The Countess (3 page)

Eglantine wished that she knew what this man's sole desire might be.

His gaze swept over her assessingly, the appreciation in his eyes when his gaze met hers making Eglantine's flesh heat for the first time in days.

Aye, she knew what he desired.

A part of her shivered in response.

Two months amid barbarians and she became no better than they! Eglantine inhaled sharply and sat even taller, determined to maintain her noble bearing. She held his gaze with what she hoped was regal disdain, and braced herself for the inevitable vulgarity of his speech.

“Welcome to Ceinn-beithe, called Kinbeath by the Normans,” he declared in smooth Norman French.

Eglantine barely kept her mouth from dropping open. Norman French was a vulgar approximation of true French, but she was temporarily silenced by this barbarian's fluency all the same.

“I am Duncan MacLaren, chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie, who holds sway over this land.” His words fell crisply, his tongue neither faltering over the language nor rushing through it. 'Twas almost as though he enjoyed the taste of it upon his tongue. His ease was in marked contrast to Eglantine's agitation. “I would suggest your party seek its amusement elsewhere, as you are trespassing.”

Indignation quivered within Eglantine at the news that this Duncan and she wanted the same thing—Kinbeath. But men, as Eglantine knew well enough, placed great value in the law. And the law was on her side in this.

Kinbeath was hers.

“You may hold sway, but you do not hold title,” she retorted with equal clarity, savoring the advantage of her educated speech. “Kinbeath is my holding by dint of law.”

The hint of a smile touched his firm lips, though indeed no humor reached his eyes. The expression made Eglantine doubly wary of his intent. He looked somehow...unpredictable.

This Duncan, she was forced to concede, looked like no man she had ever met before. Certainly none of her acquaintance had ever made her tingle with a mere glance!

Her uncharacteristic response obviously had more to do with her exhaustion than this man's presence. Indeed, in her experience, men were painfully predictable—surely he was no different.

“And how might you hold title to a land hereditary for eons?” Duncan's tone was mocking.

“Even hereditary land can be sold, as is more than clear, since this property was sold some ten summers past.”

“Sold?” His brows drew together in a black furrow and he glared at her, those eyes darkening yet further. “How can that be?”

Eglantine felt a quick stab of victory. She smiled coolly. “Surely even among barbarians, it is known that land can be traded for coin.” A dangerous gleam claimed his eye, but Eglantine was not deterred. “This holding was sold to my family and passes now to me. By dint of law, 'tis mine.”

He took a hasty step toward her and it took all the fortitude within Eglantine not to retreat.

“Sold by whom?” His question was more of a growl, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“One Cormac MacQuarrie.” Eglantine nodded as the name was clearly recognized by the man's companions. A whisper made its way through their ranks.

Her opponent, however, glowered at her. “This cannot be true!”

“Nonetheless 'tis.” Eglantine shone her formal little smile over the company of men to no discernible effect. She would be gracious in victory, her fluttering pulse be damned. “I would suggest that you vacate my holding, as my party will require every last measure of it. We are quite numerous, as you may have noted.”

She cast a deliberate eye over his party and nodded. “Much more numerous than your group of companions. Surely you can find another locale to better suit you?”

But this Duncan folded his arms across his chest. “I see no reason to move, purely on the assertion of a woman, a noble and a foreigner.”

Eglantine's spine snapped straight at the list of her attributes, no less how his tone cast them as liabilities. She glared at the man and was sorely tempted to embarrass him. “The king will endorse my claim.”

Duncan arched a dark brow, unexpected mischief flashing in his eyes. “And we see so very much of good King William. Why, he could arrive at any moment.” He repeated his assertion to his companions in their vulgar tongue and they laughed. That mocking smile claimed his lips as he met her gaze anew, a challenge lighting his eyes.

So, she was beyond the authority of the king. Eglantine should have expected no less.

But she was right and she knew it. And he expected her to simply back away, leaving him in control of her holding.

