LORD OF DUNKEATHE

by Margaret Moore

  "Because he has no honour himself," Riona said, putting her arm around her friend's shoulder. "You're very clever, letting him think not interrupting was his idea."

  Eleanor smiled tremulously, then grew grave again as she went to the chest at the foot of the bed and opened the lid. She lifted out a gown of sumptuous scarlet silk damask, with a rounded neckline and wide gored skirt. In the moonlight, it seemed to move and shift like a living thing. Riona had never seen so beautiful a dress in all her life, let alone put one on.

  "I think it should fit," Eleanor said.

  Riona thought it would, too, as she took off her simple woollen gown and reached out for the scarlet dress, taking hold of it reverently.

  "When this is over, you're welcome to it."

  Riona shook her head. "It's too fine for me."

  "I insist," Eleanor said with a spark of determination as she helped Riona pull it over her head and down into place over her shift.

  "Oh dear," Eleanor murmured.

  "It fits well enough," Riona said, although it was a little tight.

  "You can see your shift. It shows above the neck. If Percival sees that, he might stop you, to remind you of what he said about not wearing a shift. He'll find out it isn't me."

  Riona didn't hesitate. "So I'll take off my shift," she said as she removed the gown.

  While she laid it on the bed, Eleanor wordlessly, and delicately, turned away. Riona divested herself of her shift and swiftly put on the gown again. She hadn't noticed before how low the neckline was. No wonder Percival thought this would do for a seduction. It was also a snug fit, and when Eleanor tied the laces, the back of the gown wouldn't close completely. Riona could feel the air, cool on her skin.

  "I don't dare bend over," she said. "I'll tear the laces."

  "The veil should cover the gaps," Eleanor said, going to another chest and bringing out a long, white piece of cloth and a circlet of gold. The circlet, too, was a thing of beauty, made of entwined strips of the metal that shone in the moonlight.

  Eleanor put the fabric on Riona's head, and then the circlet to hold it in place. "I think you might really be able to fool Percival," she said as she stepped back to run her gaze over Riona. "Except for those shoes. You'll have to wear a pair of my slippers."

  Eleanor fetched two soft calf slippers, finely worked, and went down on one knee. "Give me your foot. I'll be your maidservant."

  Riona smiled at that, and to hide her own growing nervousness. When she'd proposed this plan, it had seemed simple enough, and she'd truly believed she could sneak into Nicholas's room without being discovered.

  But now, when it came to it, she wasn't so sure. What if Nicholas woke up? What if he wasn't yet in his bedchamber, and entered while she was hiding there? She could always hide under his bed, she supposed, until he was asleep.

  "There, you're ready," Eleanor said, rising and stepping back.

  When she frowned, Riona wondered what else might be amiss.

  "If you don't want to go, Riona, I won't hold it against you," Eleanor said softly.

  Riona gave her a comforting smile and imitated Uncle Fergus's jovial manner as she went to the door. "Don't worry, I'll be safe. Besides, when else would I have a chance to wear a gown like this?"

  Once she made sure the corridor was clear, Riona crept out of the chamber and prepared to play her part.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A SHIVER RAN DOWN Riona's back as she quickly and quietly hurried past the door of Percival's chamber. It was open enough to allow a shaft of candlelight to waver on the floor, telling her that Percival was there and waiting. Keeping as close to the far wall as possible, she was very glad that there was no torch in a sconce nearby to light her face.

  Her hand trembled as she pushed down on the latch of Nicholas's chamber door and slowly eased it open. Even more carefully, she slipped inside, then closed the door behind her.

  A hand clamped over her mouth, an arm went around her like a band of iron, and she was dragged backward. Struggling, she collided with a body. A man's body.

  Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe's voice growled in her ear. "I won't be seduced into choosing a bride, Joscelind, even by someone as beautiful as you." He loosened his hold. "Now go back to your chamber," he ordered, gently pushing her away.

  Whatever happened, Riona couldn't leave. Otherwise, Percival would know that his plan was a failure and Eleanor would be in jeopardy.

