The Countess (9 page)

“Come for your vittles!” he roared. “Our ladyship has hunted this day and there is hot rabbit stew for all.”

“And fresh bread,” Xavier amended with a satisfied sniff of the air. “'Twill be welcome indeed on a day such as this.” He bowed to Eglantine, then summoned his boys, huddling his shoulders against the drill of the rain as he made his way to the fire.

“A most prudent choice, my lady,” Louis declared with rare warmth. “The meat will do much to lift our household's spirits.”

Eglantine cast him a smile. “Despite their being in this wretched place?”

Louis did not smile. “'Tis even more remote than I anticipated.”

Eglantine sobered and sighed. “Aye, 'tis that. And truly, there will be more dumplings than meat in that stew.” She eyed her châtelain, knowing he had the experience to best answer her fear. “Do you think we can make a home in this place, Louis?”

Louis pursed his lips and looked away, his gaze flicking over the mist shrouding the hills and coast. “'Tis nearly spring and we might fare well enough, but my concern is for next winter. Xavier makes a fine plan for our shelter, and there is wood aplenty for the fire...”

“But?”

“But what shall we eat, my lady? Can one fish the sea in the winter? I know naught of such matters.” Frustration creased the older man's brow. “Can one hunt here in the winter, or will the creatures move elsewhere? 'Tis beyond my experience to summon a guess. And we have no crops, nor even any seed which might be expected to grow in this wretched place.”

Eglantine halted, her heart chilling. “You think we cannot prosper here.”

Louis arched a brow. “If I may be so bold, my lady, you risk the lives of many dependent upon you in this venture and that with no good chance of success. I should suggest that we make plans to return home to Arnelaine, or at least to Crevy...”

The very suggestion angered Eglantine. “Return? 'Twould be impossible!”

“No less impossible than traveling to this land of heathens in the first place.”

Eglantine folded her arms across her chest and considered the man she trusted to run her household. “Louis, I thought your approval was implied by your accompaniment.”

“You thought wrongly, my lady.”

“Then why
did
you accompany me?”

He scowled with a characteristic ferocity that had frightened her when she was but a child. Not so now—Eglantine held both her ground and his gaze. “'Twas my pledge,” he muttered.

“I would have absolved you of your duties, Louis, had I guessed the fullness of your objections.”

Louis glared at her, the suggestion obviously so offensive that he could not hide his response. “Some duties are not so readily shed as that, my lady. Not only was I born to serve your family, but I swore an oath to serve you to the full extent of my capabilities. My pledge is not a worthless one and I shall uphold it to my dying breath.” His eyes flashed and his nostrils pinched. “With or without your absolution.”

'Twas the closest they had ever come to an argument, and Eglantine struggled to keep her tone level. 'Twas that cursed Duncan who had unsettled her, and she knew it well. “Your loyalty is not in question, Louis.”

“Nor is your intellect, my lady.” The châtelain took a steadying breath and continued in a more even tone. “I would respectfully suggest you abandon this folly and return to France.”

“And surrender Jacqueline to Reynaud?” Eglantine watched Louis' determination falter, for he too was fond of Jacqueline. She touched his arm and leaned closer. “She deserves better, Louis, and you know the truth of it as well as I.”

“She is too young to die in the wilderness,” he argued grimly.

“As am I.” Eglantine smiled but again Louis did not.

“I fear that you indulge her overmuch, my lady.” Louis heaved a sigh. “She would become accustomed to Reynaud in time.”

Eglantine's smile faded. “I do not believe so.”

“'Tis the way of things, my lady, and you, of all women, should know the truth of it.”

“'Tis because I know the truth of it that we are here, Louis.”

The older man hid his surprise quickly, though his gaze lingered upon his mistress.

“I survived my marriage to Robert, Louis, and I shall survive what little Theobald has left me.” Eglantine pointed to Duncan's group of ruffians in the distance. “They manage to live here—surely we can do as much?”

“They have been bred to hardship, not to the leisure of plying a spindle and choosing jewelry,” the châtelain retorted crisply, clearly unpersuaded. “They are
men
, my lady.”

