A Noble Deception (The Douglas Clan)

by Bale, Veronica

  They reached the castle as the last light of dusk faded into the inky night sky. Every member of the party—including the horses—looked utterly wretched. Earning sympathy from the servants who received them, they were immediately shown to private chambers in which fires, hot broth and other comforts had been readied well in advance.

  Huddled now in front of his own cozy hearth, a cup of spiced, hot wine pressed to his lips with both hands, Lachlan bathed in the heat of the flames. The deep, bone-racking shivers which had come upon him had, for the most part, subsided. But every now and again he would be taken by another round of them, and would have no choice but to wait until the uncontrollable vibrations had passed.

  It was nothing new; being cold was a condition to which he’d grown accustomed. The life of a knight was not one of comfort, and training was undertaken in the entire spectrum of weather: rain, heat or violent snow storm. On top of that, his chamber at Slains was abnormally drafty and the small hearth inadequate for the space.

  The chamber in which he was lodged at Glendalough was far more luxurious than anything he’d previously experienced. Lachlan was awestruck by the rich furnishings and generous proportions. And though such things had never been of interest to him before, he found the tapestry which hung on the wall opposite the bed rather stunning.

  Abandoning the comfort of the fire, he crossed the room to study the workmanship of the piece.

  The skill of its master was extraordinary, the stitching worked, no doubt, by a remarkably fine hand. Threads of muted greens, browns, and yellows blended together so exquisitely it was as if the colour palate were the product of some divine or magical dream. As natural and complex as a real-life forest or loch. The tapestry depicted a woodland scene: deer played effortlessly with each other in a border that circled the central figure of a noble hunter.

  Lord Kildrummond, likely—unless the tapestry pre-dated the earl. Lachlan did not think so, for the threads had not yet faded with the passage of time.

  A knock at the door interrupted his musings.

  “Come,” he called.

  The door swung wide, revealing the shapely figure of his aunt, Lady Glinis Kildrummond. Lord Albermarle had not exaggerated; she was as beauteous as ever, though her ordeal with the earl’s illness had etched strain onto her lovely features. She smiled as she stepped into the room and closed the door after her. Her rich, dark eyes were warm and eager.

  “Lachlan, my dear nephew.” She opened her arms to him.

  “My Lady.” Equally as eager, Lachlan wrapped her in a firm embrace, lifting her feet off the floor as he did.

  “I am so glad ye’ve come,” she declared when he’d set her back down. She rubbed his back affectionately, as if he were still a lad, rather than the broad, hardened Viscount knight he’d become. “Ye look well.”

  “And ye.” Lachlan pulled back, holding Lady Glinis at arms’ length. “Though ye look tired. Are ye certain ye’re no’ ill as well?”

  “Och, ‘tis no such thing. Besides, I’d hardly complain given the state his Lordship is in.” Gesturing to the fire, Lady Glinis took the chair which Lachlan had just vacated. Lachlan pulled a footstool next to her.

  “Is it as bad as Lord Albermarle says?”

  She lifted her delicate shoulders. “I dinna ken what Lord Albermarle has said, but if ye’ve been told his Lordship will die, ‘tis true.”

  “How long does he have left?”

  “He doesna leave his bed much anymore, though he can if he must. And he’s still in good spirits; that, at least, is a blessing. I reckon he’ll no’ make it to spring. Or if he does, ‘twill only be just.”

  “A month then, maybe two,” Lachlan reflected. “Is he in pain at all?”

  “It depends on who ye ask. I would tell ye that his pain is considerable at times.”

  “What would he say?”

  Lady Glinis smiled begrudgingly. “He’d likely tell ye he’s fit as a bear and to mind yer own affairs.”

  Lachlan barked a laugh. “I dinna recall much of him, but that seems fitting wi’ what I do remember.”

  “At least we can say his illness hasna changed him.”

  Without warning, the door to the chamber swung open, interrupting the conversation. Lachlan and Lady Glinis turned, both startled by the intrusion. In strode Alex, a half a piece of manchet bread in his hand. The other half-chewed piece was lodged indelicately in his cheek.

