LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  ONCE RIONA reached the village, she slowed to a more leisurely pace. Although there were few people about, it not being market day, she didn't want it to appear that she was running from anything, or anybody.

  She strolled toward the stall of the man with the beautiful fabric. The indigo, she noticed, was gone.

  "Good day, my lady," the merchant said, nodding a greeting.

  "Did my friend's cousin buy the blue fabric?" she asked.

  "No, it was another lady. Very beautiful she was but..." He gestured for her to come closer to hear. "Losh, my lady, she was the haughtiest Norman you ever did see."

  That had to be Joscelind.

  "I've got some pretty blue ribbon, my lady. It'd be lovely on you."

  She shook her head. "Not today." She turned to go and saw the archer in the stocks, head bowed. "How much longer does he have remaining in his punishment?" she paused to ask the merchant.

  He thought a moment. "About a fortnight, I reckon."

  "That must seem like an eternity," she noted before she walked away.

  For her, time was flying by. Only three more days until Lammas, then Nicholas would announce his choice, and she'd be going back to Glencleith and what would surely be a lonely life there. Always, she would feel a loss.

  "Greetings, my lady. What brings you here, I wonder—and all by yourself, too."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HER MUSCLES instinctively tensing, every sense heightened and ready to fight or flee, Riona halted and looked around. It wasn't Percival she'd heard, but Lord Chesleigh, who came sauntering toward her from the direction of the tavern. He'd probably been drinking or wenching or both.

  "Why not come to the village alone, eh?" he said with a smile that did nothing to relieve her wariness. "Sir Nicholas maintains law and order very well. Indeed, he's a most impressive fellow in a whole host of ways."

  "Yes, he is," she agreed. She started to turn away from the Norman. "Now if you'll pardon me—"

  "Are you going back to the castle? So am I," Lord Chesleigh said, falling into step beside her.

  Short of breaking into a run, there was no way she could prevent him from walking with her, although why he would want to, she couldn't guess.

  Until he told her.

  "I was hoping to have some private conversation with you, my dear. To warn you."

  She stopped and stared at him incredulously, making no secret of her surprise and suspicion. "Warn me? About what?"

  "Your uncle's in grave danger."

  "Who would want to hurt my uncle?" she demanded. Her eyes narrowed. "And why would you seek to warn me?"

  "If you love your uncle, you should listen to me." They were beside an alley that led to a small storage building behind the baker's. "What I have to say requires privacy. This way."

  He ordered her as if she were his servant—and did he really think she'd go anywhere with him? "You can talk to me right here."

  His face hardened. "Don't be a fool. What I have to say is important, and not for anyone who happens to be walking by to hear. If you want to help your uncle, you'll do as I say."

  She could defend herself. She'd done so before with Percival— as she would remind Lord Chesleigh. "Very well, but I can protect myself, if you have any intention of—"

  "You're hardly the sort of woman to attract such attention from me," he replied with a sneer.

  That was probably true. No doubt he would consider a Scot utterly unworthy of him.

  "Good," she snapped as she marched down the alley and around the storehouse. She noted a woodpile with several large branches near the corner—potential weapons, should she require one.

  "Now then," she said sternly when Lord Chesleigh joined her, "who's threatening my uncle? And how do you know about it?"

  "I know because the person you both should fear is me."

  Her hands balled into fists and her blood rose, hot and fierce.

  "Come, come, there's no need for temper," he said, "although I suppose Nicholas may like that sort of thing—a contrast to his coldness."

  "What does he have to do with this?"

  "He has everything to do with this." Lord Chesleigh tucked his thumbs into his wide belt and for the first time, she noticed the small dagger tucked in it. "Unfortunately for us both, my dear, it hasn't escaped my notice that our host seems to have a most unaccountable affection for you."

  "That's not true," she retorted, willing him to believe her, wondering if someone had seen her sneaking into Nicholas's chamber at night and realized who she was.

  Lord Chesleigh shook his head. "Others may not have perceived it, but I certainly have. I am a very perceptive man."

