The Countess (29 page)

“My difficulty is that Iain is not without animosity toward Eglantine and her family,” Duncan explained, his gaze hard upon the fair man. “And so, 'tis only fitting that I have suspicions of his motives. Would you tell him as much?”

Louis translated smoothly and Eglantine watched Iain's jaw set. He said something hot and fast, and Louis pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sparing the vulgarities that the ladies might not be offended, Iain says that Duncan has no place charging him with faithlessness of any kind, not when he stole Cormac's legacy. Iain insists the legacy of the chieftainship of Clan MacQuarrie should have fallen to himself, as Cormac's only blood son.”

So, 'twas more than Mhairi's death at root. Eglantine watched Duncan smile coldly. “Perhaps his father saw the true nature of his character and did not wish to burden him with unwelcome responsibilities. Or perhaps his father thought Iain's fortune would be better sought in other ways.”

Iain caught his breath when this was translated but before he could reply, Duncan continued quickly. “I believe that Iain cannot expect Eglantine to make a decision regarding Alienor without him making a confession. Tell us, Iain MacCormac, of what you have done.”

Iain swore. He spat on the floor of the tent and Louis inhaled sharply as he glared at the offending mark. Eglantine swallowed at the animosity in Iain's blue eyes, then at the heat of the words that spilled from his lips.

“He insists he took Alienor's maidenhead, 'tis true, and that none had sampled her before him. He insists that she came to him and that she surrendered willingly and that he would take her for his bride.”

Duncan had not lied. Relief nigh took Eglantine to her knees. She slipped her hand through Duncan's elbow and stood straight beside him.

Louis cleared his throat. “Iain further declares that a chieftain of any merit would have already ensured your departure from this holding. He claims that you have no rights here, and he insists that Kinbeath must be held by the clan.”

Eglantine felt her brows rise. “Yet he asks to wed my step-daughter? What assurance does he give of her safety wedded to him?”

Iain swore and spoke with heat, though his words did not impress Louis. “He says that they were destined for each other, that she is the blood of his heart, that they would have found each other even if she had not come to Kinbeath. He says that none can keep them apart.” Louis looked slightly alarmed. “Even apparently, you, my lady.”

Alienor sneered. “I told you, Eglantine, he is without merit.”

Iain glared at her, but Alienor held his gaze unrepentantly. And she was right. Eglantine could not imagine that even Alienor would be well served by a man so filled with bitterness, particularly when that bitterness was directed at their own family.

She spoke crisply. “Alienor, do you swear that he did not take your maidenhead?”

“Aye, I swear it.”

Again, Eglantine had a fleeting sense that the girl lied but she no longer cared. She nodded, pleased that Alienor had finally found some sense. “Then you have spoken aright. You will not wed this man and further he is not welcome at Kinbeath. Louis, please invite Iain to leave.”

When Louis did, Iain stepped forward and shook his fist as he made some threat.

“He says, my lady, that he will steal her.”

“I think not!” Alienor retorted with scorn. “You will have naught else from me and you had best understand the truth of it!”

“Aye?” Iain caught Alienor's shoulders and kissed her so fiercely that she made a little gulp of astonishment. Before any could intervene, he strode out of the tent, sparing one last insult that needed no translation.

Eglantine watched her stepdaughter finger her lips and knew she did not misread the yearning that lit the girl's blue eyes. They were not finished with this matter, that much was certain.

'Twas odd to find that both she and Alienor shared this poor judgment in men when there was no blood between them.

Alienor tossed her hair and stormed out of the tent, no doubt to make trouble for some hapless soul. But Louis did not depart as Eglantine might have expected.

He cleared his throat pointedly and bowed when she glanced his way. “My lady, there is but one thing you should know. Upon my journey to this king's court, I heard much of this man's plans for your future. This handfast was his proposal when the King of the Isles would have removed your vassals with bloodshed.”

Eglantine nodded, pleased to have what Duncan had told her confirmed again. Duncan though stood stiffly by her side.

