The Countess (19 page)

The fowl had been released, only their cries discernible in the woods. Most undoubtedly had fallen prey to the wildlife resident here. God alone knew what had happened to the goats and Esmeraude was already crying for milk. Even the rabbits left to hang had been cut down and left for the ravens, which made a hearty feast of it even as Eglantine watched. Most of the villeins did not know where to begin to set matters to rights and merely wandered through the mess, shaking their heads.

Gunter and Gerhard were particularly disheartened. They sat side by each, their gazes glazed, their expressions shocked. There was not so much as a fire kindled or a pot of water put on to boil.

And speculation ran rampant through the ranks of the household. The maids huddled together, cackling like troubled hens. Everywhere she turned, Eglantine heard whispers, whispers that halted when her presence was noted.

The trio of sentries bowed low before her, their apologies hasty and incoherent. “My lady, we slept, I cannot imagine why.”

Eglantine touched their brows, frowning at the sluggishness of their speech. “You drank something before the night?”

“Aye, a cup of grog to keep us warm. Gunther made the brew.”

Eglantine demanded an ingredient list from the cook, surprised to find no sedatives among the herbs he listed. “Did you serve it immediately?”

“Nay, my lady, 'twas too hot. I left it there.” And he pointed to the makeshift table at the edge of his kitchen space.

“And whence were you?”

He pointed to the opposing table. “We began the bread last eve as is our wont.”

Aye, Eglantine could see how someone could have sidled up to the table with the grog, someone who had crept stealthily through the evening shadows. Someone intent on sprinkling an herb or two into the mix that their deeds might not be interrupted.

Someone, indeed.

The priest murmured his rosary over and over again, more folk than usual joining him in his morning prayers. The men nodded sagely and scanned the horizon, as though expecting specters to appear at any moment. All watched their lady arrive and waited expectantly.

Save Louis, who stood with his lips pursed and his eyes downcast, his shredded ledger in his hands. The treasury trunk had had its lock shattered.

Its contents were gone, as was the deed to Ceinn-beithe.

“Did you not have the trunk with you, Louis?”

He shook his head. “Aye, my lady, as is my wont and my responsibility. Sadly, I made the miscalculation of sharing in the grog last evening, for I was chilled to the bone.”

The châtelain fairly exuded disapproval of this circumstance and Eglantine knew he was nigh bursting to observe that had they left sooner, this would not have befallen them. She would not ask for his opinion—and hopefully his manners would compel him to keep it to himself.

For her own part, Eglantine was so angry that her hands shook. Duncan toyed with her apurpose.

And worse, she had been fool enough to forget their competing desires, and that because of his charm. Aye, the man knew his touch troubled her, he knew his kisses unsettled her, he knew this and he persisted.

Because he wanted her to surrender Kinbeath to him. 'Twas so blessedly simple. She had already surrendered more than had been her intent, that much was certain.

She knew that Duncan would stop at naught to see his goal achieved. Clearly he had lied to her the night before. This man wanted no bride and no quest. He wanted Kinbeath alone.

“We have had another visit from the restless souls, my lady,” murmured Gerhard. He shook his head. “And I know not how we shall recover from this.”

“We shall recover from this travesty by pursuing justice,” Eglantine said crisply.

“From the dead?”

“'Twas no restless soul who wrought such destruction, but a party of men who are very much alive.” Her company stirred and eased closer. “Though I do not underestimate the power of souls, mine own father taught me to look first in the realm of men for the source of trouble.” Several chuckled at this and a few comments were exchanged about the good character of the late Lord de Crevy-sur-Seine.

Eglantine warmed to her theme. “Who indeed wants us gone from this place? Who indeed understands what stores we need most and how best to destroy them? 'Tis no specter who wreaks such damage, but a troop of barbarians.” Eglantine turned and pointed a finger that quivered with anger at Duncan's party, who only now stirred sleepily. “Look how late they slumber—no doubt this labor left them overtired!”

Her vassals muttered impatiently, throwing more than one ugly glance toward Duncan's party. “And who are they to oust us from land that is rightfully deeded to my hand? 'Tis they who are in breach of the law, 'tis they who shall pay a reckoning!”

“Aye, my lady!” A cheer rose from the assembly, though Louis shook his head.

“With what shall they pay it, my lady?” he asked quietly.

