The Countess (20 page)

“Eglantine!” Duncan bellowed. “You will grant me a hearing!”

She paused and schooled her expression, hoping she could ensure that her disappointment did not show. She had been a fool to grant even a meager measure of trust to a man again. “The king shall grant you a hearing. I must ensure that we survive until your return.”

“Aye? And who will argue your case?” Eglantine glanced back to find Duncan looking disgruntled and formidable. His legs were braced against the rock, his arms crossed, his dark brows drawn together in a scowl. He arched one brow suddenly, his expression changing briefly to mischief. “Since you do not deign to accompany me to the king's court?”

Eglantine held his gaze, well aware that he felt he had been unfairly judged. “Louis shall accompany you, of course. As my châtelain, he is fully vested with the power of the house to negotiate.” She turned away then before she could be swayed further, and led Alienor back toward their own camp.

“Eglantine!” Duncan roared. “You will discuss this with me!”

But she would not. She dared not do so, not when she feared she could be readily tempted to discard what she knew was right. There was too much at stake and she had neglected her responsibilities overmuch already. Her household surrounded her, as though they would protect her from Duncan and his men, though Eglantine knew that he could force his way to her side.

But he did not lend chase. She looked back, once, and noted that he argued heatedly with Louis, who looked as pinch-lipped as that man could be.

Aye, she was of no further interest to Duncan now that she refused to do his bidding. She should have expected as much. Eglantine's footsteps flagged, and she acknowledged only now that she had hoped for better of this man.

But that was only because Eglantine was a fool when it came to men. She had not needed further proof of that weakness.

But once again, she had it.

Célie met her, bouncing a teary Esmeraude upon her hip.

“Milk!” The hungry toddler reached for Eglantine who caught her close and held her tight, rocking on her feet as she tried to soothe her.

“My lady, what shall we do without the goats?” Célie asked. “They are not to be found and Esmeraude is hungered.”

“Let us go to Gunther and Gerhard,” she suggested, knowing full well that the toddler was listening. “Esmeraude grows so big these days, perhaps 'tis time she had the same porridge in the morn as all of us.”

Esmeraude sniffled once more, then locked her hands around Eglantine's neck, evidently reassured that she was becoming a big girl. Eglantine kissed her daughter's brow and smoothed back her hair, unable to deny the unwelcome fact that Duncan had aided her in re-establishing this fragile bond.

Aye, she owed him thanks for that and naught more—and truly, he had had thanks enough from her already.

* * *

The woman was vexing, Duncan would grant her that.

But in her place, he would have wrought the same conclusions, and truly Alienor had done naught to aid matters. He did not know who had destroyed the stores or plundered her treasury, but it had not been him, nor had it been done at his dictate.

And the timing of Iain's absence was notable.

Duncan knew Eglantine well enough to know that words would not suffice in this—'twould be his deeds that spoke the truth in this. He needed to provide her compensation for her loss, a reasonable request given the circumstance, and that could only be won at Dugall's court.

He needed to prove that his pledges were not empty ones, as that rogue Theobald's had clearly been.

Which meant that Duncan had to find the real culprit—and Duncan guessed that Iain could be found worming his way into Dugall's favor. Aye, 'twould be there and only there that Iain might win a redress of what he considered to be the injustice of Cormac appointing Duncan his heir.

Duncan did not truly care whether he was chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie, though he doubted he would win his true desire without that title. Aye, he would still woo his countess Eglantine, but it seemed that events would follow a different order than he might have preferred.

Truly, Eglantine had already derived the best solution to their competing claims, that of merging the claims through marriage. But Duncan would wed Eglantine, not one of her daughters, to forge that bond. He knew he could persuade Dugall to approve the match, for that man had a king's fondness of wealthy foreign blood. He and Eglantine would make a traditional handfast, here at Ceinn-beithe where 'twould be well-favored by the Fates. Then he would have a year and a day to woo her and win her, a year and a day of certainty that she would be by his side.

