A group of children ran past. They halted near the stocks, where a man sat on a stool, his head and wrists held fast in the wooden slats. A boy about ten, with brown hair and freckles, cried out, "Murderer!" and pelted him with an apple core. Others followed suit, with mud.
Their victim raised his head and snarled at them, until they ran away.
"Is he really a murderer?" Riona asked the merchant, wondering if that was so, why he was only in the stocks.
"He killed the lad's dog a fortnight ago. It got to barking one night and that drunken lout beat it to death. Sir Nicholas ordered him to be in the stocks for two months, then to leave Dunkeathe and never come back."
Riona tried not to betray any overt interest in the lord of Dunkeathe or his justice. "That seems harsh."
"Sir Nicholas is a hard man, but he keeps the peace," the tradesman replied with approval.
She was quite sure Sir Nicholas and his soldiers were capable of maintaining order, which probably explained the merchant's admiration.
"Most noblemen wouldn't care two straws for a peasant boy's dog, but he did," the merchant continued. "He treated the boy as serious as if he was a grown man when the lad spoke up at the hall- moot. Still, nobody really thought Sir Nicholas would punish one of his own men over it."
In spite of her previous thoughts, Riona couldn't help being impressed, too. "That's one of his men?"
"Aye, an archer from the castle."
Riona recalled what she'd seen of Sir Nicholas when he was with his soldiers. He was generally grim, unsmiling, fully the commander. He seemed so with the servants, too, so she'd been
dismissing him as simply a harsh, unyielding tyrant. Clearly, he did have some sympathy for those beneath him.
It was a pity he didn't show that side of himself more often. It would hardly cost him any respect, for she doubted there was a person who met the lord of Dunkeathe who wasn't in awe of his power and accomplishments. Even she—
She realized Eleanor was waiting and didn't understand what they were saying. She briefly recounted what the merchant had told her.
"His own soldier—and over a dog?" Eleanor said, her eyes wide.
"I was surprised, too," Riona confessed.
She wondered if Eleanor would reveal what she thought of Sir Nicholas now, but instead her friend gave a longing look at the lovely wool, sighed and said, "I suppose we should be getting back to the castle. The men may already be finished with the hunt and I don't think Percival will be pleased if he finds out I was in the village."
"I daresay Uncle Fergus and Fredella will be curious about where we went," Riona remarked as they started toward the castle. "That's if they've even noticed we're gone."
Eleanor smiled as they walked across the green, veering well away from the stocks. "I doubt they've noticed anything much at all, except each other."
"Uncle Fergus seems very taken with her."
"And she with him. Nothing would make me happier than to see Fredella happily married," Eleanor replied. She flushed and slid a wary glance at her companion. "Although your uncle is a nobleman and she's only a servant."
Riona hastened to relieve her of any worries on that score. "I'm sure his intendons are honourable. Uncle Fergus would no more be dishonourable than the sun would cease to rise. It simply isn't in his nature."
"Yet marriage between a thane and a servant? Is that not frowned on in Scotland?"
"Uncle Fergus says it's love that matters. He grieved deeply for my aunt when she died, but that was many years ago. If Fredella makes him happy, I wouldn't raise any objections. Neither will his son, I'm sure," she added sincerely.
Indeed, she was sure Kenneth wouldn't complain any more than she would. They both loved Uncle Fergus too much to protest his choice of bride, whether she was highborn or low, rich or poor. "You won't mind losing your servant?"
"Not if her new circumstances are her choice and make her happy."
"What about Percival?"
"I don't think he even realizes Fredella's alive, most of the time. I doubt he'll notice if she leaves. I wouldn't ask him to find me another maidservant, though. I'd find one myself. I wouldn't trust his judgment."
Neither would Riona. "Then it's settled between us," she said, smiling at her young friend. "If they want to get married, we won't stand in their way."
Eleanor laughed merrily and so did Riona. She'd never expected to be friends with a Norman, but Eleanor was a kind, sweet girl who already seemed like the younger sister she'd never had.
"Riona!"
