The Countess (11 page)

She felt her cheeks heat and took refuge in sharpness. “Then tell me again.”

“Ceinn-beithe is haunted by the souls of our forebears, whose blood stains the stones and whose tales are whispered by the wind.” Duncan watched her closely as he spoke, his lips quirking when she started in recognition of the words.

“You said 'twas a hereditary holding.”

Duncan nodded. “A legacy for our children, a cornerstone for our clan, a place of such import that it cannot be readily surrendered, a place I cannot suffer to see lost.”

His were sweeping words that evoked images from a
chanson
or heroic saga. Eglantine refused to be readily swayed, particularly at the reality she had found.

“And the tale of handfasting?”

His eyes narrowed as he looked into the distance.

“Once there was a man and a woman, son of one chieftain and daughter of another. Their families were engaged in a fearsome battle of vengeance that continued for generations and had no prospect of resolution. 'Tis said that the gods tired of this incessant bickering, that they believed they were poorly served by men so occupied in war. So, 'twas by their intervention, that this man and woman met, no less that they fell in love.

“The happy couple met secretly as often as they could and finally, they could bear the subterfuge no longer. They met here, at the broch of Kinbeath, and exchanged a pledge of eternal love. They kissed beneath this very portal, sealing their troth each to the other, and then they loved all the night through.

“'Tis the way of young lovers to believe that all solutions lie within their provenance, and that all ills can be set to rights. These two believed that their fathers could be swayed to peace, purely to ensure their own happy match.”

“They were wrong,” Eglantine guessed.

Duncan shrugged. “There are those who say 'twas no less than the divine plan of the gods. The woman returned home and confessed to the loss of her maidenhead. Her father demanded retribution and refused to hear her entreaties that she might wed. He assembled a party for war, a greater and more fearsome party than ever his people had seen. He told his daughter that her deed would see the end of this feud, but not in the way she imagined. He would see her beloved and his family slaughtered for the insult.

“The man, meanwhile, returned to his father's hall and asked permission to wed the woman he desired. This was accepted, until he confessed her name. His father claimed that his son had been bewitched and assembled his own party for war, an equally fearsome and numerous party. 'Tis said that when both fathers offered sacrifices in preparation for war, the gods shunned their offerings.

“But they were not deterred. The ground trembled as the two parties marched closer. The sea churned and the wind raged, a storm gathered as though all the elements of the earth would protest this fight. The fathers did not care. They personally led their men to the field, and on recognizing each other, charged into battle.

“They shouted at each other as they met, hurling insults and threats, ignoring the entreaties of their children and the inclement weather. They raised their swords as one and suddenly, the sky parted with a roar. A bolt of lightning was flung down from the displeased gods and struck their crossed blades.

“The fathers fell back, stunned, their weapons were destroyed. Indeed, their sword arms were never fit to raise a blade again. And thus, said the tellers of tales, were the gods avenged for the refusal of men to cede to their greater plans.”

“And the couple?”

“Pledged their handfast here at Kinbeath, where they had met and exchanged that first kiss of peace. They lived long, they ruled their father's unified peoples in peace and prosperity, they had many children of beauty and skill. And so, 'tis said, that to make a pledge of handfast here at Kinbeath is to claim a measure of that couple's good fortune.” He smiled mischievously. “And to exchange a kiss beneath the arch of this portal is a portent of a good match indeed.”

He had tricked her, but Eglantine would not let some pagan tale dictate her future. “Nonsense!”

“Not to my people.” Duncan looked grim. “This holding is greatly prized and will not be willingly surrendered to any foreigner.”

“Greatly prized?” Eglantine knew he but made a tale to suit his own ends. “A legacy sold for hard coin by your former chieftain, a cornerstone so critical that there is not so much as a shed erected upon it.” She made a sound of exasperation. “There is no manor, no chapel, there are no crops nor any sign there have ever been any. There is no hint that any have resided here in centuries!”

Duncan's features set. “Not all places of import are residences.”

