The Countess (30 page)

Each night, she came closer to being his own.

Duncan was patient, for he knew that the greatest prizes are not readily won. Aye, he had learned as much in a troubadour's tale.

* * *

'Twas a month after Dugall's departure that the quiet of the early morning was disturbed by a troubled sound. 'Twas not the first time that Eglantine had heard that distress, but she had been too slow to lend pursuit. Someone was ill and she had best discover who before the illness spread through the camp.

Even if she did not want to rise from bed so soon. She slipped from beneath the weight of Duncan's arm and cast a kirtle over her head, intent on discovering the culprit this time. She darted left and right through the slumbering camp, hampered by the inky haze of the early evening, guided by naught but the sound.

Eglantine halted when she spied Alienor. The girl was on her knees, vomiting into a pail. Eglantine rolled her eyes in exasperation, guessing that this was no illness readily spread.

Still a maiden indeed. Would she ever have the truth easily from this child?

“Good morning to you,” Eglantine said softly, watching her step-daughter jump. “Are you unwell?”

Alienor started, spat into the pail, then rose shakily to her feet. She was pale and there was sweat upon her brow. “Something I ate, no doubt.” She lifted her chin. “Perhaps the fish did not agree.”

Eglantine arched a brow. “Three days in a row?”

Alienor's lips thinned. “I have always been sensitive to the least bit of spice.”

Eglantine smiled despite herself, and crossed the space between them to lay a hand on Alienor's shoulder. “You have always been most hale and you know it as well as I do. Whose child takes root in your belly, Alienor?”

“I carry no man's child!”

“You carry a child?” Duncan roared, his approach having been unheard by either woman. Eglantine found him looking more unruly than usual, his expression exasperated as it oft was in Alienor's presence.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“You thought wrongly. What is this?” He pushed a hand through his hair impatiently, then glared at the girl as his voice dropped to a growl. “What madness has seized you now, that you would bear a child and tell none of it?” He flung his hands skyward and roared. “Do you imagine none would note the rounding of your belly?”

His protectiveness made Eglantine smile, though Alienor did not share her response.

“I thank you for ensuring that all now know my state,” she said tartly.

“There are no secrets in an assembly of this size. Whose babe is it? I will see him treat you with honor, Alienor, of that you can be certain!”

But Alienor lifted her chin high. “I will not wed him. He is worthless and far beneath my favor.”

Aha! Eglantine and Duncan exchanged a glance, even as Duncan's lips tightened.

“But Iain offered to wed you,” Eglantine reminded her before Duncan could shout. The timing would be right, for she had been a month into her pregnancies herself when her own illness began.

Alienor rounded on her with flashing eyes. “I care not what he desires. 'Tis my babe and my babe alone, and I shall find a father for it more fitting of both of us.”

“Alienor, you cannot deny the man his own child,” Duncan warned, his words dangerously low. “'Tis not our way—here, the father ensures the welfare of the child.”

“I can deny him and I will!” She braced her hands on her hips and tipped back her head, bellowing Iain's name followed by a string of insults in Gael.

Eglantine knew she should not have been surprised by the girl's bold manner, but still she was. Iain appeared with startling speed, his fair hair rumpled and his expression sullen enough to challenge even Alienor's mood.

“Perhaps they are well matched,” Duncan mused as he came to stand behind Eglantine.

“'Twas my thought exactly,” she admitted. Much of the household had gathered by this point, their eyes lit with curiosity.

“I have something to say to this man,” Alienor cried. “And I have learned his own tongue that he might understand me well enough. He has planted his seed in my belly but I will not have him. I intend to tell him why.”

“God in heaven,” Eglantine murmured to herself and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Duncan's hand landed on the small of her back, his whisper fanning her ear. “She is bold beyond belief.”

“I am embarrassed at her lack of shame.” Eglantine shook her head. “Naught good can come of this, but 'tis clear that she will not listen to reason.”

“I wondered why she sought to learn Gael.” He winked down at her. “Perhaps you might prefer that she had not?”

