She shared her mother’s coloring and Duncan suspected Eglantine’s beauty had been much the same at this age. But where Eglantine was tall and slender, Jacqueline was all lush curves and stood only as high as her mother’s shoulder. She was clearly in the first stages of womanhood and clumsy with the changes.
“She is lovely,” he murmured, his hand falling to the back of Eglantine’s waist. “As beautiful and gracious as her mother.”
But Eglantine’s maternal smile faded, her gaze flicking over the company of men. “I hope ’twill not bring her more trouble,” she murmured enigmatically. Before Duncan could ask, her gaze rose and she frowned.
Duncan followed her glance to Alienor who hung back, her expression sullen. How Duncan wished he could unmake the nuisance this one had contrived! She and Eglantine shared a glance, until Alienor tossed her hair and stomped away.
“I did not touch her, Eglantine,” Duncan muttered, his annoyance at the fore once more.
“So you have pledged,” the lady ceded, her tone neutral.
“Aye, but do you believe that vow?” he demanded impatiently.
Eglantine pursed her lips. “Her manner is not inconsistent with that of a liar.” ’Twas a small concession, but more than Duncan had expected without proof. She flicked a glance his way before he could feel victorious. “’Tis not enough, for her future relies upon this matter.”
“My lady, I would speak with you,” Louis declared, coughing soundly after his words. Indeed, the man did not sound hale as yet and Duncan regretted that he had fallen ill.
Would Eglantine hold him accountable for this, as well?
But the lady evidently did not. She smiled for the older man. “Your counsel was good, Louis, and I heartily appreciate it.” Eglantine seized the châtelain’s elbow and led him toward the camp. “And though I am certain that you have accomplished much in your journey to the king’s court and have much news to share, ’twill keep. On this day, you must ensure your own health, which I understand has suffered greatly in your loyal service.”
Eglantine had a company escorting the châtelain toward the fire before he knew what he was about, his croaking protests no match for her efficiency. Duncan grinned, enjoying the sight of that man being briskly dispatched at his lady’s bidding.
“A hot broth is what he needs and soundly to bed.” Eglantine pivoted and lifted a hand. “Gunther, is there a drop of eau-de-vie left? I imagine Louis has need of its heat and perhaps a warm stone wrapped in his bed.”
Little Esmeraude, to Duncan’s delight, came directly to him and took his hand. “Do you have a song?” she asked hopefully. “No one sings for me any more.”
Duncan smiled down at the child, pleased to find favor somewhere in this company. “Aye, I have a song for you, Esmeraude. This night will be filled with tales and songs, unless I miss my guess, perhaps even enough to grant your fill.”
She grinned and gripped his hand expectantly, her trust and acceptance touching him. “Now?”
But Duncan was to taste his lady’s efficiency as well. “Not now, Esmeraude. First, Duncan must change his garb,” Eglantine said crisply.
“I will dry,” Duncan protested, guessing he would lose this battle.
He earned a sharp look for his trouble. “There is bite in the wind and ’twould not do for any to fall ill this day.”
“I have naught else to wear.”
“Then something suitable will be found.” Eglantine paused to take a breath and survey the company, and a heartbeat later, she had dispatched vassals to arrange appropriate seating and refreshment for the visiting king.
Gerhard had scampered away to arrange the finest meal of which he and Gunther were capable on such short notice, maids were moving the belongings of Alienor back into the tent with Jacqueline so that silk tent could be pitched at a suitable distance to house the visiting king. Eglantine had moved her vassals into the recently completed hall, ensuring their comfort before her own as Duncan knew was typical of the lady. At her bidding, fires were stoked and hot brews were poured, the visitors made welcome and dry clothing was brought for Duncan.
The company, in the twinkling of an eye, was a blur of activity, all under the direction of Eglantine. The lady showed no signs of changing her own garb, and Duncan waited, intent on ensuring her good health as vigorously as she ensured his.
