LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  "Yes, you do. I saw the look on your face when you came into the hall."

  He sounded so sympathetic. So gende. So tender.

  He cupped his hands on her shoulders.

  So strong. So welcome.

  She mustn't give in to this raging yearning inside her. She should walk away and leave him.

  He kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Whatever happens, I'm glad you and your uncle came to Dunkeathe."

  She twisted away from him. His touch, his kiss, were just his attempt to seduce her while he chose another.

  "Of course you're glad," she charged. "My presence placates the Scots, and my uncle amuses you."

  His gaze full of sincerity, he shook his head. "No, Riona, not just for that. Your uncle's teaching me many things about livestock, things I've never considered." He reached out and pulled her into his arms. "And you're teaching me how much is missing from my life."

  He kissed her tenderly on her cheek. Then her eyelids. Then her nose. And then, at last, her mouth.

  It was like sinking into a warm bath. Not this time the fiery passion, or fervent embrace. This time, it was languid longing, lazy yearning, as if they had all the time in the world to love.

  As if she was safe and secure, and would always be protected by his strong arms. As if she was not just desired, but cherished and beloved.

  How could she not welcome his embrace and give herself over to the feelings he inspired?

  Yet it was he who stopped first. He tucked a lock of hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear and whispered, "Riona, I wish..."

  She held her breath, waiting to hear what more he would say, half afraid, half hopeful.

  A guard on the wall walk outside called a greeting and another answered it.

  Nicholas let go of her. "It's getting late," he said brusquely. "Good night."

  Then he hurried away and down the stairs as if he was being chased.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  NOT SURE WHETHER her uncle was awake or not, Riona gingerly pushed open the door to his chamber early the next morning.

  Uncle Fergus was sitting on his bed, holding his head in his hands. For the first time since she could remember, he looked old and weary, as well as forlorn and unwell, and she immediately rushed to his side. Her own troubles, particularly her tumultuous feelings for the lord of Dunkeathe, paled beside the notion that Uncle Fergus might be sick.

  "Oh, Uncle," she cried softy, sitting beside him and putting her arm around him. "Are you ill?"

  He wearily raised his head. "If I'm sick, it's not from the uisge beatha, although that Roban must have a hollow leg, the way he drinks. Not that I'm blaming him, mind, for I could have stopped any time."

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes, then rose shakily and went to the table bearing a basin and ewer. He splashed cold water over his face before he spoke again. Riona tried to be patient and control her worry, but she was going to have to ask questions if he didn't

  "Fredella's already been to see me," he said grimly as he dried his face with a square of linen. He returned to the bed and sat heavily. "I guess I made quite a spectacle of myself." He slid Riona a questioning glance. "Did I make a rare spectacle of myself?"

  "You and Roban were both rather loud," she admitted. "But you don't usually drink so much."

  He covered his face with his hands and moaned softly. "Yet I did yesterday—to my shame. Fredella told me she's that ashamed of me. Expected better. Thought I was a finer man. Her dead husband was a sot, you see, and she won't have anything to do with a drunkard."

  "But you're not a drunkard!" Riona protested. "I could count on the fingers of one hand the times I've seen you in your cups, and I'll gladly tell her so."

  "Thank you, my beauty, but this is my trouble, Riona, not yours, and so mine to mend. Leave it to me to talk to her and try to convince her I made a rare mistake."

  He gave Riona a weak smile as he patted her hand. "It's like you to want to help. You're always helping. Now tell me how it's going with Sir Nicholas. He's got to be pleased about the meal last night."

  "Excuse me. I'm so sorry, but may I...?"

  They both turned, to see an obviously distraught Eleanor standing on the threshold, wringing her hands, her eyes red- rimmed. "Riona, please, may I speak with you a moment?"

  "If it's about Fredella—" Uncle Fergus began as he got to his feet.

  "No, no," Eleanor answered. "Well, she's upset, I'm sorry to say, but there's something.. .that is.. .something else has happened...."

  Riona hurried to her friend. "We can speak in my chamber."

  Before they left, she turned back to her uncle. "Will you be at mass?"

