The Countess (35 page)

He deliberately moved too slowly and won a nick upon his thigh. Reynaud laughed, and Duncan pretended that the injury was worse than 'twas. He lifted his blade anew, as though 'twas not so readily done, and Reynaud was quick to engage once more.

His sword swung through the air and Duncan ducked, jabbing at the other man's legs. Reynaud darted back and swung his blade low. Duncan winced as it nicked his shoulder. Again, he feigned greater injury than he had sustained and fell to one knee.

He groaned and gripped his shoulder as though 'twas sorely wounded. He dropped his knife, ensuring 'twas directly below him, then fell atop it.

And moved no more.

Reynaud laughed, then shoved Duncan with one booted foot. “And whose heart shall we see?” he murmured. Duncan heard the knight sheath his sword. He peered between his lashes to see Reynaud draw a smaller blade with a jeweled hilt from his belt.

Duncan held his tongue, watching the man carefully. His hand was beneath him, by no accident, and his fingers closed around the hilt of his own blade. Silently, he willed Reynaud closer.

“Sadly, you heathens do not fight that well, for all your size and vigor. I had so hoped you would show greater promise than this.”

Reynaud raised the knife and bent to drive it into Duncan's chest. Duncan waited until the last moment to strike, but a weight fell suddenly across his back.

“Nay!” Eglantine cried, then she screamed as Reynaud's blade sank home. She must have hidden in the shadows, when Duncan thought she had fled for aid.

“Eglantine!” Duncan bounded to his feet with a roar that astonished the older knight. Reynaud grappled for his sword, but he was not quick enough. Duncan drove his own blade into the other man's throat, grunting as he drove it deeper into the chest.

“Just as I suspected,” he muttered, as Reynaud sputtered before him. “There is naught but stone where your heart should be.” He forced the blade deep beneath the mail, then he cast the villain aside, leaving him to die unattended.

But Eglantine. Duncan fell to his knees beside her and turned her pale face to his. He pulled the jeweled blade from her shoulder and the warmth of her blood ran through his fingers. He whispered her name and cradled her close. He could not lose her now! He could not be the reason for her demise.

He should not have wished to win her protectiveness; he would never have done so if he had realized this would be the price. Duncan kissed her brow and held her tightly even as he whispered her name.

And Eglantine opened her eyes. She smiled at him and raised one hand to touch his face. Her fingers shook and Duncan closed his hand around hers.

“I do not intend to die, Duncan. Not so soon after I have found you.” She swallowed and her smile broadened. “'Tis naught but my shoulder that is wounded and 'twill heal. The blow did, though, steal the wind from me.”

Relief fed Duncan's anger and he rose to his feet, his lady cradled in his arms. “You should never have taken such a risk! What possesses you to believe that you alone are responsible for solving the woes of all around you?” he demanded, even as he strode toward the company and some aid. “What foolery made you risk your own hide for me?”

Eglantine laughed softly and kicked her feet. Her manner was entirely inappropriate, to Duncan's thinking, though he loved the way she leaned her cheek against his heart.

“He could have killed you! He could have injured you more sorely than this! What then of your daughters and your obligations? Why, if you were not wounded, I should give you a shake fit to rattle your bones!”

“I could not let him kill you, Duncan.” Eglantine's voice was low but thrummed with such conviction that Duncan fell silent. He looked into her eyes and found love shining there so brightly that the sight nigh stole his breath away. She raised trembling fingers to his face. “How could I let him kill you when I love you so much as this?”

Duncan caught her close as his vision blurred, the tears streaming down his face as he whispered her name. She had given him the greatest gift of all in those few words alone, and he could not speak for the lump in his throat.

“Do you still love me, Duncan, despite my foolish fears?”

He nodded and his voice was hoarse. “Aye, Eglantine, aye. With all my heart and soul. You need never doubt it.”

She smiled and twined her arm around his neck. “Then kiss me, Duncan, and get us to a priest. I will wait no longer to be wed to you in truth, regardless of how this scratch does bleed.”

And Duncan could do naught but comply. He kissed her until they both were breathless then grinned, before he raised his voice and bellowed for Ceinn-beithe's priest.