  "I'm not Joscelind," she said as she faced him.

  As he stood in the moonlight coming in through his window, he stared at her as if she were an apparition, while she regarded him with steady determination.

  She must have interrupted him as he prepared for bed. He wore only an unlaced shirt that fell to mid thigh, and those thighs were encased in tight-fitting woollen breeches. He had on his old, scuffed boots, which perhaps explained why she hadn't heard him creep up on her.

  "I'm not here to seduce you," she declared, both for him, and for herself.

  His gaze flicked down to her breasts in the tight gown and against her will, she felt her body respond—the softening of the tension, the pebbling of her nipples against the fine fabric.

  "What are you doing here then?" he demanded, his voice low and husky. "That gown seems designed for no other purpose than seduction."

  She forced herself to concentrate on the real reason for her presence there. Having been discovered, she had little choice but to tell him the truth, and hope that she could prevail upon him to help Eleanor. "It was a necessary disguise and the reason for it will become clear as I explain."

  He made a sweeping gesture toward the one and only chair. "By all means, my lady, sit and explain."

  She moved farther into the room, away from him, and focused her attention on her surroundings. The chamber wasn't as large as she'd expected for the lord of the castle, and was distinctiy spartan, more befitting a soldier than a nobleman. The single chair had a high, plain back and no cushion. A candle stand and brazier stood together in a corner as if they were simply stored there. Other furnishings included a very battered and chipped chest and a simple wooden table with basin and ewer.

  In fact, the only thing that signified she was in a lord's chamber was the bed—a very big bed, hung with thick curtains and sporting a coverlet that shimmered in the moonlight, as if it were made of silk.

  "I have had my fill of sleeping on the ground, in haystacks or on cots with my feet hanging over the end," he said.

  Silently cursing herself for staring as if she'd never seen a bed before—even though, in truth, she'd never seen one quite like that —she flushed and hurried to take the chair.

  Nicholas sat on the end of the bed and crossed his arms. "So, my lady, why are you here?"

  "For Eleanor's sake."

  He coolly raised a brow. "How does coming into my bedchamber dressed as you are benefit Eleanor?"

  "It's necessary for Percival to think she's been here."

  Resolved to speak plainly, Riona rose to face him. "Her cousin is determined that you marry her, so much so that he's commanded her to seduce you. If she fails, Percival says he'll send her away to a convent. Being a good and honourable woman, Eleanor was rightly appalled by the idea, but she didn't know what to do, so—"

  "So she came to you." It was a statement, not a question.

  Did he think that wise or foolish? She couldn't tell; his features revealed nothing of his thoughts. "Yes," she admitted, continuing with her explanation. "We decided to trick Percival into thinking she was complying with his command until you make your choice."

  "And what was to happen if and when I discovered you in my bedchamber?"

  Riona tried to sound as calm as he, but it wasn't easy. Yet Eleanor's fate was more important than any discomfort—or anything else—she felt in the lord of Dunkeathe's presence. "I thought that wouldn't happen."

  "A pity you didn't realize soldiers learn to sleep lightly and dress quickly."

  She ran a swift gaze over him. "No, I hadn't anticip
ated that."

  "And if you were found trying to get into my bedchamber, or alone with me? What then, my lady?"

  Here she was on safer ground. "I knew there was no chance we could be shamed into marriage, or forced to wed. My uncle would never make me marry against my will."

  "I see," he replied. His brow rose, as if they were discussing nothing more important than a change in the weather. "I trust Lady Eleanor is suitably grateful that you're willing to risk your reputation for her sake?"

  She'd had enough of trying to stay calm and composed. She'd make him appreciate that Eleanor was in serious jeopardy, and it was his fault, too. "Yes, she is—but it was a risk I was glad to take, because Percival's also told her that if she cannot persuade you to bed her, he will."