Eglantine could not help but smile. “I suppose 'tis better to know the worst of it.”

He grinned then, and bracketed her waist with his hands, pulling her back against his chest. “Aye, Eglantine, 'tis one thing I love about you. You are not one to shirk an ugly proposition.”

There was no doubt that that was what they attended here. Alienor spoke with vigor and with anger, jabbing her finger repeatedly at Iain. “This man has taken advantage of my innocence. He has planted his seed in my belly, without remorse or caring for my views on the matter.”

Iain replied in kind, his eyes flashing furiously. “'Tis a lie she tells, for she seduced me.”

“Not I!”

“Aye,
you
. Do you think a man would forget a virgin that nigh accosted him? Do you think a man would forget the maiden who nigh singed his soul with the heat of her desire?”

The assembly tittered as Eglantine pressed her temple with her fingertips. Duncan chuckled behind her.

“You shamed me!”

“I offered to wed you,” Iain spat. “And you declined me publicly.”

Opinion clearly shifted in Iain's favor.

But Alienor was not done. “And why should I chain myself to a man of no worth whatsoever? Why should I suffer to see my child live in poverty and starve in the cold of a winter wind? He has naught, he will never have aught but anger to his name.” Alienor cupped her belly. “I and this child deserve better.”

The assembly fell silent, all eyes upon Iain. He bowed his head, then offered his hand to her. “I love you, Alienor. Betwixt the two of us, we shall make our way.”

Alienor spat at his feet, though Eglantine imagined she saw tears glittering in the girl's gaze. “Your love will not keep my babe warm and fed. Your love will not keep the wind from our backs, nor the predators from our door. Your love will not fill my child's belly.”

“When poverty comes in the door, love goes out the window,” Duncan murmured. Eglantine turned to look at him and his lips curved in a rueful smile. “An old saying hereabouts. I am astounded to find Alienor's argument making sense.”

“Aye, I can well understand that,” Eglantine agreed.

“No man will wed you with the seed of another in your belly,” Iain argued, his expression strained. “What of you and the bairn, then?”

Alienor lifted her chin. “Some man will have me. I am young and fair, and even Eglantine found two men to wed her and warm her bed once her maidenhead was gone.” Her eyes narrowed. “You need not fear for the child, Iain. Eglantine has taught me to care for my own.”

Eglantine blinked in surprise as Duncan whistled through his teeth. “You said she had a good heart though I confess I doubted it.”

Alienor stepped up to Iain to make her final point. “And Eglantine has shown me the value of a poor spouse, in her wedding of Theobald. Do you think I have no eyes in my head? You have naught to your name, no potential for your future, you are lazy, you are surly, you are unworthy of respect and you have no redeeming virtues whatsoever. I would not be so foolish as to wed a worthless man like you and cast the future of my child to the caprice of the Fates.”

“I knew she cared for him,” Eglantine said quietly.

“Aye, he cares for her, that much is certain.” Duncan shrugged when Eglantine met his gaze and she smiled at the twinkle in his eyes. “Though 'tis tedious when Alienor does not speak her thoughts clearly.”

Eglantine chuckled though she knew she should not.

“I will not have you now,” Alienor cried. “I will not have you tomorrow, I will not have you
ever
, Iain MacCormac. Indeed, I will not so much as teach my child your name.”

Eglantine sobered as Iain paled. “That was most cruel.”

The fair man said naught, but turned on his heel and stalked away. Alienor shook her fist after him, but Iain did not look back. He strode to the shore, retrieved a boat and waded out into the sea.

Without so much as a word, he rowed away.

Eglantine's fingers tightened on Duncan's arm with concern. “Duncan, there is naught amusing in this. We must think of the child! Alienor cares for Iain, but he will not return! I fear that this time the girl has said too much.”

“Nay,” Duncan said, slowly shaking his head. His eyes were narrowed as he watched the younger man and his voice lowered in consideration. “On the contrary, I believe she has said precisely enough.”

Eglantine knew her confusion showed, but he would not elaborate. She was left wondering what he knew of Iain that she did not.