Perhaps he did not care to have the tales confirmed by her servant. Surely he would have preferred that she accepted his word on trust alone.

Aye, that would be Duncan's way.

Eglantine smiled, hoping to dispel some of the inexplicable tension between the two men. “Aye, Louis, Duncan has been most honest in this.”

Neither man smiled. One of the older man's silver brows rose. “Perhaps not completely honest, my lady. I doubt he admitted that he would have been lost the chieftainship of Clan MacQuarrie had he not persuaded you to make this handfast. His objective still is to seize Kinbeath and see you gone—this pledge but grants him more time to see the suzerainty of the King of the Isles assured. If Duncan fails in securing Kinbeath within that year and a day, the chieftainship of Clan MacQuarrie will indeed fall to Cormac's son Iain, and that by royal decree.”

Eglantine's mouth fell open, but Louis bowed low and took his leave. She turned to Duncan, certain she would see a denial in his eyes, but he shook his head slowly. “'Tis not as it appears, Eglantine.”

She had been deceived and would not be swayed by his charm! “Were those the terms?”

“Aye, Dugall's terms but not mine.” He caught her hands and compelled her to face him. “I did not lie to you, Eglantine.”

“Nay, you did not lie. From the first, you insisted that your desire was only for the title of this land!”

“Nay, Eglantine, no longer.” His gaze bored into hers. “I desire you and you alone—I agreed to Dugall's terms to ensure I had the chance to woo you and to win you.”

Eglantine shook her head and stepped away. 'Twas all too familiar to her to have a man prove to be less than what she had hoped him to be. “Do not lie to me now.”

“Eglantine, I made a pledge to you, a pledge that I would win your heart. You granted me a year and a day and I mean to put every moment of it to the service of that task.” He bent and kissed her hands, folding them together over the heat of his embrace. His eyes glowed with passion when he looked up at her once more. “I swear it to you.”

But Eglantine could not summon a reply to her lips. She wanted so much to believe him, but she dared not repeat her error of the past. She shook her head and stepped away, pulling her hands from his.

“Eglantine, do not turn your back upon this.”

“'Twas you who counseled me to use the wits I had been granted,” she said softly. “And a woman of sense learns from the errors of her past.”

Duncan's eyes flashed as he stepped closer. “I am not Theobald!”

“But you are a man and the differences betwixt you two are not clear to me.”

He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. He stared down at her, his gaze roving her features as though he would read her very thoughts. “The difference, Eglantine,” he said softly “is that I love you, while Theobald loved none but himself. And I have never lied to you, while I suspect he did so frequently.”

He took a deep breath, a vulnerability dawning in the depths of his eyes, a fear that Eglantine knew she had put there. She could not look away from him and his voice dropped low. “Perhaps you who forgave Theobald so much, might make an effort to find me innocent of his crimes.”

With one hard look into her eyes, Duncan turned and left her tent. Eglantine was trembling and she sat once more on the mattress, wondering whether her fears would cost her all she had never hoped to make her own.

But she could not abandon the lessons of the past, however strongly Duncan might desire as much. She feared that he was not the man she hoped he was.

She feared that no man could be the man she hoped Duncan was.

Eglantine could not help but recall how smitten she had been with Theobald and, though that feeling was but a pale shadow of what she felt for Duncan, its memory was a chilling reminder.

She would not make the same mistake she had made before. She could not make the same mistake. Eglantine could not endure another travesty of a marriage and truly, she did not need to.

But Duncan spoke aright in charging her with unfairness. She would grant him that chance to be judged on his own merit. He might not be intending to leave, Eglantine would not know the truth of it until that year and a day was passed, until she knew his decision at the end of their handfast.

Until she knew for certain whether 'twas herself or Kinbeath that he desired most of all.

Should he choose her, she vowed silently, then she would have naught more to fear. A year and a day was a long time, long enough to ensure that she could distinguish between her hope and the truth. It might be long enough to see her tired of Duncan's allure, for the power of Theobald's touch had faded with time.