“Firstly with the return of the coin they have stolen from us.” Eglantine gritted her teeth and glared first at her châtelain, then at Duncan's camp. “Then with the labor of their own hands, if need be. I shall have a penance from them, that much is certain, or there shall be more blood shed on Kinbeath, whether 'tis on that cursed stone or not.”

The company cheered.

Enough was enough. She would demand an audience with whichever king held suzerainty over this land, both if necessary! 'Twas time the law was summoned to resolve this issue.

'Twas somewhat galling that she had need of directions to one king from Duncan, but she was angry enough to not care. Eglantine lifted her hand. “Let us demand compensation! Let us demand justice! Let us demand the king's own ear, and the assertion of the king's law. We are the rightful tenants of Kinbeath. Let us demand acknowledgement of our legal right!”

Her household roared approval. Eglantine turned and strode toward the intruders' camp, determined to declaring her intent.

Aye, with the involvement of a king, any king, this contest would be resolved for once and for all.

D
uncan was having a marvelous dream.

It could have been naught else. Even in sleep he knew 'twas improbable that Eglantine should try to seduce him, but still he was loathe to awaken.

Duncan sighed with satisfaction as Eglantine leaned over him, the softness of her breast against his arm. Her breath upon his ear made him shiver, her hair trailed against his face and he reveled in its silken touch. The countess kissed his cheek gently, granting further confirmation that 'twas a dream.

For the real countess was not so timid as this. The incongruity of that caught Duncan's attention, for 'twas unlike a dream to be less passionate than what a man might find awake.

Surely if he dreamed of Eglantine—whom he already knew to be passionate indeed—she would fair devour him?

What if he did not dream?

Duncan opened one eye warily, noted the chill in the air and the sound of rain. Then he saw that the curl trailing across his face was ebony of hue.

'Twas not Eglantine!

Duncan sat up with a jolt, the sight before him making his eyes widen in dismay even as he eased backward.

“I do not kiss so badly as that,” Alienor said with a pout. She sat back on her heels, looking disheveled. She had unfurled her hair from her braid, the dark tresses hanging loose over her shoulders and falling to her waist. She evidently wore naught but a chemise beneath her cloak. Her feet were bare, her expression tempting, the shadows visible through the opening of her cloak promising many pleasures. Many a man might have seized what she offered.

But Duncan stared at his visitor in horror. “Ye gods, what is this you do?” he muttered.

Alienor smiled coyly and crept closer.

Duncan looked wildly about the cottage, but his men slept soundly. He would wager his last coin that Eglantine did not know her step-daughter was here.

And that she would not be pleased to learn the truth.

“You must return to your tent,” he advised in a low whisper. The determination in the girl's eyes told Duncan that she had no more intent of heeding him than she did Eglantine. “Truly, 'tis imperative...”

“I shall have a kiss first,” she whispered, smiling as she unclasped her cloak and let it fall behind her. Truly, the chemise was so fine that it hid naught. She crawled toward him, her eyes glowing and her breasts fairly spilling from her chemise. “Do you not desire me, Duncan? Do you not wish to claim me as your own?”

'Twould be rude to make his feelings clear and worse, Duncan sensed this woman-child would not take the truth well. “'Tis inappropriate for you to be here,” he advised sternly, keeping his gaze resolutely above her amply displayed bosom. “Have you no care for your reputation, or even your chastity?”

Alienor rolled her eyes. “I would be rid of chastity and glad of it, if such sacrifice won me a true man.” Duncan's back encountered the wall and Alienor knelt directly before him. She shook out her hair, her fingers falling to the ties of her chemise even as she smiled.

“My men will see you,” Duncan muttered.

Her smile broadened. “Then you had best ensure they know I am yours.”

Duncan seized her hand before she could display her breasts, then knotted the tie with a vengeance. He did a poor job of it, not accustomed to such finery, and the chemise still gaped open when he was done. He brushed past her, picked up her cloak and flung it at her.

“You must return to your mother's camp,” he declared, fighting to keep his voice low enough that his men did not awaken. “You have no place here, and I seek no woman to make my own.”

Alienor's eyes flashed. “Whyever not?” Her expression turned coy, her hand landed on his shoulder. “I could change your thinking in this...”

Duncan stood and pulled the girl to her feet. “You will change naught with your childish games.”

