She covered the pin with her hand, pressing it into his palm. “This one, though, would be better plied to win your suit. I fear you will not have an easy time of it, Iain, and the more gifts you bring, the better.”
Alienor came to the fire then, her features pale and her expression strained. “She has been most ill with the babe,” Duncan informed the frowning man beside him. “Perhaps your plea will be better received in her moment of weakness.”
But Iain did not share his smile. “Aye. One must seize whatever advantage can be had with Alienor.” He swallowed, his expression as he studied Alienor telling more than enough of his intent. Then he bowed low before them. “I thank you both, for more than I can name.”
“And we wish you well,” Duncan declared, feeling the man needed a word to bolster his confidence. He held Eglantine tighter, feeling quite parental as Iain made his way to his intended. Delight lit Alienor’s features before she summoned a haughty expression.
“He will win her yet, I know he will,” Duncan insisted, as though his own force of will would make it so.
“Aye,” Eglantine agreed, slanting him a knowing glance that made his heart skip before she indicated the couple again. “Look.”
Iain fell on one knee before Alienor whose expression softened. He spoke quickly and urgently, unaware of those who halted to watch. Alienor began to flush, her glance flicking to those who listened, then back to Iain.
Then she reached to take the pin and smiled, ever so slightly.
“Aha!” Duncan murmured.
“Oh, I had not a doubt of his success,” Eglantine said softly. “The men in these parts are most tenacious and persuasive.” She smiled quickly then, as though she enjoyed a secret jest, and Duncan dared to be encouraged.
“Are they?” he asked, pulling her into his arms to ensure she did not step away.
“Aye.” Her gaze danced over his features and her smile faded. “You believed that he had destroyed the stores?”
“Aye. ’Twas wicked of me, but I did.”
“Why did you let me believe you guilty instead?”
Duncan shrugged. “He is my foster brother and Cormac entrusted his welfare to my responsibility. I had hoped that one day, he would admit to his error himself.” He grinned. “Though it might have served me better if he had done so sooner, ’tis clear why he did not confess.”
“He did not do it.” Eglantine chewed her bottom lip. “Do you know this place he mentioned?”
“Aye, the tree is distinctive. But if the trunk was empty then...”
“It has a false bottom,” Eglantine said crisply. “I would find it to be certain that the coin is truly lost.”
They slipped around the perimeter of the camp, easily avoiding curiosity as all gazes were fixed on Alienor and Iain. Duncan seized Eglantine’s hand and led her to the tree Iain had described, then bent to rummage through the undergrowth.
His knuckles encountered the cold brass in but a moment. He dragged the chest into the faint light from the fire, grunting at its weight. He and Eglantine stood one to each side so that what little light there was could shine into the box. The wood was damp, though the chest was well-made and its lid tightly fitted. The inside was fairly dry.
’Twas empty at first glance, but Eglantine bent and slipped her fingernail into one corner. The bottom was false, as she had said, and its removal revealed the glint of gold.
She looked up at him in confusion. “Why would anyone steal the gold simply to abandon it?”
Duncan shook his head and glanced back toward the camp. One figure stood straight as a sentinel, watching them. He sighed and strode closer, rubbing his brow with his fingertips.
“I feared this would happen,” Louis said quietly. “But I had no chance to move the chest since my return from that heathen court.”
Eglantine straightened. “You destroyed the stores.”
“Only enough to frighten you. I was certain you would show your father’s splendid good sense and return immediately to France, if food was short.” The older man half-smiled. “You are far more stubborn, my lady, than I certainly guessed.”
“But you are sworn in fealty to my house!” Eglantine protested. She was clearly appalled by this breach of faith and Duncan could understand her disappointment. “How could you in any conscience jeopardize the welfare of so many?”
The older man cleared his throat. “I might ask you the same thing, my lady. This journey was folly, your insistence upon remaining even more so. You jeopardized their welfare. I merely tried to save them.”
“You have breached the trust of my father and my family, Louis.”
“Nay, my lady. I have kept your father’s trust. ’Twas he who so eloquently impressed upon me the import of the greater good.”
The two eyed each other, their views as irreconcilable as might be imagined.
Eglantine straightened, showing the poise and dignity of a queen. “You are dismissed from the employ of my household, Louis. I assume that you will return to France, and if you so request it, I shall compose a letter to my brother explaining matters. It is not unlikely that he will find a post for you at Crevy, in deference to my father’s commitment to you.”
She spoke tonelessly, her manner official even though Duncan could sense her anger. But she had no need of a disloyal man in her household—and Duncan was proud of the grace she showed in this dismissal.
“You may take a palfrey and some few supplies, Louis. Whichever vassals so choose to return to France are welcome to travel with you, provided that their loyalty and explanations are offered first to my brother. Are we understood?”
Louis bowed low. “They should all return with me.”
“You may be assured that they will not.”
“I shall leave with first light.” He surrendered what keys remained in his possession, though truly they were few, then bowed again and returned to the camp. Eglantine watched him go, his fingers slipping over the keys.
“You have known him long?”
“All my life. My father chose him to be my châtelain.”
“He served you poorly.” Duncan slipped an arm around her waist.
