LORD OF DUNKEATHE (10 page)

With a slight scowl, he turned away from Riona and started walking toward the door again. "Anyway, D'Ortelieu, as I was saying, I told that cobbler I was never going to pay for such shoddy work and he should thank God I didn't have him arrested."

" Wheest, what a gomeral, " Uncle Fergus muttered as Percival and the comte went out the door. "Looking at him, it's hard to believe the Normans ever conquered England." He shook his head, then grinned at Riona. "Now that he's gone, let's go meet Lady Eleanor."

Riona gladly joined him as he headed for the two women.

She expected Lady Eleanor to smile shyly and blush and not meet her gaze, like the timid girl she seemed in the yard and in the hall last night. Instead, Lady Eleanor turned to them with a friendly smile and listened with pleasure in her bright green eyes as Fredella made the introductions.

"I'm so pleased to meet you," Eleanor said to them both. She turned to Riona. "I've wanted to meet you since I saw you in the courtyard. You looked as if you felt as out of place as I did."

"Out of place? Nonsense!" Uncle Fergus cried as he slipped his arm through Fredella's. "You both belong here, although only one of you can have Sir Nicholas. I hope you're not going to get to fighting over him, because he's bound to choose my niece if he's got an ounce of sense. But cheer up, Lady Eleanor. He's got a brother, I hear, just as handsome if not so rich. Henry, I think his name is."

When Eleanor blushed and stared at her feet, Riona decided it might be better to leave her boisterous uncle with Fredella and speak to Eleanor alone.

"I've never seen a stained-glass window before," she remarked, nodding at it. "I'd very much like to see it up close."

"Yes, so would I," Eleanor swiftly agreed. "What about you, Fredella?"

"Oh, I've admired it already," she said,
casting
a coy glance at Uncle Fergus, who spoke without taking his eyes from her face. "You two go along and admire it all you like. We'll wait here."

Riona didn't hesitate to head for the altar, and the window behind it.

"Your uncle is a very friendly fellow," Eleanor noted as they regarded the depiction of the archangel in a flowing blue robe. "Fredella had nothing but good things to say about him, and I confess I thought she must be exaggerating. Now I see she spoke the truth."

"He can be a bit overwhelming at
time
s," Riona replied. "But he's the kindest, sweetest, most generous man I know."

"I can easily believe it. He's like Fredella, who's been a mother to me since my own died." She gave Riona a sheepish smile. "Although I must confess, I wish Fredella would stop treating me as if I were six years old. No doubt she told you I was too shy to make your acquaintance myself?"

"Aye."

Eleanor wryly shook her head. "I was very shy when I was little. I used to hide whenever we had visitors. She still thinks I'm going to conceal myself in a cupboard when I see anyone new or unfamiliar."

"I suppose we must accept the fancies of those who've raised us. Uncle Fergus thinks I'm the most wonderful girl in the world and can't understand that everyone may not share that opinion."

"I wish my guardian was like your uncle," Eleanor said wistfully. "All Percival cares about is that I marry someone who's rich, or popular at court—somebody he can boast about being related to—and the sooner, the better."

"He could certainly brag about being related to Sir Nicholas."

"That he could, and he would. I forget how many tournaments Sir Nicholas has won and all the prizes he's earned, but Percival could tell you. You should have heard him on the journey here. I thought I'd scream or go mad."

She blushed and looked away "I fear I've said too much. I suppose I should be grateful to Percival."

"I don't know about that, if he thinks of you as merely something to be rid of, and a way to add to his own reputation," Riona replied. Once again she was grateful for her relative's kindness and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

Eleanor sighed with relief. "I thought you'd understand, although I probably shouldn't be so outspoken to someone I've just met."

"I probably shouldn't have spoken to Sir Nicholas in the hall the way I did last night, either," Riona confessed.

"Oh, I admired you for that!" Eleanor exclaimed. "I wouldn't have been able to open my mouth in front of all those people, especially with Sir Nicholas looking at me."

"I don't think anyone else shared your admiration."

"Fredella did."

"Well, that makes two—three, if we count my uncle."

"Four. Sir Nicholas didn't seem upset with you."

Perhaps he'd had notions of seduction even then.

"I had no idea he spoke anything other than French. That was one thing Percival didn't tell me."

"Perhaps he didn't know." Not particularly keen to talk about their host, Riona glanced back at Uncle Fergus and Fredella. They were laughing and whispering, their heads very close together. "I hate to part them, but if you don't get to the hall, your cousin might start to wonder where you are."

"You're right. I do hope we can spend some more time together, though, in spite of Percival."

"I'd like that, too," Riona answered, meaning it. She hadn't expected to find a friend in Dunkeathe, but she liked Eleanor.

And perhaps having a friend would keep Sir Nicholas away.

"JOSCELIND'S paternal grandmother was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Millborough," Lord Chesleigh said, continuing his long recitation of the ancestry of his family as he rode beside Nicholas several days later.