Indeed, it had been a long time since any had cared whether he fell ill. Even her brisk concern cast a warm glow around Duncan’s heart—’twas not all bad being one of Eglantine’s responsibilities. ’Twas progress and he would savor it as such.
“I should keep a tight hold upon this one,” Gillemore muttered once he and Duncan had greeted each other again.
Duncan smiled and tightened his fingers around Esmeraude’s as his conviction strengthened a hundred times. “Aye, Gillemore, I intend to do so.”
* * *
A wedding feast! Alienor could have spit in frustration even as the festivities unfolded around her. How like Eglantine to ruin everything, and that at Alienor’s expense. She stamped her feet as she strode through the company, making disruptions wherever she could.
She kicked a vessel of new ale on her way past, and ignored the cries of dismay behind her as it spilled. She bumped her hip against a table of fresh bread, more than satisfied when two dark loaves fell to the ground. She surreptitiously tripped a servant, who hastened with such a burden of mugs that he could not see his feet. For that, Alienor turned and feigned dismay that he had “tripped”.
These deeds did naught to assuage her temper. Eglantine had always hated Alienor, the girl knew it well, and truly who would not be jealous of Alienor’s beauty and charm?
’Twas loathsome how her aged crone of a step-mother snatched the only man of merit in these parts, even after all her claims that she would ensure her daughters wed great men. Ha! Typically, Eglantine was selfish in ensuring her own bed was warm first.
Alienor huffed. Eglantine might have stolen Duncan away but Alienor would see that match did not endure. She was not entirely certain what she might do, not with Duncan’s gaze fixed upon Eglantine with such enthusiasm, but she would do something.
There had to be some way to see her ends achieved. She watched the new arrivals with a scowl, earning an answering glare from one of them. He was tall and not too hard upon the eyes, though he was even more ancient than Eglantine and far too ancient to be granting her such a look. Alienor lifted her chin and glared back at him for his cheek.
“Alienor!” Jacqueline chided, so close beside her that Alienor jumped. “’Tis vulgar of you to stare so boldly at the king.”
“King? What king?”
Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Do you listen to naught around you? That is Dugall, lord King of the Isles, come to witness the handfast of Maman and Duncan. Is it not wondrously romantic?” Jacqueline danced, her expression dreamy. “I knew Maman had a fancy for someone, for there have been stars in her eyes from our first arrival. Now we know not only that ’tis Duncan, but that he loves her as well. And Theobald’s letter did declare that Kinbeath granted good fortune to those handfasts pledged upon its site. Would it not be wondrous if ’twere so?”
A king? That word alone snared Alienor’s attention.
A king was far better than a mere chieftain, even a king of whom no one had ever heard. To be sure, he was not the king of France, or even of Sicily, but he must be a prince among men. And she was not likely to have many kings from whom to choose in this wretched place.
The first inkling of a plan came to Alienor and she held the king’s interested gaze, letting a coy smile slip over her lips. For an aged king, he was not so bad in appearance—indeed, he might be infirm and never demand more than her hand upon his knee.
Surely a king would shower his bride with riches and jewels? Such finery would be worth even his gnarled hands upon her! He murmured something to one of his men, then smiled at Alienor, lifting his chalice in silent salute.
Typically oblivious of such adult
subtleties, Jacqueline sighed contentment. “Perhaps he will make her happy.”
“Who?” Alienor eyed Jacqueline without comprehension. “Who will make who happy?”
Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “Perhaps Duncan will make Maman happy. In all honesty, Alienor, there are times when you might be as deaf as a stone. Now, hasten yourself. Your belongings are to be moved, that your tent might be granted for the pleasure of the king.”
Alienor laughed lightly, knowing that ’twould be more than her tent granted to that man’s pleasure. Aye, she had erred in not seeing the matter completed afore with Duncan.
She would not make the same mistake again. She waved to the king when Jacqueline turned away, knowing full well that his gaze followed her departure. There was a bounce in her step as she dreamed of her pending life as Queen of the Isles.
There was a title with a fitting resonance for her.