They both looked over their shoulders, to see Uncle Fergus and Sir Nicholas riding toward them. She would have feared Uncle Fergus had fallen and been hurt, except that he was smiling and seemed very happy.
Seated on his great black gelding, his back straight as a spear, the lord of Dunkeathe looked every inch the overlord he was, even though he was wearing a plain brown leather tunic, dark woollen breeches and scuffed boots. Nobody who saw him could doubt that he was a formidable man, and that the sword at his side had been used many times.
Nobody who saw him now would probably guess he could sound so seductive, or kiss with such—
"The hunt must be over," Eleanor said, a hint of panic in her voice.
"Maybe," Riona said uncertainly. "I wonder where the others are?"
"I don't know, but Percival's probably not far behind," Eleanor said as she gathered up her skirts.
That was likely true; Percival stuck to Sir Nicholas like a burr, as did most of the other noblemen, except Audric.
"I'd best return to the castle," Eleanor said anxiously. "Percival might be angry if he knows I came to the village."
"You go on," Riona said. "I'll wait for my uncle."
If she went back to the castle now, Uncle Fergus would surely wonder why she hadn't waited for them.
As Eleanor walked swiftly away, Riona inwardly girded her loins and prepared to ignore the dark lord of Dunkeathe as much as possible.
It soon became apparent that no one else was with them or coming close behind. The other noblemen and the servants accompanying them must still be at the hunt.
When they reached Riona, Sir Nicholas swung easily down from his saddle. She supposed he was used to doing that wearing chain mail and armour; his tunic and breeches must seem like a mere second skin to him. They fit him like a second skin.
Uncle Fergus had a bit more of a struggle to dismount, but soon enough, both were on the ground, holding the reins of their horses.
"Greetings, my lady," Sir Nicholas said evenly. "I see the sun has lured you from my castle."
"Good day, Sir Nicholas," she replied just as politely.
"Riona, my beauty, how good to meet you here!" Uncle Fergus cried, and oh, how she wanted to cringe when he used those words to describe her in front of their host.
"Hello, Uncle. Was the hunt not successful? Where are the others?"
"Hunt?" Uncle Fergus said, as if he'd forgotten about it completely.
"It went well. I left the rest of them to it after they cornered a stag," Sir Nicholas replied. "I found your uncle talking to one of my tenants."
Riona was burning with curiosity to know what Sir Nicholas thought of that, and why he'd returned with Uncle Fergus instead of staying with the other nobles, but she tried not to show any particular interest in anything his lordship said.
"You ought to see the lambs Sir Nicholas has on this estate," Uncle Fergus cried, throwing his arm about her shoulders and heading for the castle gates. "Fleece soft and thick, and a good leg for meat, too. Like nothing I've ever seen!"
"Your uncle assures me I've got something very valuable," Sir Nicholas agreed, his voice betraying only mild interest.
"Very valuable? Why, I don't think the man half knows what he's got! Worth a fortune, those animals. And he's going to let me bring some of our sheep to breed with theirs—for a fee, of course."
That sounded like a Norman's miserly way. "Of course," she said with a hint of disgust.
"Why shouldn't I make money, if I own the animals?" Sir Nicholas inquired.
"Aye, why shouldn't he?" Uncle Fergus asked. "They're on his estate and the shepherd's his tenant—a very clever tenant, too, that Thomas is."
"Thomas?" Riona repeated, recognizing the name. "That must be the young man Polly wants to marry."
Uncle Fergus laughed. "Ah, then she's a lucky woman, for he's a very fine fellow." He grinned at Sir Nicholas. "You ought to listen to what Riona has to say about her, my lord."
"I don't care to listen to gossip about the servants," Sir Nicholas said with stiff hauteur as they walked through the outer gatehouse.
Riona didn't want to talk to him about anything, either.
"It's not gossip, Exactly," Uncle Fergus returned, "and if you want your household to run smooth, you ought to pay attention to what's going on among the servants, as Riona does. I've been spared some trouble that way, I can tell you."