  "Aye, I can manage that. I think I'd better manage that. It could be I'll need divine intervention. And yours, too, Eleanor."

  The young woman nodded absendy, and Riona realized that whatever had happened, her uncle's woes and anyone else's weren't uppermost in her mind.

  Once inside Riona's chamber, and before Riona could ask her what was wrong, Eleanor started to cry—great, wrenching sobs, as if she'd been holding them inside and now they simply had to burst free.

  Worried and wondering what this meant, Riona gently hugged Eleanor and stroked her hair until the girl quieted.

  "What's wrong?" she asked softy as Eleanor drew back, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her fine gown.

  "Oh, Riona, I don't know what else to do or who to turn to. I didn't sleep at all last night."

  The dark circles under her eyes and her pale cheeks were evidence of that. "Please, tell me what's happened," Riona gently prompted.

  Eleanor began to weep again. "It's so shameful. So.. .so disgusting. I couldn't even bring myself to tell Fredella. If only I'd been stronger. I should have stopped him somehow."

  A cold shaft of fear pierced Riona. "Eleanor, has someone...?"

  She hesitated, trying to think of a way to put her question so that Eleanor wouldn't feel even more ashamed if the truth was what she feared. "Has anyone.. .any man.. .hurt you?"

  Understanding dawned in Eleanor's eyes and she shook her head. "No." Then she started to sob again, and her voice caught when she said, "Not yet."

  Not yet ?

  "It's Percival," she said, sitting on Riona's bed. As tears slid down her cheeks, she explained, her voice halting, her anguish obvious. "He's afraid Sir Nicholas won't choose me, so he wants me to.. .to seduce him."

  As Riona stared at her, aghast, she learned there was yet more.

  "When I'm with him.. .in his bedchamber.. .Percival is going to find us together and make Sir Nicholas marry me. I tried to refuse but..." Eleanor took a deep, shuddering breath. "He said that if I don't do what he wants, he'll send me to a convent, but first he'll.. .he'll take.. .he'll rape me."

  She broke down completely, covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as more sobs racked her slender body.

  Feeling sick, Riona sat beside the distraught girl and held her close, silently cursing Percival and his horrible, evil, despicable scheme, while trying to think of some way to help.

  "Oh, Riona," Eleanor sobbed. "To whore myself into marriage! To trick a man that way—any man! But I can't even bear Percival's touch! I'd rather die than let him—"

  "He won't," Riona said firmly, her dismay and distress overruled by her determination to protect the helpless girl who clung to her. "And Percival is a fool if he thinks Sir Nicholas could be forced into marriage, for any reason, by anyone."

  Eleanor drew back, regarding Riona piteously as she sniffled. "Then what am I to do? Should I run away? I thought of that last night, but I was so afraid Percival would discover me trying to flee, or come after me and catch me and... and..."

  "No, don't do that," Riona assured her. On her own, young, pretty, innocent Eleanor would surely fall prey to men as terrible as Percival. "You should go to Sir Nicholas and tell him of this terrible scheme. As a knight, he must protect you, and he will."

  Eleanor's voice trembled as another tear rolled down
her cheek. "If I did, Percival would surely claim I was lying, or didn't understand him properly. It would be my word against his, and even if charges could be brought against him, he's got too many powerful friends who would vouch for him. He would be free, and then he'd come after me, or anyone who tried to help me. You don't know Percival, Riona. He's vicious and vindictive. He'd never rest without punishing me, or anyone who tried to help me."

  A desperate look on her face, she started to stand. "I shouldn't have come to you. If Percival finds out, he might try to hurt you, too. I should just do what Percival wants, and if Sir Nicholas won't marry me, I'll.. .I'll go to the convent."

  Riona rose and took Eleanor firmly by the shoulders. "You mustn't even think of dishonouring yourself. Even if I'm wrong, and Nicholas could be compelled to marry you, how happy do you think you would be, knowing your marriage came about by trickery and deceit? How long before your husband came to resent you?"

  She took a deep breath. Something had to be done, and by God, it would be. "The two of us will thwart Percival's plan."