* * *
Eglantine could not have imagined that a man clad in Gunther’s best—though still well-worn—boots, an old tabard of Louis’ that was too narrow through the shoulders for him and a pair of chausses cut for a man much greater in breadth could have made her heart pound.
But Duncan did. He looked as ruggedly masculine as ever, his borrowed garb doing naught to diminish his appeal. His belt and scabbard still hung around his hips, his hair was still wild. And his smile made Eglantine catch her breath. He would never be a courtier, even in the finest garb to be had, for there was an air of a renegade about him that could not be disguised.
She would be wise to be wary of his charms.
But Eglantine was surprised to realize that she preferred Duncan in his usual garments, however unfamiliar and barbaric she had once thought them to be. They suited him better. She felt denied the sight of his strong bare legs and that thought made her smile.
They would make an odd pair, she realized too late to make a difference, for she had donned her finest for this feast. ’Twas worth the effort to see the flame light in Duncan’s eyes. He stood tall and straight as he waited for her, indifferent to the change of his garb, only a glimmer of doubt in his eyes when Eglantine took his hand.
“Do not tell me I have dressed in the wrong order,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “I must look more a beggar than a bridegroom. Or a bard playing favor to the bride.”
“Nay, not so bad as that.”
“Not even beside such finery as this?” He bent and kissed her fingertips with a flair that few noblemen could match. His gaze was warm. “You look most elegant, Eglantine.”
Her intent to steel herself against him was failing miserably, though Eglantine fought to hide her response. She guessed that Duncan noted the flutter of her pulse at her throat and had no doubt he discerned that she had taken care with her appearance. He most assuredly concluded ’twas for his benefit.
He would not be far wrong if he did. Certainly he was responsible for the flush in her cheeks. “It seemed fitting for the company of a king.”
“Indeed.” He smiled. “Then I shall make my gratitude to the king known, for his presence has supplied me with a most winsome lady by my side.”
Eglantine pulled her hand from his. “I said nay, Duncan.”
His lips thinned, his gaze hardening. “And you have my pledge that I shall take naught which is not freely offered. I am a man of my word, Eglantine, whatever you might choose to believe to the contrary.” With that, he placed her hand upon his elbow with undue ceremony and led her to the board.
Eglantine could not help but feel she had been unfair.
’Twas not the finest wedding feast ever seen. Their meal was simple and they had only thin ale with which to celebrate. This King Dugall looked skeptical of the proceedings, but Eglantine did her best to act the besotted bride. Duncan ate stoically beside her, making no attempt to coax her smile. ’Twas unlike him to be surly and she knew she had pushed him too far. Indeed, she could fairly feel him simmering.
And what was she to believe? Was she to bed him simply for the pleasure of it, all other issues forgotten?
The idea had an alarming appeal. Eglantine’s mouth went dry as she considered her circumstance. To be sure, she would never love a man again, for love brought only weakness and vulnerability to a woman. Look how she had erred by loving Theobald! And look how that love had faded, leaving her in a tepid marriage to an untrustworthy rogue.
’Twas clear that her desire for Duncan was lust alone and that ’twould not endure. But she was no virgin and she owed her chastity to no man—- and she had just pledged to share her household with Duncan for a year and a day.
Eglantine risked a glance his way to find his features set. She recalled how his eyes had lit when he suggested they might make a true match of this handfast and her pulse quickened. But nay, ’twould never happen, she knew love did not linger so long as that.
But what harm was there truly in letting Duncan share her bed? She was sorely tempted to feel him atop her once more, to indulge her desire to its fullest. Surely then, ’twould fade more quickly and this irksome ability of Duncan to muddle her thoughts would disappear.
Or was she merely trying to justify her weakness? Eglantine did not know and the truth of it was annoying. The skies darkened over the sea and isles, the fire leapt high and painted their faces with flickering shadows, the silence stretching long between the supposedly happy couple as all celebrated around them.
