The Countess

by Claire Delacroix

  Duncan sighed and rolled to his back, his lips pursing as he stared at the top of the tent. Eglantine feared he would chastise her for her lies, for she knew his regard for honesty.

  But he turned a twinkling glance upon her. “With respect, Eglantine, my tale is a finer one. You should have killed Theobald, ‘twould have been fitting and made a better song.”

  She laughed aloud, uncommonly relieved though she dared not name why, and swatted his shoulder. “I have always admitted that I told a poor tale.”

  Duncan grinned and caught her close. “But your heart is true, Eglantine, and that is of far greater worth than a good tale. You left all you knew and all you loved to save your daughter from a marriage you guessed would be ill-fated. You defied the odds in even arriving here, and should I be a gambling man, I should put my coin on your making a home at Kinbeath.”

  Before Eglantine could ask for clarification, Duncan’s hand closed over her breast. The admiration in his eyes silenced her questions well before his mouth covered hers.

  Though their kiss was not destined to endure. Esmeraude’s ears had perked up even in sleep at the utterance of her favorite word. ‘Twas not long before she was bouncing on Duncan’s chest as they two sang a rollicking ditty together.

  Eglantine refused to sing along, citing the poorness of her voice, though she bounced and laughed as well. She felt lighter for having shared the truth with Duncan and much encouraged by his support of her choices.

  He had a way of making her feel that she had not compounded error with error, that she had not made a muddle of every choice in her life.

  He was a man who could win her heart, without a doubt, or might have won it if Eglantine had not known better than to trust her own instinct in this. Indeed, this past night could have been interpreted as yet another example of her woeful choices when it came to men. She had put aside all the charges held against him, and that to sate her own desire.

  ‘Twas no good sign.

  But as she watched Duncan play with Esmeraude, ‘twas difficult to believe there was anything wrong with welcoming him in her bed. And that, she well knew, should have troubled her more than it did. Indeed, Eglantine wondered whether Duncan spoke aright, and they might indeed make a good match of this.

  ‘Twould have naught to do with love, of course, for she would not venture to those dangerous lands again. ‘Twould merely be an arrangement based upon the good sense of them sharing the land they both desired. And perhaps the desire that flared between them would not fade.

  Perhaps Duncan would not leave in a year and a day.

  Eglantine told herself ‘twas foolish, but the sight of this man with her child - this man who bedded her so thoroughly, this man who made her breath catch with his powerful tales - awakened a tiny hopeful corner of her heart that had long laid dormant. There was much unresolved between them, but on that morning, Eglantine dared to hope once more.

  And this fledgling hope was not for her daughters’ futures alone.

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Duncan was more happy than ever he could recall. Eglantine had neither cast him from her bed nor laid charges of savagery at his feet. She had not only returned his ardor, but she had confided in him. Her child pummeled him playfully and she watched with an indulgent eye.

  ‘Twas as though he had found another family. Though this family Duncan intended not only to keep, but to protect with his very life, if necessary. Dugall would not have his due here.

  In the midst of his musings, one of the unpleasant facets of this family suddenly intruded. Alienor swept into the tent unannounced and Duncan winced, wondering what manner of mischief she would make this morn.

  His response was evidently shared, for she glared at him with undisguised hostility. “You should not be in my step-mother’s bed!”

  Eglantine clicked her tongue at the girl’s rudeness, but Duncan caught at her waist when she might have risen from the bed to resolve matters. This was his family, for better or for worse, and he would see this girl’s manner improved.

  “Stay warm,” he counseled his lady quietly. “There is a chill in the air this morn.” She seemed somewhat surprised at his words and he grinned. “’Tis time someone ensured your welfare.” He tucked Esmeraude protectively into the bed against her astonished mother, then folded his arms across his chest and fixed Alienor with his sternest glance.

  He would see Alienor making her way about the camp garbed in more than this sheer chemise if ‘twas the last thing he saw done. Truly, the demoiselle had no idea what trouble she might make herself.