“While our lord king Dugall, King of the Isles, is rather unlikely to support your claim. He, in marked contrast, could be readily summoned.” The cur smiled. “If the lady so desires.”

Eglantine had not come so far as this to surrender to an arrogant pagan.

“There is no need for the king,” she declared, “nor even his scribe, if you are lettered.” Then she caught her breath and let her eyes widen in mock dismay. “But what is in my thoughts? How would a man learn to write in these remote lands?”

“Touché,” he said wryly. There was no anger in his tone, and that smile played over his lips in a most disconcerting manner. “But of course I am lettered. A man's birthplace does not determine all he makes of himself.”

Wretched creature! 'Twas twice he had surprised her and Eglantine did not particularly care for the sensation.

And worse, she had a sense that she was amusing him, a most unwelcome situation. She was not in the habit of providing entertainment to rough men.

No doubt the man lied about his ability. Indeed, she would prove the truth of it, and that before his companions. That would be the end of his objections!

“Then, indeed, you may read the grant for yourself.” Eglantine unfurled the deed from her satchel, expecting him to falter.

But Duncan reached for it, and fearing suddenly that he would destroy it, she snatched it back.

His eyes flashed and she knew she had yet to truly see him angered. “How am I to read it unless you give it to me?”

“You will pledge to return it unscathed.”

He smiled then, an unsettling smile that, indeed, unsettled her. Eglantine's belly quivered, though she knew 'twas only because she faced a dangerous opponent. His gaze rolled over her once again, leaving her flesh oddly heated, and Eglantine acknowledged that the man posed an entirely different sort of threat than she had first imagined.

She was sensible enough to admit that she desired him, though she knew that was folly. And she knew that he desired her—indeed, the most witless fool could not have misinterpreted the way he looked at her.

She also knew, without a shred of doubt, that naught would come of either desire.

“And you would accept the pledge of a barbarian?” he asked, his tone almost teasing.

“Pledge on the hands of your father and your grandfather,” Eglantine demanded, for she had learned from Louis that such a pledge was sacred to men in these parts.

Duncan arched a brow and she knew she had surprised him for a change. There was no chance to feel victorious, however, for he made the pledge, and moved treacherously close to her. His gaze did not swerve from her own and Eglantine was aware of naught but the simmering silver of his eyes.

Her breath caught as Duncan stopped beside her mount. He rested a hand upon her steed's bridle—as though he feared she would flee while he read—the evident strength of his tanned fingers snaring Eglantine's gaze. She cursed her feminine awareness of him.

Did she not know all she needed to know of men?

Aye, he was no different. With the deed in his hand, he forgot all else, his attention fixed on the document's contents. Eglantine breathed a sigh of relief that this at least conformed to expectation.

His thumb moved in a slow stroke across the front of her saddle, where he had gripped it, and Eglantine found herself transfixed by the motion of that tanned thumb. It moved slowly, as though memorizing the texture of the worn leather. An unwelcome part of her imagined that thumb sliding across flesh with the same deliberation, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Aye, there were some traits of men that were not without reward.

She flushed and straightened, forcing her thoughts back to more practical matters. Duncan frowned in concentration as he read the deed, his brow growing more ominous.

Until suddenly he smiled.

Eglantine blinked, but his delight was evident. There was a sparkle in his eyes when he looked up at her and Eglantine caught her breath at the change in his expression. On the verge of laughter, he looked young and playful.

'Twas not the response she expected to his realization that she was right.

“'Tis signed by Cormac MacQuarrie,” he said, as though this was of great import.

“Of course 'tis,” Eglantine said crossly. “I already told you as much. Who is he?”

He looked away. “The former chieftain of the clan.” His voice dropped low as he sobered. “He has been dead these two months.”

He was so clearly grieved that Eglantine almost offered sympathy before she recalled that he wanted her land.

“Then that would indeed give him the right to sell the property, would it not?” Her words were crisp.

