“A man who takes naught from a woman she does not willingly grant.” Duncan smiled thinly. “I fear that you lack not only courtesy but a heart, Reynaud, regardless of your fine attire. Shall we discover the truth of it?”
Reynaud moved with startling speed, bounding to his feet and drawing his sword in a flash. He slashed at Duncan and Eglantine cried out, though Duncan parried in time.
But only just. The man struck again and again with astounding strength. He was agile for his age and driven by fury.
And he was trained, as Duncan was not.
Reynaud struck a trio of times in quick succession, then paused. He swung unexpectedly from one side then the other. Duncan halted the blow that would have sliced his innards open and cast the blade back upon the older man with a grunt.
They soon were breathing heavily, those blows that went astray slashing the silk tent to ribbons. The lantern flickered as the chill wind from the sea found its way within. Duncan kept his gaze fixed upon the other man and struggled to anticipate his every move. He disliked the sense that he was only defending himself instead of attacking, but the other man’s skill far outranked his own.
Which meant perhaps that Reynaud should readily win.
They circled each other, the sweat gathering on Duncan’s brow at the boldness of his plan. Reynaud attacked again, his teeth bared, and Duncan took note of precisely where the man’s mail tabard entered. Reynaud’s throat was bare, which would suit Duncan well enough.
He deliberately moved too slowly and won a nick upon his thigh. Reynaud laughed, and Duncan pretended that the injury was worse than ’twas. He lifted his blade anew, as though ’twas not so readily done, and Reynaud was quick to engage once more.
His sword swung through the air and Duncan ducked, jabbing at the other man’s legs. Reynaud darted back and swung his blade low. Duncan winced as it nicked his shoulder. Again, he feigned greater injury than he had sustained and fell to one knee.
He groaned and gripped his shoulder as though ’twas sorely wounded. He dropped his knife, ensuring ’twas directly below him, then fell atop it.
And moved no more.
Reynaud laughed, then shoved Duncan with one booted foot. “And whose heart shall we see?” he murmured. Duncan heard the knight sheath his sword. He peered between his lashes to see Reynaud draw a smaller blade with a jeweled hilt from his belt.
Duncan held his tongue, watching the man carefully. His hand was beneath him, by no accident, and his fingers closed around the hilt of his own blade. Silently, he willed Reynaud closer.
“Sadly, you heathens do not fight that well, for all your size and vigor. I had so hoped you would show greater promise than this.”
Reynaud raised the knife and bent to drive it into Duncan’s chest. Duncan waited until the last moment to strike, but a weight fell suddenly across his back.
“Nay!” Eglantine cried, then she screamed as Reynaud’s blade sank home. She must have hidden in the shadows, when Duncan thought she had fled for aid.
“Eglantine!” Duncan bounded to his feet with a roar that astonished the older knight. Reynaud grappled for his sword, but he was not quick enough. Duncan drove his own blade into the other man’s throat, grunting as he drove it deeper into the chest.
“Just as I suspected,” he muttered, as Reynaud sputtered before him. “There is naught but stone where your heart should be.” He forced the blade deep beneath the mail, then he cast the villain aside, leaving him to die unattended.
But Eglantine. Duncan fell to his knees beside her and turned her pale face to his. He pulled the jeweled blade from her shoulder and the warmth of her blood ran through his fingers. He whispered her name and cradled her close. He could not lose her now! He could not be the reason for her demise.
He should not have wished to win her protectiveness; he would never have done so if he had realized this would be the price. Duncan kissed her brow and held her tightly even as he whispered her name.
And Eglantine opened her eyes. She smiled at him and raised one hand to touch his face. Her fingers shook and Duncan closed his hand around hers.
“I do not intend to die, Duncan. Not so soon after I have found you.” She swallowed and her smile broadened. “’Tis naught but my shoulder that is wounded and ’twill heal. The blow did, though, steal the wind from me.”
Relief fed Duncan’s anger and he rose to his feet, his lady cradled in his arms. “You should never have taken such a risk! What possesses you to believe that you alone are responsible for solving the woes of all around you?” he demanded, even as he strode toward the company and some aid. “What foolery made you risk your own hide for me?”