“I am no child! I am a woman fully. What man would decline what I offer?” Alienor demanded, then she exhaled in a low hiss. “Are you the manner of man who prefers boys?” Her voice rose waspishly, proving his earlier conclusion aright. “Aye, there are plenty of such men at a king's court, but I had expected to find true men here, men who know of pleasing women and fighting for all they desire.” She lifted her chin in challenge. “What manner of man are you, Duncan MacLaren?”

“A man with no desire to take a child as a bride.” He gripped her elbow, snatched up her cloak and marched her out of the cottage.

“Oh, you sound like Eglantine. Always right, always thinking of duty and obligation, never sparing a moment for innocent revelry...”

“The revelry you propose is far from innocent.”

Alienor tossed her hair. “I offered naught but a kiss.”

“In such circumstance, only a fool would imagine that a kiss would be all she would pay.” Duncan glared at the defiant girl. “You are fortunate indeed, Alienor, for a less noble man would have taken what you offered and more, leaving you with naught but blood on your thighs.” Her eyes widened only briefly before her lips set mutinously. “What then of the marriage you would make? What then should Eglantine say?”

Alienor lifted her chin and glanced over Duncan's shoulder towards her mother's camp. A disconcertingly coy smile curved her lips and he began to dread what she saw even before she spoke. “Why do you not ask her?”

Duncan pivoted to find Eglantine closing fast upon them, most of her household fast on her heels. It seemed that news had traveled fast, for the lady's expression was dark and she strode towards him with determination.

She looked furious enough to flay him with her bare hands. Duncan hoped that he would have the opportunity to explain the truth of it, but did not doubt the lady would have her say.

He stepped deliberately in front of Alienor, for he would hide her state from the entire household. But the girl did not share his concerns for her modesty. She stepped around him, then pressed against his side.

“Fool! Do you want all the assembly to see your nudity?” Duncan demanded, glancing down in time to see Alienor pull her chemise so the front gaped. The rain had already soaked the thin fabric, rendering it so sheer that the girl's charms were visible to all.

Indeed her eyes lit with devilry. “What shall you tell Eglantine?” she whispered. “And what will she believe?” She wriggled closer then turned to face her step-mother with a triumphant smile. “I am not a woman to go lacking in what I desire, Duncan, and you had best know the truth of it before we are wed.”

Duncan swore under his breath, and glanced up to find Eglantine approaching quickly. Her expression revealed that she had noted all the details and made the conclusion Alienor had expected. Indeed, in this moment, he had to admit that his suit for Eglantine's hand seemed unlikely to be won.

* * *

If Eglantine had thought she was as angry as ever she could be, she quickly learned differently. Aye, for Alienor appeared at Duncan's side and granted her step-mother another unwelcome revelation. There was no disputing the girl's dress nor its import—Duncan held her gaze unrepentantly and Eglantine had not a doubt what he had done.

The shameless cur! She had called his character aright that first day! 'Twas no consolation to discover that she and Alienor finally had something in common.

This was sordid beyond belief! What manner of man went from mother to daughter, and with such haste? 'Twas good that Eglantine was so furious, for otherwise she might have been ill.

“This is unforgivable,” she declared. Alienor huddled closer to her lover, but Eglantine saved her fury for the one who should have known better. “You will depart this very morning, you will not return and you will not sully Kinbeath with your presence any longer.”

Duncan folded his arms across his chest. “Again you are quick to leap to conclusions, my Eglantine...”

Her eyes flashed emerald fire. “I am not your Eglantine!”

“I would argue the point.”

“I would argue naught with you. Get yourself gone!”

But Duncan's eyes narrowed. “You have tried to dispatch me afore—what do you believe has changed this day?”

“
All
has changed. You have despoiled my daughter and claimed what was not yours to claim.” Eglantine took a deep breath. “Unless you two were wed last eve without my awareness?”

“We could be wed now, Eglantine, if it pleased you,” Alienor purred.

“It does not please
me
,” Duncan snapped, sparing an exasperated glance for the girl. “We will not be wed on this day or any other.”

Eglantine was indignant. “You would not make right what you have done? You take her maidenhead, even knowing she seeks a spouse, and then would leave her to pay the price? Even I did not imagine that you could be so base!”

Duncan's eyes flashed. “I took naught!”

“That was not freely offered,” Alienor amended with a coy smile.