A
fortnight later, Iain came out of the evening mist.

It had been raining for several days and the fog hugged the shoreline, though still Duncan looked incessantly for the return of Cormac's son. He had met every tide, certain of what the other man would do, but his conclusion had not been proven aright.

'Twas just as he feared that he had been completely wrong, that Iain was less a man than he had hoped, that the shadow of a boat formed in the mist. Duncan caught his breath.

'Twas Iain. He brought his small forge and Duncan was glad that the sea was as smooth as bronze mirror. The weight of that forge would have been difficult to manage on uneven waters, particularly as Iain rowed alone.

“You should not have risked the fog,” Duncan chided by way of greeting. “You could have become disoriented and lost all.” He heard Cormac's gruff protectiveness in his words, then moved to pull the boat further to shore.

“I could wait no longer,” Iain complained. “I had to know! I have been ready four days but the seas were so rough, and truly I paced a trough in the shore.” He clutched Duncan's arm, his eyes bright. His manner reminding Duncan of how matters had once stood between them and he dared to hope. “She is well? She is unwed?”

Duncan nodded and clapped the other man on the shoulder, knowing immediately whom he meant. “She is somewhat distraught, though Eglantine says this is typical.” He shook his head and smiled ruefully. “In truth, I could not have imagined that Alienor could have been more troublesome, but I have now seen the evidence with mine own eyes.”

Iain grinned briefly, then frowned. “She spoke harshly to me, but no less than the truth, Duncan. I truly have naught, and affection will do naught to see her needs fulfilled. Alienor did rightly by me to speak from the heart.”

Duncan squeezed the other man's shoulder. “She strove to compel you to make a change.”

Iain nodded. “Aye. And I did. Though at first, I was so angered with her that I did not trust myself to remain. The woman is so irksome!”

Duncan chuckled under his breath, well aware of that feeling.

“But once alone, I recalled my father's conviction that every man has his own destiny to fill. Alienor was right to criticize my choices, just as my father was right to not place the burden of chieftainship upon my shoulders.” He looked up at Duncan, his gaze assessing. “I have blamed you for more than you deserved.”

“Cormac should have spoken to you of his intent.” Duncan shrugged. “'Twould have been a better thing if he spoke to both of us.”

“Nay, 'tis more than that, Duncan.” Iain heaved a sigh. “A decade past I made a mistake and have borne its cost overlong. I was vexed at my father, for he refused to grant more coin for my labor of choice. I left for a time.”

“Aye, I recall that well. You came back much refreshed.”

Iain snorted. “My purse was heavier, of that there is little doubt.” Before Duncan could ask his meaning, Iain cleared his throat. “Dugall spoke aright. Had I been chieftain, I would have acted too quickly and my rash choice would have seen Alienor killed.”

Iain swallowed. “'Twould have been my own fault that the woman destined for me was not at my side—and I would never have guessed the truth of it.” He squared his shoulders. “My father made the right choice, Duncan. He saw the weakness in me and chose you instead.”

“Your father wanted you to have the leisure to pursue the labor you loved,” Duncan corrected, hoping against hope that he was right. “He wanted you to pursue your own dream and not his.”

“Aye. I understand that now. He had no tolerance of my fascination with the forge when I was younger. But I fear I have lost your friendship in these past months of heated words.” He glanced up, his expression hopeful. “Might we begin anew?”

Duncan smiled. “Fostership is stronger than blood, Iain. You are my brother, as surely as if we had birthed from the same woman, and I want naught but the best for you.” He offered his hand to the younger man. “But if I might have your friendship as well, that would be an unexpected prize.”

Iain clasped Duncan's hand and grinned, the two of them sharing an impulsive and hearty embrace.

“Then as a friend, I would ask your opinion.” Iain reached beneath his cloak and silver flashed as he withdrew his hand. Worry lit his eyes. “What do you think? I feared I would not be able to craft anything of merit any longer, for 'tis practice alone that creates a steady hand.”