  As she'd hoped, Nicholas ceased to look calm, but she hadn't expected to see the murderous rage that came to his face as he swiftly got to his feet. His eyes seemed to burn with it, his whole body to throb with ire. He strode to the chest and grabbed the sword and scabbard laying atop it. "By God, I'll make the man a eunuch."

  Believing he would do it, she ran to block the door. "As much as I'd like to see him punished, too, he's her legal guardian. He has powerful friends, as you know, and he's vicious, which you might

  not. If you hurt him, he may not take it out on you, but on Eleanor."

  "Then I'll just kill him."

  "No!" she cried, putting her hands on his broad chest and pushing him back. It was like trying to move a stone wall, yet she persisted. "Curb your rage and think! That might only make things worse for both of you. What of your future that concerns you so much? Percival's influential friends would surely turn against you.

  "Even if your explanation was accepted and you were absolved of murder, what of Eleanor? I don't know who would become her guardian then. Do you? Can you promise me she would be any safer?"

  He lowered his weapon, and she watched as he seemed to physically contain his anger. "Then what, my lady, do you suggest?"

  She forced herself to answer without regard for her own selfish desire, her longing for something that could never be. "You should marry Eleanor. That way, she'll be free of Percival forever, and you'll have what you seek in a bride. She'll bring you a considerable dowry and Percival's influence."

  A strange expression flickered across his face, or perhaps it was only a trick of the light. "She's young and pretty, too."

  She wouldn't let him see how those words hurt her. "Yes, she is. And a better choice than any of the other ladies here."

  "Really?" he inquired, his temper clearly once more under his control. "Better than Joscelind?"

  "Yes, because she'll make a better wife."

  "Certainly she'd be a more placid one," he agreed. "But I might offend Lord Chesleigh."

  "That was the chance you took when you issued your invitation —that you might offend the ladies and relatives of those you didn't choose. You must have considered that possibility."

  "Yes, I did, and I believe I'll be able to placate Lord Chesleigh if I select someone other than his daughter."

  She should have expected no less. Clearly everything he did was cold and calculated, determined by ambition and his own needs.

  "Are none of the other ladies remaining here to be considered?" he inquired.

  "I don't believe any of the other ladies are in the race, even if they're still in Dunkeathe."

  "Oh? And upon what evidence do you base that conclusion? Are you able to read minds?"

  "Because you're not stupid—or is the budding romance between Audric and Lavinia something you hadn't noticed?"

  "Yes, I noticed, because I am not stupid."

  "And I'm sure you have a reason for encouraging their romance."

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  "That leaves Lady Priscilla and her giggle. I can hardly believe you'd pick her. I've seen you when she laughs."

  "As it happens, I concur." He laid his sword back on the chest. "That also leaves you, my lady."

  Was he trying to hurt her? "I don't forget, my lord, that I'm here only to prevent the Scots from complaining."

  "That was before you entered my bedchamber wearing that seductive gown," he said as he strolled toward her. "Maybe you thought to trick me into marriage."

  "I most certainly did not," she said as she backed away, appalled by the suggestion. "I don't want to marry you."

  "I'm heartbroken."

  At his callous response, her anger and frustration surged forth. "Go ahead, my lord, make fun of me," she said through clenched teeth, her back straight, eyes blazing. "Treat me with the same lack of consideration you've shown to all the ladies here."

  His brows rose. "I've been very considerate."

  "And magnanimous, too," she sarcastically retorted. "Inviting them here to parade before you as if you're a prize bull."

  "I haven't done anything except say I want a wife and offer to choose one from those willing to make the journey to Dunkeathe."

  "Are you really so blind that you don't see what you've done? That you don't appreciate the trouble you've brought to Eleanor? Or the strain you've placed upon all of the ladies as they compare themselves to each other? Did you ever consider how hurt they would be when they realized that they didn't please you, or that they couldn't compete with Joscelind or Eleanor—or even, apparently, with Priscilla?"

  "It was not my intent to hurt any lady's feelings. All I want is a wife." He put his hands on his hips, the action widening the gap in his shirt, exposing more of his naked chest. "If they suffer because they don't suit me, that's not my fault."