“It would.” Duncan's gaze locked with Eglantine's once more and she was put in mind of the sea shimmering in the sunlight. “'Tis unfortunate that Cormac cannot provide an accounting of how this document came to be.”

“No personal endorsement is necessary! His signature is there. I have the document and 'tis more than clear that he sold this land to another.”

That roguish smile touched his lips fleetingly again. “Is it so clear as that, then?”

Eglantine's eyes narrowed. What did this vexing man know that she did not? 'Twas clear he knew
something
, and equally clear that he believed whatever 'twas to be to his advantage. Eglantine eyed him, willing the truth to spill from his lips, for him to give some hint, but Duncan was clearly immune to her efforts.

Indeed, he smiled as though he guessed her thoughts.

Curse him!

While Eglantine fought her urge to dispatch this Duncan to keep Theobald company in hell, the wind gusted suddenly. The skies launched an abrupt, cold, and intense volley of rain upon them.

And the ink ran down the parchment in Eglantine's hand.

“Nay!” Eglantine snatched up the deed in horror and shoved it beneath her cloak, hoping that the damage was not too extensive. She mopped at it beneath the shelter of her fur-lined cloak, relieved to see that only a measure of the text was now illegible.

Then she fired a lethal glance at her adversary. “I knew you would try to destroy it!”

Duncan shrugged amiably. “Perhaps 'tis the elements who would prefer to not endorse your claim.”

“What madness is this?”

His eyes shone with unexpected devilry, the change in his expression nigh taking her breath away. The man's mood was changeable indeed. “It has long been said that a ghost haunts this place—perhaps 'tis that phantom who challenges your suzerainty.”

Nay, he was mad. As simple as that.

“A ghost!” Eglantine snorted. “Such tales are for children and foolish ones at that.” She tapped the document now safely out of the rain. “Any court would uphold my right, ghost or no ghost.”

But Duncan eased closer, his voice dropping persuasively low. “Perhaps 'tis the souls of our forebears, whose blood stains the stones and whose tales are whispered by the wind, who would argue against your claim.”

Eglantine shivered despite herself, then spared him a skeptical glance. “'Tis the law which is of import in this matter.”

“Then seek yourself a court,” Duncan suggested with a smug certainty she longed to defy. “I believe William's court is convened in Edinburgh, some weeks ride to the east.”

“I know whence Edinburgh lies.” Eglantine would never forget that town, for it had been the last place she had slept in warmth and dryness. She was sorely tempted to dismount, if only so she could poke this vexing man.

But he took another step back, the light in his eyes hinting that he spied the turmoil within her. He waved, as cocksure as ever a man might be. “Then I bid you a safe journey. Godspeed to you.”

Duncan bowed slightly, mockery in every line of his body, then turned to saunter back to his companions. Their confident grins exceeded Eglantine's tolerance.

“Nay, Godspeed to you, Duncan MacLaren,” she declared, her determination obviously catching his ear. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see her beckon regally to her company. Eglantine savored the fleeting sight of his surprise.

Then his gaze flew to her and Eglantine smiled beneath the full weight of his attention. “We, of course, shall remain, precisely as planned. Kinbeath is mine by right of law, though you have every right to question that claim when next the king and his court pass this way.” She widened her eyes deliberately. “Unless you choose to leave and seek that court immediately.”

Duncan folded his arms across his chest anew, his humor dispelled. He looked as likely to move as the stones scattered across the point. “Is that a challenge that you would make?”

Eglantine lifted her chin. “Nay, 'tis a
guarantee
and one I shall keep.”

His eyes shone, that smile tinged with what might have been admiration. Whatever 'twas, the sight made Eglantine's heart race anew. “And upon whose pledge do I have this challenge?” he demanded, his voice low once more.

“I am the Countess Eglantine de Nemerres,” Eglantine lied. Aye, though the title was hers no longer, she would take it as her own. And there was no estate that she knew of with such a name. This was her chance to foil any chance that Reynaud might follow Jacqueline here, by creating a new identity for herself. “I have come to establish my court upon the land to which I hold title.”