Duncan did not doubt it could be done. The true challenge would lie in convincing Eglantine to even make the handfast in the first place. Duncan knew better than to expect anything to be simple with this woman.

Indeed, 'twas a fair measure of what he liked about her.

He decided to leave a small group behind at Ceinn-beithe and take the rest of his party along to Dugall's court. They had need of a warmth and a meal,

Gillemore offered to remain, much to Duncan's surprise.

“Do you not wish to be out of the rain? It cannot be good for your knees.”

“Ah, my knees are as hale as any man's.” The older man grinned. “Where there is a cow, there will be a woman; and where there is a woman, there will be temptation. I will stay to ensure that naught happens that could make matters worse.” Gillemore spared Reinald a dark glance. “For I am better fit for such a labor than some of us.”

All the men laughed aloud at that.

“Oh I should give them trouble such as they have never had before,” Reinald jested, to much laughter.

“But there is no cow, Gillemore,” another observed. “Does that mean they are not women?” The chatter broke out in earnest, insults and jests flying fast. The men were doubtless glad to be traveling again.

Duncan shook his head with relief as he checked the small boats they had stowed among the rocks. Aye, 'twould be good to have Reinald under his own eye. The last thing he needed was another issue between himself and Eglantine.

He glanced up from the hull of the first boat to find her châtelain hovering on the perimeter of his party. 'Twas clear the older man knew his role, and equally clear that he did not understand what the men said to each other in Gael.

'Twould be a long trip for Louis, Duncan imagined, but the choice had not been his to make.

* * *

'Twas the older man left by Duncan who found the goats, and that before Duncan's party had even departed.

He was a gruff and rough individual, his hands calloused and his features burnished by the wind. He fair glowered at Eglantine as he drove the goats towards her and so fierce was his expression that she did not immediately guess his intent. He gestured to the creatures and loosed a spate of Gael that made all draw back and regard him warily. Esmeraude, hovered behind Eglantine, too curious to hide herself away but clutching her mother's skirts for protection.

The man uttered something that could only have been a curse, seized a pail and set to milking the first of the goats. The beast chewed complacently while he worked, his touch evidently experienced and more gentle than his manner.

When done with the first, his scowl deepened as he surveyed the household still watching him in silence. Indeed, he filled the silence and then some, his hands flying as he commented thoroughly on the situation. He pointed emphatically to the goats' teats hanging so low.

And Eglantine understood that he was irked that the creatures had missed their milking. 'Twas true enough that the creatures would be uncomfortable and one bleated plaintively as though to complain as much.

“Didier, aid the man. He speaks aright, for the goats have need of milking.” Eglantine addressed one of the boys who aided Gunther and Gerhard, who immediately hunkered down to milk the third goat.

Duncan's man had already begun to milk the second, but he did not miss her deed. Eglantine won a grunt for her efforts and a litany of Gael. It seemed to rhyme, as though 'twas a saying of some kind. Though she could not fathom what he had said, there was an echo of approval in his words that needed no translation.

He stood finally, his task completed, and brushed his hands upon the length of wool wrapped about his hips. His feet were bare, his legs more hairy than she might have imagined possible. His stature was surprisingly small, though Eglantine realized as much only when he paused directly before her.

“Gillemore,” he said, tapping one fist upon his heart and repeating what was clearly his name. His bushy brows were shot with silver and seemed thick enough to have a life of their own. He regarded her warily from beneath them and Eglantine knew she was being assessed. Then he offered the pail of milk to her and inclined his head slightly. He spoke again, the words incomprehensible as his intent was not.

Eglantine inclined her head as she accepted the heavy pail. “I thank you for your aid in this, Gillemore,” she said warmly. “I feared the goats lost for good and heartily appreciate your assistance. 'Tis most unexpected.”

He nodded, his expression somber, and she wondered how much he had understood of her words. How did she proceed from here? She set the bucket by her feet, a tug on her skirts revealing Esmeraude's curiosity.