They, and the rest of the hunting party, were riding through a grassy meadow on the northernmost hill around Dunkeathe. Nicholas and Lord Chesleigh were trailed by Sir Percival and a somewhat sober Sir George. The rest of the noble gentlemen, save for the two who had already departed with their female relatives and various retainers, came after, along with servants to carry the animals they killed. Ahead were beaters, sent to rouse the game, whether pheasants, or grouse or, if they were fortunate, a stag.

Unfortunately, it seemed as if every bird or animal had somehow gotten word of their approach and fled.

Perhaps it was the noise from the back of the group. Mounted on one of Dunkeathe's mares, Fergus Mac Gordon was regaling the servants with the tale of a hunting mishap involving a dog, a dirk and a boot. Say what one would about the boisterous Scot, he was entertaining, and he'd been entertaining the men at the back of their party ever since they'd left the castle.

"Joscelind's maternal grandmother was the daughter of the Duke of Bridgewater," Lord Chesleigh droned on, "and therefore related by blood to the king himself."

"On the wrong side of the blanket," Sir Percival interjected, apparently as tired of Lord Chesleigh's recitation as Nicholas.

They'd been cooped up inside Dunkeathe by rain and fog for the past three days. When this day dawned clear, Nicholas had immediately proposed a hunt. That wasn't his
favour
ite pastime— his youth having given him little time to indulge in sport and he still couldn't quite shake the notion that he had more important things to do—yet he was as eager to ride out of Dunkeathe as the rest of the men who had quickly accepted his invitation. His female guests, led by Lady Joscelind, declined because the ground was too muddy.

He wasn't sorry. It was wearying trying to be pleasant to all the ladies without making any one of them think they were too far in his
favour
.

Lady Riona had already left the hall when he'd proposed the hunt, and he could guess why. She didn't want to be anywhere near him—which was just as well, because he couldn't afford to be anywhere near her, either. Bedding a thane's niece, no matter how tempting, and with no promise of marriage, would surely cause a great deal of animosity among the Scots. Therefore, he intended to avoid her as much as possible. He would have sent her home the day after that memorable kiss, except that it might cause grumbling among the Scots, too.

"Wasn't Lady Joscelind's grandmother the duke's dairymaid, Lord Chesleigh?" Sir Percival inquired.

Lord Chesleigh frowned and twisted in his saddle to regard Sir Percival with a cold and angry eye. "William the Conqueror was a bastard, which proves that blood will show itself."

"Oh, indeed, it will," Percival said with a mocking smile. "Fortunately, my family carries no such taint."

"Would you insult my family?" demanded Lord Chesleigh.

"Not your entire family," Percival retorted as his steed pranced nervously. "Just your wife's mother."

Nicholas nudged his gelding between them before challenges could be issued. "Gentlemen, please. I'll make my choice, as difficult as it's going to be, based on the lady's own merits."

"Here, here!" Sir George piped up, wiping his lips with the back of his gloved hand, having just taken another gulp from the wineskin he'd brought. "If it's merit you want, my lord, you couldn't do better than Eloise. She's a good girl, she is. Not the most lively you'll ever meet, but who'd want a lively wife? That way leads to trouble." He made a sodden wink. "Take it from me. A lively woman may be entertaining at night, but in the day, it's quarrel, quarrel, quarrel."

Thinking of one bold, lively woman, Nicholas was inclined to think that the nights might provide ample
compensation
. That kiss

He commanded himself not to think about that kiss.

"Yes, the apple rarely falls far from the tree," Lord Chesleigh remarked, speaking quietly so that Sir George wouldn't hear. "I understand Sir George's arguments with his wife were legendary."

"I certainly wouldn't want an argumentative wife," Nicholas agreed. "I require peace in my household."

"Of course you do," Lord Chesleigh said. "After your years of combat, you wish to enjoy your well-earned prosperity. And I'm sure you won't want to be troubled by any domestic strife. Joscelind is well able to run a household, my lord. She'll keep a dght rein on your servants, and your purse strings, too."

"He makes it sound like a man wants a second steward for a wife," Percival declared behind them. "Can you see Sir Nicholas asking his wife for money?" He changed to a mocking, high- pitched tone. "Please, my dear, may I have a few pennies for a drink with my friends?"

"He doesn't want a girl barely out of the nursery, either," Lord Chesleigh said through clenched teeth. "He surely requires a woman who can manage the household without having to ask about every little thing."

"I suppose that would be the one advantage to marrying an older woman," Percival said, his voice full of venom, and as if Lady Joscelind was a crone instead of a woman who, granted, was somewhat older than most when they wed.

Lady Riona was even older than Joscelind, Nicholas guessed, yet he couldn't think of her as "old." As for being competent, everything he'd seen in Dunkeathe since her arrival told him she surely would be. The servants were always pleasant, yet
deferential
, when they served her, and hurried to do anything she asked of them. He'd overheard that maidservant with the mole on her breast whose name he could never remember tell another about some suggestions Lady Riona made regarding the storing of the linens, and it was clear both maidservants were impressed. Even some of the Saxon guards, not normally the most mannerly of men, bowed and touched their spears to their helmets in salute when she passed by.

"Speaking as a man, I prefer youth and beauty in a bride," Sir Percival declared. "Wisdom will come soon enough."

"Some never achieve that state," Lord Chesleigh growled, staring straight ahead.