Duncan took the brooch that Iain offered with something akin to reverence. 'Twas so beautiful that it could not be real.

'Twas a ring brooch, the traditionally shaped pin adorned with a small sword that formed its catch. But this one was a marvel, for a bird of prey wrapped itself around the circumference of the circle, its wing superbly detailed. Every feather was there, distinguished by a careful hand. Its eye glittered red, for a tiny chip of garnet was embedded there, and the silver had been polished to a gleam.

“I thought of the lady's peregrine,” Iain explained with a haste born of uncertainty. “I have never seen the like of it. And it seemed that this might be a familiar creature to those nobles of the south.” He shrugged and his words fell more quickly in his nervousness. “I have kept the cast for I thought it might be suitable for trade, and I have some silver saved, enough to make a dozen or so, but I do not know their taste in the south, and I do not know...”

“Iain, 'tis a beautiful piece,” Duncan interrupted and gave him an encouraging glance. He clasped the younger man's shoulder. “You need not fear any loss of your skills. Indeed, 'tis your finest work to date, and that by a long measure.”

“I never felt such joy as when the wing fell exactly right beneath my fingers.” Iain smiled sheepishly. “'Twas then I realized that this was the life for me, not that of chieftainship.”

Duncan traced the marvel of the work with one fingertip, knowing the delight of which his foster brother spoke. There were times when a song rang from his lips or a word fit to the tune with a precision that made him exultant, that made him yearn to sing thus forever.

Iain took a shaking breath. “I want to wed Alienor. I want to grant her the life she desires. I want to return to the forge, to create works like this.” Iain regarded Duncan hopefully. “I recall what you said to Dugall of welcoming artisans to Ceinn-beithe, of making this place a port.”

Duncan smiled. “I was thinking of you and how best to fulfill your father's hopes for you.”

“But I wondered if I had the skill to see it done. You have traveled south, Duncan. Would a noblewoman desire a pin like this for her cloak?”

Duncan smiled as he marveled that Alienor's sharp tongue could make a change that he with all his good intentions could not.

“Why do we not ask such a noblewoman?” he suggested.

“Eglantine!” Iain nodded quickly. “Aye, I would ask her, if, if she would receive me.”

“I assure you that she will.”

“Good. There is something I must say to her.”

Duncan led a determined Iain through the camp, knowing full well where his lady could be found. He called to her and she glanced up with a smile that made his heart thunder. Ye gods, but the woman would never lose her power to fire his blood!

He hoped for the hundredth time that the way she fairly glowed in his presence was a sign that he came close to winning her. He knew he was close, he was impatient to have her pledge, but he feared to press her too soon.

Duncan was not a particularly patient man—'twas only that the stakes were so high that he steeled himself to wait.

Eglantine halted her discussion with the cooks, clearly surprised to see Iain again. That was naught compared to her astonishment when he bowed low before her in a sign of respect. Her gaze flicked to Duncan in confusion and he smiled, knowing that Iain would appear to her as a changed man.

He was changed—back to the man he once had been.

Then Iain presented Eglantine with the pin and her former astonishment was as naught. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the treasure on her palm and Duncan chuckled.

“Who wrought this marvel?” she demanded, looking from one man to the other. “From whence has it come? I have never seen the like of it!”

Just as Duncan had done, she traced the bird's wing with her fingertip, as though she could not retrain herself from touching it.

“Iain resumes his craft,” Duncan told her, slipping his arm around her waist. “He would build a trade to support Alienor and his child.”

“Do you think that the noblewomen of the south would favor such work?” Iain asked urgently. “Do you think they might part with coin to have such adornment on their cloak?”

Eglantine smiled and grasped Iain's hand in her own, her sincerity more than clear. “Any woman would treasure such a prize,” she assured him. “I had no idea you had such skill.”

Iain flushed slightly and flicked a glance at Duncan. “I had forgotten it myself.”

Eglantine, ever practical, tapped her finger upon the pin. “Have you made a mold that you might cast more of the same? And have you silver enough to do so?”

Iain nodded quickly. “For about a dozen.”

