Authors: Margaret Moore
and didn't just stand there tellin' us we were stupid when we tried to ask a question."
The other servants nodded rapidly and murmured their agreement.
"So you decided to pester Lady Riona with your questions and complaints instead?"
Polly's face reddened and her gaze fell.
Riona hurried forward. "My lord, I believe a simple reassigning of tasks is all that's required. I'll be happy to assist, and then Lady Joscelind need not be troubled."
It was like her to help even Joscelind, for the servants' sake. But if Joscelind was responsible for the trouble, Joscelind could fix it. "I thank you for your kind and generous offer, my lady, but this is not your concern."
He addressed Polly. "Do you all have things you can do
until
I speak to Lady Joscelind?"
Polly's lips turned up with a hint of a grin. "Yes, my lord."
"Good." He gestured for the spit boy to come closer. "Go and tell Lady Joscelind that I wish to speak with her in my solar when she has completed her toilette, which I assume will be soon."
The lad nodded and ran off. "As for you, my lady," he said to Riona, "we shall speak of this matter later, but first, has anyone seen the Due D'Anglevoix?"
"He's gone to the outer ward," one of the other women offered. "Leastways, that's what Rafe said."
Regretting he couldn't so much as smile at Riona in front of the servants, Nicholas nodded his thanks, then turned on his heel and headed for the tents of D'Anglevoix's soldiers, which were in the eastern part of the outer ward.
When he reached the encampment, he discovered a scene of
busting
activity and raised voices, as if the men were preparing to strike their camp. Clearly, Robert was right. D'Anglevoix had finally realized his cousin would not be marrying Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe and he was planning to depart.
It took a few questions of the Norman's soldiers, but soon enough Nicholas found the obviously disgruntled D'Anglevoix in one of the tents, barking orders at a harried-looking man. When D'Anglevoix saw Nicholas, he scowled, then ordered the man to go and see that all was made ready to leave.
"You're planning on leaving Dunkeathe, my lord?" Nicholas inquired with feigned ignorance and disregarding the man's scowl.
"I see no reason to stay, as it's become apparent to me that you have no
honour
able interest in Lavinia."
He had no dis
honour
able interest in her, either, and for a moment, Nicholas's temper flared, until he reminded himself that although this man wasn't the power at court he had been in the past, it was never wise to make an unnecessary enemy.
"I must confess, my lord, that I've come to the same conclusion," he said, making no mendon of
honour
. "However, I'm also quite sure she has no interest in me, either. I fear I'm too much the soldier for your well-bred cousin."
The Norman nobleman looked down his long aquiline nose at Nicholas. "Then we are agreed, and thus we shall not remain here in this.. .this wilderness any longer.
"I thank you for your hospitality, Sir Nicholas," he continued, his tone implying he would have liked to add such as It was, "and I wish you luck living among these savages."
Nicholas inclined his head in acknowledgment of the man's sarcastic good wishes. Then he said, "I believe Audric will be sorry to see you go."
The Norman's eyes narrowed. "Audric? What has he to do with me?"
"Perhaps not a great deal to do with you, my lord, but your charming cousin is another matter."
The Norman frowned, his face wrinkling deeply. "Lavinia?"
Nicholas refrained from inquiring who else he might be talking about. "I think Audric has conceived a great affection for Lady Lavinia. He smiles at her a good deal and while she's too modest to respond in any but the most proper, ladylike way, I believe she doesn't disapprove of his attentions. I must say, my lord, I would consider that a union to be encouraged. Audric's uncle is a most powerful and respected abbot, with close ties to Rome. The rest of his family yield some influence in political matters, and he was telling me just the other day that his other sister's husband has negotiated a trade alliance with several rich merchants in London that should make the family even more wealthy. I think Lavinia could scarcely do better for a husband, especially if they already feel some affection for one another."
D'Anglevoix seemed to be mentally counting coins as he continued to regard Nicholas. "Perhaps I should speak to Audric before we leave."
"I would if I were you, my lord. He seems a very fine young man, and if you don't secure him for Lavinia, I have no doubt some other, clever, less worthy woman might."
"Like Jos—" D'Anglevoix caught himself. "Yes, yes, as you say, I should certainly consider a marriage between my cousin and Audric. I'll speak to her at once."
"You're welcome to remain here for however long you like. A betrothal contract can take time."
Robert wasn't going to be pleased about the extended invitation, but the additional expense was worth it if it secured the allegiance of not just D' Anglevoix, but Audric, as well.
As if to prove that, D'Anglevoix smiled with the first sign of genuine pleasure Nicholas had ever seen on his face. "I had no idea you were such a wise and generous man," he admitted. "I knew you were an impressive soldier, of course, but I see you are astute and kindhearted, as well. I would have been
honour
ed to be related to you, Sir Nicholas."
"And I to you, but where a woman is concerned, it's better to give them some say where they marry, don't you think? Nothing's worse than discord between husband and wife."
"Yes, that's so," D'Anglevoix agreed, nodding his head. "I myself was blessed with an excellent wife who died much too soon. Perhaps that is how I came to forget how happy we were." He gave Nicholas a smile. "And I cannot wish any less for you."
"Thank you, my lord."
"I shall tell my men, and Lavinia, we are staying."
"And I shall return to my solar. I have a matter of household business to attend to."
