The Countess

The Countess

Claire Delacroix

 

“Be mine for a year and a day and I will possess your heart forevermore!”

Driven from her late husband's estate, Countess Eglantine de Crevy fled to wildest Scotland to claim a castle, only to find a ruin—and a clan chieftain standing guard. Kinbeath was hers, she declared, vowing to rebuild the manor and launch a bride quest so her daughters could marry for love. But Duncan MacLaren devised a bride quest of his own, swearing to win the land—and the fiery countess—in a war of sweet seduction...

Eglantine declared she would never be captured by this barbarian. Yet Duncan awakened passions she had never known before. She promised to fight him with every weapon at her command even as he vowed to woo her for a year and a day—and make her his pagan bride. Each thought Kinbeath the prize they most desired, a prize to be won at any price. Until passion turned to love, and the chieftain found himself fighting for the heart and hand of the woman he was born to possess.

“Master storyteller Claire Delacroix has done it again with this marvelous medieval romance. The setting is realistic, and her beautifully written prose is sexy, funny, charming and totally satisfying.
The Countess
is a keeper!”

~ Old Book Barn Gazette

“The Bride Quest series brings back the glorious time of knights and their ladies in living color, filling our world of dreams with rainbow streams of magnificent adventures, mysteries, ribald humor and divine lovers.”

~ The Belles and Beaux of Romance

“Readers are treated to another wonderfully delightful story that will keep them highly entertained, riveted to the pages, and eager for whatever the clever and talented Ms. Delacroix will write next.”

~ Romantic Times

“Claire Delacroix's charming and sexy historical romance novels are among my favorites!”

~ Lynne Remick, Romance through the Ages

“
The Countess
is another gem from this creative author!”

~ Rendezvous

“Once again, Claire Delacroix has written a story to hook its readers in the prologue and not let them go until the last page has been turned! Excellent reading!”

~ The Huntress Book Reviews

 

The Countess

This digital re-release has had only minor corrections from the original print edition.

Copyright 2000, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

Published by Deborah A. Cooke

All Rights Reserved

Cover Illustration by Eithne O'Hanlon

Cover by
Kim Killion
.

EBook design by
A Thirsty Mind Book Design

ISBN: 978-1-927477-11-3

Digital Edition

Excerpt from
The Beauty

Copyright 2001, 2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

Excerpt from
Kiss of Fire

Copyright 2007 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

What would you do to ensure a better life for your children? In
The Countess
, Eglantine is determined that her daughters don't share her romantic fate—she wants them to have the chance to marry for love and is prepared to sacrifice a great deal to give them that opportunity. Her choice is rewarded—not just for her daughters, but for herself, for in leaving all she knows, Eglantine meets the irresistible Duncan MacLaren.

I really don't know how she kept him at distance as long as she did! I love Duncan—it was great to read his story again, and hear his stories.

The Countess
is the first book in my second Bride Quest trilogy of medieval romances. Although this trilogy stands alone from the original Bride Quest, there are links between the characters. It's not necessary to read the books in order, but reading them all is fun—I had forgotten, for example, that Burke and Alys from
The Damsel
have a cameo appearance in this book. It was good to see them again!

The original Bride Quest (
The Princess
,
The Damsel
and
The Heiress
) remain available in both digital and print editions from Bantam Dell. The second Bride Quest (
The Countess
,
The Beauty
and
The Temptress
) are now also available in new digital editions and new print editions. As with all of my re-releases, I've chosen not to revise this book, but to republish it pretty much the way it was published in the first place. There may be a few typos missing in this version, but otherwise it is very similar to the original.

I've enjoyed revisiting
The Countess
, I hope you enjoy reading it, as well.

Until next time, I hope you are well and have plenty of good books to read.

All my best,

Claire

http://deborahcooke.com/

Manor Arnelaine

October 1176

E
glantine had been certain Theobald's funeral would be the worst of it, but she was wrong.

