The Countess (34 page)

* * *

Eglantine ran first to the shore where the boats were pulled up and could not discern whether they all were there or not. She scanned the sea, cursing the lack of a moon, but could not tell whether a man had rowed away recently or not.

But this accomplished naught!

She pushed her fingertips to her temples and willed herself to think. Where would Duncan go?

To the great rock of his forebears. No other place would do.

Unless he had left completely. Eglantine's fear lent speed to her steps and she ran towards the rock. She cursed the mist that hid it from her view. She would cut through the camp and thus save time, though she would have to watch her step. She lunged into the shadows between the tents, praying that she would arrive in time.

Then a woman screamed, the sound cut off too soon.

Jacqueline! Eglantine's footsteps faltered, for only one thing could have prompted her tranquil daughter to scream.

Or more accurately, one person. God in heaven, but Burke had led Reynaud directly here. Again she was torn between duty and desire, but there was no choice. She had to save her daughter, whatever the cost to herself.

Eglantine crept toward the three silken tents, grateful for the sea's waves breaking on the rocks behind her. It would cover the sound of her approach. She hugged the shadows, her heart in her mouth, and eased her way closer, one careful step at a time.

She halted in view of the entry to Jacqueline's tent. A huge man sat there, cleaning his nails with his dagger. His familiar bulk was far from reassuring, for the presence of Reynaud's squire confirmed Reynaud's presence.

There was no doubt that this one's master was inside the tent. Who knew what he had already done, or what Jacqueline had suffered! Eglantine fought her desire to hasten and forced herself to proceed one careful step at a time.

The squire looked bored, a remarkable feat for one so slow of wit as this one. Only at such proximity could Eglantine hear the muted sounds of struggle and she feared what her daughter endured.

She crouched while she thought, and her hand closed around a rock roughly the shape and size of a goose egg. She gauged the distance to the squire as she weighed the stone in her hand. Eglantine deliberately recalled all the times she had skipped stones with Guillaume at Crevy and bested both him and Burke.

To hesitate was to be lost in such a moment. She stood up and flung the stone at the squire's brow.

It hit him square between the eyes. He made a small grunt at the impact, then fell bonelessly forward.

'Twas enough for Eglantine! She raced toward the tent, stepped hesitantly around the squire, then helped herself to the short dagger he no longer used. She plunged it into the back of her belt, squared her shoulders and stepped regally into the tent.

“Good evening, Reynaud.”

The knight started and turned, his move revealing his grip upon Jacqueline.

To Eglantine's immense relief, Jacqueline's skirts were only about her knees. Her kirtle was torn at the breast but Reynaud was still fully garbed. Her daughter was clearly terrified, but as yet unhurt.

Eglantine intended to keep matters that way.

She smiled at the old knight's surprise. “How did you come to be here, Reynaud, without first enjoying the hospitality of our board? Surely you are hungered after your long journey.”

Reynaud's smile flashed. “Dame Fortune smiled upon me and delivered my rightful due into my own hands. But three silk tents, three tents for three noblewomen. I had only just entered the first when this little bird flew directly to me.” His smile faded. “And where is my squire?”

Eglantine feigned dismay. “He seems to have fallen ill, for he lies in a faint outside the tent.”

The knight's eyes narrowed. The pair stared at each other, then Reynaud shrugged. “If you think your presence will persuade me to halt, you are wrong, Eglantine. I have no trouble with an audience.”

In a lightning gesture, he folded Jacqueline's arms beneath her, behind her waist, then sat astride her once more. She had time to utter a cry of protest and no more before his hand was once again on her mouth. He now had a free hand which he used to tear the front of her kirtle open further, baring her breasts to view. Jacqueline's eyes widened in fear when his gloved hand closed over her bare flesh.

Eglantine wanted to kill him with her bare hands for abusing her child thus. She sauntered further into the tent, well aware of the weight of the blade hidden from his view. She forced her tone to remain conversational, though 'twas not easily done. “Surely, you would not taint your bride before your nuptials?”

“Surely, it matters little. And this way, I will ensure that you can do naught else with the girl but wed her to me.”

“But 'tis not her fault we are here!”

