Authors: Margaret Moore
Lord Chesleigh's brow lowered. "And just what are you implying?"
Nicholas clenched his jaw and reminded himself of this man's influence and wealth. "That she is a pretty, weak and foolish girl whose head could be easily turned. I have no desire to have such a potentially troublesome maidservant in my household."
Lord Chesleigh relaxed. "Ah, I see. Very wise, my lord, very wise."
Nicholas didn't think the man meant that for a moment. He was probably the sort of nobleman who'd been brought up to believe that maidservants were his by right, there to satisfy him whenever and however he required.
Robert hurried up to the high table. "My lord?"
"We wish to have dancing, Robert. Inform the musicians."
"At once, my lord."
He turned to go, but Nicholas couldn't resist the urge to call him back. "I see the Scots thane isn't in the hall."
"No, my lord. It's my understanding he went to the village and hasn't yet returned."
Lord Chesleigh gave a sly chuckle. "No doubt to partake of the twin temptations of the tavern."
At that very moment, Sir George drunkenly raised his goblet and called out for more wine. Robert gave a barely perceptible shrug, then hurried off to fetch the musicians they'd hired until Lammas.
"It would seem, my lord," Nicholas remarked, "that the same temptations are shared by many men, wherever they are born and bred."
"Lady Eloise's poor mother was forever at her prayers," Lord Chesleigh replied, nodding at Sir George. "Married to such a sot, she must have had plenty of cause to pray for patience, help and guidance."
"All of us should pray for those things."
Lord Chesleigh clearly hadn't expected that answer. "Yes, well, naturally.. .although it's obvious God has other rewards to bestow," he finished with a gesture that encompassed the hall.
Still mindful of the man's place at court, Nicholas didn't tell him that if God saw fit to reward him, it wasn't simply because he prayed. He'd earned it, through hard work and sacrifice and in the spilling of blood, both his and other men's.
Fortunately, before he said something he'd regret, Lady Joscelind returned. She'd dabbed a bit more perfume on herself, and taken off the silver circlet and pale blue scarf she'd worn at dinner. Her shining blond braids hung down past her waist and were bound with silver casings.
"I wanted to be cooler for the dancing," she explained in answer to his unspoken question, and with a charming smile as he dutifully led her out to join the other nobles forming a circle for a round dance.
Sir George was barely able to stop swaying as he waited beside his daughter. The Earl of Eglinburg looked as if he had indigestion, while his daughter seemed dwarfed by Sir James of Keswick. Quite unnoticed by her kinsman D'Anglevoix, Lady Lavinia smiled coyly at Audric.
That was an interesting development, Nicholas thought as the tabor player began a jaunty rhythm. Maybe he wouldn't have to worry about finding a diplomatic way to tell Lady Lavinia and D'Anglevoix that she wouldn't be his choice.
"I'm so delighted you agreed to the dancing, my lord," Lady Joscelind said softly as she stepped from left to right in front of him.
As she moved, Nicholas could appreciate why Lord Chesleigh had suggested this activity. His daughter was an accomplished dancer, it seemed, both elegant and graceful.
"Anything I can do to accommodate you, my lady, is my pleasure," he replied.
She raised her eyes for an instant, then lowered them again as if looking at him directly was both a bold and irresistible impulse, and one of which she was ashamed.
He was sure that was very effective on green lads and young knights, but he was neither, and he'd seen such a coy gesture many times before, from all sorts of women, so it had little effect on him.
They turned, raised the hands that were closest to one another and, their palms together, walked down the hall in time to the music before turning and making a few more steps in place.
Lady Riona wasn't coy, nor did she pretend to be, and he'd always preferred bold women. Still, as he'd said to Henry before his brother left, these were different circumstances, and in spite of the desire Riona aroused in him, he should never have suggested going to his solar. He still couldn't understand how he'd been so weak and foolish as to give in to the temptation to kiss her.
Yes, he could. Only she, of all the other women he'd ever met, made him forget everything else when he was with her. Only she inspired that incredible, undeniable passion that made him put the need to kiss her above anything else. Unfortunately, only she, of all the women who'd come here to try to become his bride, was completely unsuitable.
"Have I offended you, my lord?" Lady Joscelind asked, her alabaster brow furrowed with worry.
"No."
"Then you are preoccupied with serious matters?"
Nicholas cursed himself for being so obviously distracted. This woman was the sort he'd most hoped would come to Dunkeathe, and he was ignoring her. "Forgive me," he said with a little bow as they turned again. "I fear I've spent too much time among soldiers to be pleasant company for ladies."
"Some men
prattle
on with nothing at all to say, while a wise man has
little
need to speak," she replied. "Your accomplishments speak for you."
"As do yours, my lady."
She blushed and lowered her eyelids again, her lashes fanning on her soft cheeks. Her lips were full and ruby-red, her body shapely, her features lovely—and yet she stirred him not at all.
Nevertheless, mindful of his need to marry well, he commenced uttering flattering nothings as they danced. He was no smoothtongued courtier, but he'd known a few knights who were notable for their
abilities
to woo women, and he'd learned a thing or two along the way.
Whether Lady Joscelind found him sincere or not, he couldn't tell, but she didn't give any sign that she suspected he wasn't, and when the dance ended, she gave him a glorious smile that he should have been thrilled to see.
As she eagerly slipped her arm through his to allow him to lead her back to her father, he reminded himself again how much he needed to marry a woman of her family's wealth and status.
They were not yet to the dais when Sir Percival hurried up to them, followed by his cousin. Lady Eleanor's eyes held the sort of grimly determined expression Nicholas had seen on the face of men encountering a much better armed opponent in battie.
