The Countess (31 page)

They hugged heartily, and Duncan doubted his were the only eyes glazed with tears. The three stood in silence for a long moment, Eglantine's thumb working ceaselessly over the silver.

“What of the coins in my treasury?” she asked quietly. “Did you grant them to Dugall as tribute?”

Iain blinked, then frowned in sudden comprehension. “'Twas not I who plundered your stores, my lady, nor I who stole your treasury. I found the treasury chest at the perimeter of the camp, hidden in the undergrowth, its lock broken. I did not know what 'twas when I opened it, but I recognized this deed. I took naught else, I swear it to you.”

“And this was the morn that you left?”

“Aye. When Alienor and I returned to the camp early that morn, I saw it, in the undergrowth. Alienor did not. She was cold and anxious for her bed, so I returned alone to investigate. When I seized the deed, 'twas when I left.”

“Was there coin in the trunk?” Duncan demanded.

“I do not think so. It seemed empty but for the deed.”

“And where was this?”

Iain granted Duncan directions, clearly disinterested in the matter. He then turned to Eglantine.

“I would put the folly of my youth behind me, Eglantine,” Iain confessed with a shaky smile. “I would prove myself a fitting spouse to Alienor and a good father to mine own child. 'Tis the least I might do in my father's memory.” He held her gaze steadily as Duncan watched. “I shall even wed Alienor before a priest if 'tis your desire.”

“I am not the one you must convince,” Eglantine said. She offered the pin again to Iain, her smile ensuring he could not misinterpret. “You may give me another when your trade thrives, if you so choose, and I should be most honored to wear this mark of the talent of the father of my grandchild.”

She covered the pin with her hand, pressing it into his palm. “This one, though, would be better plied to win your suit. I fear you will not have an easy time of it, Iain, and the more gifts you bring, the better.”

Alienor came to the fire then, her features pale and her expression strained. “She has been most ill with the babe,” Duncan informed the frowning man beside him. “Perhaps your plea will be better received in her moment of weakness.”

But Iain did not share his smile. “Aye. One must seize whatever advantage can be had with Alienor.” He swallowed, his expression as he studied Alienor telling more than enough of his intent. Then he bowed low before them. “I thank you both, for more than I can name.”

“And we wish you well,” Duncan declared, feeling the man needed a word to bolster his confidence. He held Eglantine tighter, feeling quite parental as Iain made his way to his intended. Delight lit Alienor's features before she summoned a haughty expression.

“He will win her yet, I know he will,” Duncan insisted, as though his own force of will would make it so.

“Aye,” Eglantine agreed, slanting him a knowing glance that made his heart skip before she indicated the couple again. “Look.”

Iain fell on one knee before Alienor whose expression softened. He spoke quickly and urgently, unaware of those who halted to watch. Alienor began to flush, her glance flicking to those who listened, then back to Iain.

Then she reached to take the pin and smiled, ever so slightly.

“Aha!” Duncan murmured.

“Oh, I had not a doubt of his success,” Eglantine said softly. “The men in these parts are most tenacious and persuasive.” She smiled quickly then, as though she enjoyed a secret jest, and Duncan dared to be encouraged.

“Are they?” he asked, pulling her into his arms to ensure she did not step away.

“Aye.” Her gaze danced over his features and her smile faded. “You believed that he had destroyed the stores?”

“Aye. 'Twas wicked of me, but I did.”

“Why did you let me believe you guilty instead?”

Duncan shrugged. “He is my foster brother and Cormac entrusted his welfare to my responsibility. I had hoped that one day, he would admit to his error himself.” He grinned. “Though it might have served me better if he had done so sooner, 'tis clear why he did not confess.”

“He did not do it.” Eglantine chewed her bottom lip. “Do you know this place he mentioned?”

“Aye, the tree is distinctive. But if the trunk was empty then...”

“It has a false bottom,” Eglantine said crisply. “I would find it to be certain that the coin is truly lost.”

They slipped around the perimeter of the camp, easily avoiding curiosity as all gazes were fixed on Alienor and Iain. Duncan seized Eglantine's hand and led her to the tree Iain had described, then bent to rummage through the undergrowth.