  "What a convenient excuse that is."

  "What else would you have me do?" he charged, a hint of pique in his deep voice.

  "That's not for me to say."

  "Oh, don't try playing the coy maiden with me now, my lady!" he said. "I know you better."

  "Or think you do."

  "As you seem to think you know me, and that I'm some sort of lascivious scoundrel who would make love with a woman just because she has the audacity to present herself in my bedchamber." He ran his gaze over her again. "Even when she arrives in a gown like that." His expression shifted. "Even if I might be sorely tempted."

  As her heart started to pound, as she grew more aware of his proximity and his state of undress, she licked her dry lips and sidled toward the door. "If I believe you would do such a thing, it's because I have good cause."

  "Because I kissed you."

  "Aye, because you kissed me more than once—a woman you would never seriously consider for your bride."

  "A woman I can Y consider for my bride." He ran his hand through his hair and spoke with exasperation, as well as fierce pride. "Because I was born into a noble family that lost their wealth, and had to fight for everything I've got. I'm not like the other nobles here, born into wealth and privilege, a life of ease and comfort. I had to earn my money, and nearly everything I won went to pay for the care of my brother and sister. I had promised my dying mother I would take care of them, and I would die myself rather than break that oath. There were days I was soaked through from rain, and nearly starving for lack of bread, yet by the grace of God, I was able to live and succeed, to keep my family in some comfort and eventually win this land, as well as enough money to build my castle. I built the fortress I had always dreamed of, where I would be safe and secure and content. I spent nearly everything I had on it, believing I had yet enough to pay for the household and taxes for a few years yet, and if I chose to marry, I could do so at my leisure.

  "But I hadn't reckoned on the Scots king deciding he needed more money for his army. Alexander's increased the taxes on my estate threefold, and I have little left. I must marry a woman with a large dowry, or I'll lose Dunkeathe. I'll be a penniless mercenary again."

  His expression changed, to one searching, almost...desperate. "Can you understand why I can't let that happen, Riona? Can you appreciate that I've worked too hard to earn this reward and create this refuge to lose
it now? If I did, it will be as if I've done nothing. Am nothing."

  She heard the anguish in his voice, saw it in his dark eyes. This man, this proud warrior from a noble family, was revealing himself to her as he likely did to few, if any. His fear, his vulnerability, his loneliness and suffering, were being shown to her here, in all their humbling power.

  Now she could see him as a frightened boy, beaten by a hardened soldier who tried to destroy all that was good and kind in

  him. She could envision him as the young knight worried about his family and desperately trying to fulfill a dying mother's promise.

  She could see Nicholas as he must have been but a few months ago, when he finally thought he'd achieved everything he'd ever wanted. How pleased and satisfied, how content and proud. And then word had come from the king and he realized he might lose it all with one signature on a parchment.

  He was no falsely proud, arrogant knight who had no right to respect and honour, but a man alone and lonely, vulnerable and afraid, who had kept his promise. At that realization, the feelings she'd been trying so hard to deny, to explain away, to pretend didn't exist, arose stronger than ever.

  "I do understand, Nicholas," she answered softly. Sincerely. She raised her hand to caress his rough, stub-bled cheek. "This estate, this castle, is your triumph and your glory, your hope and prize combined. I wish with all my heart that my dowry was enormous and my uncle the most powerful man in this kingdom, because if he was, I would do everything I could to win you and ensure that you could keep what you've worked so hard to earn."

  Then, as he stared at her as if he couldn't fathom what she was saying, or doing, she brought him close and kissed him. Her passion and her longing surged forth, free and unbound. No longer would she try to rein them in. She would never be rich. Her family would never have power. But now, here, tonight, she could love him with all her woman's need and woman's heart, even if it couldn't be sanctified by marriage.

  Morality, virtue, honour, scandal, shame, fear for the future— nothing mattered except him. He was all in all. No more would she deny herself the pleasure of being in his arms. She would willingly surrender.