WHEN NICHOLAS reached his solar, Joscelind was already waiting, looking lovely in a soft blue gown of some exotic fabric
Nicholas couldn't name. Her gilded girdle set low on her slim hips, her jewelry sparkled in the sunlight coming in through the window, and her blond hair was covered by the thinnest of silken veils. Standing anxiously by the table, her hands clasped, she seemed like the perfect personification of humble, womanly beauty.
Yet whatever her outward appearance, he had seen and heard far too much to ever want her for a bride. She was haughty, imperious, spoiled and deceitful. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd come into his bedchamber with nefarious designs, as he'd suspected. He'd been flabbergasted to discover Riona doing so instead.
Yet because of who Joscelind's father was and after what Riona had said about his consideration of the young ladies' feelings—or lack thereof—he was determined to treat Joscelind with courtesy and diplomacy until the time came for her to leave.
"You wanted to see me, my lord?" she asked as her smooth white brow furrowed.
"Yes. Please, sit down," he offered, gesturing at the chair.
She did, moving with the studied grace that was so different from Riona's natural easy elegance. Joscelind's
actions
seemed designed to show her form and figure to best advantage.
Once Joscelind was seated, she laced her fingers in her lap and raised her eyes to regard him woefully. "I fear I've offended you, my lord, or caused you some displeasure."
"My servants are rather upset," he acknowledged, still standing by the door. "It seems there is some confusion regarding the orders you've given for the evening meal."
"Oh?" she inquired sharply. In the next instant, she was again worried and woeful. "I thought they understood me."
"
Apparently
they did not."
"Then they should have told me."
"I gather they tried."
Agitated, Joscelind rose, and he could see the effort she was making to control her temper. "Then I shall speak to them again."
"Yes, I believe that will be necessary. They aren't sure what to do."
Perhaps it was
time
he gave her some warning of her status. Riona would say that he owed her that. "Unfortunately, I cannot have a wife who causes so much conflict in the kitchen."
Angry indignation blazed in Joscelind's eyes, and her usual mask of placid composure fell away. "I've never had any trouble running my father's household," she declared. "My servants always do exactly what they're told when they're told, so if there's any fault here, my lord—"
She clenched her teeth, as if trying to silence herself.
He stepped into the breech and gave her an excuse. "The servants in your father's household are no doubt used to your methods. Regrettably, mine aren't."
"Yes, I'm sure that's it," she said, quickly taking the pretext he handed her. "I'm quite certain that over time..." She lowered her head, then raised her eyes to give him a look surely intended to be beguiling. "We could come to understand each other better."
Nicholas refrained from saying that she would never have the chance to try. "Perhaps."
Raising her chin, Joscelind reached out to touch his forearm. "I would do my very best to see that it's so." Her hand slid up his arm as she continued to gaze steadily into his face. "I would do my very best to please you, my lord."
He wanted to lift her hand away, but unwilling to hurt her feelings more than he had to, he stepped back instead. "And I'm sure you'll make a most excellent wife, Joscelind."
For somebody else.
"It would be my greatest joy to see that my husband is always happy and completely satisfied. Nothing would be more important to me."
He knew exactly what she was implying and he could well believe she would use every art at her disposal to please her husband. Yet the loving would be less about indmacy and desire
than vying for power and control. After the wondrous, unselfish love Riona gave him, marriage to Joscelind se
emed a cold and heartless transacti
on.
Yet was that not what he'd sought in the beginning—a bargain? Would his marriage to Eleanor be any less of a trade?
Joscelind crept closer,
smiling
coyly. "I'm sure your wife would always be satisfied, too, my lord. Every woman dreams of such a strong, virile lover."
"My lady," he said not unkindly, but firmly, "I would appreciate it if you would go to the kitchen and see to the servants without further delay, or I fear the evening meal will never get served."
"Oh, I'll see that it is."
He moved back. "I'm sure you will."
She came to a halt far too close to him for comfort. "Are you really going to wait until Lammas to make your decision?"
He nodded. He would take all the time he could, because once he married, he would not be unfaithful to Eleanor. He
honour
ed the bonds of marriage too much for that, and he wouldn't hurt Eleanor by taking a mistress.
And he thought, deep in his heart, that Riona would never betray her friend by being the woman with whom her husband
committed adultery. Loving him before he made his vow before God and swore to be faithful to his wife was one thing; afterward was surely something else again.
"It's very difficult to wait, my lord. And I do so worry that you'll choose another."
He didn't think she really had any doubts at all that she would be his choice. She probably couldn't conceive that any other woman would be more appealing or worthy. "I'm sure the women I don't choose will have no trouble finding husbands. They each have much to offer."
Joscelind got a gleam in her eye that set him on his guard. "Not Lady Riona. I confess it seems a mystery to me that she's still here."
Did Joscelind suspect...? "Lady Riona and her uncle are still here because they are Scots, my lady, and I don't wish to cause any animosity among the rest of their countrymen by sending them away too soon."
"I see," Joscelind said, smiling. "They are here because of
politics
. I thought perhaps that little man amused you, like a sort of jester."
Nicholas tried not to clench his jaw. "He is amusing," he agreed. "And a very pleasant fellow."
"For a Scot."
"My lady, perhaps it has escaped your notice, but Dunkeathe is in Scotland. Whoever I marry will have to be respectful of the Scots."
Her soft, smooth cheeks
coloured
. "Of course, my lord. I meant no
offence
."
He forced himself to smile. "I take none. I only point out that we Normans must have a care how we speak of Scots when we're in
Scotland
."
"Yes, my lord," she said in a small voice. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go to the kitchen."