Eglantine shook her head. “Surely you recall my father's insistence that I could succeed at any task as well as a man.”

“Aye, I remember.” Louis coughed delicately into his hand. “But I would wager that he did not expect you to believe it.” His gaze met hers, sudden humor gleaming there.

Eglantine laughed. “We shall manage, Louis, I shall ensure it.”

“With respect, my lady, it may not be your choice.”

Eglantine squared her shoulders, knowing she would prove all these men wrong. “You are right about our need for suitable seed, of course, and similarly about our ignorance of this place. But that does not mean that there is naught to be done about it.”

“God in heaven, my lady, what do you mean to do now?” Exasperation tinged the châtelain's tone, but Eglantine was undeterred.

“We shall use the resources at hand, of course.” Eglantine pursed her lips, disliking that she should require any favor from the likes of Duncan but knowing there was no choice. She cast a bright smile at Louis. “I shall seek advice from those who do survive in these parts.”

“It appears that you shall shortly have your opportunity,” he muttered darkly.

Eglantine turned, only to find Duncan and his party of men converging upon her household's line for stew. They had their own bowls and spoons, they looked unlikely to be swayed from their course. Gunther and Gerhard glared at the men disapprovingly, to no discernible effect.

Indeed, Duncan stared outright at Eglantine, as though he would dare her to deny his men the meal. They were not the most reputable looking troupe, and indeed, Eglantine already knew their leader to be both bold and troublesome.

Alienor, already near the stewpot, giggled as a fair-haired man behind Duncan eyed her appraisingly. The girl flushed and sidled closer to him, as though she would tempt Eglantine to throttle her.

Indeed, Alienor had competition for that honor in this moment, for Duncan halted a few paces away to address Eglantine.

“My lady countess,” he declared, executing a flawless bow. “We gladly accept your invitation to join your meal.”

“Invitation?” Louis echoed from slightly behind her, but Eglantine had no time to explain.

She picked up her skirts and marched toward the infuriating rogue. Before the meal was consumed, she would have answers to Louis' questions and a guarantee of Duncan's immediate departure.

Eglantine would gladly pay for both with a measure of rabbit stew.

* * *

The countess was magnificent.

Aye, Eglantine's eyes flashed as she strode toward Duncan, all fire and steely purpose. She ignored her sodden garments and her hood had fallen back.

But her hair, 'twas her hair that stole Duncan's breath away. She had abandoned her veil over the course of this day, and her hair hung behind her, ostensibly braided but already escaping its bounds. 'Twas indeed blond, of a hue of heavy honey.

A thousand small curls surrounded the countess' flushed cheeks, the wavy nature of her tresses was untamed. The misty rain seemed only to heighten her femininity, to make her skin glow as though 'twere kissed by dew, to coax the loose tendrils of her hair to curl. Her beauty touched Duncan deep inside, even as he recounted all the reasons he should be indifferent to her allure.

But Duncan stared, unwelcome desire heating his blood. His mouth went dry. He found his heart pounding, but told himself 'twas only because he expected a merry battle. He folded his arms across his chest and held his ground.

She halted before him, flinging her skirts to the ground with impatience even as she granted him a look that would kill a lesser man. “You, sir, are insolent beyond belief.”

Duncan stifled a chuckle. “Me?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

“Aye, you!” The lady lifted a brow regally. “You know full well that I did not invite you to join our meal, just as you know that 'twould be beyond rude for me to deny you hospitality now that you have joined us.”

“But fortunately for me and my men, you were raised a noblewoman and your manners are far finer than mine.” Duncan tapped his finger upon the tip of her nose. She did not so much as flinch, though her gaze began to simmer. “I know this, for you have explained it to me just this very morn.”

Eglantine regarded him warily, as though uncertain whether he mocked her. “And as you are hungered, you would take advantage of my courtesy.”

“You came close to inviting us.”

Anger tinged her words. “But I did
not
do so.”

Their gazes locked for a long hot moment. Again, Duncan was assailed with curiosity, the desire to know what she would grant abed—and what she would demand in return.