  Eleanor stared at her with a mixture of wonder, hope and fear. "The two of us? How?"

  How indeed?

  "I don't think Sir Nicholas is the sort of man to brag about his conquest, and you surely wouldn't," Riona said, thinking aloud, and going by what had already happened between herself and Nicholas, when he had...

  She forced those memories away. "All we really have to do is convince Percival you're doing what he wants, that you've managed to become Sir Nicholas's lover without that actually being so."

  "How can I do that?"

  "You'll have to let Percival see you sneak into Nicholas's bedchamber late at night. You stay a little while, then sneak out again."

  Eleanor started to visibly tremble, and her eyes were wide with fear. "What about Sir Nicholas?"

  "You go to his chamber when he's already asleep."

  "What if he woke up and caught me? And Percival plans to find us together. That could still happen, whether Sir Nicholas knows I'm there or not."

  That was, unfortunately, true. It was too much of a risk to send Eleanor to Nicholas's chamber. "I'll go."

  "You?" Eleanor exclaimed.

  "Me," Riona confirmed. This plan had its own dangers, but not nearly so many for her, and none for Eleanor. "If I wear one of your dresses and scarves, I should be able to fool Percival. We're the same height, and both of us are slim. And he'll be expecdng to see you, not me."

  "But what if Sir Nicholas finds you there?"

  Indeed, what then? If Nicholas couldn't be forced to marry Eleanor—and she was sure a man like him would resist any such attempt—he certainly wouldn't have any qualms about resisting a marriage to her.

  Nor did she wish to marry him, either, of course.

  "Even if I should be discovered, and regardless of what Sir Nicholas might say or do, Uncle Fergus would never make me marry against my will."

  Studying her intently, Eleanor reached out and clasped Riona's hands in hers. "But if you're found in his chamber at night, your reputation will be tarnished forever. I can't ask you to risk that for me."

  Her concern was touching, but unnecessary. "I didn't have suitors lined up at the gates of Glencleith to marry me when I was young, so it's not likely I'll be losing any now. My only worry is that dastardly cousin of yours coming into the chamber and—"

  She stopped short as another idea came to her. "You should tell Percival that if he really wants to secure Sir Nicholas, you should get with child."

  "With child?"

  "Yes, so he shouldn't come into the chamber until you've been together several times."

  Eleanor's eyes widened with understanding. "Yes, I see."

  Riona believed she did, and understood the plan. "We'll let Percival think you're doing what he wants until Nicholas makes his choice and if, by chance, you're not his choice, Uncle Fergus and I will do everything we can to help you then, too, although I don't think that will be necessary. I'm sure that if Sir Nicholas wants to be happily married, he'll choose you, not Joscelind."

  Eleanor didn't meet her steadfast gaze. "I'm never going to be able to thank you enough for helping me."

  "You're my friend, Eleanor," Riona replied simply, and sincerely. "So tonight you should leave the hall first and wait for me in your chamber."

  She thought of another possible problem. "Will you tell Fredella?"

  "I don't dare," Eleanor replied. "She'd surely say something to Percival."

  "As would Uncle Fergus," Riona replied. "Do you think you can convince Percival you've agreed to do as he wants?"

  "I'm sure I can make him believe that I'd almost rather die than go to that convent, because I would."

  "Good. Now, we had best get to mass before Percival wonders where you are."

  WHEN RIONA reached Eleanor's chamber later that night after a busy day spent supervising the lord of Dunkeathe's kitchen and worrying not just about succeeding in their plan, but about Uncle Fergus's troubles with Fredella, she found an anxious Eleanor waiting.

  "Fredella might be back any moment," Eleanor said quietly as Riona slipped inside the chamber illuminated by a single spluttering oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. The rest of the room was in shadows, but there was enough light for Riona to see that it was luxuriously furnished. The bed was covered with pristine linen and a silken cover. Most unexpected was the carpet on the floor, a thing so rare and fine Riona couldn't bring herself to step on it.

  "She went to the chapel to pray. About your uncle, I think."

  "He's upset, too," Riona said. "He doesn't usually get drunk. I tried to tell Fredella but she only hurried away."