When she first awoke to the grey slant of rain, she had feared that she would not provide the example expected by the villeins of this small manor or—worse—that she would fail to mask her own feelings before her children.

Eglantine had managed both, though only barely, and she lay the credit before her brother's wife, Brigid. That sweet woman was so heavy with child, so sympathetic to Eglantine's loss, so obviously missing Guillaume, that it had been easy to be strong in her presence.

To be strong was Eglantine's gift, after all.

Eglantine's mother arrived from the manor of Crevy-sur-Seine with Brigid, though nursing a cold. That woman's illness seemed to prompt her to keep her usually shrewd observations to herself.

'Twas a blessing.

For the first time in her life, Eglantine was glad that her brother had been called to the royal court, for she could not have faced him this day. She knew well enough that Theobald had betrayed Guillaume's trust, a trust Guillaume had bestowed to ensure his sole sister's comfort. Eglantine chided herself silently, for she was glad to be spared Guillaume's discovery of how poorly Arnelaine had fared beneath Theobald's hand.

If only for the moment. The storm would undoubtedly come, but she was glad she would not have to face it this day.

'Twas not until all the mourners were departed that the true challenge assailed her. Louis, Arnelaine's châtelain, stepped out of the shadows of the silent hall. Without a word, he summoned Eglantine, something in his manner making her heart stop, then race anew.

She understood in that moment that matters were even worse than she imagined. How badly
had
Theobald managed Arnelaine? Eglantine was not certain she wanted to know.

'Twas unlike her to be a coward, though, so she followed Louis to the chamber where the manor's books were kept, acting as though naught was amiss.

'Twas strange to be ushered to the lord's place at the table. She ran her hands across the smooth wood, painfully aware that she sat in the place of her spouse—in his chair, at his table, with his papers arrayed before her—while Louis reviewed matters he should have only discussed with a man.

'Twas then that Eglantine realized she would never hear Theobald de Mayneris roar for more wine again.

Her unexpected grief surprised her with its intensity. She blinked back tears, unwilling to admit that she would miss in any way the man who had so carelessly cast her heart aside.

Though she had once loved Theobald, his behavior had made it clear that he had not loved her. Wed once for duty and once for what she believed was love, Eglantine had learned that marriage held no promise for her. At least—at twenty-eight summers of age and twice widowed—she would not have to embark on that fool's journey again.

Encouraged by such small mercies, Eglantine listened to the châtelain and realized she had missed much of what had been said. “I beg your pardon, Louis. I did not heed your inventory of the estate.”

The older man glanced up, his gaze sharp. His lips tightened slightly more than was his wont. “There is no inventory, my lady.”

Eglantine straightened at this odd news, knowing that Louis had always kept impeccable records. “How can that be?”

The châtelain looked discomfited. “Because the estate was not held by your spouse upon his demise.”

Eglantine frowned. “Louis, Theobald was invested with the estate at my brother's behest. Has Guillaume retrieved the manor, as is his right, due to some disagreement?”

Louis shook his head. “Nay, Lord Guillaume has done naught.”

What had Theobald done?

“This is a poor jest, Louis.” Eglantine spoke firmly. “We both know that a vassal has no right to relieve himself of a holding held in trust for his overlord.”

“'Tis no jest, my lady.” Louis' tone was equally firm. “There is no inventory because there are no books, and there are no books because there is no seal.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“The books of the manor are no longer in my possession.” Louis held Eglantine's astonished gaze as his voice dropped. “My lord Theobald may not have had the right, but he had the seal of this manor in his hand. I regret to inform you, my lady, that he wagered it and he lost.”

Eglantine blinked, her composure slipping a fraction. “But that cannot be.”

“Nonetheless, 'tis.”

“But there must be an error, Louis. Theobald would not have been so foolish.” Even as the words crossed her lips, Eglantine knew very well he could have been.

'Twas why her heart hammered so.

Louis said naught more so Eglantine leaned forward to argue on her dead spouse's behalf.