Though she doubted that would be the case this time, she had doubted that her desire could fade before—and she had been wrong. Eglantine was not a gambler by nature. If she wed again in truth, if she surrendered her heart again, she would be certain beyond doubt that all was as she believed.

This handfast might be long enough for even Eglantine to fall in love. Her instincts told her she had fallen already, but she knew better than to listen to such suspicions. She had a year and a day not only to secure her holding, but to learn all of this man, all his hopes and fears and secrets.

He might well destroy her with his departure a year hence, but Eglantine would keep her pride and hide the truth of her own feelings from him, whatever they might be.

For a woman had to learn something from a man like Theobald.

Aye, should Duncan choose her over Kinbeath then, Eglantine would pledge to him before the priest and that without regret. And if she came to love him by that fateful day, she would tell him of it when his ring was on her finger and his heart was her own.

She would tell Duncan then and not a moment before.

* * *

Dugall left Ceinn-beithe after four days and nights, and though his expression was skeptical, he seemed content to leave Duncan to his fate. Iain, to Duncan's surprise, did not depart with the king's party, though perhaps his lingering was at the king's behest.

Duncan did not care. He had labor to do and his lady's goodwill to win. He was wagering upon making his handfast a marriage in a year, and making this holding a prize that paid sufficient tithe to Dugall to stay that man's hand. Ceinn-beithe's future had to be secured and the season of fair weather was too short to waste.

And these new arrivals could benefit from his lifetime in these parts. Duncan suggested final details to Xavier in the construction of the manor, tricks that locals knew from childhood, tricks that ensured the thatch was not snatched by the wind and the rain drained clearly away from the walls.

He labored in the construction of the successive buildings, and suggested a plan for clearing the better land for fields while still leaving the beauty of the trees. He organized a woodlot and moved stumps with the other men from the land they chose to till.

He showed Eglantine's vassals how best to work the land they had made their own, where to sow each crop, how to judge the wind and the weather and the drainage, how to outthink the pillaging birds. Part of Dugall's gift for the handfast had been seed—Duncan explained each type to the vassals who were interested, discussing the merits of each grain and its resultant flours with Gunther and Gerhard.

He showed Eglantine's people which woodland plants could be eaten, which made healing potions, which were best for binding a wound, which supplied a substitute for rennet so that cheese might be made of the goat's milk. He found suitable grazing for the livestock and the boys who aided in the hunt were grateful for Duncan's understanding of what could be found where. Duncan taught several of the boys to fish in the fast-flowing streams, and all appreciated some variety in their fare.

Jacqueline, to Duncan's delight, professed a curiosity for their new home. She might have driven another man mad with all her questions, but Duncan enjoyed discovering the familiar land anew. He began to teach her Gael, at first merely to teach her the names of creatures that he could not name in French, but she loved the language and demanded to know more.

Soon, they met each afternoon in the shadow of the great stone when Duncan's labors were completed, and he taught her all he knew. She possessed her mother's clear gaze and intellect and 'twas a joy to watch her progress.

Alienor demanded to join these lessons and though Duncan suspected she would not be patient enough to see results, she showed unexpected tenacity. She had a talent for language and a rare desire to conquer this one. The two girls soon entered a lively competition and learned so quickly that Duncan's head spun. Eglantine came to share in these lessons and Duncan found himself looking forward to their time together throughout the day.

And, of course, he courted Eglantine with rare vigor. He sang each evening before the company, his songs chosen specifically for her pleasure. He brought her the first flower found in the wood, he sought her out to share the marvels of Ceinn-beithe. He told of legends and customs and tall tales. He played with Esmeraude and imagined that the child would one day run him dry of stories.

Through it all, Duncan was aware of Eglantine's eye upon him. He nigh felt the turmoil in her thoughts, the uncertainty mixed with what could only be hope. Each night, he loved her with all the passion and tenderness he possessed, each night he pledged his love—each night, she clung to him a little more tightly or held him a little longer.