It seemed they did a poor job of persuading Dugall of the sincerity of this. Eglantine laid her hand on Duncan’s knee and murmured as much, winning a dark glance for her words.
“A cheud sgeul air, fear an taighe,” Gillemore cried before Duncan could reply, lifting his mug high. “Is sgeul gu lath’ air an aoidh!”
“What does that mean?” she whispered to Duncan, taking the moment to lean her breast against his arm. He caught his breath and slanted a simmering glance her way.
“The first story from the host, and tales from the guest ’til morning.” Duncan shook a finger at Esmeraude, who nestled against Eglantine. “’Tis here you will have your fill of tales, Esmeraude.”
The child bounced with delight and Eglantine slipped an arm around her shoulders, feeling denied when Duncan said naught further to her. Duncan got to his feet, folded his hands behind his back and sang.
’Twas a moment before she realized he sang in French, but a heartbeat later before she wondered why.
Immediately she knew—’twas for Esmeraude. He was singing a lovely ballad about a woman who lived in the sea to delight her youngest daughter.
Esmeraude was not the only one enthralled by Duncan’s song. Aye, Eglantine could have listened to his singing for an eternity. As Duncan held the last note, Eglantine imagined that it echoed long over the sea. He finished to resounding silence, then took his seat, his gaze fixed on the board before him. Applause broke suddenly and swelled beyond expectation, all beginning to chatter at once. Esmeraude sighed with satisfaction, then yawned sleepily, Célie quickly appearing to lift the child high.
Eglantine laid her hand upon Duncan’s and he glanced up, no doubt noting the tears gathered in her gaze. “Your gift is rare, Duncan,” she admitted. “For your tales have a power to touch the heart.”
He studied her in silence, his expression unfathomable.
“Do you always sing of love?”
“Aye,” he admitted gruffly and took a deep draught of the ale.
“Why?”
“Because ’tis love that matters beyond all else.”
She recalled the other song he had sung for her and the poignancy of his singing. This time she did not have the same sense that he sang a tale he had lived. “Who was Mhairi?” she asked before she could think better of asking.
The question clearly startled Duncan for he failed to hide his response. “It matters not,” he said and frowned.
Eglantine laid a hand on his thigh and felt his muscles clench. “How can it not matter if ’tis the only subject you will not discuss?” she chided quietly. He flicked h
er a glance of such alarm that she might have laughed under other circumstances. Truly this man had no ability to lie. “Did you love her?”
Duncan heaved a sigh. “Nay, I never loved Mhairi, though there was a time when I heartily wished I did.”
Eglantine guessed. “She loved you.”
His lips tightened. “Aye, beyond belief and without encouragement.” He placed his hand over hers, his heat lingering there only a moment before he moved her hand back to her own lap. “Does that sate your curiosity?”
“Nay.”
He almost smiled, then shook his head. “I should have guessed ’twould not be so simple as that.” He slanted a silvery glance her way. “Matters seldom are, with you.”
“Nor with you.” Eglantine smiled and held his gaze, a sense of intimacy enfolding her despite the presence of the company. “Tell me of Mhairi, Duncan. Please. I should like to know.”
He held her gaze for so long that she grew certain he would refuse. Then he frowned, letting his voice drop as the celebration continued around them. “Mhairi was Cormac’s daughter, though she was no more than a child when I came to this place. Cormac took me in as his foster son, though he had no obligation to do so, and in gratitude, I served him as well as I was able.”
“But what of your family?”
“I know not who they were.” He shrugged as though it did not matter, but Eglantine was not fooled. “I took the name MacLaren rather than be without a name at all. The MacLarens have no blood hereabouts, and who would know the truth of it? And I was always alone, traveling, learning songs, listening to tales. When Cormac claimed me as his foster son, I suddenly had a family, and I was proud to have both brother and sister.”
“Brother?”
“Ah, you may have noted Iain in my party, the tall fair man. He is Cormac’s son, and for a time we were inseparable. See, there he is beside the king, complaining of all my failures and weaknesses.”
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