Reynaud glanced up. “What is this?”

Eglantine fabricated the tale as she went, wishing she had half of Duncan's skill. “Jacqueline wanted to wed you, indeed she wanted to wed you even before Theobald fell ill. But she is such a prize that I wagered we could win more coin for her hand. Then I needed funds after Theobald's death, for he left me with naught. My brother would not see fit to demand more coin from you, but I was persuaded another might pay more for Jacqueline's charms.”

She held his suspicious gaze, willing him to believe her lie. “I stole her away from you, Reynaud, though the girl desired naught but to do her duty. Your argument is with me alone.”

“I will not pay more.”

“Nor will any other, as I learned to my distress. All this trouble for naught.” Eglantine shrugged. “Of course, Jacqueline will wed you, as she desired to do so all along. Do not punish the child for the sins of the mother.”

Reynaud shook his head stubbornly. “This cannot be so. She fought me this night, she fights me even now. You lie!”

“Nay, you frighten her. She is virginal, Reynaud, and unaccustomed to the needs of men. She has been sheltered all these years and I failed to tell her of her marital due as yet. You have startled her, no more than that.”

Reynaud's gaze slipped over her and Eglantine had a bold idea. She smiled and lifted one hand to the lace at the neck of her kirtle.

She loosed it slowly. “A virgin suits for a marriage bed and naught else,” she said quietly. “Duty and the securing of property is one matter, while pleasure is quite another. I would wager you have been long without a woman, Reynaud, for you must ridden hard from France's shores.”

Eglantine took a step closer and pulled the lace free with a flick of her wrist. “I am no virgin, Reynaud, but I know how a man would be pleasured. You have been sorely inconvenienced, and this at my behest.” Eglantine parted her kirtle and untied her chemise, noting how he stared at the shadow of her breasts visible through her chemise. She was but an arm's length away from him, nigh close enough to strike.

“Let me make amends to you. Take the toll for your inconvenience from me, for I alone am responsible for it,” she invited huskily. “And leave the taking of Jacqueline for your nuptial bed.”

Reynaud slowly smiled. “You always were a temptress, Eglantine. I knew you desired me when you were Robert's bride.” He looked down at Jacqueline, his smile broadening. Eglantine had only a moment to believe he truly would fall for her ruse before he proved her wrong.

“Perhaps I shall have the both of you this night.”

He lunged for Eglantine, but she was prepared for him. She pulled his squire's dagger from the back of her belt and drove it at Reynaud's eyes. He cried out and snatched at her wrists. To her dismay, Eglantine was no match for his strength and skill. The blade fell harmlessly to the ground, but Eglantine stepped back, deliberately drawing him away from her daughter.

She saw the blur of Jacqueline rolling from the bed, and knew the girl could not pass them without attracting Reynaud's ire. To her relief, Jacqueline caught up the blade and darted back over the bed. Eglantine heard the silk cut as Reynaud twisted her arms behind her back. She knew her daughter was safe when his hand closed cruelly over her breast.

And he knew it as well.

“Bitch!” he muttered in her ear. “Now, you shall pay for your deception.”

But Eglantine did not care what he did to her. Her every thought was with Jacqueline, urging her daughter to flee as fast and as far as she was able. She had to draw this out as long as possible, to better grant her daughter time to escape.

Eglantine spared Reynaud knowing glance. “Robert always said you could only take a woman with haste,” she sneered. “I see he was not far wrong in that.”

Reynaud struck her across the face and she fell. But Eglantine rolled and propped herself up on her hands to survey him.

“A man like Robert, now, he could take a woman over and over until the very dawn.” She smiled. “Ah, he had such vigor. For a man his age, 'twas remarkable.”

“Robert died a decade my junior.”

“Ah, his youth must have been why the memory of his fortitude lingers long.” She mused as though she was not afraid. “I believe 'twas twenty times we took our pleasure one night. 'Twas then he told me of your haste. 'Twas true, Reynaud, I always lusted for you, but Robert's tales tempered my desire.”

“You lie!” Reynaud stepped over her and gripped her chin, glaring down into her eyes. “But I shall take you twenty-one times all the same. You will remember me, Eglantine, not your dead Robert.” He smiled coldly. “Indeed, you may never sit easily again.”

