LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  "Aye, that he is, but if I go to Sir Nicholas and that snake gets wind of it, I'm sure he'll take it out on Eleanor somehow once they leave Dunkeathe—and he's got the right to do what he likes with her because he's her guardian, the great daft git!"

  "Then what do you think we ought to do?"

  " I know what I'd like to do—get him alone in a room, just me and my claimh mhor, " Uncle Fergus declared, swinging an imaginary sword. "I'd fix his hair for him, and more than that, too. I was all for going to the brute at once, but that only made the women cry harder. They seem to think that bastard's somebody I ought to fear." Uncle Fergus snorted with disgust. "As if any Scot in his right mind would be afraid of that dandy!"

  "He's probably been well taught how to use a sword and dagger," Riona cautioned. "And he'll be a dirty fighter."

  That gave Uncle Fergus pause—a very short one. "Aye, he would be at that—but that's no reason I shouldn't call the bastard

  out.

  Riona rose and went to her uncle, putting her arm around his shoulder. "Uncle, think how Fredella and Eleanor and I would feel if anything happened to you. And Kenneth and everyone at home."

  He cocked his head and gave her a suspicious look. "I'm no coward, Riona. That stinking gomeral might be able to frighten women, but if he thinks he can frighten me— "

  "Nobody doubts your bravery, Uncle, or your chivalry. I know you want to help Eleanor, but you can't do that if you're hurt. And if you should kill Percival, the Normans might not understand and there could be a trial and all sorts of trouble. We should think of some other way to protect Eleanor."

  Which meant she had to stay in Dunkeathe. She couldn't leave Uncle Fergus here alone, lest a messenger come riding into Glencleith with the news that her uncle had attacked Sir Percival and now was either dead, or imprisoned.

  Uncle Fergus sat back down on the bed and patted the place beside him. "So, my wise and clever lass, what do you think we should do?"

  "While Eleanor is here, she's safe," Riona said, thinking aloud as she joined him.

  "Aye."

  "And she'll be safe until Sir Nicholas makes his choice."

  "Aye."

  "So the problem becomes what to do after Sir Nicholas makes his choice."

  As if she'd summoned him, the man himself suddenly strode into the chamber. Riona swiftly got to her feet while he studied her as if trying to read her mind.

  "You weren't in the hall for the evening meal. Why not?"

  With any other man, she might have thought he was concerned about her, but he asked the question so forcefully, he must have taken her absence as a personal insult—more evidence of his vain pride.

  So she felt no need to be particularly polite as she answered. "I was here waiting for my uncle."

  "You're not.. .You're well?" he asked less brusquely, his shoulders relaxing a very little.

  "Obviously."

  Sir Nicholas turned his steadfast, dark-eyed gaze onto Uncle Fergus. "And you are well?"

  Riona put her hand on Uncle Fergus's arm, hoping he would let her answer. "We were otherwise engaged, my lord. A personal matter. Isn't that so, Uncle?"

  Uncle Fergus looked as if he was forcibly restraining himself. "Aye, that's right."

  The lord of Dunkeathe slowly crossed his arms and raised a majestic brow. "I have reason to believe there was more to your absence than that."

  What exactly had he heard?

  "So, you've found out about that bloody great git, then?" Uncle Fergus demanded. "What are you going to do about him?"

  "I first need to know exactly what he did."

  Uncle Fergus's gaze darted from Riona to Nicholas, then his eyes brightened and he started for the door. "I'll let Riona tell you all about it and you two can figure out what's to be done."

  He thought they should have a private discussion? That was the last thing she wanted. "Uncle, I don't think—" Riona cried, hurrying after him.

  But Uncle Fergus had already left the chamber and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone with Sir Nicholas.

  Again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  RIONA SLOWLY turned around, to find Sir Nicholas staring at her, a frown upon his handsome face.

  "What did Sir Percival do?" he asked. "Is it because of him that you weren't in the hall?"