“My father undoubtedly would not agree.” They stood in silence for a few moments, then she sighed, clearly dismissing the matter from her thoughts. “Did you know of Iain’s role in creating that deed?”
“I learned the truth in same moment as you.”
Eglantine smiled sunnily up at him and Duncan’s heart thumped. “Aye, you said you had not lied to me.” She turned to look after the pair, the firelight gilding her fine features. “Did you know he would do this?”
“I knew he had the skill, and when Alienor spurned him, I hoped he had the desire.” Her gaze met his once more. “I did not know, Eglantine, but I hoped with all my heart and soul.”
She framed his face in her hands, the glow in her eyes most warm. “Once I called you a barbarian, Duncan MacLaren.”
“More than once.”
Eglantine chuckled along with him. “Aye, more than once.” She regarded him steadily, her smile fading as her eyes darkened with intent. “But I was wrong. You are the most thoughtful and loving man that ever I have known. Truly, you make the king’s own courtiers appear vulgar in comparison.”
Duncan’s heart clenched and he was certain the sweet confession he desired most to hear would now fall from his lady’s lips. He could not breathe, he could not look away from the heat in his lady’s gaze.
But the clatter of hoof beats rose from the hills in this most inopportune moment. All turned to strain their eyes against the cloak of the darkness. The hoof beats grew louder and Duncan discerned despite the fog that there were three beasts. A man laughed with abandon, then cried something in French.
Eglantine frowned, taking a step away from him. “It cannot be,” she whispered, clearly hoping ’twas.
Before Duncan could ask, a knight in full splendor burst into the circle of the firelight. His horse reared at the periphery of the camp,
the knight’s cloak flared, the firelight glinted off the knight’s helm.
He rode a stallion larger and more ebony of hue than any Duncan had ever seen, his trappings were rich and his garb fairly screamed his high station. Two squires appeared out of the darkness behind them, each wearing more of value upon his back than Duncan had ever had to his name.
The knight doffed his helm and shook out his hair, revealing his handsome features. His beast stamped impatiently and fought the bit, though the knight’s gloved hand was tight on the reins.
“Is this the abode of Eglantine, widow of Theobald de Mayneris and sister of Guillaume de Crevy-sur-Seine?” he demanded in French. “Is this the holding of Kinbeath?”
“Burke de Montvieux!” Eglantine cried, the name striking ice into Duncan’s heart. “’Tis indeed you!”
With evident delight, she ran toward the new arrival.
Duncan’s blood ran cold as the knight smoothly dismounted and caught Eglantine close, kissing her cheeks as they both grinned like fools. This knight not only represented all she had left behind, but he was the one whose affections Eglantine had once tried to win.
And suddenly, Eglantine’s refusal to confess any tender feelings for Duncan made far more sense. Her heart was already granted, though she had never expected this knight to return her affections.
It could mean only one thing that this Burke rode all the way to Ceinn-beithe. He would lose all he sought to gain, and be compelled to watch victory snatched from his grip.
In his darkest moment, Duncan felt Esmeraude’s tiny hand close on his knee. He instinctively took her hand, but still stared after Eglantine as though he had been struck to stone.
Indeed, his worst nightmare had not only been made flesh, but had come to Ceinn-beithe a heartbeat too soon.
* * *
Burke did not recognize the woman who raced toward him. She was garbed simply, though practically. The wool of her kirtle, though once of fine quality, was worn and the hem was dirtied. Her hair was caught back in a simple braid and she wore no veil. She wore no jewelry, not so much as a circlet or a ring. Her complexion was tanned so gold that she might have been a peasant.
But when she spoke, he knew. Eglantine’s voice was unmistakable.
As was her concern for others.
“Burke!” She raced toward him, her expression one of mingled delight and concern. “What news of Brigid? Has she had the child? Is she well, is the babe well? How does Guillaume fare? And is my mother ill this winter?”
Burke dismounted and caught her close, kissing her cheeks to silence her. “Aye, Eglantine, ’tis good to see you as well.”
“Burke!”
“I had never thought to be welcomed sorely as a source of news.”
“You must tell me immediately.”
Burke let his gaze flick over her, content to tease his friend’s sister a little bit. Aye, they had tormented her a great deal more when they all were children. “You have changed, Eglantine, though you look well enough. Does this place suit you?”
She gripped his hands and looked as though she would love naught better than to give him a shake. “Burke! You cannot have ridden this far merely to chastise me my poor manners. Tell me the news this moment or I shall make you regret it.”
He laughed then and looked deeply into her eyes, urging her to believe him. “All are fine.” Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Brigid granted Guillaume a fine son, though the babe was almost too large for her. I fear she waited overlong for her spouse’s return.”
Though Burke sought to make a jest, Eglantine paled and her grip tightened on his hands. “She is fine, you are certain of it?”
“Aye. Alys and I arrived in time that Alys aided in the birth.”
Eglantine exhaled shakily and laid her brow upon his shoulder. “Thank you, Burke. Thank you for this news. I have been so worried for them.” She looked up. “And my mother?”
“Seeks to feed the new babe the honeycombs Brigid so favors.”