“But 'tis clear it has been neglected in the past. Why should I believe that Kinbeath of such import to you now?”

“Because everything changes.” Duncan's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest. He looked most unlikely to change his thinking. “Because everything of import could be lost.”

Eglantine heaved a sigh. “We are not going to agree upon this, certainly not as long as you talk like a troubadour instead of negotiate like the chieftain we both know you to be.”

Duncan smiled suddenly. “But I am a bard first, Eglantine, and a chieftain against my own desire.”

She gaped at him, astonished by this confession, but he headed back toward the assembly they had left. She had a fleeting sense that he sought to distract her from any queries about himself.

Then he chose the perfect words to make her forget their conversation. “It seems Alienor does not share your desire to preserve her chastity.”

Eglantine hastened after him, dreading what she would see. Alienor, not surprisingly, had freed herself from the circle of maids and flirted anew with Duncan's men.

“I shall kill her with my bare hands,” she muttered without intending to do so. Duncan chuckled behind her, but Eglantine pivoted to warn him. “And should so much as a hair upon her head be tainted by you or your men, I shall take a penance from your hide for the transgression.”

Duncan winked at her, then made a mocking bow. “I shall look forward to it.”

Eglantine felt her color rise. “Barbarian!” she managed, then whirled to retrieve her step-daughter, Duncan's laughter echoing in her ears.

“Eglantine!” He called after her, and she glanced back to find him looking unpredictable and dangerous. He spoke so low that she had to take a step back to hear his murmured words. “You should understand, my lady, that we call this season
faoilleach gavri
.” His eyes glinted with unwelcome mischief that Eglantine knew better than to trust.

“And what is that to mean?”

“The
winter
deadmonth
would be a literal translation.” Duncan grinned rakishly. “But 'tis known as the
loving month
among many here.” He took a step closer, his eyes gleaming with new challenge. “But perhaps you already guessed as much, for you seem to be seeking a lover to keep you warm. Are you cold, alone in your fine bed each night, my Eglantine?”

“How dare you!” How could he know? Eglantine hated that she was losing her temper again, yet was powerless to keep her voice from rising. “You presume overmuch.”

Duncan folded his arms across his chest, his expression hardening. “While you promise much with your kiss, yet deliver naught. 'Tis typical, is it not, for women of your ilk?”

“You know naught of me!”

“Aye, but I know this. Should Alienor similarly seek comfort among my men, she will find it.” Duncan leaned closer, his eyes dark. “And I will not chastise any who fulfill her demand.”

Eglantine swore, much to his evident amusement, then stalked back to her camp. She had to be rid of Duncan MacLaren, that much was clear.

But, God in heaven, could she drive such an impossible creature away?

* * *

Duncan lingered on the spot, still hot from Eglantine's kiss. She had shaken him, in more ways than one, and he was in no hurry to rejoin his men. 'Twas a kiss he intended to remember, regardless of what happened between them after this point.

He watched as she strode directly toward Alienor, the pretty pouting demoiselle with hair of raven hue. Eglantine was a woman who did not hesitate to resolve matters herself and he liked that. He smiled, noting how the countess said little to Alienor, but won quick results. The maiden was returned to the care of her maids, and effectively separated from Duncan's men.

A second maiden, somewhat smaller than the other and with hair of flaxen hue, was dressed with equal expense and lingered nearby. This was the one who had hunted with her this morning, so must be another of her daughters. Even from this distance, the two demoiselles appeared as different as chalk and cheese, as much a question of their coloring as their manner.

And they both looked too old to be Eglantine's own children.

Another lie. Duncan let his lips settle into a grim line.

Alienor made a retort, whatever she said uttered with obvious challenge, her arms folded across her chest as she waited for her mother to reply. Eglantine flung a hand towards Duncan's men as she explained something—undoubtedly the threat they posed to tender sensibilities—but Alienor stared at Duncan's men long after the countess had bustled away.

