The Countess

by Claire Delacroix

  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.”

  Eglantine frowned in confusion even as her gaze slipped over the man in question, but Duncan continued. “At any rate, it came time for Mhairi to wed. Cormac made the arrangements with another chieftain who desired both her and an alliance. Mhairi however refused to wed him.”

  “Because she wanted you.”

  “Aye, but I had naught to offer her - I did not even love her! - and Cormac insisted upon this alliance. Mhairi was the light of his days, he loved her as few men love their daughters, and he wanted every luxury for her. And I believed he was right in this, that this chieftain’s affection and wealth would serve Mhairi well. But Mhairi would hear naught of it - she even tried to persuade me to her cause. So I left, for I thought to make matters more easy for all involved. I, like Cormac, thought she was but being willful.”

  His expression was grim and Eglantine found herself recalling the tale he had recounted in song. “She refused him,” she guessed.

  Duncan shook his head, then shoved one hand through his hair. “Worse. She refused, she and Cormac argued, and Cormac carried her bodily to priest and betrothed. She fought him every step of the way and ‘twas said to have been quite a scene. But after the ceremony, Mhairi seemed to have calmed. All thought she had accepted her fate, now that ‘twas done. She was sent to her chambers to prepare for her spouse, while the men drank his health.”

  He swallowed. “She killed herself there, with the dagger her father had once given to her as a gift, rather than let the match be consummated.”

  Eglantine felt her lips part in surprise. Duncan frowned and looked away, his distress at this recollection so evident that Eglantine’s heart ached for him. “I returned but two days later, expecting all to be well and finding the opposite.”

  “And Cormac?”

  Duncan heaved a sigh. “Was never again the same. He faded and grew small. There are those who say he died of a heart broken in two.” He frowned and pushed to his feet, his tone brusque. “There, you have your tale, Eglantine, and I have need of more ale.”

  Eglantine laid a hand upon his arm, her own heart stirring with compassion. “I see that you blame yourself for this, though the fault is not yours to bear.”

  “How could I not blame myself!” Duncan snapped, his eyes flashing. “The man who sheltered me lost his sole daughter because of me! I should have spoken to her, I should have persuaded her.” Duncan sat down heavily and drained his cup though ‘twas already empty. He cast it onto the board. “I should have loved her. ‘Twould have been the least I could do for the man to whom I owed so much!”

  Oh, Eglantine knew what ‘twas to blame oneself overmuch for what had happened in the past. But Duncan had done naught wrong - he had been true to his heart - ‘twas Mhairi who had acted impulsively and Cormac who had seen naught but his own desire.

  “You are no more to blame for Mhairi’s foolish choices than I am for the course of Alienor.”

  Duncan grimaced. “Let us not discuss Alienor again.”

  Compassion flowed through Eglantine, his pain at his role in this tragedy showing her that she had judged him as harshly as he had judged himself. But Duncan had pledged himself to her and her goals, he had aided her with Esmeraude.

  The least she could offer him was solace.

  Eglantine cupped Duncan’s face in her hand, then kissed his cheek, smiling at his astonishment. “Come to my bed, husband,” she said, her voice loud enough that all might hear. “I grow impatient for your heat.”

  She made to tug him to his feet, but Duncan resisted, his scowl filled with uncertainty. “Eglantine, what is this that you do? I am in no mood to suffer games.”

  She smiled for him alone, hoping he could see that she had no intent to cheat him. ‘Twas not like Eglantine to make an impulsive choice, but she knew that this was the right one, just as fleeing Arnelaine had been the right choice despite her haste in choosing it. “I say aye, Duncan, though I never imagined I should have to say it twice.”

  His eyes flashed and he was on his feet in a heartbeat, his haste making Eglantine laugh beneath her breath. The company hooted in approval, some lewd drinking song in Gael taken up by the company with vigor. Eglantine did not care.

  “I care not why you have changed your thinking,” Duncan growled, then scooped her into his arms. “But I shall not grant you the chance to change it again.”

  Indeed, ‘twas a fair enough exchange.

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eglantine’s tent had been prepared for them, the snowy linens turned down and the coals in the brazier lit. ‘Twas quieter here, the raucous sounds of the celebrating company fainter with distance.

  Duncan eased Eglantine to her feet, letting her slide down the length of him. He let the lady see his admiration for her, then bent to capture her lips with his.

  Gently. He tasted her surprise then smiled at her own surge of ardor. Eglantine’s lips parted, her hands framed his own face. She arched against him in silent demand and the heat rose between them, but Duncan touched no more than her face.

  He kissed her lingeringly all the same, his fingertips sliding beneath her chin where her pulse thundered in perfect echo of his own. When Duncan lifted his head, her mouth clung to his and his name slipped from her lips like a sigh. She stretched to her toes, as though she would kiss him again, but Duncan smiled.