The lady would have no chance to change her mind.

June 1177

at Château de Villonne

M
y dear Eglantine—

I sincerely hope that this missive finds you and yours in good health. All is most well here, and I would send my thanks for your speedy dispatch of my spouse last spring. Burke arrived home with naught but a blackened eye to show for his journey. I suspect there is a tale to be told, for he smiles with all the mischief of our son Bayard when asked about it. I similarly suspect that I shall never know the truth of it—but 'tis enough that he was home for the arrival of our second son.

Aye, Amaury entered our lives with a roar this month and thus far has captivated all, including his daunting grandmother. Do you recall Margaux de Montvieux? She is little changed, though she shows a softness of nature in the company of the boys that one might not have expected. She and my father have yet to agree on any matter of import and, for the sake of peace, we endeavor to ensure that their visits are separately timed.

Your own mother visited us this summer, for she accompanied Brigid and Guillaume from Crevy when they came for the christening of Amaury. 'Twas an event of great boisterousness, for all our blood came to share our celebrations. Bayard along with Rowan and Bronwyn's son, Nicholas, took to tormenting Guillaume and Brigid's young Niall, doing so until the babe wailed. At five summers, Luc and Brianna's Eva is of an age to ignore them all, while her younger brother Connor watched the older boys with what might have been awe. God help us when they are all old enough to run about.

The priest seemed quite relieved when the ceremony was completed and the chapel was rid of us!

Further to your own family, Guillaume confessed to having found the seal of Arnelaine in his own office, though he could not understand how it came to be there. He believes that Theobald did not wager it, after all, though you and I know well enough that my Burke had it briefly in his possession. How odd that Guillaume found the seal a few days after Burke's visit to Crevy-sur-Seine!

Arnelaine is now beneath the competent hand of a vassal and this season's crops are said to be promising—but Guillaume pledges that the seal is yours, should you wish to return. Given the tales that Burke shared with me, however, I heartily doubt you will take advantage of his offer. It sounds as though you have found happiness, finally, Eglantine, and never has a woman more soundly deserved such happiness than you.

Belated congratulations from me on your nuptials and every good wish for your continued good fortune. I send you a gift with this missive and within the care of Alienor's spouse. It seems he had much fortune at the Champagne fair, though with such wares I could not have expected much else.

This gift is a most uncommon but undoubtedly useful one. The companion of Iain is a Gael who has been in my employ several years—she is both a healer and a midwife and skilled beyond compare. When Siobhan confessed that she missed her homeland, I thought of Alienor and the child she carries. I should not like to think of any woman enduring childbirth without an experienced hand and fear that in your locale, skilled midwives may be rare.

And so, I dispatch Siobhan to your care, hoping she can be of aid to you and yours. I ask only that you take her beneath your hand as though she were a vassal of your own. She is as loyal as she is gifted.

With every good wish for your harvest and your health—

Your friend,

Alys de Villonne

Lady of Montvieux

& once Alys of Kiltorren

Eglantine folded the missive, knowing she would read it a thousand times again at her leisure. She met the gaze of red-headed woman before her, noting the freckles across that woman's nose, the lines of laughter fanning from her sparkling eyes, and the solid capability of her hands. Iain was already gone, seeking Alienor, the light of victory bright in his eyes.

“Welcome, Siobhan,” Eglantine said in Gael, rolling the name over her tongue as Duncan had labored long to teach her. “Welcome to Ceinn-beithe.”

Siobhan smiled. “Aye, 'tis good to hear my mother tongue again. But tell me, Eglantine, if you were born to this land, how do you know Lady Alys? Were you acquainted with her when she lived in Ireland?”

“Nay. I was not born the land of the Gael.”

“Nay? But the language falls so smoothly from your tongue.”

“You shall have to tell my husband that, for he has much to say of my pronunciation.”

Siobhan laughed. “Perhaps you should have been born here, for you look as though you belong in these parts.”

Eglantine smiled, liking that thought. “Do I then?”

Siobhan's smile broadened. “Aye, it matters naught where one is born, as long as one discovers where one is truly meant to be. Is that not the truth of it?”

