LORD OF DUNKEATHE (20 page)

"I'll do it," Riona said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd best get to the kitchen and see what remains to be done for tonight's meal."

As she marched away, determined to show Nicholas, Lady Joscelind and anybody else that if she wasn't pretty or young or rich or from a powerful family, she wasn't completely useless, Nicholas went to the buckets by the wall. He found one that wasn't empty and dumped what was left of the cold water on his head.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A SHORT TIME LATER, Robert stared at his master seated in the solar.

"Alfred has gone?" he repeated with a combination of shock, dismay and concern, "and you've asked Lady Riona to take charge of the kitchen?"

"Yes," Nicholas replied, trying to make it sound as if this was something not at all odd or out of the ordinary, although it was certainly both.

Yet what else could he do, with Alfred gone and guests still in Dunkeathe? He needed someone to supervise the kitchen, and it couldn't be him, or Robert, either. His steward had enough to do without that additional burden. Instead, he'd immediately turned to Riona, as he would ask a trusted comrade to take over command of his men in battle. Perhaps he should have taken more
time
to think about this decision, but he didn't regret it.

"I must point out, my lord, that Alfred's a most excellent cook. I've had many compliments on your behalf for the fine table and he keeps a tight rein on the costs and now that he knows you don't approve of his methods—"

"He beat the spit boy," Nicholas reiterated, in a tone intended to convey, once and for all, that there would be no second chances after that.

Robert flushed and shuffled his feet. "My lord, if I had known, I assure you, I would have—"

"You knew nothing of what was going on in the kitchen?"

Robert's blush deepened and he didn't meet Nicholas's gaze. "No, I didn't, my lord, to my shame. I should have paid more heed to the way Alfred was treating his underlings."

Nicholas nodded. "Yes, you should—and so should I. It should not have fallen to a guest to inform us of Alfred's brutality. I want you to make it clear, Robert, that from now on, I will not countenance such treatment of any servant in my household, no matter how humble he or she may be."

"Yes, my lord." Robert cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, some of the other guests might wonder about this, um, selection of Lady Riona. They'll surely think that's a mark of your
favour
and take it as a sign of your intention to give her that place permanently, as your wife."

"Since Lady Riona's uncle claims she has many years experience in that regard, I thought I would give her a chance to prove it. I'll also give the other ladies the same opportunity to demonstrate that they're capable of running my household."

Robert eyes widened. "As a sort of test, my lord?"

"
Exactly
." He rubbed his chin. "And I've asked Lady Riona to supervise the preparation of something Marianne's husband will like. He's always complaining about Norman dishes."

Robert looked shocked. "He's never said a word to me about that, my lord."

"It's nothing," Nicholas said, waving his hand dismissively. "I think Adair enjoys trying to annoy me. If it wasn't the food, it'd be something else." Nicholas gave his steward a hint of a smile. "So this time, I'll provide him with food he should enjoy and see if I'm right."

A relieved Robert grinned, then sobered. "I do hope Lady Riona's abilities haven't been overestimated by her uncle."

From what he had already seen of her relationship with the servants and even his soldiers, Nicholas didn't think they had. In some ways, she reminded him of Sir Leonard, who'd trained him after he'd left the vicious Yves's command. Sir Leonard could drink and wench and tell stories with the men he trained, yet none ever forgot who was the master, and who the student.

He'd never expected to find that quality in a woman.

As for her comments on his methods of training his men, he didn't need her advice about that.

Yet Sir Leonard sometimes gave out praise. Nicholas particularly remembered one rainy day, when he was cold and wet and miserable and despairing he would ever be able to wield a lance. Sir Leonard had taken him aside and told him that although he would probably never be as good as some of the others— something it had galled him to hear—he was doing better every time.

"You can't expect to be the best at everything," Sir Leonard had said. "Settle for being the best at one, and adequate at the others. Your strength is in your sword arm, not aiming a lance or swinging a mace. All you have to do is get your man to the ground, where you can use your sword." Then he'd given Nicholas one of his rare, sardonic smiles. "Just don't let your opponent kill you first."

The door to the solar burst open, and a very irate Lord Chesleigh strode into the room, followed by a scowling Sir Percival and an equally annoyed D'Anglevoix. Audric came last, although he looked less angry and more puzzled than the others.

"Is this true, my lord?" Lord Chesleigh demanded as he came to a halt, arms akimbo, utterly ignoring Robert. "Have you set that woman.. .that Scot.. .Fiona or Rianne or whatever her name is.. .in charge of your household?"

Nicholas rose as courtesy required, yet in a way that should have instantly told Lady Joscelind's father that his host wasn't inclined to look with
favour
on a man who stormed into his solar. Meanwhile, Robert sidled back into a corner.

"Lady Riona is temporarily in charge of my kitchen," Nicholas replied evenly as he came around his table.

"What, will we have to eat that stuff those Scots make out of oats?" D'Anglevoix asked in his frostiest, most patrician manner. "God, it's perfectly vile."

Lord Chesleigh shot the man a disgusted look. "It's not the food we're here to discuss," he snapped. "Am I to understand by this, my lord, that you've made your choice for your bride?"

"Yes, have you picked?" Percival seconded, looking far from pleased.

"No, I have not," Nicholas replied. "Lady Riona had a confrontation with my cook over his management of the servants, with the result that the cook has left Dunkeathe. I needed someone to take charge of my kitchen, and for now, it's going to be Lady Riona. After that, the other ladies will take their turn."

Now Audric wasn't the only one who looked puzzled.

"You see, gentlemen, I require a wife capable of running my household in a calm, efficient manner," Nicholas explained, "and this will allow me to be certain of my bride's qualifications in that respect."