  “There is no need to hasten, my Eglantine,” he murmured. “’Twill only be the first night of our handfasting this once, and I would savor every moment of it.” He loved how her eyes widened in surprise at that, loved how she shivered as his fingertips eased down the length of her throat.

  Duncan swallowed as his gaze drifted over her. She was more finely wrought than he could believe, her skin so soft, its golden hue making her look even more like a goddess who deigned to let her toes touch the earth. On a night such as this, when so many marvels had already occurred, a goddess might even grant the most heartfelt wish of a mere mortal.

  Duncan touched her temple and dared to ask. “May I see your hair unbound?”

  “Of course.” Eglantine nodded and smiled in turn, her hands rising to make quick work of the tie.

  “Nay, grant me the honor of unfurling it.” Duncan caught her hands in his, kissed her palms. Eglantine shrugged and he took the end of her braid in his own fingers. He u
ntied the tether slowly then let his fingers slide into the thick silk of her hair.

  The golden tresses curled around his fingers as he worked the braid loose, increment by increment. Her hair spilled over his hands, his wrists, his arms in a golden waterfall that shimmered in the light of the braziers. It smelled of sunshine and flowers, of Eglantine’s own scent mingled with the wind.

  Duncan caught his breath. “’Tis a treasure fitting of a king’s horde,” he whispered, lifting a handful of her hair to his lips.

  Their gazes met, the shimmer of desire in Eglantine’s green gaze making Duncan’s pulse quicken. His body urged haste but he forced himself to move with leisure.

  “I would see you garbed in naught but your hair’s splendor,” he breathed. Eglantine not only seemed inclined to indulge him, but, again, she would have seen the matter done in short order.

  Once more, Duncan halted her busy fingers, then stood but a hand span from her as he loosed the knot in her girdle. “Let me,” he urged. “I would see all of you, explore all of you, taste all of you, my Eglantine.”

  Eglantine’s breasts rose and fell, revealing her awareness of him, and her eyes widened. But she did not move away. She stood as Duncan set to unfastening the neck and sides of her kirtle.

  He folded his hands around her shoulders, savoring their strong curve. “I like that you are not wrought small,” he confessed. “I like your strength, Eglantine, your vigor and your passion.” He kissed her again and she rose against him, meeting him touch for touch and fueling his desire.

  When he lifted his head, they both were breathing heavily. Duncan swallowed and smiled for her, then eased the weight of the wool from her shoulders, bending to kiss each increment of flesh as ‘twas revealed. The whisper of his breath made her shiver and she arched her neck back, offering herself to him.

  Duncan accepted. He kissed her ear, her throat, the smooth curve at the crest of her shoulder. He tasted the hollows around her collarbone and ran his tongue across her sweetly scented skin. He let his lips linger on the flutter of her pulse, reassured that she responded thus to him.

  Eglantine clutched his nape and murmured his name. Knowing he could not continue with such restraint, Duncan left her chemise, easing the kirtle away with a thoroughness the task did not demand, running his hands over her as though he would memorize her curves with his touch. Her nipples beaded and her fists clenched, but Eglantine granted him his will. Their gazes locked as he traced the curve of her buttocks, before his hands ran over the length of her thighs. The heat in the tent rose by the time he knelt before her and he could smell the scent of her desire.

  Eglantine gripped his shoulders as she swayed slightly on her feet. “Duncan, I would have you hasten.”

  But he shook his head. “Not this time.”

  When the wool pooled around her ankles, he stood once more, cupped her buttocks and lifted her against himself. He kissed her soundly, then swung her in his arms and lay her upon the bed. She reached for him but Duncan evaded her touch with a smile.

  “Patience,” he chided, shaking a finger at her. Eglantine laughed lightly and lay back. He removed her boots and cast them aside, intrigued by the finery of her stockings. He let his fingers trail up the slender strength of her legs, past her knees, and watched as her cheeks pinken as his fingers brushed her thighs. Duncan could smell her, he knew the import of the glitter in her eyes, but he forced himself to take this slowly.

  ‘Twas more difficult than he had expected.

  He untied her garters with deliberation, then bent to kiss the inside of her thigh. Eglantine shuddered. She was impossibly soft and sweet and Duncan lingered there, running his tongue beneath the lip of the garter, raining kisses upon the dimple in her knee.

  Eglantine moaned. Duncan slipped his fingers beneath one stocking, easing it lower with excruciating slowness. He kissed each measure of her bared to his gaze, nipping at each mole, laving each curve with his tongue.

  He repeated his attentions upon her other leg, noting how Eglantine rubbed her hips against the mattress when he paid particular heed to her feet. He was harder than ever he had been, everything within him urging him to hasten when he slid beneath her sheer chemise. She parted her thighs, tempting him the sight of her, but Duncan gritted his teeth and held his course.

  He eased up the length of her, rolled his tongue within her navel as his hands folded around her waist. He eased the linen higher as he progressed, baring her to the golden light and his gaze.