Eglantine laughed softly and kicked her feet. Her manner was entirely inappropriate, to Duncan’s thinking, though he loved the way she leaned her cheek against his heart.
“He could have killed you! He could have injured you more sorely than this! What then of your daughters and your obligations? Why, if you were not wounded, I should give you a shake fit to rattle your bones!”
“I could not let him kill you, Duncan.” Eglantine’s voice was low but thrummed with such conviction that Duncan fell silent. He looked into her eyes and found love shining there so brightly that the sight nigh stole his breath away. She raised trembling fingers to his face. “How could I let him kill you when I love you so much as this?”
Duncan caught her close as his vision blurred, the tears streaming down his face as he whispered her name. She had given him the greatest gift of all in those few words alone, and he could not speak for the lump in his throat.
“Do you still love me, Duncan, despite my foolish fears?”
He nodded and his voice was hoarse. “Aye, Eglantine, aye. With all my heart and soul. You need never doubt it.”
She smiled and twined her arm around his neck. “Then kiss me, Duncan, and get us to a priest. I will wait no longer to be wed to you in truth, regardless of how this scratch does bleed.”
And Duncan could do naught but comply. He kissed her until they both were breathless then grinned, before he raised his voice and bellowed for Ceinn-beithe’s priest.
The lady would have no chance to change her mind.
Epilogue
June 1177
at Château de Villonne
My dear Eglantine—
I sincerely hope that this missive finds you and yours in good health. All is most well here, and I would send my thanks for your speedy dispatch of my spouse last spring. Burke arrived home with naught but a blackened eye to show for his journey. I suspect there is a tale to be told, for he smiles with all the mischief of our son Bayard when asked about it. I similarly suspect that I shall never know the truth of it—but ’tis enough that he was home for the arrival of our second son.
Aye, Amaury entered our lives with a roar this month and thus far has captivated all, including his daunting grandmother. Do you recall Margaux de Montvieux? She is little changed, though she shows a softness of nature in the company of the boys that one might not have expected. She and my father have yet to agree on any matter of import and, for the sake of peace, we endeavor to ensure that their visits are separately timed.
Your own mother visited us this summer, for she accompanied Brigid and Guillaume from Crevy when they came for the christening of Amaury. ’Twas an event of great boisterousness, for all our blood came to share our celebrations. Bayard along with Rowan and Bronwyn’s son, Nicholas, took to tormenting Guillaume and Brigid’s young Niall, doing so until the babe wailed. At five summers, Luc and Brianna’s Eva is of an age to ignore them all, while her younger brother Connor watched the older boys with what might have been awe. God help us when they are all old enough to run about.
The priest seemed quite relieved when the ceremony was completed and the chapel was rid of us!
Further to your own family, Guillaume confessed to having found the seal of Arnelaine in his own office, though he could not understand how it came to be there. He believes that Theobald did not wager it, after all, th
ough you and I know well enough that my Burke had it briefly in his possession. How odd that Guillaume found the seal a few days after Burke’s visit to Crevy-sur-Seine!
Arnelaine is now beneath the competent hand of a vassal and this season’s crops are said to be promising—but Guillaume pledges that the seal is yours, should you wish to return. Given the tales that Burke shared with me, however, I heartily doubt you will take advantage of his offer. It sounds as though you have found happiness, finally, Eglantine, and never has a woman more soundly deserved such happiness than you.
Belated congratulations from me on your nuptials and every good wish for your continued good fortune. I send you a gift with this missive and within the care of Alienor’s spouse. It seems he had much fortune at the Champagne fair, though with such wares I could not have expected much else.
This gift is a most uncommon but undoubtedly useful one. The companion of Iain is a Gael who has been in my employ several years—she is both a healer and a midwife and skilled beyond compare. When Siobhan confessed that she missed her homeland, I thought of Alienor and the child she carries. I should not like to think of any woman enduring childbirth without an experienced hand and fear that in your locale, skilled midwives may be rare.