"Never mind, Uncle," Riona said. "I'm sure Sir Nicholas doesn't require any assistance from me."
Sir Nicholas looked at her with his piercing dark eyes and his gaze felt like a flame on her skin. "Given that I'm used to commanding soldiers, not servants, especially female ones, perhaps I should hear what you have to say on the subject."
"My lord, I really don't think..." she began, desperately trying to think of a good reason to refuse.
"He needs your help, Riona," Uncle Fergus exclaimed. "Now be a good girl—"
He made her sound like a child!
"And tell him about Polly. Since I've heard all about it, you won't mind if I go on ahead, I hope?" Uncle Fergus asked with an eager look in his eyes that, Riona suspected, had a great deal to do with Fredella.
"I have no wish to detain you," Sir Nicholas said.
"Until later, then, my lord," Uncle Fergus cried cheerfully as, with a wave of his hand, he abandoned her.
"He seems in a great hurry," Sir Nicholas noted as Riona continued to walk beside him, silently commanding herself not to fall behind. She didn't want to look like a dog trotting after its master.
She wasn't about to tell him why she thought her uncle was in a rush to get to the castle, either. He'd surely disapprove of any nobleman preferring to be with a servant. "I don't think my uncle likes hunting, particularly."
"Neither do I."
She slid the Norman a sceptical glance as they reached the inner gate. "Then why did you suggest it?"
"Because it's a fine day, and I thought the other gentlemen would enjoy it."
That seemed to be the end of that subject. "About Polly, my lord—"
"I'd prefer to have this discussion in my solar."
"I'd prefer not to be alone with you, my lord."
He regarded her with a stony expression. "If you'd rather have this discussion about my servant in the hall or yard, that is, of course, up to you. However, I don't consider it wise to discuss one's underlings where anyone may overhear."
Unfortunately, he had a point, made even stronger when a stableboy, his expression inquisitive, ran up to take charge of Sir Nicholas's horse.
"Very well, my lord," she conceded.
Without another word, Sir Nicholas turned on his heel and started toward the solar, leaving her to follow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONCE IN HIS SOLAR, Sir Nicholas walked toward a small table bearing an ornate silver carafe and two finely wrought goblets. "Wine, my lady?"
"No, thank you."
He raised a quizzical brow as he poured the rich, red beverage into one of the goblets. "Are you intending to stand on the threshold for the duration of this conversation? That rather defeats the purpose of coming to my solar."
She swept past him to the center of the room. It was smaller than she'd expected, given the size of his castle, and very plain. The only ornamentation was the intricate patterns on the silver goblets and carafe. There were no tapestries, or anything else to provide a hint of warmth. The room was as cold and austere as the man himself.
As he closed the door, she gave him a calmly inquiring look. She wasn't going to let him think he could intimidate her—not if she could help it, anyway.
Yet being here with him, alone, seemed to set her body on fire, and the memory of that kiss....
"Please, sit down," he said, nodding at the one and only chair.
She went around the heavy trestle table and sank onto the seat. Holding his goblet lightly in his strong fingers, he, too, came around the table and leaned back against it only a foot or so away from her.
Why did he have to be so close? If he was trying to seduce her again, he had to realize it was hopeless. This time, she was ready for him—and his eyes and his voice.
"You must feel very secure here, to leave such fine pieces of silver in an unlocked room," she noted, determined to prove she wasn't rendered incapable of conversation in his virile presence.
"I have no fear of thieves. They know that my retribution will be swift, and severe."
"I saw your archer in the stocks in the village."
"Exactly so," he replied before he took a sip of wine.
"I didn't think Norman knights set such store on dogs."
"The lad did, and I won't have a soldier in my employ who would brutalize a creature so much weaker than himself."
She raised a brow as she folded her hands in her lap. "Interesting sentiment, coming from a mercenary."
"I fought men as well trained as I, not foot soldiers."
"And for that, you were duly paid."
"Yes, I was." He raised the goblet. "This was one such payment, and the three that went with it, as well as the carafe. I'm not ashamed of how I earned my living, my lady. I had little enough choice. It was fighting, or the church, and I would not have made a good priest."