A man's cry echoed over the holding and Eglantine watched Duncan climb the rocks bordering the sea. Esmeraude squealed with laughter as he swung her high, then planted her upon his shoulders. Jacqueline ran alongside laughing, the three of them barefoot, tanned and wet, no doubt from the sea.

She knew the moment Duncan's gaze landed upon her and they shared a smile, its heat undiminished by distance. He turned his footsteps immediately towards her and raised his voice in song, her daughters lending their voices to his.

Eglantine watched them stride towards her, her heart filled nigh to bursting. And she knew that Alys' midwife spoke the simple truth.

Eglantine was home because here, at Ceinn-beithe with Duncan by her side, was precisely where she belonged.

“Aye, Siobhan,” she murmured, smiling for Duncan even as the midwife wandered away. “That is indeed the truth of it.”

* * * * * * * * *

For Duncan's song of Mhairi, I heavily reworked a traditional Scottish ballad, bending its words to my (and Duncan's) purposes. The original ballad is called
Annachie Gordon
and has been recorded by Loreena McKennitt with the traditional lyrics. This haunting arrangement is included on her album
Parallel Dreams
.

Happy listening!

Ready for more of the Bride Quest II?

Keep reading for an excerpt from

The Beauty.

Book 2 in the Bride Quest II series

“I was born a woman. There are but two courses for my life—marriage or the convent. I have chosen.”

Certain she will never wed for love, sworn to let no man possess her for her beauty alone, Jacqueline de Crevy has vowed to become a bride of God. But en route to the convent of Inveresbeinn, her party is ambushed by a knight, who snatches Jacqueline from her saddle and spirits her away with him.

He is Angus MacGillivray—not the blackhearted ravisher she fears but a valiant man of honor who has returned to Scotland seeking justice... and revenge. Angus has come home from the Crusades to find his family murdered and his birthright seized. Sworn to reclaim his rightful lands, he has kidnapped the stepdaughter of Duncan, chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie—Angus' avowed enemy.

But his lovely captive refuses to be the chattel—or ransom—of any man...until Jacqueline senses the yearning heart beneath Angus' embittered facade. In spite of himself, Angus has let this defiant beauty touch his very soul. And as desire flames between them, a lady fair and her battle-scarred knight will fight for a love that could banish all the sorrows of the past...

Chapter One

C
einn-beithe was behind Jacqueline, only her vows ahead. Her mother was wrong—Jacqueline had a calling and she knew the truth of it. She had not been swayed by well-intentioned argument, though she had come close, simply because of the price of her choice. Her mother's point was well made and well taken.

Though it changed naught. Tears pricked at Jacqueline's eyes as she realized how much she would miss her mother's protective love.

She tried not to think overmuch about leaving Ceinn-beithe behind forever, as her small party rode toward the hills that sheltered the holding on the east. On the far side of these hills and a little further on, down a ragged trail from what might be generously called a main road, lay her destination—the convent of Inveresbeinn.

She had made her choice, now she would live with the result. She knew 'twas in the cloister that her intellect would be appreciated, 'twas there that the gifts granted to her could be given and accepted in kind. Mortal men wished only to possess her because of her appearance and Jacqueline had no interest in becoming a mere ornament in a man's life. She knew she had the wits to do more and the compassion to give more and she would not waste the gifts that God had granted her.

'Twas her calling and her choice and she would defend it to her last breath.

Her parents had selected these men to accompany her because they trusted them, but there was not a one among them with whom she might have shared a friendly word. 'Twas a lesson, just as the funeral had been a lesson. This was a lesson in the limited appeal of solitude and silence.

Aye, as a novitiate, Jacqueline's world would be one of silence. She knew that and anticipated difficulties with it, but had not expected 'twould trouble her so much. Even understanding what her mother did and why, did not make the sense of isolation easier to bear. The silence pressed against her ears, making her want to shout, to laugh, to scream.

But Jacqueline would persevere, for she had chosen rightly. She straightened in her saddle, reminding herself that 'twould be two days ride to the convent, and began to murmur her rosary.

