted on it.”

  “I’ll jist bet she did!” Maggie’s weak knees threatened to give in, but she fought against it, reaching out to hold onto the cold, rusty metal bars. “I doena want her near my husband!”

  “You have no say in the matter,” Gerald stated grimly.

  “I demand to see Nicholas.” She desperately needed to see him. Oh, God, what if it had been Mary who attacked him? What if she tried something again?

  “No. You will remain here until he awakens.”

  Hopelessness washed over her. Her shoulders slumped. “Is he at least being guarded?”

  At first it didn’t look like Gerald would answer her, then he gave a curt nod. “Aye, a guard stays in the room at all times. Though with only Cook and Lady Stanhope there….”

  She could tell he didn’t see a reason for it, but he’d still ordered a guard. For that, she silently thanked him.

  Fia had been looking around the small cell while Maggie and Gerald had verbally battled. Now she asked in horror, “They dinna give ye a cot? Just a worn blanket? What of food? Water? Ye look to be wasting away.”

  Her gown hung on her and she knew she’d lost weight, but Maggie really didn’t care. She gave a shrug. “I canna sleep anyway with the rats constantly after me.” She vaguely pointed at the trencher near her feet. “A guard brings me a scrap of bread once a day, but the rats get it first. A cup of stale water is brought as well. A small cup.”

  Gerald had the decency to look uneasy. Maybe he hadn’t known how poorly she was treated, but it was his duty to know.

  Fia stepped toe-to-toe with the big man, not the least bit intimidated by his size or by the way he glowered down at her. She hissed, “When Lord Middleham learns how ye’ve treated his lady, he will have ye thrown in here and left to rot.” She gave him
a look meant to burn him alive. “I canna stand the verra sight of ye.”

  Great sorrow filled his expression as Fia moved away from him. Maggie had little pity for him. If…when she got out of here, she would get as far from Middleham as possible. Even if that meant leaving Nicholas behind. She didn’t hold much hope of saving their marriage after this mess. And she didn’t think she could ever be comfortable with anyone here again.

  “I will see that ye are brung bread and cheese, water as well. More than a small cup.” Fia reached through the metal bars to touch Maggie’s arm. “Dinna give up, my lady. The truth will come out.”

  “If Nicholas doesna….” Maggie swallowed the rest of the pain-filled words. Tears trickled down her grimy cheeks and she turned away, not wanting them to see her crying in earnest.

  “He will be fine,” Fia declared. “I’ve sent a messenger to catch up with Sir Douglas. To yer brother as well.”

  Gerald muttered, “Word has been sent to the king, too.”

  Maggie felt the last of her hopes fading, felt sick to her stomach. But there was nothing left to retch up inside her. She’d long ago lost what little she had eaten four days ago. She walked to the moldy wall and sank to the floor. Her hopes lie with one unconscious man and with a man—her brother—who wouldn’t know her.

  * * *

  Fire blazed through his body, everywhere. Nicholas moaned and tried to turn over to his back, but he didn’t have the strength. Even the small attempt he’d made forced pain to whirl through him from his throbbing head and from a wound on his shoulder. What had happened to him?

  A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he settled down. Maggie. Whatever was wrong with him, she would take care of him. He abandoned the attempt to open his eyes, to face the light of day just yet.

  “She’ll never hurt you again.”

  From somewhere in his fevered mind, he thought he heard Lady Stanhope’s voice. He frowned and then let the notion go away. He must have heard wrong. Only his beloved Maggie would be by his side now.

  Hours later as sun slid over his heated face, Nicholas fought his way from the darkness that had been holding him prisoner. Sweat beaded all over his body. Pain and fire seared his back. His throat was dry as the desert. He gasped out in a gravelly voice, “Maggie. Water. Please.”

  But it was the white-haired, older cook who carried a cup of water to him. And Lady Stanhope who helped to hold his head up while he took a few sips.

  Through bleary eyes, he focused on the cook, “Maggie…I need Maggie.”

  She gave him a pitying look and sadly shook her head. “She isn’t here, My Lord.”

  Panic swelled within him. “Was she hurt, too?” God, no. Not his Maggie!

  The cook shook her head. “No, My Lord, Lady Middleham isn’t hurt.” She blinked back tears. “At least I don’t think so.”

  His head felt like it was splitting in two, but confusion worried him more. “What do you mean? You don’t think so.”

  Lady Stanhope nudged the older woman aside and looked down at him with forced gentleness. “You’re too weak to talk of such troublesome matters. You need to rest.” She carefully touched his heated face. “I will take good care of you.”

  Nicholas pulled away from her touch, repulsed by it. He grimaced at the action, at the pain of moving. “No.”

  Gerald stood from where he’d been sitting on a nearby trunk and walked over to the bed. A grim expression etched his face. “You need to let the women take care of you, My Lord. Your fever hasn’t broken yet. You need your strength back.”

  “Maggie will tend me,” Nicholas insisted. He didn’t want any other woman touching him. The way they were all watching him with such concern bothered him. He wished his head didn’t ache so much that he couldn’t think straight.

  The cook gently wiped his face with a wet cloth. “She can’t.” She turned a disgusted look up at Gerald. “They’ve locked your wee wife in the dungeon.”

  He rolled over to be able to sit up and the pain of it nearly did him in. “Dungeon? What is this nonsense?”