  “Lachlan, ye must have a look in the kitchens, I’ve just—” He stopped abruptly at the sight of Lady Glinis. Frantically he chewed his mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “I apologize, my Lady. I thought the Viscount Strathcairn were alone.”

  Lady Glinis rose, and turned her eyes to Lachlan. “I’ll leave ye be for now, but we shall speak later at the meal, aye?”

  “Of course.” Lachlan bowed to his aunt. She returned a curtsy, and nodded to Alex on exiting the chamber. Alex bowed his respects, hiding the half-eaten piece of bread behind his back.

  Once the door was firmly shut, and the echoes of Lady Glinis’s retreating footsteps gone, Alex straightened. He looked at Lachlan, his eyes wide.

  “By the stars in heaven, who were that lady?”

  “She is my aunt, the Countess of Kildrummond.”

  Alex gaped. “That is yer aunt?”

  “Aye, what of it?”

  “When ye spoke of yer Kildrummond kin, I pictured yer aunt... er... more advanced in years.”

  “Why would ye think that? I told ye she were married at a young age.”

  “For all I kent, that could have happened fifty years ago.”

  “She were married at the tender age of fifteen. Lord Kildrummond were closing in on fifty years himself at the time. As the earl is now in his seventies—”

  “That is a little more reasonable,” Alex pondered. “Still, if she be forty-odd years, she doesna look it. She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  Lachlan studied Alex, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Whether she is or isna is no concern of yers. I hold ye like a brother, Alex, but I’ll no’ hesitate to pound ye black-and-blue if ye think to make bed sport of my aunt.”

  Alex reddened. “Dinna pay me any mind. I’d considered no such thing, I were only saying. Anyway, will ye have time to show me the grounds before the evening meal?”

  Lachlan’s glare held firm a second or two longer, in which pause Alex innocently bit into another chuck of his wheat bread. Satisfied that his warning had been heeded, Lachlan answered, “I could manage it, I think. I’ll take ye as far as the brae to the south. Give me an hour more to warm myself, and then I’ll fetch ye from yer chamber.”

  True to his word, Lachlan fetched Alex within the hour. His friend, too, was enjoying the luxury of a chamber that was far grander than what he was accustomed to.

  “Did ye see?” Alex boasted excitedly when he opened the door. “I’ve a bed big enough for two! And look: six strides from wall to wall.” He backed up to the far wall and took six long paces to illustrate his point. A silly grin spread across his face from ear to ear. “In my chamber at Slains, I could stretch myself on the floor and touch wall to wall wi’ fingers and toes.”

  “Ye daft fool, dinna let anyone see ye behaving so, else they’ll take ye for a peasant in knights’ clothing.”

  “I’m sorry. ‘Tis only that I canna believe I’ve been granted a guest chamber such as this. Surely it were meant for noble visitors.”

  “Ye’re probably right,” Lachlan agreed. “I did tell ye Lord Kildrummond were hospitable.”

  “Aye, but I figured ye meant we wouldna be thrown in wi’ the chattel.”

  “D’ye still want me to show ye the land or would ye rather I leave ye here to pace yer chamber like a madman?”

  Alex grinned sheepishly. “Och, give over.” Removing his cloak from the wardrobe, he added, “Did ye see? I’ve a wardrobe fit for an earl!”

  Lachlan started with a tour of Glendalough itself, guiding Alex around parts of the castle he had not se
en—which was just about everything not directly en route from his chamber to the kitchens. Female servants young and old stopped and stared at the two handsome knights, blushing and curtseying. They made a striking pair. Both were tall, lean and well proportioned from their extensive training, but their complexions contrasted each other: Lachlan’s dark hair, even darker eyes and fair skin complemented Alex, who was blonde, green-eyed and had the sun-kissed colouring of his Norse ancestors.

  Neither minded the attention. In fact, they rather enjoyed it—though neither would admit such a thing to the other.

  Once their tour of the castle was completed, they headed to the stables to fetch their awaiting horses, which had been fed, watered and rested. From there, they headed through the gates of the curtain wall and into the village.

  A variety of shops and other trade establishments, interspersed by individual dwellings, expanded westward from the immediate castle grounds. The buildings were by no means opulent, but they were in good repair. Modest and sturdy, simply but practically constructed and adorned.