“Theobald would not have left Esmeraude with naught! Our daughter was his pride and joy, her future his sole concern!” 'Twas as though she would convince herself. “Esmeraude's dowry must be bought and all our bellies must be filled. There is
my
dowry held in trust, which is mine alone! Theobald would not be so remiss in his responsibilities as this!”

The châtelain rubbed his chin as he surveyed her, the gleam of sympathy in his eye telling Eglantine more than she wanted to know. 'Twas clear Theobald would have done as much.

Because he had.

Eglantine dropped back into her chair and fought against her rising anger. She had not needed more proof that Theobald was irresponsible.

But she had it, nonetheless. Her fingers drummed in a rare expression of frustration, the regular rhythm the only sound in the chamber.

When Louis finally spoke, his words did little to reassure her. “He would not have been so rash when he was sober, certainly.”

'Twas true enough and not a welcome reminder.

Eglantine pushed away from the table, rising to stare blindly out the narrow window. She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. The rain beat coldly against the stone, a trickle of it running into the chamber, the weather reflecting her glum mood.

The seal was gone.

Her brother Guillaume would have to pay the debts left by his vassal and brother by marriage, or lose this part of his holding. Eglantine knew that Guillaume would never suffer the loss of so much as a blade of grass of the family holding. Crevy-sur-Seine was his pride and joy, a close second only to his blushing bride.

Eglantine ached at the price her own folly would bring to her family. Why, oh why, had she been so smitten with Theobald? And why had she begged her brother to grant Theobald some small holding so that they might make a match?

Oh, she had cost her family dearly, there was no mistake of that. And for what? A man who drank and gambled and cost her all.

And left her penniless to raise his child.

Eglantine heaved a sigh and turned back to the patient châtelain who had served her family all his life. “All of it, Louis?”

The older man shook his head, no more happy with the truth than she. “Every
denier
, child, every last cursed
denier
.” For the first time in her recollection, Louis' words were heated. “Do not imagine that I did not try to stop him.”

Eglantine summoned her composure, though 'twas more of a challenge than usual to act as expected. But she still was the daughter of Crevy, the lady of Arnelaine, the one to whom all would turn for answers, at least in the short term.

“I am certain that you did, Louis. Your loyalty to Crevy and my family is beyond expectation.”

The châtelain bowed slightly. “I thank you, my lady.”

“I shall ensure that Guillaume understands your efforts in this. 'Twas not your error and I shall do my best to see that you do not pay for Theobald's folly.”

“Again, I thank you. You have always been most gracious.” Louis met her gaze steadily and his voice dropped lower, as though he feared he might step too far. “I would dare to suggest, my lady, that 'twas not your error either.”

Eglantine was not so certain of that. She took her seat again, choosing not to reprimand Louis for his familiarity. “But I shall bear the price of it, you may be certain.” She tried to appear assured and wondered whether Louis was fooled.

“If I may be so bold as to ask, my lady, what will you do?”

There was no point in artifice, Eglantine realized, for this man knew her circumstance even better than she. Eglantine trusted the older man, for he had served her family all of his life.

She let her mask of confidence slip. “I do not know, Louis. Esmeraude will need a dowry, and...” Her voice faded, for she could not even think of the betrothal of her elder daughter, Jacqueline, without becoming angry.

No coin meant no ability to fight that marriage contract with Reynaud de Charmonte.

Eglantine frowned at the desk, deliberately speaking of her step-daughter instead. “And I cannot turn away Alienor, even though she is not my own blood.” She would be hard-pressed to salvage this situation and she could not imagine where to begin.

Neither apparently could the châtelain, for he said naught.

Curse Theobald! At least matters could not be worse. Whatever she did could only improve the situation.

They two shared a moment's silence, then Louis offered a piece of parchment with a slight clearing of his throat. “This missive came from Charmonte this morn. 'Tis addressed to you.”

“Charmonte?” Eglantine recoiled. “Already?”