  Or perhaps she did. Duncan felt his eyes narrow. Either way, Alienor made too much grief for his Eglantine.

  “Do you not announce yourself at your mother’s chamber?” he demanded. “And do you not ever don more than your chemise? There are men about who might take advantage of all you appear to offer.”

  Though he expected her to lie and retort that he had done as much, Alienor rolled her eyes. She flushed slightly. “I would talk to my step-mother in privacy.”

  “Why?” Duncan was more than suspicious of the girl’s manner, and to his pleasure, Eglantine seemed to share his view.

  “Whatever you have to say may be said in Duncan’s presence,” she said calmly.

  Alienor granted them both a glare. “Nay, it cannot!”

  Eglantine folded her arms in an echo of Duncan’s posture. The way she sat beside him made him proud, for ‘twas as though they faced this adversary together. “Aye, it can and it will.”

  Alienor fumed silently, her hands clenching and unclenching, then shook her head and strode to the bed. “Then here is the truth of it,” she declared, her voice shaking. “This king of the isles, this heathen Dugall, he took my maidenhead last eve and made me his own. You must insist that he wed me, for no less honor will do.”

  Duncan felt himself smile. “But I thought your maidenhead was already stolen from you.”

  Eglantine looked similarly unmoved by this speech. “Aye, ‘twas not long past that you claimed Duncan had taken it.”

  Alienor made a little growl in her throat and her eyes glittered. “That was before! That was before I knew there was a king to be had and before I saw him and before he touched me!” She cast out her hands. “Eglantine, you are impossible as always! You must insist upon this match! ‘Tis the least you can do for me.”

  Duncan began to laugh, but Eglantine dug an elbow into his ribs and he choked to silence. “What proof have you of his deed?” she asked mildly.

  Alienor regarded her in shock. “Eglantine!”

  “One cannot accuse a king of such a deed without proof, Alienor.” Eglantine was ever practical. “‘Tis no small thing to take a bride - nor indeed to lose one’s maidenhead.”

  “No matter how many times it takes,” Duncan muttered and his lady elbowed him again.

  “There must be evidence, Alienor,” she insisted.

  The girl flushed crimson, but lifted her chin. Without preamble, she seized the hem of her chemise and hauled it up to her waist, displaying her bloodied thighs. “’Twas you who insisted we not have privacy,” she declared defiantly.

  Clearly he was not yet ready for the ordeal of this girl. Duncan fell back on the pillows and covered his eyes with a groan, a move that prompted Esmeraude - who was disinterested in Alienor’s complaints - to tickle him.

  “Such a show of blood is not proof, Alienor,” Eglantine said coolly. “It could be naught but your monthly courses.”

  Duncan grimaced, certain that was more than he wanted to hear. He took refuge in tickling Esmeraude who was delighted with the return of his attentions.

  “You!” Alienor shook a finger at Eglantine. “You have always hated me, you have always denied me my desires, you have always tried to shame me.”

  “You seem to find shame well enough without assistance,” Duncan declared. He braced himself for another jab but Esmeraude jumped on his chest instead and nigh drove the wind out of him. She giggled at
her feat and he hoped heartily that she never grew up.

  Aye, Esmeraude was more clever than Alienor and should she choose to make trouble - as Duncan feared she would - he was certain she would be the death of both himself and Eglantine. Her father’s temper, charm and lack of judgment indeed.

  Might the gods have mercy upon them.

  “Alienor, you must show some sense in this endeavor.” Eglantine spoke more reasonably than Duncan could. “I know that you are impatient to be wed, but a man’s affections must be won. And there are many who believe that a woman who is easily bedded is not one to be wed.”

  “Aye, is that why you couple with him, like a common wanton? Heathen vows are so much more flexible than those made before a priest, are they not?”

  Eglantine straightened, but Duncan sat up and glared at the demoiselle with overmuch to say. “You will not speak to Eglantine thus!”