  She was perfection. His kisses fell on the tiny lines on her belly that evidenced the children she had borne, a mark of her selflessness. The similar lines upon her breasts, wrought of giving Jacqueline her breast, won the caress of a fingertip. Her nipples were ruddy and taut, their peaks the shape of a child’s mouth. Duncan closed his mouth over her and Eglantine arched against him with a cry. Her hand locked in his hair, her breast filled his hand, her hip bumped against his erection.

  Duncan pulled away, his own fist clenched in the linens. He heaved a ragged sigh and looked upon his flushed and willing partner, his golden goddess made flesh, and shook with desire.

  Eglantine smiled and pushed him to his back. “My turn,” she whispered and set to unclothing him with the same leisurely thoroughness. He watched her as she moved, intrigued by her grace, amused by her wonder. Her kisses set him on fire, the caress of her fingertips drove him mad, the sight of her was more than he could endure.

  He caught his breath when she closed her hand around him. Duncan thought he might explode with his desire and knew that if she touched him any further, he would. He snared her hand and rolled her to the bed beside him. He propped himself on his elbow, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, then slid his free hand down the length of her.

  He met her gaze as his fingers slid into her slick heat. She gasped and arched against him. Duncan touched her with care, slowly bringing her passion to the boil, the sight of her feeding his own. She writhed against him, she gripped his shoulders, she flushed to her nipples. Her legs twined with his, her hips bucked, she was wet and hot and sweet. She cried his name but he granted her no quarter.

  And when she arched off the bed with a scream, he knew he had never felt such satisfaction in any achievement as he did in pleasing Eglantine.

  She took but a breath before she smiled mischievously and closed her hand around him once more. Duncan caught his breath and the lady pushed him to his back.

  “My turn,” she murmured with intent, her fingers driving him to distraction. Duncan found himself heated and writhing. He clutched the linens by the fistful in his desire for control, but Eglantine showed no haste to be done. She knelt above him, the firelight kissing her curves and painting her with gold.

  When she urged him within her, Duncan nigh fainted with pleasure of her heat closing around him. But the lady moved with deliberation, echoing his slow pace, drawing out his passion longer than he might have imagined possible. His hands fell to the narrow span of her waist, hers landed upon his chest. And she kissed him with a thoroughness that made his heart clamor.

  Eglantine was the one. She was his lady, his woman, his partner. She had his heart and Duncan did not want it back. She had come to him, defying belief and expectation, just like an old tale. ‘Twas destiny that brought them together, he was certain of it, and naught would ever tear them apart.

  He slipped his thumb between the two of them, wanting to share the rising storm. She gasped then writhed above him, driving him mad with her heat and desire. Duncan strained to hold himself back, he touched her with increasing vigor, he felt a surge of delight when Eglantine cried out once more.

  ‘Twas then and not a moment before that he caught her close and drove deep into her heat, arching high off the bed and roaring as he spilled his seed within her.

  And there was naught but Eglantine, her warmth and softness, her scent and her touch. Duncan buried his nose in her hair with a sigh of satisfaction, then kissed her temple as his eyes closed.

  “Ah, E
glantine, I do so love you,” he managed to murmur before sleep claimed him.

  * * *

  Sleep evaded Eglantine.

  Duncan’s words echoed in her thoughts throughout that long night. She laid and watched the silk billow above her, savored the heat of his arm around her waist, listened to the lapping of the sea - - and wondered.

  No man had ever said he loved her. Not even Theobald, with all his charming lies, had ventured so far as this. It had been she who had been so anxious to confess tender feelings.

  And it had been her confession that had changed all. Aye, Eglantine could mark the change in her relations with Theobald from the very moment she had confessed her love - he had won, he knew it well, and he had begun to exploit her weakness for him from his new position of power.

  She had been fool enough to let him.

  But Duncan, Duncan was different from Theobald in so many ways. He was spared the other man’s cool composure, though indeed, his impassioned charm was not without allure. And the words had fallen from his lips as though he could not halt them, not as though he would urge her surrender.

  Eglantine was shocked how readily she wanted to believe him, even knowing all she did of men, even doubting all she did of Duncan’s deeds.

  ‘Twas true that this Duncan was a poor liar. She studied him as he slept, as though she could determine the truth in the lines of his features, the sweep of his dark lashes, the unruly tide of his hair. Her gaze fell to his lips time and again, remembering their weight upon hers. He had been uncommonly gentle in his loving this time and Eglantine realized her previous charge of savagery had stung. She regretted those words and wished she could take them back, but they were said and he would not forget them soon.

  But despite her charge, Duncan was no savage. He was both more gentle than any man with whom she had mated and more passionate. He granted her the choice of whether to welcome him to her bed, whether to consummate what was begun. She knew that if she denied him at the very portal, Duncan would cede to her will. He might rage about her capriciousness, he would have much to say of the matter - but he would not force her, he would hurt her, he would not take what she did not offer.