“Then, you should vary them slightly, perhaps in the hue of the eye or in the way the silver is burnished. Or perhaps you might made a slightly different design. To pay a high price, each person must feel that they have acquired a unique treasure, and 'twill not do to have them confronted with a friend or adversary wearing the same jewel.”

Iain nodded at what Duncan thought was sound advice.

Eglantine frowned slightly. “You will fetch the best prices at the hot and cold fairs in Champagne, if you can manage to reach there. They are held in spring and fall.”

“I will, I will!”

“There is affluence there and much trade in fine cloth—and the finest cloth demands the finest jewel. This indeed is most fine.” She caught her breath and Iain's ears burned red at her evident admiration. “Iain, your skill is considerable. I have never seen such a well-crafted piece.” She shook her head, ran a fingertip across it yet again, then made to press the pin back into Iain's hand.

“Nay,” that man said, shaking his head. “I would grant it to the Lady Eglantine in compense for what grief I have granted her.” He took a deep breath. “I would apologize for my sampling of your maidenly daughter, without the solemnity of a pledge between us.”

Duncan caught his breath, finding himself fiercely proud of his foster brother in this moment. This was the son of Cormac MacQuarrie!

Eglantine's mouth opened and closed again. Then she shook her head. “All is well that is resolved well, Iain.” She tried to give him the pin once more.

But Iain refused to take it. “Then I would grant it as a gift to Lady Eglantine as a mark of my intent to win her daughter's hand.” He frowned. “And I would have the lady accept it as apology for all I have cost her.”

Eglantine blinked. Duncan fully expected his foster brother to confess to the destruction of the stores, but Iain did no such thing.

He frowned and reached into his chemise once more.

To Duncan's astonishment, Iain offered Eglantine a document of some kind, hung with seals and wrought of heavy vellum. His chest clenched, for he had seen this document once before.

Eglantine paled.

“I stole it from you,” Iain admitted. “It seemed most critical that I remove the proof of what I had wrongfully done.”

“You? What had you to do with this?” Duncan demanded.

“Years ago I signed this deed, Duncan, at the behest of a Norman lord. He granted me much coin to sign in my father's own name. I cared not what 'twas for—I was irked enough and desirous of my due.”

Duncan stared at the younger man in surprise. “But why?”

“You may recall that though I greeted you with joy, matters quickly soured between us.” Iain turned to Eglantine. “He came out of the hills and across the sea, singing, filled with tales of far away and prompting laughter all around him. My sister adored Duncan upon sight, my father seemed to see in him something he had never seen in me. We had argued before about my choice of trade, but it seemed to me that my father was more harsh after Duncan came. So, I left to seek my fortunes elsewhere.”

“And this was how you won that fat purse,” Duncan said softly.

“Aye, though that was not the end of it. My father heard the tale after I had returned and we argued viciously. He had planned to grant Ceinn-beithe to another chieftain, one who wanted forfeit from him for some slight. My father would not grant the land after what I had done, for he insisted 'twas no longer his to grant.”

Duncan felt his chest tighten. “Do not tell me that this chieftain demanded Mhairi's hand instead.” Eglantine's eyes widened.

But Iain hung his head and 'twas all the answer Duncan needed. “I blamed you, Duncan, for 'twas easier than acknowledging my own role, both in her death and in my father's disappointment.”

Eglantine shook her head and fingered the deed at the root of it all.

“I never dreamed the tale was not done,” Iain admitted. “I never dreamed that I should regret my foolishness as much as I do now.”

“He was proud of your skill at the end. He told me that a smith has hands that can conjure magic. He wanted you free of the burden of this chieftainship—though I argued long with him that he should name another to the task.”

A tear leaked from Iain's eye.

Duncan gripped the younger man's shoulder, now understanding the bitterness that had filled him. “You should have told me all of this.”

“I should have, for you were the only brother I had and the only family left to me now. But I did not. I failed both you and my father, Duncan.”

Duncan gripped Iain's shoulder. “'Tis behind us now.”