The hills rising before them were shrouded with mist, a fog gathering undoubtedly in the valleys. The sky was darkening to a grey the shade of pewter and the hills seemed clad in myriad greens and blues. Silence seemed to echo over the land, even the birds quiet. 'Twas a tranquil scene, filled with the serenity that would characterize the remainder of her days, and Jacqueline told herself that she was content.

But there was more than silence lurking in the hills ahead.

* * *

“There.” Angus knelt in the shadow of the stones, his stallion hidden behind an outcropping of rock. Only the beast's ears flicked, as though he too understood the need for concealment. Angus' vantage point overlooked the road that wound toward distant Ceinn-beithe, home of the man who had betrayed Angus' family.

His loyal companion hunkered down beside him and peered into the mist that had followed the rain. “God's teeth, boy, but Dame Fortune cannot be finally smiling upon you.” Rodney's comment was typically skeptical, though there was a light of consideration in his eyes now.

“Surely 'tis not so unlikely as that,” Angus murmured, “when all has gone awry for so long.”

Rodney chuckled. “Do not tell me that you believe in good outweighing bad in the end?”

Angus almost smiled, but was intent upon studying the small party upon the road below. 'Twas critical that they make no error in this moment, for Fortune would not smile so sweetly again.

A woman rode in the midst of the group, shrouded in white, and surrounded by guardians more stocky than fearsome. They had not seen battle so recently as he and were likely to be lax in their defenses. The woman was shrouded in white, only the shape of the cloak and the way she rode revealing her gender. That she rode in the midst of the group yet slightly apart from them revealed her station.

“Who is she?” Rodney whispered.

“Who else might she be than the daughter of Cormac MacQuarrie?”

Rodney granted him a skeptical glance that he could nigh feel. “She could be any woman at all.”

“Nay. Not so guarded as this. This is a precious woman, as only the daughter of a chieftain can be. And she leaves Ceinn-beithe, for there is naught else on this road other than the sea beyond that estate.”

“Then why is she abroad at all?”

Angus set his chin upon his gloved fist and considered the matter. “She must go to wed. Mhairi would be aged for such a rite, but then, Cormac was always said to overvalue her merits.”

The older man chuckled, his gaze flicking over the situation of the rode below. “You said his daughter was the only creature he truly loved.”

“Aye. 'Twould not be implausible that he could not find a match to suit afore his daughter was nigh unweddable.”

“But someone weds her.”

Angus felt his lips thin. “Cormac is a formidable ally.”

“And an equally formidable adversary,” Rodney concluded, quite unnecessarily to Angus' thinking. Then he scoffed. “Look at these louts! They are ill-prepared to defend her.”

“And you mock the hand of Dame Fortune in this,” Angus muttered. “'Tis the first matter to go aright in years. Let us not lose the chance to make amends.”

The two men discussed their plan of attack and pointed out details of the landscape to each other. Rodney slipped into the shadows and mounted his steed.

“Now Cormac will pay dearly for his daughter's safe return!” he murmured gleefully.

“He has only one thing to surrender that I desire,” Angus took one last look, saw no complications, then rose to his while hugging the shadows. He swung into his own saddle and held the reins tightly. Lucifer did not so much as move. The two men waited in silence until the sound of the approaching party echoed on the road just before them, signaling that they had come close enough.

And at Angus' nod, they erupted from the shadows as one.

* * *

With lightning speed, two men on horseback appeared from naught, swinging their swords as they roared. The little party froze in shock as the bandits bore down upon them.

They were still on Ceinn-beithe's land! Jacqueline halted her steed to stare. One of her escorts swore, then slapped the buttocks of her horse, sending it fleeing from the fray.

Jacqueline could not help but look back.

The attacking knight in the lead struck down two of her escorts before those men even had time to draw their blades. A knight? One heard of knights turning to villainy in France, but not here. Fear rippled down her spine—Jacqueline had learned to expect ill of knights from abroad.

The third of her party had drawn his sword but was no match for the knight's prowess. He fell to the ground and moved no more.

Then the attacker's course was unobstructed.