  "Or a very imaginative one," she replied. "Do you have any evidence to support this outrageous accusation, my lord?"

  He continued to smile that terrible smile. "There's no need to act indignant, my lady. I don't care if you're bedding him or not. Indeed, you may bed him all you like, or as often as he'll have you, and it's nothing to me." He ran his gaze over her. "When you're angry, I begin to see your appeal myself."

  Before she could speak, his face turned as hard and cold as a block of ice. "What I do care about is who he marries. My daughter is to marry Nicholas, and it will be dangerous for anyone to try to thwart that plan. Therefore, my dear, you may be the man's mistress, but not his wife—or your beloved uncle could meet with a most unfortunate end."

  Oh, God. He would do it, too. She saw it in his face, heard it in his voice. He was ruthless and without mercy.

  "If what you say is true, I am the impediment to your plans, not my uncle. Why aren't you threatening his life?"

  "Because, my dear, you might be willing to risk your own safety by going to Nicholas and telling him what I've said here today, but you'll never put your uncle's life in danger."

  "If anything happened to him, I would accuse you of his murder."

  "Why, who said anything about murder?" Lord Chesleigh's eyes gleamed with malicious intent. "I think an accusation of treason much more entertaining. A few years rotting in a prison, followed by drawing and quartering.. .that's more what I had in mind."

  She fought the sudden wave of nausea as she envisioned her uncle suffering that terrible fate and summoned her courage. "He's no traitor and you'd never be able to prove otherwise."

  "You underestimate me, my dear. I can prove anything I care to, in a court of law or elsewhere. Alas for you, King Henry lives in dread of treason, as all monarchs must. It might take but a whisper to persuade him to have your uncle charged."

  She realized something he seemed to have forgotten. "We aren't Henry's subjects. We're Scots."

  "Alexander has no desire to rouse conflict with the English court, at least not for now and least of all for a man like your uncle. He's nobody."

  Riona stared at Lord Chesleigh in horror. She could believe he would accuse her uncle, and it would unfold as he predicted. But she wasn't willing to surrender yet. "I could tell Sir Nicholas of your plans, and anyone else who would charge my uncle with such a crime."

  "Oh, my dear," the nobleman said with a patronizing laugh. "You really are naive. I have many friends at court who will confirm anything I say, regardless of its veracity, and other men who will be only too happy to provide sufficient evidence in the form of letters and secret pledges."

  "You mean they'd fabricate lies?"

  "Now you're beginning to catch on." Lord Chesleigh's lips curved up into a heartless smile. "But surely there's no need for animosity. You may enjoy Sir Nicholas any way you like, except as his wife. You may even continue to do so after he marries Joscelind, if Nicholas still wants you. I understand that such men have their needs and one woman may not meet them."

  "What of your daughter?" Riona demanded, disgusted with the man and appalled at his callous ambition that would pay so little heed to his own daughter's happiness.

  "She's well aware that a wife has the most power and influence, not a mistress. As to.. .other matters, I'm sure a man like Nicholas
can satisfy you both."

  "What about Eleanor? What if Nicholas chooses her? Will you threaten her? Or her cousin?"

  Lord Chesleigh laughed. "If Nicholas actually chooses that slip of a green girl, Percival can be easily persuaded to change his mind about a betrothal. He's no more worry to me than a nit in my groom's hair."

  He backed Riona up against the wall of the storehouse. "So, my dear, you are free to bed the man, but not to wed him—or your uncle's life will be forfeit."

  The blood throbbed through Riona's veins, the blood of warriors, the proud blood of her people. But for the sake of her uncle, she could do nothing. Lord Chesleigh had found the chink in her armour. "Yes, my lord, I understand."

  "Excellent." His gaze flicked over her body. "Should Sir Nicholas ever tire of you—"

  Riona shoved him away with all her might. "I'd rather die!"

  The Norman merely chuckled. "We'll see who does the dying, my dear. Never forget who is powerful, and who is not. Be sure that I will do exactly as I say I will if you or anyone else gets in my way."

  "SO HERE YOU ARE, my beauty!"