  "Every time I start to ask Fredella about him, she begins to cry." Eleanor twisted the dangling ties of her girdle in her fingers. "Riona, I've been thinking and thinking about this, and I've decided I simply can't let you do this for me. It isn't right."

  "What Percival wants you to do isn't right," Riona confidently replied. "You mustn't be forced to barter your virginity for marriage at his command. There's much less risk to me sneaking into Sir Nicholas's chamber than there is for you. Don't worry, Eleanor. Everything will be well. What did Percival say when you suggested that he not interrupt?"

  "I...I didn't get a chance."

  Riona stared at her with dismay. That would be essential to their success.

  Panic in her eyes, Eleanor suddenly held up her hand. "Somebody's coming! Hide!"

  Riona immediately dropped down on all fours and scrambled under the bed. The stone floor was hard and cold, but she certainly didn't want to have to explain her presence there to anyone, not even Fredella.

  The door opened, and Riona watched Percival's gilded red boots march into the room. She immediately prepared to scramble out from under the bed if Eleanor needed her aid.

  "Wh-what are you doing here?" Eleanor stammered.

  "Why did you leave the hall?" Percival slurred, and it was obvious he'd had too much wine.

  Riona began to inch out of her hiding place as Eleanor backed away from him. "I—I'm tired, Percival. It's late. Most of the other nobles had retired. I saw no need to stay."

  "Nicholas was still there. He's the only noble you need concern yourself with."

  Riona had to move out of the way quickly as Percival sat on the bed. "Don't lie to me. And don't try to refuse to do as we agreed. Time's running out, Eleanor."

  "I'm not lying to you, Percival," she said. "But please, I beg of you, don't make me do this. Don't make me sell my virtue."

  "I don't give a damn about your virtue!" Percival retorted as he got to his feet and headed toward Eleanor.

  Ready to attack him, Riona moved to the edge of the bed again.

  He stopped. "You'll go to his chamber and you'll get in his bed and you'll let him take your maidenhead," Percival ordered, "or

  God help me, you'll wish you had when you're kneeling in that convent."

  "I'll go, Percival," Eleanor replied, weeping. "I don't want to go to a conv
ent. I'll do as you say. I'll go to Sir Nicholas tonight."

  "Good. Don't you have something else to wear, something that shows your figure to more advantage—something like Joscelind wears?"

  "There's my scarlet damask—"

  "And don't wear a shift."

  "Percival!"

  Scorn fairly dripped from his words. "This is no time to be subde."

  "Very well, Percival," Eleanor despondently replied.

  The red boots started toward the door.

  "Percival?" Eleanor said, sniffling. "What if I get with child?"

  "What?"

  "What if I get with child?" she repeated. "People will be able to count back the days. They'll know—"

  "Damn it, who cares if they can count, as long as you're married to him when the brat is born?" Percival approached her again. "Indeed, if we're to be certain of him, a child could be the very thing."

  A seemingly endless moment of silence followed.

  "I've changed my mind, cousin. I won't interrupt you tonight. How long until your next...?"

  "A fortnight," Eleanor answered forlornly.

  "Then let's pray you're fertile, for if you get with child, that will be all the more reason for him to marry you. Get him to love you more than once a night, if you can. I'm sure he's capable." Percival tapped his toe. "Perhaps I should give you some suggestions."

  "Fredella could be here any moment," Eleanor noted quietly, and much to Riona's relief. The last thing she wanted to hear was Percival's suggestions.

  "That old hag," Percival muttered as he again started for the door. "You'd better please Sir Nicholas, so he lets her stay here, too." He paused. "You needn't look like a martyr, my dear. I doubt you'll regret what must be done, provided he marries you, of course. Rumour has it that Nicholas of Dunkeathe is quite the lover."

  "Yes, Percival."

  The door opened. "I'll be watching for you," he finished as he strolled out the door.

  Riona crawled out from under the bed as Eleanor started to cry again.

  "I feel so filthy," she said, her breath catching with her sobs. "How can he do this to me? How can he treat my virtue as something to be so easily thrown away?"