  He thought she was afraid to face Percival? "There's only one man in this castle I wish to avoid, and he's standing before me now." She ignored the disgruntled expression that came to Sir Nicholas's face. "Sir Percival has forbidden his niece to speak to us, and her maidservant, too. My uncle is upset about that restriction. That's why he wasn't in the hall tonight."

  "Does that also explain your absence?"

  "Yes."

  Sir Nicholas's eyes narrowed. "Lady Eleanor gave me to understand there was something more amiss between you and her cousin."

  Riona coloured. Clearly, Percival hadn't hesitated to tell Eleanor, at the very least.

  Since Sir Nicholas knew, she couldn't deny it completely, yet because she didn't want Percival to leave and take Eleanor with him, she would make light of Percival's actions. "His advances were certainly not welcome, but his pathetic attempt to kiss me was easily countered."

  Sir Nicholas started for the door. "He'll regret that, as will anyone who behaves so in my castle. He'll be gone from Dunkeathe in the morning."

  Riona hurried after him and grabbed his arm to make him stop. She wouldn't mind seeing Percival in the stocks, but if he was forced to leave Dunkeathe, who could say what might happen to Eleanor? "Don't!"

  Sir Nicholas regarded her with disbelief, and disapproval. "You don't want the lout punished?"

  "He won't try it again."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "I hurt him."

  The knight's eyes flashed. "You hurt him? How?"

  "With my knee, my lord. To his groin."

  Sir Nicholas seemed only slightly mollified. "Fortunate for you that you knew what to do, but next time Percival might accost another who is not so well prepared."

  "Then by all means, issue him a warning, my lord," she replied, "but please don't make him, and his cousin, leave Dunkeathe."

  Sir Nicholas regarded her stonily. "Why should you care if they stay or go?"

  "Because Eleanor's my friend."

  "You've met her before?"

  "No, but she's my friend all the same." Realizing she was still holding on to him, she let go of his arm and stepped away. "Haven't you ever met someone and become fast friends in a very short time?"

  Sir Nicholas's expression softened—only a little, but some. "Yes. My steward's brother, Charles. We met when we were young, and after less than a day, we were friends, until he died of a sudden fever." He thought a moment, then nodded. "Very well, my lady, they may stay—but I'll make sure Percival understands that he'd better not make any advances to women, welcome or otherwise, while he's in Dunkeathe."

  "Thank you, my lord," she said, expecting him to go. Hoping he would.

  Instead, he looked around her bare chamber, where there was nothing except her small wooden chest and a linen sheet and woollen blanket on the bed. "Are you planning on leaving Dunkeathe?"

  "Not now."

  His eyebrows rose questioningly, and she immediately regretted answering. Maybe he would think she was staying out of some bizarre hope that she could win his hand, or that she wanted to. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my uncle's developed a fondness for Lady Eleanor's maidservant—"

  "I've noticed," he interrupted, coming closer.

  What if he tried to kiss her again?

  She'd slap his face, and more, if necessary.

  "And I can appreciate why he was upset by Percival's restrictions," Sir Nicholas continued. "I'll tell Percival that if he wishes his cousin to stand a chance with me, he had best reconsider those orders."

  "You'd do that?" she asked, telling herself she was relieved to hear that Eleanor was still under consideration.

  "As I've told you, I have
a great respect for the Scots, and any family I marry into should respect them, too." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "I also have a great deal of respect for

  you, my lady, and your wisdom. I did as you suggested and provided that maidservant with a small dowry to enable her to marry soon."

  "You did?" she asked, surprised and pleased that he'd followed her advice.

  "Yes."

  He walked toward her, and the look in his eyes made her heart leap and seem to beat anew. In spite of that excitement, she backed away, ordering herself not to give in to the thrilling yearning filling her, goading her to stand still and let him catch her and sweep her into his arms.

  "Percival should thank God you were able to defend yourself," he said, his voice low and intimate. "If he'd hurt you, Riona..."

  His words trailed off into a silence that seemed filled with promise and anticipation.