  Riona turned away from the window, where she'd been watching the sun set over the hills in a glory of orange, pink and purple, to find a beaming Uncle Fergus on the threshold of her chamber.

  His smile faded. "You're not sick?"

  "No, no," she hastened to answer. "I thought that I should stay out of the hall while Joscelind's in charge."

  "Ah, a wise notion," he replied, coming into her chamber. "I should likely stay out of there myself. Not that she could do anything any better than you."

  "You seem cheerful, Uncle," Riona noted, doing her best to sound so herself.

  He grinned again, and expansively held out his arms. "Congratulate me, my beauty. Fredella's forgiven me at last!"

  With that, he bounded toward her and engulfed Riona in a hearty embrace. She clung to him tightly, loving him. Grateful to him for all that he'd done for her. For treating her like his own daughter. For thinking she was worthy of a man like Nicholas. For bringing her to Dunkeathe.

  "So, all is well between you and Fredella, then?" she asked when they moved apart.

  "Better than well," he replied. "She's agreed to marry me."

  Riona clasped her hands together and tears came to her eyes. Happy tears, she told herself, refusing to let any selfish concern for her own sorrows mar this joyful news. "Oh, that's wonderful. You deserve every happiness."

  "Of course, we have to wait until Eleanor's safe. Fredella won't leave her under that lout Percival's thumb."

  "I think it's very possible that Sir Nicholas will choose her if she does well supervising the kitchen, and I don't think she'll fail."

  "Sir Nicholas?" Uncle Fergus replied, looking at Riona as if she'd suddenly denounced the pope.

  "Well, yes. Who else were you thinking—?"

  "Not Nicholas, that's for certain, since he's going to marry you. No, no, I've got another plan entirely." He sat on the bed and pulled her down beside him. "Fredella and me agree that all Percival cares about is getting his cousin married off to some rich nobleman he can brag about, so once Sir Nicholas makes his announcement and Percival realizes she's not the man's choice, I'll ask him if Eleanor can come visit Glencleith for a bit. A man like that must be more than ready to get back to his tailor, as well as his friends, such as they are."

  Riona regarded her excited uncle warily. Percival might indeed welcome the chance to get back to London, or even York. On the other hand... "He'll never agree to let her go. If he wants to get Eleanor married, he's more likely to insist she go with him, so he can show her off to prospective grooms. Or he'll send her to a convent, just as he threatened."

  Uncle Fergus's eyes continued to gleam with unbridled satisfaction. "That's why I'll tell him a rich, unmarried thane related to Alexander himself is also coming to visit Glencleith."

  Riona frowned. "What rich, unmarried thane are you talking about?"

  Uncle Fergus's grin widened, so that he looked like a mischievous sprite. "Have you not heard of my kinsman, Duncan Mac Dougal?"

  "Of course." Everybody had. He was as famous a warrior as Nicholas of Dunkeathe, or Adair Mac Taran, and just as handsome, or so people said. "But he's never come to Glencleith before. Why would he now?"

  Uncle Fergus chortled. "Well, he might not, but Percival wouldn't know that, would he? I can invite the man just the same, and if he doesn't come, it doesn't matter, as long as Eleanor is safe in Glencleith with Fredella and me. I promise you, my beauty, once we've got her with us, Percival will need an army to get her back."

  Knowing that he meant it, and that he'd protect Eleanor with his life, yet certain his plan would prove unnecessary because Eleanor would surely be Nicholas's bride, Riona embraced him and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Uncle," she said, her breath catching.

  "Come, come, my beauty," Uncle Fergus said softly as he stroked her hair. "There's no need for tears. Eleanor's going to be safe, I'm going to marry Fredella and you'll have a fine husband yourself. The more time I spend with Sir Nicholas, the better I like him."

  "Me, too," Riona whispered.

  NICHOLAS STUCK his head into Marianne's chamber, intent on having a private conversation with her before she left for Lochbarr tomorrow.

  His sister sat in a beam of late afternoon sunlight, her hair unbound, rocking the slumbering Cellach's cradle with her foot. She had a distaff topped with raw wool under her left arm, and on her right side dangled a drop spindle, the yarn stretching out as it twisted. As she worked and watched her baby, she crooned a lullaby.