This one was trouble, Duncan wagered, and he did not envy Eglantine such a charge. 'Twould be no small battle to ensure such a willful one kept her virginity.

If Alienor truly had no dowry and no betrothed, then Duncan had to admit that Eglantine showed good sense in protecting Alienor's assets. Duncan had seen more than one penniless woman with neither spouse nor maidenhead be scorned in Norman society, despite her noble birth. Alienor would do well to wed soon, for she was not so young as nobles oft preferred their brides.

But Eglantine's tale could not be the truth—she would find no willing suitors in this place for her daughters, particularly ones who met her standards.

'Twas a lie, and a lie concocted purely to twist Duncan to her will.

He did not appreciate how close she had come to success.

All the same, the crimes of the mother were not those of the children. Duncan might not be inclined to leave, he might enjoy striking fear into Eglantine's breast when he was angered, but in truth, he would attempt to keep his men from ruining those daughters. For the futures of those maidens, if naught else.

Eglantine clearly was taking no chances. Duncan watched her discuss the arrangements of the camp with several of the men, who nodded. The tents of the household were already set up encircling three tents wrought of striped silk, evidently those of Eglantine and her daughters, undoubtedly settled thus by her specific direction. On this evening, she had other more humble tents moved, so that they encircled the silk ones and added another sentry.

Duncan half-smiled to himself at the troublesome one's obvious displeasure with her circumstance. Alienor folded her arms across herself and scowled. She stamped her foot and raised her voice in demand, but the countess ignored her.

When Duncan's men left the group and began to saunter back towards him, Alienor cried out. Several of the men turned, she opened her arms in a beckoning gesture and called something that was snatched away by the wind.

“Oh, I will have me a bit of that,” Reinald muttered under his breath. Reinald fancied himself a man of charm and good looks, and truly, there were women from here to Inverness ready to support that claim. He might have stepped closer, but Duncan laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not be making more trouble than we have,” he counseled.

Iain, ever close and watchful, snorted beneath his breath. “Aye, Duncan is afraid of what the countess might say to him.”

The men chuckled, but Duncan granted his opponent a cool glance. “Nay, this is one of the lady's daughters and naught good will come if she is seduced.”

“Naught good to who?” Reinald muttered with a wicked grin. He lifted a hand to wave to Alienor, who smiled radiantly in return. Eglantine noted the exchange and glared at Duncan before forcibly escorting Alienor from view.

“We still know little of the countess' alliances. Dugall will have little good to say to us if your lust provokes a confrontation with the king of Scotland himself.”

“Over a girl?” Reinald scoffed.

“Over an asset,” Duncan corrected. “The girl's value is at stake and the countess will not suffer any compromise lightly. Indeed, she has just told me as much.”

“What value?” Reinald demanded. “A woman's worth is in the sons she bears.”

“Nay, this demoiselle will be worth less as a bride were she sampled first, for noblemen value the maidenhead.”

Reinald snorted and spat on the grass. “Aye? Well, I would not give an old pebble for a woman on her first time. Give me a whore or a widow who knows what she is about, and I shall sleep the sleep of a sated man!”

The men laughed in agreement, the talk shifting to the willing whores of Dugall's household before Iain stepped forward, challenge bright in his eyes.

“Would that have been before or after the lady shared her assets with you?” he demanded and the men fell silent. “Aye, a blind man could not have missed the liaison betwixt the two of you. 'Tis a curious course you make in securing Ceinn-beithe, Duncan, in seducing the woman who should be our opponent. Is that why you do not let her be driven from the land? Because you would sample her assets first?”

Duncan felt his color rise as the men watched. Some looked surprised, some displeased, though it seemed that Iain had been the most observant of them all.

Gillemore cackled to himself, shaking a finger at Duncan. “Aye, there is more than one way to see a rabbit skinned, that much is certain. Our Duncan will charm the deed and the land from the lady, of that there can be no doubt!”

Reinald laughed and clapped Duncan on the back. “'Tis clever, that is. Why bloodshed when there can be pleasure?”