And so, I dispatch Siobhan to your care, hoping she can be of aid to you and yours. I ask only that you take her beneath your hand as though she were a vassal of your own. She is as loyal as she is gifted.
With every good wish for your harvest and your health—
Your friend,
Alys de Villonne
Lady of Montvieux
& once Alys of Kiltorren
Eglantine folded the missive, knowing she would read it a thousand times again at her leisure. She met the gaze of red-headed woman before her, noting the freckles across that woman’s nose, the lines of laughter fanning from her sparkling eyes, and the solid capability of her hands. Iain was already gone, seeking Alienor, the light of victory bright in his eyes.
“Welcome, Siobhan,” Eglantine said in Gael, rolling the name over her tongue as Duncan had labored long to teach her. “Welcome to Ceinn-beithe.”
Siobhan smiled. “Aye, ’tis good to hear my mother tongue again. But tell me, Eglantine, if you were born to this land, how do you know Lady Alys? Were you acquainted with her when she lived in Ireland?”
“Nay. I was not born the land of the Gael.”
“Nay? But the language falls so smoothly from your tongue.”
“You shall have to tell my husband that, for he has much to say of my pronunciation.”
Siobhan laughed. “Perhaps you should have been born here, for you look as though you belong in these parts.”
Eglantine smiled, liking that thought. “Do I then?”
Siobhan’s smile broadened. “Aye, it matters naught where one is born, as long as one discovers where one is truly meant to be. Is that not the truth of it?”
A man’s cry echoed over the holding and Eglantine watched Duncan climb the rocks bordering the sea. Esmeraude squealed with laughter as he swung her high, then planted her upon his shoulders. Jacqueline ran alongside laughing, the three of them barefoot, tanned and wet, no doubt from the sea.
She knew the moment Duncan’s gaze landed upon her and they shared a smile, its heat undiminished by distance. He turned his footsteps immediately towards her and raised his voice in song, her daughters lending their voices to his.
Eglantine watched them stride towards her, her heart filled nigh to bursting. And she knew that Alys’ midwife spoke the simple truth.
Eglantine was home because here, at Ceinn-beithe with Duncan by her side, was precisely where she belonged.
“Aye, Siobhan,” she murmured, smiling for Duncan even as the midwife wandered away. “That is indeed the truth of it.”
* * * * * * * * *
Author’s Note
For Duncan’s song of Mhairi, I heavily reworked a traditional Scottish ballad, bending its words to my (and Duncan’s) purposes. The original ballad is called Annachie Gordon and has been recorded by Loreena McKennitt with the traditional lyrics. This haunting arrangement is included on her album Parallel Dreams.
Happy listening!
Ready for more of the Bride Quest II?
Keep reading for The Beauty.
The Beauty
Book 2 in the Bride Quest II series
“I was born a woman. There are but two courses for my life—marriage or the convent. I have chosen.”
Certain she will never wed for love, sworn to let no man possess her for her beauty alone, Jacqueline de Crevy has vowed to become a bride of God. But en route to the convent of Inveresbeinn, her party is ambushed by a knight, who snatches Jacqueline from her saddle and spirits her away with him.
He is Angus MacGillivray—not the blackhearted ravisher she fears but a valiant man of honor who has returned to Scotland seeking justice... and revenge. Angus has come home from the Crusades to find his family murdered and his birthright seized. Sworn to reclaim his rightful lands, he has kidnapped the stepdaughter of Duncan, chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie—Angus’s avowed enemy.
But his lovely captive refuses to be the chattel—or ransom—of any man... until Jacqueline senses the yearning heart beneath Angus’ embittered facade. In spite of himself, Angus has let this defiant beauty touch his very soul. And as desire flames between them, a lady fair and her battle-scarred knight will fight for a love that could banish all the sorrows of the past...
Prologue
Ceinn-beithe – April 1183
“Do you not think ’tis somewhat harsh?” Duncan watched his wife don her veil. She was garbed in somber indigo from head to toe, her fingers devoid of any jewel beyond the simple silver ring he had put upon her left hand.