His knuckles encountered the cold brass in but a moment. He dragged the chest into the faint light from the fire, grunting at its weight. He and Eglantine stood one to each side so that what little light there was could shine into the box. The wood was damp, though the chest was well-made and its lid tightly fitted. The inside was fairly dry.

'Twas empty at first glance, but Eglantine bent and slipped her fingernail into one corner. The bottom was false, as she had said, and its removal revealed the glint of gold.

She looked up at him in confusion. “Why would anyone steal the gold simply to abandon it?”

Duncan shook his head and glanced back toward the camp. One figure stood straight as a sentinel, watching them. He sighed and strode closer, rubbing his brow with his fingertips.

“I feared this would happen,” Louis said quietly. “But I had no chance to move the chest since my return from that heathen court.”

Eglantine straightened. “You destroyed the stores.”

“Only enough to frighten you. I was certain you would show your father's splendid good sense and return immediately to France, if food was short.” The older man half-smiled. “You are far more stubborn, my lady, than I certainly guessed.”

“But you are sworn in fealty to my house!” Eglantine protested. She was clearly appalled by this breach of faith and Duncan could understand her disappointment. “How could you in any conscience jeopardize the welfare of so many?”

The older man cleared his throat. “I might ask you the same thing, my lady. This journey was folly, your insistence upon remaining even more so. You jeopardized their welfare. I merely tried to save them.”

“You have breached the trust of my father and my family, Louis.”

“Nay, my lady. I have kept your father's trust. 'Twas he who so eloquently impressed upon me the import of the greater good.”

The two eyed each other, their views as irreconcilable as might be imagined.

Eglantine straightened, showing the poise and dignity of a queen. “You are dismissed from the employ of my household, Louis. I assume that you will return to France, and if you so request it, I shall compose a letter to my brother explaining matters. It is not unlikely that he will find a post for you at Crevy, in deference to my father's commitment to you.”

She spoke tonelessly, her manner official even though Duncan could sense her anger. But she had no need of a disloyal man in her household—and Duncan was proud of the grace she showed in this dismissal.

“You may take a palfrey and some few supplies, Louis. Whichever vassals so choose to return to France are welcome to travel with you, provided that their loyalty and explanations are offered first to my brother. Are we understood?”

Louis bowed low. “They should all return with me.”

“You may be assured that they will not.”

“I shall leave with first light.” He surrendered what keys remained in his possession, though truly they were few, then bowed again and returned to the camp. Eglantine watched him go, his fingers slipping over the keys.

“You have known him long?”

“All my life. My father chose him to be my châtelain.”

“He served you poorly.” Duncan slipped an arm around her waist.

“My father undoubtedly would not agree.” They stood in silence for a few moments, then she sighed, clearly dismissing the matter from her thoughts. “Did you know of Iain's role in creating that deed?”

“I learned the truth in same moment as you.”

Eglantine smiled sunnily up at him and Duncan's heart thumped. “Aye, you said you had not lied to me.” She turned to look after the pair, the firelight gilding her fine features. “Did you know he would do this?”

“I knew he had the skill, and when Alienor spurned him, I hoped he had the desire.” Her gaze met his once more. “I did not know, Eglantine, but I hoped with all my heart and soul.”

She framed his face in her hands, the glow in her eyes most warm. “Once I called you a barbarian, Duncan MacLaren.”

“More than once.”

Eglantine chuckled along with him. “Aye, more than once.” She regarded him steadily, her smile fading as her eyes darkened with intent. “But I was wrong. You are the most thoughtful and loving man that ever I have known. Truly, you make the king's own courtiers appear vulgar in comparison.”

Duncan's heart clenched and he was certain the sweet confession he desired most to hear would now fall from his lady's lips. He could not breathe, he could not look away from the heat in his lady's gaze.

But the clatter of hoof beats rose from the hills in this most inopportune moment. All turned to strain their eyes against the cloak of the darkness. The hoof beats grew louder and Duncan discerned despite the fog that there were three beasts. A man laughed with abandon, then cried something in French.

