LORD OF DUNKEATHE (14 page)

They clearly had as little respect for women as Sir Nicholas, and were likely just as full of base animal desire.

She kept walking until she got to the market square. She scanned the people milling about and looking at the items for sale.

She couldn't see Uncle Fergus anywhere. She walked a little way through the market, avoiding going near the archer who was still in the stocks. She passed the tavern—full of happy
revellers
, it seemed—as well as the chandler's stall, the baker's, the wool merchant's and several other stalls, all before she decided it would be better for her to await Uncle Fergus back at the castle. As she waited, she could pack their things ready to leave at dawn tomorrow.

As she returned the way she'd come, she glanced down the alley between the butcher and the baker. Two people were standing close together, whispering and gendy kissing like two young lovers.

It was her uncle and Fredella.

Feeling as if she'd been caught eavesdropping, Riona stumbled back and immediately hurried away.

Losh, she knew Uncle Fergus liked Fredella, and while she'd discussed their marriage that very morning with Eleanor, seeing them together forced her to realize just how much Uncle Fergus cared for Fredella. He might very well want to stay until they were wed.

Perhaps Uncle Fergus could stay while she returned to Glencleith. The sheep could be his excuse. Yes, surely, somehow, Uncle Fergus could remain and she could think of an excuse for leaving on her own. Something about the household, maybe. Something she'd forgotten to tell Kenneth...

The tavern door opened, nearly hitting her. As she came to a gasping halt, Sir Percival came staggering into her path.

Grinning like a death's head, the drunken nobleman straightened. Given his
dishevelled
hair and clothing, she suspected he'd been doing more than drinking.

Before she could go on her way, he stepped in front of her and blocked her path. "Well, well, well, what have we here?"

She went to go around him. "Pardon me, my lord, but I have things to do."

He grabbed her arm to halt her. "Important things, are they?"

"Yes. Now you'd better let me go or—"

"Or what?" he said with a leering smile as he pulled her closer. "You'll scream?"

Did this skinny, overdressed dandy think he could intimidate her? What a fool! "Or you'll regret it."

"You're fortunate I find women who present a challenge so exciting, else I could get angry. I've heard the Scots are a proud and feisty people. I admire spirit," he said as he started to pull her into a narrow alley that reeked of piss and dung between the tavern and the chandler's stall next to it.

"We're a good deal more than that," she said, making no effort to halt their progress. Although he had a sword and probably a dagger, she wasn't the least bit afraid. She'd been taught to defend herself and was quite ready to do so, and he was so drunk, he could hardly stand.

"You're damned fetching, too," he said, pushing her back against the wall.

His stinking breath hot on her face, he leaned forward to kiss her.

"And we're not afraid to hurt blackguards like you," she retorted as she grabbed his shoulders and
swiftly
raised her knee, hitting him hard.

He groaned and, clutching at his crotch, staggered backward. "I'm going to tell Sir Nicholas about you, you...!"

"Please do," she replied, keeping her eyes on him as she backed toward the entrance to the alley. "Tell him all about it. How you were drinking and wenching in the village after the hunt and then lustfully pulled me into an alley and tried to kiss me.

"Or are you going to say I set upon you with no provocation?" she inquired as Percival's face reddened. "That I just went wild and attacked you for no reason? I'd take care what you say to Sir Nicholas about me, for if you imply that I behaved wantonly, I'll tell him exactly what happened. Who do you think he'll believe?"

"He doesn't like the Scots any more than I do, you stupid whore!" Percival cried, lunging for her.

She was sober and he was drunk, so it was easy to
neatly
sidestep him. He went sprawling in the mud and whatever else was on the ground.

"I'm willing to say nothing of this disgusting incident, but if you ever come near me again, I'll go to Sir Nicholas and tell him everything," she said, mindful of Uncle Fergus, and what he might do if he heard of Sir Percival's unwelcome advances.

Percival was a fool and easily defeated when he was drunk, but he had surely been trained to use his weapons, and in a fight, sober, against her uncle, he might be able to do serious harm.

"You'd better keep away from the servants, too. Sir Nicholas takes a very dim view of men who try to seduce them."

As Percival struggled to his feet, she hurried off, back to the castle to pack her things.

Tomorrow, she would gladly leave this place and not look back.

KEEPING A WARY EYE on her cousin, Eleanor watched as he staggered about her well-appointed chamber like an enraged and caged beast. In one hand, he held a wineskin that he'd nearly emptied. His wet hair hung limply around his face and she'd heard him drunkenly shouting at one of the servants to take away his clothes and burn them. He had washed after his fall in the village and was once again well-dressed in costly attire. Unfortunately, the wine and his fetid breath overpowered the perfume he'd liberally sprinkled on himself.

"You'll not speak t' her or that uncle of hers, and neither 'ill Fredella, d'you hear me?" Percival charged, slurring his words and sending
spitted
flying as he paused to glare at Eleanor. "You stay away from 'em! I only tola.. .tollerrr.. .tolerated 'em 'cause Nicholas seems t' like that oaf."

He wiped his chin, then took another gulp of wine.

Eleanor clasped her hands and pleaded, "Surely there's no harm

"Are you deaf?" Percival shouted, waving the wineskin at her, his face reddening. "I said you can't speak to 'em and you'd better bloody well do as I say!"

He took another drink from the wineskin, his fifth since coming to her chamber, and he stumbled into her small table, rocking it and sending a clay vessel of soap crashing to the floor. Eleanor stood still, too terrified of her enraged cousin to even try to pick up the pieces.

"She's prob'ly not even a lady—they prob'ly forged that parchment her uncle showed Sir Nicholas's steward, and that Robert's too stupid to see it."