Eglantine was grimly determined and had he not been so skeptical of the choice she had made, Duncan would have held his tongue while she was in this mood. They were still in their chamber and, though the assembly waited below, ’twas not too late for Eglantine to change her thinking.
“The girl must learn the price of her folly, and better she does so before ’tis too late to change her course.” Eglantine anchored the veil with a heavy circlet, then started to pull the sheer fabric across her face.
Duncan caught her hand in his, stilling her gesture. “’Tis cruel to make your daughter witness her own funeral.”
“’Tis our way, Duncan. ’Twas always done thus at Crevy-sur-Seine, by my great-grandfather’s decree.”
“Not exactly thus.”
Eglantine sighed. “If we had been at Crevy and Jacqueline chose to take the vows of a nun, then such a funeral would be held—for a nun departs the land of the living as surely as if she had died. ’Tis not so appalling to give Jacqueline a taste of what will ultimately come of her choice to become a novitiate at Inveresbeinn.”
When he said naught, she continued, her eyes glittering. “’Tis no more easy for me, Duncan, than for you to witness this ceremony, but would you not have Jacqueline understand all that she is destined to lose before ’tis said and done?”
“She might find that the life of a novitiate does not suit her, at any rate, and never take her final vows.”
Eglantine frowned, her gaze dropping to their entangled fingers. “She might,” she ceded quietly, then met his gaze. “But I cannot rely upon that chance alone, Duncan. I must do something! ’Tis my task as her mother to save her from foolish choices.”
“’Tis your task as her mother to love her no matter what choices she makes.”
Eglantine sighed with exasperation and turned away. “Duncan, you do not understand. I sacrificed all to grant my daughters the chance to wed for love...”
“All?” He endeavored to look indignant, hoping that he might make her smile.
Eglantine did, if fleetingly. “And I gained much, ’tis true, but I so wanted to give them the opportunity to find true love. From Alienor, I expected trouble, for she was always willful.”
“Marriage seems to suit her well
enough.”
Now Eglantine smiled in truth. “Not to mention a child more demanding than she herself. She has no opportunity to be selfish these days.” A frown creased Eglantine’s brow. “And from Esmeraude, of course, I expect a challenge, for she may be even more willful than Alienor.”
“A terrifying thought.”
“Indeed.” Eglantine shook her head. “But Jacqueline has always been the quiet one who blossomed when given the opportunity. I was certain that ’twas she who would benefit most from the chance to choose love.”
“She has chosen.”
“This is no choice! I will not permit her to become a bride of Christ so readily as this.”
“But Eglantine, if she has a calling...”
She turned away from him, pausing at the portal of their chamber. “Duncan, if she had a calling, I would bless her path, but what Jacqueline has is a fear of men. That demon Reynaud has left a scar upon her that can only be erased by a man wrought of flesh and blood, as well as merit.” Eglantine sighed. “She is but twenty years of age, after all.”
“Aged for a virgin to remain unwed in any land, Eglantine.”
His wife frowned, then appealed to him. “But Duncan, ’tis the mark of Reynaud! Jacqueline is a beauty, she does not lack for suitors. But, because of Reynaud and his crime, she will not even look upon a man. ’Tis wrong!”
“Eglantine...”
“I have asked her only to wait two years before becoming a novitiate.”
Duncan was taken aback, for he did not know this.
“Two years, Duncan! ’Tis naught, but it might well be time enough for her to meet that man of merit who will change her thinking. She is too innocent of the world to make a choice that will govern her life.”
“Is that not what marriage is?”
“Duncan! She will not be happy as a cloistered celibate and ’tis her happiness I would ensure, at any cost.”
With that, Eglantine swept from the chamber. Duncan followed her, if more slowly. He respected his wife’s intent, if not her means. His own child, Mhairi, all of four summers of age and blessed with Eglantine’s golden hair, took his hand when he reached the hall, her brow puckered in confusion and dismay.
The Bride Quest II Boxed Set Page 34