“Milk!” the toddler exclaimed with undisguised delight. She cupped her hand and dipped into the pail before she could be stopped, then attempted to drink from her fingers before the milk ran through them. More milk spread on her face and down the front of her kirtle than made it into her mouth, but she looked so pleased that 'twould have been impossible to chide her.

Esmeraude turned a glorious smile on this Gillemore, even as the milk dripped from her chin. She abruptly dipped both hands into the bucket, cupped them together and offered a taste of the milk to him. “Milk is good,” she informed him solemnly.

The older man was clearly charmed. He fought a smile and lost, then dropped to one knee. He cupped his own hands together and Esmeraude poured the milk into his hands. She surveyed the results, then fetched another handful for him. Truly most of it returned to the pail, though she only seemed to notice as much when she saw how small the amount was in Gillemore's palms.

He was infinitely patient with her, the contrast of his manner and his appearance surprising to Eglantine. Gillemore spoke gently before Esmeraude could repeat her gesture again, halting her with a wink, then drank slowly of the milk she had given him.

Esmeraude watched him avidly, so breathless for his response that she might have wrought the milk herself. Eglantine bit back her own smile. Gillemore rose to the occasion, making a great show of sighing with satisfaction and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed contentment, as though he had sampled the finest fare in Christendom. His eyes twinkled and he smiled at the child, his approval clear in his thanks to her.

Esmeraude was suitably proud of herself for making another conquest. She hugged Eglantine's knee and bit her lip as she eyed Gillemore coyly. “You tell a story?” she asked, then stretched out her hand in appeal. “A story for me?”

Eglantine bent and scooped up the toddler. “Do not trouble Gillemore for a tale,” she said softly. “He has found the goats and brought you milk which is a fine labor indeed.”

The toddler frowned, not pleased with this news. “A story! A song!”

“Hush, I shall tell you a story,” Eglantine offered, searching her memory even now for some tale she could tell. Indeed, she had best become used to amusing Esmeraude herself, for there would be no timely songs from Duncan now.

Or perhaps ever again. As much as she wanted a resolution to their stalemate, Eglantine could not say she would be glad to never see the rogue again. He was not without his own charms—but 'twas good that she knew those charms were not for her. She hefted Esmeraude—who was getting heavy for such deeds—and made for her tent, well aware that the toddler waved at Gillemore over her shoulder and that Duncan's man watched her go.

* * *

Adversity showed the true nature of Eglantine's daughters, if naught else. Alienor pouted, insisting that she had been despoiled and further that her true mother and father would have ensured that Duncan paid the price for his deed, instead of letting him sail away never to return. Eglantine abandoned the girl to her sulking, having no patience for such recriminations when there was so much else to be resolved.

Jacqueline rose admirably to the occasion. Eglantine found her daughter using veils pilfered from her own collection, patiently sifting the dirt from the flour. Gunther and Gerhard had sufficiently recovered their spirit to aid her appreciatively. Jacqueline flushed when Eglantine arrived.

“I know 'twas your favored one,
Maman
, but 'twas the veil of finest weave and the greater good would be served.”

“You show splendid good sense as always, Jacqueline, in putting it to good use.” Eglantine smiled. “Indeed, 'tis foolery to try to wear a veil in this land of unruly winds. I am glad to be rid of it.”

The two shared a smile, then Gunther brought a small bowl of porridge sweetened with the last of the honey for Esmeraude. That child showed every measure of her charm, undoubtedly determined to prove herself as ‘big' a girl as her mother had suggested. She rocked amiably between Eglantine's knees as Eglantine held the bowl, the child humming cheerfully and tapping her spoon in the bowl as she ate.

All smiled at her as they passed. Truly, Esmeraude could charm the sun from the sky, when she desired to do so.

'Twas not long before Eglantine heard Duncan's men calling to each other, and she could not help but watch. The waves splashed as they urged the small boats into the sea and their laughter was hearty and deep. She did not mean to pick out Duncan's silhouette, yet 'twas precisely what she did.