Lord Chesleigh's eyes lit up, while Percival frowned. D'Anglevoix looked down his aquiline nose as if this was simply

beneath his second cousin, and Audric appeared very worried indeed.

"Does anyone have any objections?" Nicholas asked. "If you do and you don't wish your relative to supervise my kitchen, you are, of course, free to take your leave." He smiled with his lips and spread his arms. "But I do hope you can understand. I'm a soldier, with
little
knowledge of domestic matters. My household, and all the expenses it requires, will be completely in my wife's hands. I wouldn't want to discover I'd married a woman who couldn't handle that responsibility."

"I assure you, Sir Nicholas," Lord Chesleigh declared, "that Joscelind will prove she's not only beaudful, she's very capable of managing a nobleman's household."

"Lavinia will prove herself, as well," D'Anglevoix vowed.

The silent Audric started biting his nails. Nicholas suspected he was envisioning his sister's chance to marry the lord of Dunkeathe disappearing like so much smoke in a brisk breeze.

"Well, /don't think that's right or just," Percival huffed. "Your wife won't be in the kitchen cooking, will she? You'll be hiring another cook, won't you?"

"Yes, I will, but as I said, I want to know my bride is capable of ruling my household."

"If you think your cousin isn't up to it, Percival," Lord Chesleigh said, "perhaps you should cut and run before she embarrasses you with her failure."

"Eleanor won't fail," Percival replied angrily. Then he marched out of the room.

Audric bowed and followed him,
still
without saying a word.

Lord Chesleigh sighed and shook his head and gave Nicholas a sympathetic smile. "Poor Percival is such a hothead," he said. "And his cousin is even less mature."

"Lady Eleanor is a pretty girl,"
D'Anglevoix noted, "yet prettiness
can be no match for experience. Lavinia's mother was a most excellent chatelaine, and I'm sure Lavinia will be the same."

"I look forward to having that opinion borne out," Nicholas said with a polite little bow.

Lord Chesleigh gave D'Anglevoix a patronizing smile. "Yes, we'll find out how capable she is, won't we?"

Again, Nicholas had the sensation he was trying to hold off opposing armies—or that such a task would actually be easier. "Now, my lords, if no one has any objections, I have a few other matters of some importance to discuss with my steward."

"Of course," Lord Chesleigh said, turning to leave.

D'Anglevoix nodded his farewell, and strolled from the room after Lord Chesleigh.

Robert slowly let his breath out as he came forward. "That went better than I anticipated," he admitted. "I thought Lord Chesleigh might find the idea of a competition insulting."

"Not when he's sure Joscelind will win," Nicholas replied.

"Ah, my lord, here you are!" a voice proclaimed with a familiar Scots lilt. Fergus Mac Gordon came bustling into the solar, a bundle of indigo-blue wool shot through with scarlet in his hands.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Robert said, moving to intercept the jovial Scotsman.

"Not unless you're going to plan the wedding," Fergus Mac Gordon replied, laughing.

He put the bundle down on the table in front of Nicholas, gave it a pat, stepped back, crossed his arms and beamed at the Norman. "There you go. My wedding present to the groom. The finest feileadh and shirt in Glencleith, except my own. Although I must say, my lord, I thought you'd ask my permission first. Just a formality, of course, but I am her uncle."

The Scot winked as if they were sharing a great joke. "There's no point keeping it a secret."

Nicholas knew he should tell the man the truth, that Riona would never be his choice, and yet, the words didn't come. "I fear, sir, that if you or anybody else thinks I've made my decision, you're mistaken."

The little man stopped smiling. His face fell, and Nicholas nearly squirmed beneath his dismayed gaze. "Then you mean to say it's like Riona said? She's only helping for a little while? I thought she was just being modest."

"All the young ladies are going to be given the same opportunity, as a means for me to determine if they're capable of running my household."

"Ah!" the Scot cried, his happiness
apparently
completely restored. He rubbed his hands together like a man about to tuck into a fine meal. "A test, is it? What a clever fellow you are! But you mark my words, my lord, Riona will win. It won't even be close. You'll see. She's got a way with the servants—aye and the purse strings. She doesn't think I know just how clever with the coins she is, but she's kept us in food and drink during some rough winters." He winked at Robert. "Between your clever steward here and your wife, you'll wind up a rich and happy man."

However appalled Robert was by Mac Gordon's familiar manner, he seemed quite pleased by the compliment.

Realizing with a twinge of guilt that he'd never praised Robert's efforts, Nicholas leaned forward and pushed the bundle

toward Mac Gordon. "Regardless of what happens, you should keep this until I announce my choice."

Holding up his hands as if the cloth had burst into flames, the older man shook his head and, laughing more, backed away. "There's no need. You'll see, my lord. You'll not find a better manager in all of
Scotland
. Or a more clever, bonnier bride. So you keep the feileadh and shirt for when you need them."

With another wink, he was gone.

God save him, the man was like some sort of gnome. A stubborn, amusing,
sprightly
gnome.

"Does he really think you'll ever wear a feileadh?" Robert wondered aloud.

Nicholas could hardly see himself wearing that skirted garment, either. He had gotten used to it on the Scots, but he couldn't envision himself striding around Dunkeathe with bare knees. So he shook his head as he undid the bit of rope holding the bundle together, to reveal a white linen shirt and a long length of very fine, soft wool woven in a square pattern.

"That's a lot of cloth," Robert observed.

Nicholas did the bundle up again. "Which I'll never wear," he said as he carried it over to the chest that held all the rolls and records of the estate. He opened the lid and moved around

parchments, then placed the bundle in the bottom. "There it'll stay
until
it's time for the man and his niece to leave."

"Then you really don't consider Lady Riona a possible bride?"