“I am afraid so, my lady.” Louis grimaced slightly, his manner echoing Eglantine's thoughts. “Sadly, the betrothal agreement for your daughter Jacqueline is not missing from the former Lord d'Arnelaine's papers.”

“That would have been rather against my current run of fortune.”

They exchanged a quick wry smile as Eglantine reached across the desk. There was no point in avoiding the truth, though she distrusted that word came so quickly.

Reynaud de Charmonte was an old comrade of Robert de Leyrossire, Eglantine's first spouse. On the birth of Eglantine and Robert's daughter, a betrothal agreement with Reynaud had been negotiated. The arrangement had been too painfully familiar to her own circumstance for Eglantine to find acceptable.

Robert, three decades older than Eglantine, had not been interested in her view.

Eglantine turned the missive in her hands, remembering all too well how miserable she had been in that match. She hated that she would be compelled to condemn her beloved daughter to the same unhappiness she had known.

But what choice did she have?

Eglantine now had no coin of her own.

Eglantine could not ask Guillaume to buy out the arrangement, especially not now that 'twas clear Theobald had served him so poorly.

Eglantine had no champion of her own with Theobald dead, not that he had been much of one while he still drew breath. Even her step-son by Robert had shown that he had no compassion for women. That, after all, was why Robert's daughter Alienor had come to Eglantine, seeking shelter when her own blood cast her out.

Eglantine heaved a sigh and placed Reynaud's missive on the desk, delaying the inevitable.

“Grant me some consolation, Louis. Tell me that the holder of Arnelaine's seal is a compassionate man, one who will grant me the opportunity to set matters to rights.”

“The tale, my lady, is not mine to tell.” Sympathy gleamed in Louis's eyes and he conjured another document from his ledger. 'Twas tucked into the end paper and written upon fine vellum. Eglantine's heart skipped a beat when she spied her name scrawled across it in Theobald's familiar hand.

“Your lord left you naught but a letter, my lady.” Louis handed it to her, then stood and bowed. “I hope it will explain matters more satisfactorily than I ever could.”

Naught but a letter, its seal unbroken. Eglantine was not certain she wanted to open it either. 'Twas no less than Theobald's last words to her.

She did not trust him not to cast yet another shadow on her circumstance.

Ever-tactful Louis left her alone, closing the door behind himself. Eglantine crossed to the narrow window again, taking a deep breath of the cool breeze as she turned the letter in her hands.

She could smell Arnelaine's fields, the rich scent of the soil turned with manure before the winter. That mingled with the smell of the fires in the village nestled against the château walls and the sound of the river splashing in the wheel of the mill. The bell rang out from the chapel, a mournfully slow clang, reminding her all too well that the lord of the manor had passed from this earth and been laid to his rest this day.

But Theobald had not been lord of Arnelaine of late, though she had not known of it.

He had deceived her.

Eglantine tore open her spouse's letter, surprised at the heat of her anger. Theobald had betrayed not only her, but her daughter, her step-daughter and the child they two had brought to light.

Eglantine had believed they at least had shared an honest rapport, but clearly even that had been a lie.

The cur's letter was dated four months past.

My dearest Eglantine—

'Tis oft said that a man may not savor the view after a night of drinking and that is true enough of me on this morn. I have been foolish, not for the first time and probably not for the last, but I fear that this foolishness cannot be repaired.

Months past I took a wager, thinking it an easy one to win. 'Twas to ensure Esmeraude's future that I took this gamble, for I worry overmuch about our child's choices. I would have her wed a king, a prince, a lord of lords, and knew ‘twas my responsibility to ensure she had the dowry to win the most deserving man to her side.

'Tis the irony of such matters that my deeds may well have precisely the opposite effect. 'Tis the way of the wine to make me feel that Dame Fortune rides beside me, and more than once these past months, I have tried to set all to rights. Instead I have only made matters worse—last night, I lost the manor of Arnelaine itself.