  “Whyever not?” She lifted one shoulder insouciantly. “Because the truth cannot be uttered if it does not suit your favor? You are not wed, yet you warm her bed. ‘Tis disgusting, you are both so old and so filled with lust.”

  Alienor shuddered, then looked at Eglantine again. “At least you wed Theobald, though he was not worth any maid’s trouble. I gather none others would have you. Is that why we flee so far? That you might find another man desperate enough to bed you? And now that you are too old to have much choice, so you would show your power in limiting mine?”

  “Enough!” Duncan roared and bounded from the bed, no longer content to let his lady manage this discussion. “You will apologize to Eglantine and you will do so immediately!”

  “I will not!”

  He caught Alienor’s chin in a sudden gesture, lifting her to her toes. The girl’s eyes widened. “Apologize,” he growled, “and I would advise you do it well.”

  Alienor’s lips set mutinously. “I am sorry, Eglantine, that I feel so compelled to speak the truth.”

  “You feel no such compulsion,” Duncan retorted, disliking her audacity. “For you have already admitted this day to a lie that crossed your lips.”

  Her eyes flashed and she twisted from his grip, rubbing her chin as though she would wipe the stain of his touch away. “I confess naught and I need not do so.”

  Duncan shrugged and leaned against the bed as though he had not a care. “Neither I nor Eglantine need plea your case with King Dugall.”

  Alienor’s lips pinched tightly, then she strode to Eglantine. “He never touched me,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “I made to seduce your Duncan MacLaren, but he spurned me.” She punctuated this with a glance at Duncan. “Naught happened, which speaks most eloquently of the man’s taste.”

  Eglantine covered her mouth with her hand, though Duncan could not guess whether ‘twas horror she hid or laughter. The glint in her eyes, though, made Duncan’s heart leap.

  Alienor tapped her toe, ever anxious to pursue her own agenda. “Now, what of the king?”

  “Did any witness this deflowering?” Duncan demanded. “You cannot blame us for skepticism of your claim.”

  Alienor opened her mouth and closed it again. Steam fairly rose from her ears. She shook her head and might have spoken, but a man cleared his throat on the outside of the tent.

  “Duncan, are you within?”

  ‘Twas Iain, Duncan recognized his voice. So did Alienor, for her lips tightened and she folded her arms about herself. “Aye, Iain, I am here.”

  “Might I speak with you?”

  Duncan shook a heavy finger at the discontented Alienor. “You will wait here and you will hold your tongue until I am returned. Understand?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded once in agreement, which was more than he had expected. Duncan slipped through the silk, not prepared to receive the entire camp while his lady lay abed.

  Iain’s expression was strained, though he bowed his head to Duncan in an unexpected display of respect. “I have a request of you, this morn.”

  “Aye?”

  Iain frowned, his evidently practiced words falling in haste. “Aye. Last eve, I sampled a woman now beneath your care and she, to my dismay, was virginal. I took her maidenhead, never guessing from her manner that ‘twas intact. Though we parted poorly last eve, I would make matters right in this.”

  Duncan nodded, not surprised that the ale and the celebration had led to unions unexpected. “Aye, ‘tis the mark of a man of honor to finish what he has begun.”

  Iain nodded gratefully at this encouragement. “My father would expect no less. And so, I ask you, Duncan, that you put the differences between us aside for the future of this maiden and any bairn I might have planted in her belly.” He looked Duncan in the eye, his blue eyes blazing. “I ask you for the hand of the countess’ dark-haired daughter in mine.”

  * * *

  “I will not have him!” Alienor insisted, as stubbornly as she had thus far. “He is no one of any merit at all.” She cast a glance at Iain that might have daunted the most determined of suitors.

  Iain glared back and muttered something in Gael, looking not the least bit swayed from his course.

  Duncan sat down heavily beside Eglantine and rubbed his brow. He had dressed quickly in his usual plaid with the yellow chemise beneath, though his feet were yet bare. Eglantine similarly had cast a kirtle over her chemise and fastened back her hair, though she had not donned stockings or boots. Esmeraude had been dispatched with Célie to break her fast while this was sorted through.