"Dancing, eh, my lord?" Percival said cheerily. "Wonderful. Eleanor's an excellent dancer."
Lord Chesleigh frowned at Percival, who blatantly ignored him, while Lady Joscelind held Nicholas's arm a little tighter.
Lord Chesleigh might not be pleased but, Nicholas thought, he could hardly be faulted for dancing with the other ladies until his choice was made. "I shall be delighted if she will dance the next with me."
After Lady Joscelind reluctantly released her hold, Lady Eleanor put her trembling hand in his to be led into the square of couples forming for the dance.
Her trembling was nothing like the way Riona trembled when he touched her. This was fear, not desire.
"I'm not going to bite you, my lady," he said, attempting to put the girl at ease. She only flushed and still didn't meet his gaze.
The dance began, and as he circled her, he contemplated what it would be like to wed her. According to Robert, her family's wealth was at least as great as Lord Chesleigh's, and there were relatives besides the vain Percival who were not without influence at court.
Lady Eleanor wasn't as beaudful as Joscelind, but she was pretty. And she'd probably never dare to complain, or contradict him. She'd surely never refuse to do her duty in his bed. She'd be a very meek, dutiful and submissive wife.
He didn't want a wife who was dutifully submissive. He wanted a woman who desired him, who would speak to him with confidence, whose eyes shone with vivacious life, who kissed with passion and fire, leaning into him as if she would make love with him standing there....
The dance brought him face-to-face with Eleanor. "I hope you're enjoying your time in Dunkeathe," he offered.
"Yes, my lord," she answered, giving him a smile that was falsely bright, for her eyes were far too worried to suggest happiness.
"I'm
honour
ed to have you here."
"Thank you, my lord."
It was like trying to tug the words out of her. "I noticed your maidservant isn't here," he said, trying to think of some subject that would break through that wall of frightened reserve. "I trust she's not unwell."
Eleanor finally looked him directly in the eye. "She was quite well this afternoon."
"The Scots thane seems very taken with her."
If it were any other nobleman, he would have suspected the man of nefarious designs of the sort Riona had suggested. Somehow, though, it was impossible to ascribe any such modve to the jovial little Scot. Nevertheless, it was possible, and as host, he had a responsibility to ensure that his guests and their retainers were not mistreated or exploited. "He doesn't strike me as a man to toy with a woman's affections but—"
Eleanor stepped on the hem of her gown and nearly tripped. He reached out to steady her, and when he did, she looked up at him in a way that was akin to panic. "Fredella assures me he's behaved with nothing but the utmost respect."
Why was she so frightened? He was only expressing some concern for her maidservant. "Forgive me for upsetting you, my lady. If you are confident she's in no danger, then I will be, too," he said, smiling at her again in an attempt to erase that terrified look on her face. "I will have no women taken advantage of in my castle."
"Y-you didn't upset me, my lord," she stammered, darting a nervous glance at her cousin, who was watching her as a jailer might his prisoner.
It could be that her fear had less to do with him than Percival. "Does your cousin treat you well, my lady?"
When she didn't speak, her silence answered him. "Perhaps I should have a few words with him."
She raised panicked eyes and spoke swiftly. "No, no, my lord, that's not necessary. Please, I beg you, say nothing to him!"
He studied her as the dance forced them away from each other for several steps. When they were together again, he dropped his voice to a whisper.
"Has Percival ever laid hands on you?"
She didn't meet his gaze. "Just once, when he was drunk.
"Once is once too many," Nicholas growled, his loathing for Percival growing stronger. "Only the weakest of men hurt women. I shall speak to him."
"No, please, my lord," she whimpered, tears starting in her eyes. "He'll be angry with me. If you truly want to help me, smile and look as if you like me."
That lout Percival must have put pressure on her to try to win his hand. No wonder she always seemed so anxious.
Nicholas
reluctantly
smiled, although he felt far from happy. "So I take it your cousin is cruel when he drinks."
With an equally false smile on her face, Eleanor nodded. "Yes."
"Has he ever hurt anyone else when he was drunk?"
The dance required them to part again. As Eleanor moved away, she had the strangest expression on her face, as if she desperately wanted to tell him something, but was afraid to.
Nicholas's impatience grew until they were facing each other once more. "What has he done?"
She glanced at her cousin.
"Pay no attention to him," Nicholas
quietly
snapped. "I promise he'll never know how I found out."
That seemed to relieve her. "He was in the village today, at the tavern. When he was leaving to return to the
castle
, he met Lady Riona and he...he..."
Nicholas felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach.
"She's not hurt," Eleanor hastened to add.
The dance came to an end—and not a moment too soon for Nicholas.
Leaving Eleanor, he headed for the door. He had to find Riona. If Percival had dared to lay a hand on her, if she'd been harmed or injured in any way, he'd wish he'd never heard of Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe.
WONDERING WHERE Uncle Fergus could be, or what might have detained him, Riona paced the floor of her chamber. It was past
time
for the evening meal, but she wasn't about to go to the hall, even if Uncle Fergus might have gone there after returning from the village. Surely when he realized she wasn't there, he'd look for her here. Then she'd tell him that she wanted to go home.
She heard her uncle's familiar, and rapid, footfalls in the corridor outside the chamber. With both relief and trepidation, she hurried to the door and then stared in dismay at his enraged, florid face.
"Ah, Riona, there you are," he said as he marched into his chamber, his feileadh swinging with his brisk strides. "I thought you might be in the hall. I'm glad you're not."
"Weren't you?"
"No, I've been with Fredella. Something terrible has happened."