  She looked so calm, so peaceful, so contented and happy—so different from the Marianne who'd once stood in this very chamber begging him to reconsider the plans he'd made for her.

  Perhaps, given that he'd refused to listen, he shouldn't expect to spend the rest of his life as happily married as she.

  Marianne glanced up and gave him a welcoming smile, reminding him to silentlythank God anew that she'd forgiven him for what he tried to do.

  "I thought Seamus was going to keep you busy all day," she said quietly as he ventured farther into the room.

  "It seems I'm less entertaining than some kittens in the stable," he replied as he approached the cradle. He'd checked where his nephew was and what he was doing the moment he'd returned to Dunkeathe. "Where's Adair?"

  "Making sure all is in readiness for our departure in the morning."

  "You're welcome to stay until Lammas."

  Marianne shook her head. "Thank you, Nicholas, but Adair prefers to celebrate the harvest at home. He likes to go to his father's grave on the anniversary of his death."

  Nicholas silently nodded and looked down at the child slumbering in the cradle. Cellach's lashes fanned across her soft cheeks, and her little mouth puckered up in a bow. She was like a slumbering cherub, and he hoped he would one day be looking down on such a heavenly, sleeping child of his own.

  If Riona had his child, he hoped it would look like her, that it would have her eyes, her hair, her fire, her spirit. Her bold bravery. Her charm.

  One thing above all was certain: if they should have a child together, he would indeed acknowledge it, and be proud to do so.

  Marianne gestured at a second chair close to the window. "Apparently in my son's eyes, I'm much less entertaining than you, so I know exactly how you feel."

  "You're his mother and he loves you very much," Nicholas replied as he sat.

  "While you're his brave, amazing uncle who's won so many tournaments," she countered as she set aside her spinning. She got a gleam of mischief in her blue eyes that were so like their late mother's. "His brave, amazing uncle who has come to ask something of his sister?"

  Nicholas felt himself blush. Now that the time had come to ask her opinion of the women vying for his hand, he felt remarkably foolish and very, very young, even though he was a full ten years older than she. "I wanted to ask your opinion of the remaining ladies."

  "Then it's true there
were more?"

  "There were ten originally."

  Marianne's eyes widened. "Ten? I'm impressed. Not that I doubt you're considered a fine prize—"

  He rose abruptly and strode to the window.

  "What's the matter, Nicholas? Are you upset I called you a 'prize'?"

  "That's a little disconcerting, yes," he admitted as he watched Polly stroll across the yard toward the kitchen, a basket of greens in her arms. It seemed she was in no great rush to complete her task.

  "And now you know a little of how I felt when you betrothed me to Hamish Mac Glogan."

  Nicholas faced his sister and apologized again. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to you and paid heed to your wishes."

  He returned to his chair, determined to sit still if it killed him and not display any hint of emotional disturbance or worry. "I'll gladly listen to you now, if you'll tell me what you think of the ladies who've come to be my bride."

  Marianne rocked the cradle with her foot a few more times before she answered. "Lady Joscelind is very beautiful and her father is important at Henry's court, I hear."

  He nodded. "Very important, or so our brother says, and she seems most keen to have me. The idea of having Lord Chesleigh for a father-in-law isn't a welcome one, but the man does have influence at court, and the dowry should be considerable."

  "Henry would know about Lord Chesleigh's power at court," Marianne confirmed. She slid Nicholas a questioning glance. "I thought Henry might still be here. It must have been urgent business that called him away so soon after he arrived."

  Nicholas didn't answer. His relationship with his brother had never been an easy one, and Marianne knew that better than anyone.

  She sighed wearily. "One of these days, Nicholas, you're going to have to treat Henry with more respect. He's a grown man, and well regarded in England."

  "When he treats me with the respect I deserve, I'll consider it."

  "I should never try to play the peacemaker," Marianne replied as she rocked the cradle again, the corners of her mouth turned down in a frown. "You never listen to me."