  Desperately she struggled with the emotions roiling through her. She mustn't want him. She mustn't want to be with him. She was staying to help her uncle, who wanted to help Eleanor, who needed to get away from her cousin. Eleanor required a husband who would protect her. Eleanor needed Nicholas. "I hope you won't hold Percival's behaviour against Eleanor. I think any man would be blessed to have her for his wife."

  "You aren't.. .jealous?"

  "Not at all." Not really. She mustn't be. "She's a very fine young woman, my lord. Pretty and sweet."

  "Too young. Too sweet. I like women of fire and spirit, women who know about hardship and struggle."

  God help her!

  She hit the wall. "Good for you, my lord," she said as he came inexorably closer. "I like men who leave me alone."

  "Why didn't you hurt me when I kissed you, Riona?"

  She swallowed hard. "Because you caught me unawares."

  Liar, liar!

  "Can you guess what I want to do now?" he whispered, standing but a few inches in front of her. "What I'm going to do?"

  A loud cough sounded in the corridor.

  Nicholas immediately stepped back.

  She shouldn't be sorry. She should be glad, relieved, happy as she looked past Nicholas to the door and saw Uncle Fergus peering around the door frame, a quizzical look on his curious face. "Did she tell you everything?" he asked.

  "Yes," Nicholas brusquely answered, his voice rough, his expression cool as ever, while Riona tried to regain her missing self-control.

  "Good, good!" Uncle Fergus cried, fairly bounding into the room. "What are you going to do?"

  "Have a word with Sir Percival in the morning," Nicholas replied. "Since you missed the evening meal, please take some refreshment in the kitchen." He glanced at Riona. "You, too, my lady, if you so desire."

  Then he walked out of the chamber.

  The moment he was gone, Uncle Fergus gave Riona a wide, mischievous smile. "Came back a bit too soon, did I?"

  It was all Riona could do not to groan with dismay.

  WHEN NICHOLAS returned to the hall he gave no explanation for his abrupt departure, but played the genial host in spite of being anything but pleased. He wasn't just angry at Percival; he was angry with himself. He'd revealed too much when he was with Riona. Said too much. Done too much.

  He had to learn to control his desire for her. There could be no honourable future for them, and he did respect her, far too much to even propose that they share his bed without benefit of marriage.

  As Nicholas endured Lord Chesleigh's observations about the proper way to train horses—something he was sure the man had never actually done himself—he realized Eleanor wasn't in the hall.

  Her cousin was, though, so he made his way to Percival, who was already deep in his cups. "I'd like a word with you, Percival," Nicholas said with false good cheer as he angled the man into a relatively quiet corner.

  Percival gave him an ingratiating smile. "I hope Eleanor didn't offend you, my lord."

  "Not at all," Nicholas replied, barely able to contain his loathing. "I'd like to speak to you privately, Percival. Will you join me in my solar tomorrow morning after mass?"

  The man's eyes gleamed with delighted avarice, obviously interpreting this invitation as a good omen. "I'd be honoured, my lord."

  Not trusting himself to control his tongue, Nicholas merely smiled and nodded before moving off to talk to Audric, who was a blessed relief from the half-drunk Percival and the smug Lord Chesleigh.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Nicholas stood at the arched solar window, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed his courtyard, his soldiers on watch or preparing to ride out on patrol and his servants helping to load one of his guests' wagons.

  "So, Lady Isabelle has decided to depart?" he asked Robert, who sat at the table checking one of his many lists.

  "Yes, my lord," the steward replied. "Her guardian felt there was no need to linger here."

  "What reason did he give? He may be a minor knight, but I hope I've done nothing to give him any serious offence."

  "I suspect Lady Isabelle, whatever her faults, was clever enough to deduce that she wouldn't be your choice."

  In truth, Lady Isabelle hadn't impressed Nicholas as much of anything, except a woman. "No, she would not, but I'll be courtesy itself when he takes his leave. Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?"

  "A messenger from your sister arrived while we were at mass," Robert answered. "She thanks you most kindly for the invitation, and she and her family will be arriving in a se'ennight."

  Nicholas faced his steward. It was Marianne's opinion on his potential brides he sought, not his brother-in-law's, or that of a four-year-old boy and an infant. "I didn't invite the whole lot of them."