Eglantine frowned, taking a step away from him. “It cannot be,” she whispered, clearly hoping 'twas.

Before Duncan could ask, a knight in full splendor burst into the circle of the firelight. His horse reared at the periphery of the camp, the knight's cloak flared, the firelight glinted off the knight's helm.

He rode a stallion larger and more ebony of hue than any Duncan had ever seen, his trappings were rich and his garb fairly screamed his high station. Two squires appeared out of the darkness behind them, each wearing more of value upon his back than Duncan had ever had to his name.

The knight doffed his helm and shook out his hair, revealing his handsome features. His beast stamped impatiently and fought the bit, though the knight's gloved hand was tight on the reins.

“Is this the abode of Eglantine, widow of Theobald de Mayneris and sister of Guillaume de Crevy-sur-Seine?” he demanded in French. “Is this the holding of Kinbeath?”

“Burke de Montvieux!” Eglantine cried, the name striking ice into Duncan's heart. “'Tis indeed you!”

With evident delight, she ran toward the new arrival.

Duncan's blood ran cold as the knight smoothly dismounted and caught Eglantine close, kissing her cheeks as they both grinned like fools. This knight not only represented all she had left behind, but he was the one whose affections Eglantine had once tried to win.

And suddenly, Eglantine's refusal to confess any tender feelings for Duncan made far more sense. Her heart was already granted, though she had never expected this knight to return her affections.

It could mean only one thing that this Burke rode all the way to Ceinn-beithe. He would lose all he sought to gain, and be compelled to watch victory snatched from his grip.

In his darkest moment, Duncan felt Esmeraude's tiny hand close on his knee. He instinctively took her hand, but still stared after Eglantine as though he had been struck to stone.

Indeed, his worst nightmare had not only been made flesh, but had come to Ceinn-beithe a heartbeat too soon.

* * *

Burke did not recognize the woman who raced toward him. She was garbed simply, though practically. The wool of her kirtle, though once of fine quality, was worn and the hem was dirtied. Her hair was caught back in a simple braid and she wore no veil. She wore no jewelry, not so much as a circlet or a ring. Her complexion was tanned so gold that she might have been a peasant.

But when she spoke, he knew. Eglantine's voice was unmistakable.

As was her concern for others.

“Burke!” She raced toward him, her expression one of mingled delight and concern. “What news of Brigid? Has she had the child? Is she well, is the babe well? How does Guillaume fare? And is my mother ill this winter?”

Burke dismounted and caught her close, kissing her cheeks to silence her. “Aye, Eglantine, 'tis good to see you as well.”

“Burke!”

“I had never thought to be welcomed sorely as a source of news.”

“You must tell me immediately.”

Burke let his gaze flick over her, content to tease his friend's sister a little bit. Aye, they had tormented her a great deal more when they all were children. “You have changed, Eglantine, though you look well enough. Does this place suit you?”

She gripped his hands and looked as though she would love naught better than to give him a shake. “Burke! You cannot have ridden this far merely to chastise me my poor manners. Tell me the news this moment or I shall make you regret it.”

He laughed then and looked deeply into her eyes, urging her to believe him. “All are fine.” Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Brigid granted Guillaume a fine son, though the babe was almost too large for her. I fear she waited overlong for her spouse's return.”

Though Burke sought to make a jest, Eglantine paled and her grip tightened on his hands. “She is fine, you are certain of it?”

“Aye. Alys and I arrived in time that Alys aided in the birth.”

Eglantine exhaled shakily and laid her brow upon his shoulder. “Thank you, Burke. Thank you for this news. I have been so worried for them.” She looked up. “And my mother?”

“Seeks to feed the new babe the honeycombs Brigid so favors.”

They smiled at each other as relief flooded Eglantine's eyes.

“They miss you, Eglantine. They would know why you fled.”

She brushed a suspicious glimmer from her eyes and stepped away. “Guillaume knows the truth of it, for I spoke to him of it oft enough.”