  The people of Kildrummond were a living mirror of the village’s dwellings. They too were modest and sturdy, simply dressed, but appeared to enjoy a comfortable, well-nourished existence. And they were friendly. They welcomed their visitors with smiles and warm greetings. Especially the women, who were all taken with the handsome young strangers.

  “There isna a tavern,” Alex lamented when they’d completed a cursory round of the village’s main body.

  “Aye, but there’s plenty of ale and mead at the castle.”

  “These comely lasses here in the village willna be at the castle.”

  “On the contrary,” Lachlan argued, “I’m given to understand that many of them are called in to serve when there are guests.” He nodded flirtatiously to one particularly bonnie specimen, who giggled and curtsied in return.

  From the village they cut south, heading to the brae which, in the summer months, burbled and wended its way through Kildrummond, dividing it nearly in half. In the grips of a March wind, however, the frozen brae was as far as they were able to go before they were forced to turn back.

  They met only one other living soul on their return: a young lass, wrapped in layers against the bitter cold. She kneeled at the stream, scooping a peasant’s bucket through a broken patch of ice. She glanced up, a pair of large, blue eyes fixing on the two men with an expression that was somewhere between curiosity and annoyance.

  Lachlan met her gaze, nodded politely, and continued on his way. She was not particularly beautiful, her face merely pleasant. And despite the bulk of her simple garments, hers was clearly a scrawny, unappealing frame.

  Almost as soon as he’d noticed her, Lachlan forgot her.

  THE GREAT HALL of Glendalough was joyous and lively that night. Plentiful quantities of roast meats, baked pastries, and even the last of the castle’s preserved fruits were displayed for the guests to sample. The feast was accompanied by bottomless pitchers of wine and ale. Musicians threaded through the esteemed members of Clan Douglas, both local and visiting.

  Lord Albermarle was present with his lovely wife, Rosamund, who had journeyed to Glendalough to join her husband on this momentous occasion. Even James Douglas, the ninth Earl of Douglas after his murdered brother William, availed himself of Lord Kildrummond’s hospitality. Indeed, the head of Clan Douglas travelled all the way from his Lanarkshire estate, close to the Scottish Borderlands.

  As lively as the feast was, and as bountifully as he was enjoying everything on offer, Lachlan could not seem to work out what the particular occasion was. Excitement and merriment filled the hall, yet no one seemed to know why they were so excited, so merry.

  Adding to the confusion was the fact that Lord Kildrummond had not yet joined in the feasting. Talk circulated that he was not well enough this night to attend, and remained in his bed, with Lady Kildrummond at this side, through the entire meal.

  Lachlan did his best to put it all out of his mind and simply enjoy the event. He almost succeeded; his enjoyment was hindered only by the nagging curiosity of why he’d been summoned to Glendalough in the first place. But there were enough lovely lasses to overshadow his private concerns. He threw himself into enjoying them as well, enjoying their rosy cheeks, their glances and smiles, their curves and pillowy softness.

  Alex, too, was in high spirits. The knight indulged himself in the ale which flowed freely; by the time the platters were cleared away he was quite in his cups.

  “Lachlan, isna this fan—fantastic?” he hiccupped. The jerk of his body caused him to spill ale over the rim of his cup.

  “Easy there, man. What’s gotten into ye? Ye act as though ye’ve never been to a feast before.”

  “I ken, isna it grand? I’ve no’ had so much fun in years.”

  “I’ll no’ begrudge ye yer fun,” Lachlan conceded. “Things have been tense of late. ‘Tis good to shake it off for a night.”

  “Aye.” Alex bobbed his head vigorously. “Aye, ‘tis. Tonight I am content to forget about old Fiery Face, to forget about Slains, about Lord Erroll and the whole Hay clan. Tonight I’ll drink myself daft, find myself a nice, soft lass, and forget all about the troubles that await us when we return.”

  “I’d say ye’re half-way there.”

  Alex squinted into his cup, examining the dregs intently. “Ye’re right. Half-way isna good enough. Wench!” He raised his cup above his head and lifted his chin to a nearby serving lass.