They smiled at each other as relief flooded Eglantine’s eyes.
“They miss you, Eglantine. They would know why you fled.”
She brushed a suspicious glimmer from her eyes and stepped away. “Guillaume knows the truth of it, for I spoke to him of it oft enough.”
“Is that why you took so much from his treasury? Because he denied your will in some matter?”
Eglantine slanted Burke a glance that nigh sliced to his bones. “Is that what you all believe of me?”
“I do not know what to believe.” Burke shrugged. “I know only that Guillaume asked me to seek you out, to ensure that you were well. And Eglantine, I know that you must have had good reason for what you have done.”
Eglantine visibly gritted her teeth. “I took what I deemed necessary to survive in this remote place,” she said tightly. “For I had not the luxury of failing.”
“Jacqueline,” Burke guessed.
“Aye. Jacqueline.” Eglantine lifted her chin and her eyes glittered with defiance. “Do you come to criticize more than my manners? If you mean to take my daughter back to that wretched Reynaud, I shall fight you and you will lose.”
Burke was shocked by this claim, no less by her open display of passion, but Eglantine had always been protective of those she loved.
“Nay, Eglantine.” Burke shook his head and touched her chin, knowing he should not have been surprised by what she would sacrifice for her child. “Never that. I but come for news. Guillaume said he would pay the forfeit with but a word of confirmation from you—and assurance that all are well.”
“He might have paid it before.”
“I do not think he understood how strongly you felt of the matter.” But looking at her, Burke could not imagine how any could doubt the truth of it.
Eglantine held his gaze for a long moment, as though assuring herself that there was no censure to be found there, then suddenly her eyes narrowed. “But how did you know where to seek us out?”
Burke grinned. “Your mother.”
Eglantine was horrified and her eyes flashed with such vigor that Burke took a step back. “She swore secrecy! She pledged it to me on my father’s grave.”
Burke hastened to reassure her even as he wondered what had happened to the cool and composed Eglantine he once had known. “The tale was not easily won, Eglantine. She surrendered the truth of it only to Guillaume and myself.”
“No others know of it?”
“Nay. I swear it to you.”
Wariness dawned in her expression. “But one cannot trust knights not to support each other, particularly when the king’s law rests on their side.” Eglantine folded her arms across her chest. “Why truly did you come, Burke?”
“I came to lay your family’s fears to rest and no more than that.” Burke returned her stare with resolve. “And I give you my most solemn pledge, that none will hear of this place or its location, not from me or my squires.”
“And Guillaume?”
“He sends his pledge that he will pay the forfeit. You have only to give me your word that ’tis your desire.”
“’Tis yours, have no doubt of that.” Eglantine took a step away. “But where are my manners?” she asked none in particular. “Xavier, might you take the chevalier’s steed? And Gunther, a cup for our guest.” She turned and lifted her hands. “Jacqueline! Alienor! You should recall Burke de Montvieux well enough. Come and give your greetings to our guest.”
When the girls did not make an immediate appearance, Burke surveyed the company for the first time. He was surprised by their number. When he looked more closely, many of the faces were familiar, for there were vassals here who had served the Crevy family all their lives. Again, he would not have known them had he not looked carefully, for they all wore the mark of living in the sun and wind.
But they looked oddly contented.
Burke wondered whether they all would return with him to Crevy, now that Eglantine was reassured of her brother’s commitment to her cause. As much as h
e desired to assuage his friend’s concerns, such a company would move slowly, too slowly for Burke’s purposes.
He wanted to be home with Alys, and that sooner rather than later.
Burke smiled politely as he accepted a chalice brimming with ale of pale gold and doffed his gloves. There was no sign of either girl despite Eglantine’s summons and the lady’s cheeks colored. She apologized to Burke and he shrugged off the slight, seeing that she would not forget the matter so readily as that.
“Ah, there is Esmeraude,” Eglantine said crisply.
’Twas when Burke followed the lady’s gaze that he first saw the savage man glaring at him. The man’s anger was so tangible that it could not be directed at a stranger. Burke glanced over his shoulder before he could stop himself.
But no one stood behind him. Even his squires had moved away with the horses, one carrying his helm. He stood alone against the shadows of the distant hills.’
Which meant the man glared at him.
Burke stared back, uncertain what he could have done in such short order to win such animosity. Indeed, the man looked as though he needed no invitation to rip Burke’s hide from his bones.
And truly, he was tall enough and broad enough to likely accomplish the task with ease. He was dressed in the garb of these Scots, dark of hair and silver of eye, a length of wool wound round his hips and cast over his shoulder. His legs were bare and solidly muscled, the knife in his belt looked crude but effective.
“Esmeraude, please come and greet our guest.” Eglantine smiled for the child and offered her hand. “You may not recall Burke, but he is a great friend of your uncle Guillaume.”
“Nay!” The toddler pouted with a defiance that put Burke in mind of his own young son. He sipped from his cup to hide his smile. Aye, he and Alys had rued the day Bayard learned the word ‘nay’, for the boy employed it in response to all queries.
“Esmeraude! I but ask you to greet a guest, as any young lady of merit should do.”
The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 31