He sat heavily on the end of Eleanor's bed, and his head fell forward, his shoulders slumped.

"But if Sir Nicholas likes them..." Eleanor ventured, daring to hope his tirade was over.

Percival raised his head and glared at her with his bleary, bloodshot eyes. "I still don' want you talking to those two. You should be talking t' Nicholas and doing everything you can to get him. That's why we came, not so you could be friendly to savages who wear skirts and have ugly nieces."

"But Percival," Eleanor implored, "I can't force Sir Nicholas to like me. If he doesn't want me, what can I do?"

Percival rose unsteadily. "You can make him like you."

"I'm trying but—"

"The hell y'are!" he retorted, shaking the wineskin at her.

"Percival, please." She spread her hands in supplication. "I'm doing all I can—"

"Do more!" her cousin roared before he drained the wineskin and tossed it aside.

"I don't think I could ever be happy with such a man."

"Happy?" her cousin screeched.

With a snarl, he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her backward onto the bed. "Happy?" he shouted. "Did anybody ask me if I'd be happy you were left on my hands?"

He shoved once more, then pushed himself away. "If you weren't pretty, I'd've packed you off to a convent by now. Maybe I should. Maybe I will."

Coughing, she stared up at him. His expression was as fiendish as a gargoyle.

"If you don' do as I say, Eleanor, I'm goin' send you t'a convent—in the most remote place I can find. I'll tell the nuns you're a lewd, wanton wench and ought t' be kept under strict watch. By God, I'll tell them to wall you up in a cell to keep you away from men—don't think I won't!"

Holding her throat, sure he meant it, sure he could and would do what he said, Eleanor envisioned spending the rest of her life in such imprisonment and started to cry.

"I'll try to do better," she sobbed, her breath coming in great gasps, unable to look at her cousin's cruel face. "I'll try to talk to him. I'll try to persuade him to marry me. But if I can't.. .if he chooses another..." She slid down onto the floor, kneeling at Percival's feet, her hands clasped as she pleaded. "Please don't send me to such a place, Percival. Please! I'll die!"

He only scowled at her the more. "Then see that he picks you, you useless cow."

He staggered out of her chamber, slamming the door behind him and leaving Eleanor weeping on the floor.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AS THE SERVANTS began to clear away the remains of the evening meal, Lord Chesleigh turned to Nicholas with a smile that reminded Nicholas of a toad.

He was regretting inviting the remaining nobles to take their turn seated at the high table. Before, he could enjoy his meals in relative peace, perusing the occupants of the hall as he wished. Now, he had the talkative, boastful Lord Chesleigh on his left, and his daughter, who at least wasn't so inclined to talk, to the more
honour
ed right-hand side.

"After that fine meal, what say you to some dancing, my lord?" Lord Chesleigh suggested.

Before he replied, Nicholas subdued the urge to survey those in his hall once more to see if Lady Riona had come after all. He could guess why she hadn't, especially since her uncle wasn't there, either. They were probably packing their things, determined to leave in the morning. Later, they'd probably tell every Scot they knew about the lascivious, sinful Sir Nicholas who'd set out to sully a virtuous lass's
honour
.

So much for any hope that he'd ever be accepted in this country. It had been a faint one, but he had
harboured
it, especially

since he'd come to accept his sister's marriage to Adair Mac Taran.

"An excellent proposal," he replied to the nobleman, hoping he didn't make a fool of himself. "And you, Lady Joscelind?" he politely inquired of the beauty beside him. "Would you care to dance?"

"I would enjoy it
very
much, my lord," she answered, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it, and her eyes demurely lowered.

Did she really think he could forget the forcefulness of her voice in the courtyard when she'd ordered him to unload her baggage? Maybe she thought her beauty and her father's wealth and power would be sufficient to make him forget.

Perhaps he'd have to overlook that
behaviour
because of the rewards such a bride would bring.

"I'd like to refresh myself first," she said. "If I may."

"Of course. I shall eagerly await your return."

Lady Joscelind gracefully rose. She looked down the hall,
silently signalling
her maidservant to attend her.

Nicholas followed her gaze, then once more scanned the hall. His noble guests appeared well fed and generally happy, several of the men still excited by the hunt. Robert sat between Lady Priscilla

and Audric, across from Sir George and a very annoyed looking Lady Eloise.

The Scots thane and Lady Eleanor's maidservant weren't there, either, although Eleanor was, looking rather pale. Perhaps she was a sickly sort—one reason he could give Percival not to wed her, should that prove necessary.

Nicholas gestured for the maidservant nearest to come closer. It was Polly, the one who was going to marry Thomas and had been so grateful for the small dowry he'd given her to allow that to happen soon, he feared she'd swoon when he told her. "Tell Robert I wish to speak to him, and I want the tables taken down."

She nodded and hurried off to do as she was bid.

"Very pretty wench," Lord Chesleigh remarked.

"She's betrothed to my head shepherd," Nicholas replied, his tone containing a mild warning.

"So I heard. My daughter told me something of that, and I understand you gave her a dowry?"

Nicholas regarded the nobleman with an inquiring look, although he probably shouldn't be so surprised that such news had traveled so quickly. He wondered if Lady Riona had heard it, and if that mollified her anger any.

"Not that I blame you, my lord," Lord Chesleigh continued with a sly and knowing smile. "She seems quite.. .entertaining."

"I don't sport with my maidservants."

Lord Chesleigh
coloured
at Nicholas's brusquely spoken words. "So I was given to understand. But you must admit the dowry suggests—"

"The dowry was a gift to encourage her to marry and get out of my
castle
, lest she be seduced by men who ought to know better."