  The maid approached and filled both men’s cups, encouraging their flirtations as she did. When she’d gone, Alex gazed across the room, furrowing his brow at something that caught his attention.

  “Isna that the lass we saw at the brae this aft?” He pointed, sloppy and tactless.

  Lachlan followed his finger to the rear of the hall. There, indeed, was the lass from the brae. She remained seated at one of the few trestle tables which had not been removed, and conversed mildly with two elderly clanswomen.

  “How in the blazes of hell did ye make her out when ye could hardly see the bottom of yer cup?” he demanded, incredulous.

  Alex winked. “I’ve a gift when it comes to comely lasses, I do.”

  Lachlan snorted. “Comely my arse! She’s the body of a young lad, flat as a board. She isna even dressed finely.”

  Alex pursed his lips, considering the lass’s plain tunic of umber wool, and her simply bound hair which was a bland, colourless kind of light brown in the surrounding torchlight.

  “Perhaps. But she’s lovely eyes.”

  “I think that’s the ale speaking. Besides, ye’ll no’ be looking at her eyes if ye get her into yer bed. That’s when the shape of a woman counts.”

  Alex flipped a hand dismissively and drank from his fresh cup. His gaze moved on to other, lovelier maids.

  Lachlan, though, could not redirect his attention as easily as his friend. The presence of the unexceptional lass in the unexceptional clothing intrigued him. It was then that he noticed others seemed to be talking about her. He watched as eyes darted towards her and then quickly away, as lips were hidden behind hands to shield unkind whispers and giggles.

  The lass noticed, too. Knowing this, Lachlan wondered if the conversation she kept up with the two elderly women was for the sake of her pride.

  His interest was a brief aberration, and it passed eventually. Soon he and Alex were talking of other things, and indulging in the atmosphere once more.

  Just as the merriment was winding down, in the wee hours of the morning, they were interrupted by Lady Glinis. She approached their table gracefully; all eyes in the immediate vicinity followed her with admiration. Any that did not know who she was at least recognized her importance.

  Upon noticing her, Alex jumped up; he swayed a little as he bowed. Lachlan bowed as well, though being less inebriated, he did not wobble like his friend.

  “Nephew, I am sorry I didna have the chance to speak wi’ ye at the meal as we said we would.”

  “Dinna thi
nk on it, my Lady,” Lachlan assured her. “I ken ye’re busy wi’ his Lordship. How is he this evening?”

  “He does poorly, though in truth I’ve seen him worse. He has just woken, actually, and wishes to speak wi’ ye now.”

  “There is no rush. It can wait to the morrow.”

  Lady Glinis lowered her eyes. “’Tis best ye see him now. Not only because he bids ye, but because there is no guarantee that he will be any better on the morrow.”

  “Of course. If that be his wish.” Tossing a wink to Alex, he said, “I’ll tell ye all on my return.”

  He followed her out of the hall and to the keep. It escaped his notice that Alex had not taken his eyes off the lady for a single moment.

  Five

  THE INSTANT THAT Lady Glinis entered the hall, the skin at the back of Moira’s neck began to tingle. It was as if she had some sort of innate awareness where the Countess of Kildrummond was concerned. Moira observed from the corner of her eye, careful not to let the lady see her watching, as she approached the two visiting knights and ushered the dark-haired one away.

  Only when Lady Glinis had gone was Moira able to release the tension that had crept into her shoulders. Oh, how that woman made her uncomfortable. Never a smile, never a kind word did she offer. Ever since childhood Moira had known, on some level, that her very existence offended Lord Kildrummond’s wife.

  As she grew older she came to understand the reason. To sympathize with the unfortunate lady, even. Were she in Glinis’s shoes, Moira would probably feel the same way. What woman could tolerate such close proximity to the bastard offspring of her husband’s mistress, after all?

  There were many reasons why Moira avoided Glendaloug; Lady Glinis was one of them. It was for her sake that Moira had declined Lord Kildrummond’s offer that she live at the castle when her mother died (not that the lady appeared in any way grateful, or even appreciative). In fact, Moira would have preferred to avoid the meal tonight, too, if she could. If she hadn’t felt guilty about denying a dying man’s request.