  “He says he took her maidenhead, that she granted it willingly to him.” Duncan shrugged, inviting Eglantine to make what she would of the competing stories.

  She did not know what to believe, though any fool could see that there certainly was fire between these two.

  “‘Twas dark! I thought he was the king!” Alienor cried, then clapped her hand over her mouth in realization of what she had admitted.

  Eglantine exchanged a glance with Duncan. “At least ‘tis established who took what you offered.”

  Alienor flushed furiously and wrapped her arms about herself. “‘Twas offered and no more. I realized my error and matters halted there.”

  Duncan translated this for a clearly curious Iain, who denied her claim so hotly that his meaning could not be misconstrued.

  “He insists the match was consummated,” Duncan murmured in Eglantine’s ear.

  She nodded. “So I gathered.”

  “I will not have him,” Alienor muttered, as though she sensed that she might lose this battle in the end.

  “What of the blood?”

  The girl lifted her chin. “‘Tis my courses, as you suggested.” She flushed though whether was due to shyness or a bold lie, Eglantine did not know. “I am still a maiden.”

  “Until the next man snares your eye,” Duncan muttered, clearly displeased with the girl’s tales.

  Eglantine could not blame him. She pursed her lips, deliberately keeping her temper to a simmer. “Consider, Alienor, that if your maidenhead is indeed gone, no man will be pleased to discover as much on the night of his nuptials. ‘Tis no small thing that Iain would wed you. You might have the grace to acknowledge the man’s sense of honor.”

  But Alienor sneered. “They have no honor in these parts.” She cast her hand at Duncan. “He has none and Iain is no better.”

  Duncan coughed into his hand. “With respect, Eglantine, I fear she partly speaks aright.”

  Eglantine turned in surprise. “What is this?”

  “Perhaps we should hear from Cormac’s son himself.” Duncan studied the younger man, whose animosity for Duncan was more than clear.

  Perhaps Iain too blamed Duncan for the loss of Mhairi. She would have been his sister and he probably had been fond of her. If naught else, the fading of his father would have been painful to watch. Any man might have laid the blame at Duncan’s door.

  Duncan frowned. “I would have Iain speak for himself, Eglantine, but he speaks only Gael.”

  “You might translate.”


  He flicked her a silvery glance. “If only there were another who could do the task, then you would know no tales were being told.”

  The admission made no sense to Eglantine, but she was prepared to trust Duncan’s judgment. “If you believe it necessary, then we shall summon Louis.”

  “Louis?”

  “Aye. He learned your language en route to this place as he thought ‘twould be useful. It has indeed been so.”

  Duncan frowned at her. “Louis does not speak Gael! He cannot. He uttered not a single word on our journey.”

  Eglantine smiled. “I assure you that he does. He is a better listener than a speaker perhaps, but he does indeed understand. Perhaps you spoke so quickly that he felt he would sound foolish in contrast.” Duncan looked astonished by this and Eglantine supposed ‘twas no small feat to learn a second language, particularly at Louis’ age.

  She dispatched a runner and within a matter of moments, the châtelain joined them as well. Pleasantries were exchanged, the older man admitted that his cough was much improved, then Duncan cleared his throat. He quickly made Louis familiar with the circumstances facing them and though the châtelain’s brows rose, he made no comment.

  “My difficulty is that Iain is not without animosity toward Eglantine and her family,” Duncan explained, his gaze hard upon the fair man. “And so, ‘tis only fitting that I have suspicions of his motives. Would you tell him as much?”

  Louis translated smoothly and Eglantine watched Iain’s jaw set. He said something hot and fast, and Louis pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Sparing the vulgarities that the ladies might not be offended, Iain says that Duncan has no place charging him with faithlessness of any kind, not when he stole Cormac’s legacy. Iain insists the legacy of the chieftainship of Clan MacQuarrie should have fallen to himself, as Cormac’s only blood son.”