Duncan turned a look of such fury upon her that the girl took a step back. “Fetch your cloak,” he ordered. “And leave us be. You aid naught in this discussion.”

“Alienor,” Eglantine interjected, troubled by the intensity of Duncan's tone. The girl met her gaze defiantly. “Tell me true—did Duncan take your maidenhead or nay?”

Alienor tossed her hair back over her shoulder, ensuring that all could see her pert young breasts through her sodden chemise. “He took my maidenhead,” she declared with a bravado that oft meant she lied. “He sampled all I had to offer.”

Eglantine frowned, uncertain of the reason for her doubts. Did she read Alienor aright in guessing that the girl lied? Or did she merely
wish
that the girl lied? She looked to Duncan, to find his expression newly grim.

“Eglantine, I took naught,” he insisted. “She accosted me in my bed but I put her aside. Alienor is as virginal as she was on your arrival, or if she is not, 'twas not I who did the deed.” His silver gaze bore into her own, compelling her to believe him. “I swear it to you.”

Eglantine hesitated, but Alienor did not. She smiled, her expression arch, and trailed her fingertips down Duncan's arm. He did not so much as glance her way. “There is naught to fear, my love. My step-mother is not so witless that she will stand in the way of lovers true. Indeed, we have only to set the date for our nuptials to see this resolved.”

“There will be no nuptials!” Duncan roared.

“Aye, there will not,” Eglantine agreed. The two halted to stare at her, Alienor with loathing and Duncan with surprise. “True lovers or nay, I would not permit any of my daughters to wed a thief, no less a man who would willfully force a company to starve. Such cruelty is no good portent of a husband's character.”

“What nonsense is this?” Duncan demanded, taking a step toward her.

But Eglantine was not fooled by his apparent confusion. Not in this matter. Indeed, she was irked that her heart responded to him even when she knew he toyed with her.

“Do not play the innocent with me,” she retorted. “Our stores have been plunder this past night, purportedly by restless spirits anxious to have us gone. There is naught to eat and naught to sow, yet we both know that no spirits were responsible for this willful destruction. The deed to Kinbeath has been stolen and the treasury raided bare.” She took a step closer. “There is but one who wants us gone at all costs, and he stands before me.”

“You are wrong, Eglantine.”

“I have had sufficient of your tales to satisfy,” she interrupted, sparing no chance that he might charm her anew. “'Tis time this matter be taken to a court and be resolved fully. Kinbeath is mine, I have had the deed to prove it while you have naught but tales. You have not only obstructed my settlement here, but in damaging the stores have put my company's health and survival at risk. I shall have reparation from your king.”

Duncan shook his head. “'Tis clear that you are ill-disposed to listening to reason this morn.”

“'Tis clear that I finally understand the character of my opponent.”

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes alight with that unruly fire that she knew better than to trust. When he spoke, his words flowed low. “A king cannot hear a case without claimants.” He offered her his hand, the broad palm looking warm and inviting despite all she knew. “As 'tis your command, you and I shall depart this very morn to the court of Dugall, King of the Isles.”

Eglantine laughed under her breath and stepped back. “I should think not!”

“There is no other way to resolve this.”

Eglantine forced herself to be cynical, for she dared not soften her stance in the least. “Aye, I know your resolution—I should depart in your company and not return. I can well imagine the tale.” She affected the pose of a conqueror returning, shrugging with chagrin. “How unfortunate that the countess Eglantine met with an accident en route.”

“I should never permit you to be harmed!” Duncan protested hotly.

“Indeed.” Eglantine silenced him with a look that could cut glass. “And what have you achieved this morn?”

Duncan opened his mouth and closed it again, his lips tightening to a thin line. “I told you I am innocent of both charges.”

“And I say you lie.”

“Nay, Eglantine, you know better than that.” He reached for her shoulders, but Eglantine evaded his touch. “Eglantine, you draw incorrect conclusions. I did not plunder your stores. I did not despoil your daughter. I did not empty your treasury. What desire have I for a deed of no value? Would you not grant me so much as a hearing, after all that has passed between us?”

“After all that has passed between us, I expected no shadow of doubt to fall upon your intent. 'Twas clear I was wrong in that.” With that, she spun to return to her company, surprised to find that she was shaking.

Aye, 'twas unlike her to become so angry. The man summoned the worst of her to the surface.