“I should let you starve,” she said with low heat. “I should make you watch us lick the pot clean, like dogs forbidden to beg from the board.” Her eyes had darkened to a deep emerald hue.

Determined to provoke, Duncan could not abandon such an opportunity. “Even a barbarian can imagine a finer use for a lady's tongue,” he murmured suggestively.

The countess pinkened slightly, but did not demurely drop her gaze as he might have expected. Nay, she was wrought of sterner stuff than the others he had met. Despite himself, Duncan admired her.

“You will not shock me with lewd commentary,” she muttered.

A raven-hued demoiselle giggled before Duncan could reply, and Eglantine pivoted to cast a quelling look toward the girl. She ignored the countess and Duncan watched Eglantine's lips thin with disapproval.

He might as well have disappeared from her side, but Duncan would not be so readily dismissed as that. He snared a loose tendril of Eglantine's hair before she could pursue the girl, and wound it proprietarily around his finger. Duncan heard the lady's breath catch at his boldness, but he had pledged to drive her away with his touch, after all.

“'Twas not my intent to shock you,” he murmured, letting his finger slide along the curve of her cheek.

Her eyes widened, but she did not move away. He watched the light play in the gold of her hair, then eased that curl behind her ear, letting his fingertips trail over her flesh. She trembled slightly, the crimson hue of her cheeks revealing her awareness of him even as she stared after the demoiselle.

Duncan bent to whisper against her cheek. “I sought only to learn whether we were of like mind in this. What would you give, Eglantine, to be rid of me? What might I give you, to persuade you to be gone? Or truly, could we create an alliance that would serve us both well?”

His words seem to prompt her to action. “Rogue!” she cried and stepped back, that alluring fire burning anew in her gaze. “I will not cede to your base desires—” Her gaze flicked back over the assembly before she could continue, then she shook a finger in the air. “
Alienor
!”

Duncan spun to find the demoiselle standing very close to Iain. That man looked far from innocent, though this Alienor's expression was defiant when she turned.

“You will stay away from these men, as I have repeatedly bidden you,” Eglantine insisted and marched in pursuit of her errant charge. Duncan wondered what relation was between the women, for 'twas clear Eglantine felt responsible for the girl's behavior. She caught the girl's arm and urged her away from Duncan's men, her head bent toward the girl as she chided her.

When the girl was safely surrounded by a cluster of maids, that group given emphatic instruction from the countess, the countess returned to Duncan's side with purpose in her stride.

Her exasperation was more than clear.

“They must all leave, this very day.” She fixed a determined glance upon Duncan. “Departure of your party is the price of the stew.”

Duncan did not care for this change of events. “Nay!”

“Then you shall not partake of the meal.” The lady lifted her hand and gave rapid instructions to her cook. Iain offered his bowl, but the cook put the lid firmly on the pot. Iain swore and reached for the lid, the man beside the cook hastily drew a blade.

Duncan watched his men, being denied a hot meal that was directly before them. A quick survey revealed that their allegiance to him wavered anew. Iain made a sour comment, the content of which Duncan could not hear, though he watched the ranks of his men part in two once more. They all looked to him expectantly.

Curse the lady for this trick!

Duncan scowled at Eglantine. “Do not refuse them a meal at this moment, whether they be barbarians to you or nay. 'Twould be uncharitable.”

She sniffed. “I have surrendered enough alms on this journey and now must protect my own.”

“'Twould be cruel not to share.”

“'Tis foolish to feed beggars and dogs, lest they linger.”

Duncan felt his lips tighten. “They are men and you know it well.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If I share, you and your men shall depart immediately after the meal.”

Duncan scoffed. “Ceinn-beithe for a meal? You place a high value upon this stew.”

Eglantine's eyes twinkled unexpectedly and Duncan was intrigued that her temper fled as swiftly as his own was wont to do. “I have great faith in the capabilities of my cook and baker. I grant you my assurance that the bread is most fine.”

“Well, Duncan?” Iain cried in Gael. “Are we merely to salivate while you ogle the woman?”