He rode like an avenging angel, and one determined to smote those who defied him. He was tall and broad of shoulder. His red cloak flared behind him, his tabard was white with a cross of blood red on the shoulder. His mail gleamed, even though the day was overcast. His large ebony stallion was caparisoned in white and red, that extraordinarily fine beast fairly snorting fire.

And when he fixed his gaze upon her, Jacqueline thought her heart might stop.

In panic, Jacqueline dug her heels into her palfrey's sides. The horse needed little urging to run at full gallop across the peat, but was no match for the long strides of the black stallion in pursuit.

The stallion drew closer, until she could see the steam of its breath just over her shoulder. Jacqueline gave a little cry and tried to urge her horse to go yet faster.

But the knight snatched her from her own saddle, so quickly that her breath was stolen away. He cast her across his saddle, so she lay on her belly before him. The sight of the rollicking ground beneath her made her dizzy. He was strong, wrought of muscle and steel. Jacqueline screamed and fought him all the same.

He swore and caught her against him in a tight grip, his arm locked around her chest and arms. He turned his steed, and slowed it to a brisk canter. Jacqueline heard her own palfrey continue to flee into the distance.

She bit his glove and kicked his steed, and he swore with ominous vigor. He pulled her up so that she sat before him now, though was no less free to move with his arm locking her elbows to her waist. Indeed, she could feel every relentless increment of him, his chain mail digging into her back.

“Let me go!” Jacqueline gave a powerful wrench that only rubbed her wool kirtle so hard against his mail that she was sure the wool left a burn on her flesh.

“Nay.” He spoke grimly, his French as fluent as her own, his words tight and hot. “Be still or you will frighten the steed.”

“I should think naught would frighten this monster,” Jacqueline snapped. A French knight holding her captive was no reassurance at all—she could not help but think of Reynaud, holding her down, heaving himself atop her.

The very thought left her chilled, sickened and faint.

The knight laughed under his breath though 'twas a mirthless sound. He pinned her against him with one arm, so casually that he might be accustomed to capturing innocents, and rode back toward his companion. Jacqueline squirmed, though she made no progress against his strength.

Just as she had made none against Reynaud. The breath left her chest for a moment, leaving her dizzy with fear, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. Somehow she would escape him!

The knight doffed his helm and cast it into his open saddlebag. When she heard it land there, Jacqueline could not restrain her curiosity.

She turned and her heart trembled, so certain was she that she looked into the face of a dark angel. Her captor's lips were drawn to a tight line, his gaze narrowed. He would have been a handsome man—had it not been for his ferocious expression and the scar upon his cheek.

And the patch over his one eye.

Then he smiled slowly, like a dragon anticipating a hearty meal, and Jacqueline panicked. She managed to punch his nose, then drove her heel hard into the stallion's belly. The beast shied—'twas too large and vigorous to be more than startled—and Jacqueline took advantage of the moment of surprise to jump from its back.

She turned her ankle on impact, but ran all the same.

The knight swore with savagery behind her, but Jacqueline did not waste a moment in looking back. She leapt into a scree of rocks, knowing that the stallion could not follow her, and ran as though the devil himself pursued her.

She was not entirely certain he did not.

The knight did pursue her, though, punctuating his progress with oaths. Jacqueline would not consider how he would hurt her if she was caught. Oh, he was furiously angry and would desire vengeance just as Reynaud had desired vengeance.

And was likely to claim it in the same way. Jacqueline pushed her fears of that aside and simply ran.

He gained upon her all too quickly, for he was much taller and more agile than she. Jacqueline glanced back when his footfalls grew loud, her own steps faltering at his proximity and his fury. She stumbled, then fell with an anguished cry, and he was immediately upon her.

He was quick with the braided leather he carried, but to her astonishment, he was not harsh. He bound her knees together loosely, though she was sufficiently hobbled that she could not have fled. He tied her wrists behind her back, moving with such speed that Jacqueline had no hope of a second escape.

She writhed on the ground, seeking a weakness in the knots that she did not find. He stood and stared down at her from his considerable height, his expression unfathomable and all the more terrifying for that.

Finally, when she had nigh exhausted herself with her struggles, he drew his blade, then crouched before her. Fearing the worst, Jacqueline flinched.