  Gerald shifted uneasily but stood his ground. “She tried to kill you, My Lord. Stabbed you in the back with her dagger.” He raised his chin. “I had to put her in the dungeon. There are many here who would have hung her that very day.”

  “Kill me? Her dagger?” Nicholas struggled to remain upright, unconcerned that he was naked and the linen rode low enough to nearly expose his lower body. “Hung her?” He couldn’t take it all in.

  The cook was rubbing at tears streaking down her face. Her lips trembled. “I don’t believe it. Most of us don’t.”

  Mary snapped, “You’re fools then.”

  Nicholas looked at her and she immediately softened her expression, tears even misted her eyes. He shifted his gaze to Gerald. “Explain.”

  His first, his long-time friend, held silent for a minute. Appearing resigned, he said matter-of-factly, “You were stabbed in the back while in your solar three days ago. Mary saw it happen. She came running to find me.”

  Nicholas again fought to stay upright, fought against the fever threatening to steal his ability to listen. Finally he gave in to the need to lie back. He cursed as his wounded back touched the mattress. Then he concentrated as best he could on Lady Stanhope. “You saw the attack?”

  She blinked back the tears he felt sure were forced. “I came to speak with you.” She swallowed hard. “But I heard movement in the room and thought you were with someone. I only stuck my head into the doorway for a second to see, in case I might still come inside.”

  His head pounded once more. He bit back nausea. Not now. He needed to hear more. She’d evidently stopped at the expression on his face. He gave a curt nod. “Continue.”

  She swallowed hard again, twisting her hands together in front of her. “I…I saw Lady Middleham walking up behind you. She…she pushed your head down against the desk. Hard. I hadn’t realized how strong she was. You appeared stunned, didn’t move.” She blinked, twisted her hands again. “Then she raised her little dagger. I was horrified. Before I could even call out, she thrust it into your back.”

  “No. I don’t believe you.” Yet he remembered working on some missives he’d planned to send out. And he remembered feeling uneasy, like he wasn’t alone. Then he’d heard quiet footsteps.

  “It’s the truth, My Lord. I swear it.”

  He closed his eyes, fighting pain that curled through his body. He felt again how his head had slammed against the solid desk. Remembered being dazed. Remembered someone slamming his head down another time and that was the last he recalled. He didn’t remember the dagger being shoved into his back. Blessedly, he didn’t remember that.

  “Many of us heard Lady Middleham say that she wished you dead,” Gerald stated, interrupting Nicholas’s thoughts and forcing his eyes open once more.

  “She didn’t mean it,” Nicholas countered. At least he felt fairly certain of that. No. She’d only been upset with me.

  Mary dashed at a tear sliding down the side of her face. “I’m so sorry, My Lord. I would never hurt you this way if I didn’t have to. What I said is the truth. I saw your wife attack you.”

  He didn’t want to believe it, but could Mary possibly be telling the truth? He hadn’t seen whoever attacked him. He was almost certain the light footsteps had belonged to a woman. And Maggie had been very upset with him the last couple of days. But to try and kill me? No, he didn’t believe it. Something was off here. Yet he knew the danger his wife was in now, understood why Gerald had locked her away. His men, his people, would expect immediate justice against an attack on their lord. Even if it had come from a woman he’d thought most of them had come to admire and like. She needed to be kept safely locked away until the matter was resolved…either way. He prayed—no, he knew in his heart—that she was innocent.

  “I wish to see her.” He might know that she needed to be kept safely under guard, but ne needed to see her.

  “You’re not strong enough to deal with her
,” Mary protested. “Even now I can see how the fever holds you within its power.”

  She was right. He felt the fever of infection raging through him. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open, to focus at all. But the idea of Maggie locked in the dungeon was more than he could bear. One more day. He’d heal one more day before he had her brought to him.

  “Tomorrow I will be stronger. I will speak with her on the morrow.” He nearly drifted away, but managed to look at Gerald. “Remove her from the dungeon. Put her in the tower. With a guard you trust.” Then his faint hold on reality faded.

  * * *

  Two guards took Maggie from the dungeon to the tower late in the day. They’d tied her hands behind her back, though she didn’t have the strength or the will to fight them. She was weak from lack of food, having been unable to keep down the bread and cheese Fia’d had sent to her. Her bruised cheek ached. And the cut on her arm burned. No one had yet noticed the blood staining the torn sleeve of her chemise or the rag wrapped around her arm. Nor did they talk to her except to announce where they were taking her.

  Gerald met them at the foot of the stairs leading to the tower sometimes used to hold prisoners, of which she was one. Fia stood near him, refusing to acknowledge his presence but determined to be there. The second Maggie grew closer, Fia’s eyes widened in horror. She spun toward Gerald. “Ye beat her! Ye loathseome great gowk!”

  He glanced from Fia to Maggie and then in fury at the guards. “Did you beat her to get her to come with you?”

  Both men shook their heads and then looked at her as well. The bigger man who’d many times spoken kindly to Maggie said, “We would never harm our lady.” Then he grew silent at the situation.

  Maggie didn’t care about anything other than getting to the tower room. It would at least have a cot, and she was so very tired. She only wanted to lie down. She’d asked to see Nicholas again, and, again, been refused. But she’d been at least told he’d awakened briefly and would see her on the morrow. Her heart had broken that he hadn’t wanted to see her now.