  Robert regarded him with dismay. "Shall I send another message telling her—?"

  "No. I suppose she has to bring the baby, and she doesn't want to leave Seamus or her husband."

  "They are a very happy and contented family."

  Nicholas didn't need to be reminded of that. "Anything else?"

  "Until the hay is brought in, my lord, we're going to be a little short of fodder for the stables."

  "Buy what we need from the neighboring estates."

  Robert delicately cleared his throat. "I fear I must remind you, my lord, that we lack an abundance of money. If we could cut back on some of the other expenses—food or drink, perhaps?"

  "I don't want my guests to think I'm poor, or inhospitable."

  "Of course not, my lord. Yet I must point out that we've taken quite a gamble spending so much and now—"

  "I took the gamble, Robert. Not you."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Anything more?"

  Robert shifted and toyed with the edge of the rolled parchment he held. "Unfortunately, my lord, while no one has complained about the food or the wine, there have been some murmurings of discontent among the nobles."

  "What about?" Nicholas demanded, thinking of the amount of money he was spending to keep the aristocrats housed, fed and entertained. "If it's the weather, surely they can't expect me to do anything about that."

  "No, my lord, not the weather." Robert cleared his throat again and didn't meet Nicholas's steady gaze. "There are questions being asked about the Scot and his niece."

  "What sort of questions?" Nicholas asked, wondering if anyone had guessed that he had feelings for Riona.

  "Well, my lord, they wonder why they're still here. It's quite clear that they are not wealthy, or influential."

  "Tell them what I told you—they are the only Scots who came and I won't have other Scots claim I was too proud to entertain the notion of marrying one of their countrywomen, even if no other arrived. My guests should understand I dare not upset the Scots. They all live in fear that one day, the Saxons or the Welsh might rebel. You can also tell my noble Norman guests that Fergus Mac Gordon has some very interesting ideas about livestock that I want to hear."

  "As you wish, my lord."

  "Is there anything else?"

  "No, my lord."

  Nicholas
returned to looking out the window. Sir George came reeling out of the hall. He stopped by the nearest wall and, throwing back his head, relieved himself.

  "The wine," Nicholas muttered.

  Robert, on the threshold, hesitated and turned back. "My lord?"

  "Save what you can on the wine. Use the best only at meals. At other times, cheaper will do, especially if it's for Sir George. I don't think he'll notice, or care."

  Robert smiled. "No, my lord, I don't believe he will."

  Sir Percival, in a tunic of bilious green and light blue in a combination that seemed designed to dazzle the eye and boggle the mind, arrived on the threshold of the solar. The steward bowed as he passed him on the way out, while Percival sauntered into the room as if it were his own.

  Nicholas wanted to strike him down on the spot. Only the knowledge that he might decide to marry the fellow's cousin kept his temper under control.

  "You wanted to speak to me, my lord? About Eleanor, I hope?"

  "Yes, I did."

  The man's expression changed. He was trying to look as if he wasn't worried, but Nicholas had spent years among warriors of both bravery and bravado, and he didn't doubt that beneath those fine clothes, Percival was sweating.

  Good. He wouldn't ask the man to sit, or offer him any wine, either.

  "It has come to my attention, Percival," he said, slowly circling the well-dressed, perfumed young man, "that you have made some improper advances."

  Percival coloured, yet he smiled as if this was some kind of merry jest. "I fear there's been a terrible mistake."

  "And you've been the one making it."

  "What did she—?" Percival began, then he caught himself and tried to smile again. "What have you heard, my lord?"

  "Enough."

  Percival's face went from red to white as he paled. He started to stammer something, but Nicholas cut him off.

  "I can appreciate that you're used to women misinterpreting your actions, Percival," he lied, hating this pathetic excuse of a man with every fiber of his being. "It must be difficult for a fellow

  as handsome as you to even speak to some ladies without your attention being mistaken for more than mere politeness. I can well believe you've unwittingly caused dissension in many a noble household just by your presence alone."