* * *

Duncan knew he should not have left Eglantine in anger. He sat and glowered out to sea, irked beyond measure at her stubborn refusal to trust him, yet knowing he would return to her side like a moth dazzled by the flame. There was no question of him abandoning her, not before she spurned him in truth.

He should not have lost patience with her. He took a deep breath of the salt-tinged wind. He would walk and let his temper fade completely, then return to the gathering. With luck, she would be waiting for him. Duncan rose, cursing his own tendency to hope beyond expectation, then spun at the echo of running footsteps.

'Twas Jacqueline, her kirtle torn and her eyes wild. “Reynaud, 'tis Reynaud!” she cried, the name all too familiar. Duncan caught her when she might have stumbled, and she gasped for breath. “He attacked me but
Maman
heard him.”

“And she offered herself in your stead,” Duncan guessed, then swore with vigor when the girl nodded. “Where?”

“In my tent. His squire lies outside the door. I cut the silk at the back and ran and ran and ran.” Jacqueline breathed heavily, her terror evident.

“You did well and I am glad you came to me.” Duncan drew her kirtle closed and she flushed crimson even as he led her back toward the camp. “Now, go to this Burke and do not leave his side until I return. He will defend you.”

“Nay, he brought Reynaud!”

“Nay, he came only to ensure you all were well. I would wager this one followed him.” Duncan held the girl's gaze determinedly. “You have naught to fear from him, I swear it to you.”

She nodded grimly, looking very much her mother's child. “Then I will go to him.” She brandished a blade beneath his nose. “But I shall keep this at hand. He might have lied to you, Duncan. Men oft do.”

Duncan escorted her as far as he dared, for time was of the essence. He watched Jacqueline step into the circle of firelight and make her way towards the knight.

He waited no longer than that. Duncan melted into the shadows, his anger rising as he heard Eglantine taunting another. She mocked the man's prowess and Duncan winced at the sound of a blow falling.

But his Eglantine would do whatever was necessary to save her child. Duncan wished fiercely that one day he too might stand within the circle of his lady's protectiveness, realized 'twas a quest worth any price of pursuit, then took his blade and slashed the silk from top to bottom.

He stepped into the tent, his blade at the ready, and glared at the old knight perched atop Eglantine. “I have come to cut out your heart, Reynaud de Charmonte,” he declared coldly, flicking a glance to his lady. A bruise stained on her face and her kirtle was torn to her waist. The pleasure that lit her eyes so startled Duncan that 'twas almost his undoing.

But he would have compense for that bruise.

The older man straightened, his expression turning grim. “Who are you?”

“I am Duncan MacLaren, chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie.”

Reynaud sneered, his gaze traveling over Duncan's garb as he smoothed a hand over his own. “A mere savage!”

“A man who takes naught from a woman she does not willingly grant.” Duncan smiled thinly. “I fear that you lack not only courtesy but a heart, Reynaud, regardless of your fine attire. Shall we discover the truth of it?”

Reynaud moved with startling speed, bounding to his feet and drawing his sword in a flash. He slashed at Duncan and Eglantine cried out, though Duncan parried in time.

But only just. The man struck again and again with astounding strength. He was agile for his age and driven by fury.

And he was trained, as Duncan was not.

Reynaud struck a trio of times in quick succession, then paused. He swung unexpectedly from one side then the other. Duncan halted the blow that would have sliced his innards open and cast the blade back upon the older man with a grunt.

They soon were breathing heavily, those blows that went astray slashing the silk tent to ribbons. The lantern flickered as the chill wind from the sea found its way within. Duncan kept his gaze fixed upon the other man and struggled to anticipate his every move. He disliked the sense that he was only defending himself instead of attacking, but the other man's skill far outranked his own.

Which meant perhaps that Reynaud should readily win.

They circled each other, the sweat gathering on Duncan's brow at the boldness of his plan. Reynaud attacked again, his teeth bared, and Duncan took note of precisely where the man's mail tabard entered. Reynaud's throat was bare, which would suit Duncan well enough.