No, he would not. The vow of chastity alone...
She forced herself to concentrate on other matters. "You said there were four goblets. What happened to the others?"
"They paid for my chapel."
His brow furrowed when he saw her expression. "It shocks you that I wish to show my gratitude to God by having a beautiful chapel? As it happens, I am grateful, both for my life and the rewards I've earned. Yet I'm not an expert at the running of a household." He set down the goblet and crossed his arms. "Which brings us to that girl your uncle spoke of."
"Polly, my lord," she replied. "And she's not a girl, she's a young woman."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment of her correction. "Which one of my maidservants is she?"
"You don't know who I mean?" she asked sceptically. The friendly, flirtatious Polly was hard to overlook.
He frowned. "Is it a sin that I don't know the names of all my servants?"
"I'm surprised that you don't know her name, my lord. She's the sort of vivacious, pretty young woman men remember."
His expression grew disdainful. "If you think I ought to know her because I've bedded her, you're wrong. I don't dally with my servants."
"Then you would be a rare Norman lord in that respect."
"By that form of measure, I am a rare Norman lord."
The firmness of his answer, and the look on his face, gave credence to his words. Yet he was so handsome and well formed, she wouldn't be surprised to learn that he could have scores of women wherever he went—although, she had to admit, she'd heard no such tales.
"I don't dally with anyone in my household."
She glanced at him sharply.
"Usually," he added, his gaze seeming to grow more intense and inscrutable.
She couldn't prevent the blush that heated her face. But she wasn't going to act the shy maiden and be silent.
She got to her feet, so that she was face-to-face with him. "But not always. Not when you feel you can do so with impunity, I suppose."
"Not when the lady is willing," he replied. "Not when I'm willing, too. But when the lady later clearly wishes nothing more to happen between us, I respect her decision."
His gaze was so steady and unwavering, his voi
ce so sincere, she believed him. Relaxing for what seemed like the first time since they'd kissed in the garden, Riona slowly let out her breath.
And realized they still had more to discuss. "While you may not be a lascivious scoundrel, I fear the same couldn't be said of some of your guests."
Sir Nicholas's dark brows lowered, and it was like seeing a thunderhead forming in the distance. "Is there any particular man who presents such a danger to the women of my household?"
Before she could answer, he made an impatient gesture. "Don't tell me. I'm sure Percival's quite capable of saying just about anything to get a woman into his bed. Has he?"
"Not yet," she replied, "but Polly's a friendly young woman, and I don't think she realizes how easy it can be to succumb to temptation."
When Nicholas slowly raised a brow, Riona had to fight not to look away.
"Since those men are my guests," he said evenly, "it might be better if you spoke to her, woman to woman, and warned her of the danger."
Riona steeled herself against the power of his deep, seductive voice and his dark, penetrating gaze. "I did, and she assures me she's well aware of 'snares,' as she calls them. I gather your sister spoke to her of the dangers before she..." It probably wasn't wise to allude to his sister's elopement with Adair Mac Taran. "Before your sister married. Nevertheless, I still fear Polly might succumb. For her sake, as well as yours, you should encourage her to marry. I understand the young shepherd, Thomas, has expressed such wishes, and Polly's very agreeable, too. Unfortunately, she feels they're too poor at present and must wait until they have more money to wed."
Sir Nicholas strode to the arched window and spoke without looking at her. "It seems a bit hard on Thomas, encouraging him to marry a woman who can be tempted to stray. Maybe one day she'll be brought before me charged with adultery."
Riona rose and went toward him. "Perhaps, but I doubt it. Polly seems a good soul, and once she's married and settled down, I'd be very surprised indeed if she didn't prove to be a most excellent wife and mother. I would hate to see that chance destroyed because of some silver-tongued Norman who thinks maidservants are no more than whores without a brothel."
The lord of Dunkeathe turned and folded his arms over his broad chest. "Harsh words, my lady."
LORD OF DUNKEATHE Page 9