LORD OF DUNKEATHE (33 page)

Fredella appeared as if out of nowhere and threw her arms around Uncle Fergus and hugged him
tightly
. "Wheest, girl, let me breathe," he said, laughing.

Nicholas again addressed Lord Chesleigh, who was not laughing. "So much for your threats, my lord."

"What about Eleanor?" Percival demanded, dragging her forward by the arm. "Her dowry will be better than Joscelind's. You'll have no need to call on anyone's
favour
s for your prosperity. Nor did she try to entrap you—"

"She didn't, but you did," Nicholas charged, glaring at him with revulsion. "I know all about your plan to force Eleanor into my bed, and then make us marry."

Nicholas reached out and took hold of Percival's wrist. His expression grim, he tightened his grip until Percival cried out and released his cousin. She ran to Uncle Fergus, who put his arm protectively around her. His other arm was around Fredella.

"You are free to remain here, my lady, if that is what you wish," Nicholas said to her. "I'll protect you even if we don't marry. But you never wanted to marry me, did you?"

"No, my lord, I've never wanted to marry you."

Her denial was so strong, so absolute, so firmly spoken, Riona could hardly believe it was the same young woman speaking.

"There you have it, Percival," Nicholas said evenly. "She doesn't want me, and even if my choice wasn't already made, I'll not have an unwilling bride."

"I'm her legal guardian, not you!" Percival exclaimed. "She has to do what I say, and go where I take her. You have no rights where she's concerned."

"Then go to the courts," Eleanor cried, her hands balled into fists, her whole body trembling with rage. "And while you're in London trying to get the means to make me do what you want, I'll be here. Away from you! "

"Come, Joscelind. We're going," Lord Chesleigh announced. "Let's leave this man with the barbarians."

Before Joscelind moved, Nicholas stepped forward. "If he's the one who hurt you, you're welcome to stay here, too."

Riona could easily believe Lord Chesleigh was a violent man. And it was no wonder to her that Nicholas would generously offer Joscelind refuge, despite what she had done.

Joscelind's eyes narrowed, as if she feared a trick. "You'd do that for me? After.. .everything?"

"Yes."

Still
sceptical
, Joscelind addressed Riona. "What about you? Surely you don't want me to stay."

Riona went to Nicholas and took his hand. Holding it, secure in his love, she said, "Whatever has happened between us is in the past, and if you wish to stay, I have no objections."

"Joscelind, come with me, or I'll cast you off as I would an old shoe," her father commanded.

She turned to go with him.

"Joscelind, please, reconsider," Riona said.

Joscelind raised her chin and fierce pride shone in her eyes. "And what? Lose my family and my dowry? Be grateful for your mercy? Watch the two of you be married? I would rather endure whatever punishment my father decrees for my shameful
behaviour
than be dependent on your charity."

"Then I wish you well, my lady, and whatever happiness you can find."

More regal and dignified than ever, Joscelind nodded, turned and followed her father.

But before Lord Chesleigh and his daughter reached the door, a man Riona had never seen before strode into the hall. His boots and breeches were splattered with mud and his hair windblown as if he'd ridden hard and come a long distance in a short time. "Nicholas!" he cried. "And Lord Chesleigh. How fortunate."

"Who the devil are you?" Lord Chesleigh demanded.

Still holding Riona's hand, Nicholas hurried forward. "This is Henry, my brother."

Lord Chesleigh sniffed. "Whoever he is, he should let my daughter and me pass."

"You're leaving, my lord?" Henry politely inquired.

"Yes. At once."

"Excellent. You'll be pleased to hear I've brought you an escort, for it seems several very powerful people in London are very anxious to talk to you about some of your associates and their activities. I gather they've already prepared a place for you in the Tower."

Lord Chesleigh blanched. And then he went for his sword.

He was too slow. Nicholas had let go of Riona, pulled out his sword, and set the tip on the man's neck before Lord Chesleigh had even gotten his weapon out of its sheath.

"I don't think that would be wise, my lord," Nicholas warned as Riona let out her breath slowly.

"You've got a dungeon hereabouts, don't you, Nicholas?" his brother asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Wonderful! The men and our horses are too fatigued from our journey to start back to London today." Henry gestured to two of Nicholas's soldiers. "Take his lordship to the dungeon."

The soldiers hurried to obey, grabbing the Norman and frogmarching him out of the hall.

"Joscelind!" her father cried out desperately. "Joscelind!"

"Don't worry, Father," she said coldly as she followed them. "I won't desert you. And I'll do all I can to prove your innocence. Otherwise, I'll be left with nothing."

When they were gone, it was as if everyone in the hall exhaled at the same
time
.

"Who was she?" Henry asked his brother.

"Lord Chesleigh's daughter. Are there accusations against her, as well?"

"No, and I must say, I'm glad. It would be a great pity to have such a beauty imprisoned in the Tower."

Riona was glad, too. She didn't like Joscelind, but she wouldn't wish disgrace and poverty on her, either.

Henry suddenly started and pointed. "Percival!"

Near the kitchen entrance, Percival stopped and stared as if he'd been shot by an arrow and pinned to the wall.

"What? What do you want?" he demanded as he inched toward the door.

Henry strolled toward him. "So this is where you've got to," he said with a smile. "I hear your tailor is very upset with you—a small matter of a few hundred marks owing, I believe. And your jewel
l
er is unhappy, too. Indeed, I believe you're in debt to most of the merchants and half the usurers in London."

"You're lying!"

"I could be wrong, of course," Henry replied. "But I certainly wouldn't let my brother marry any relative of yours until he had the dowry in his hands."

"Is that true?" Eleanor demanded of her cousin. "What about my money?"

Like a trapped rat, Percival's gaze darted from the main door far away to the kitchen doors nearby blocked by Polly and the rest of servants. He broke for the kitchen, shoving Polly and the others roughly out of the way. Several of the soldiers nearby immediately gave chase.

"Shall I go after him, too?" Henry asked his brother.

Nicholas shook his head. "He won't get far. My men are well trained. They can run for miles if they must, and I'm sure he can't."

Riona put a comforting arm around the distraught Eleanor, who might have nothing now except her title. "Perhaps you exaggerated a bit about the debts?" she asked Henry hopefully.

Nicholas's brother shook his head. "I wish I could say I had, but I fear it's all too true."

"Never mind, my girl!" Uncle Fergus exclaimed. "You'll always have a home with Fredella and me."

"She can always stay with us," Marianne offered.

"Or Nicholas and I," Riona added.

As Eleanor smiled tremulously, and all seemed resolved at last, the servants began to whisper and murmur among themselves, clearly excited and pleased, while the remaining Norman nobles hurried to speak to Riona and Nicholas, as did Marianne, Adair and Roban.

After a
little
time had passed, Henry managed to draw his brother aside. "So, what did I interrupt?"

CHAPTER TWENTY

"WHAT THE DEVIL are you wearing?"

Facing his brother a month later on his wedding day, Nicholas glanced down at his garments. "You should know by now it's called a feileadh. Fergus Mac Gordon gave it to me for a wedding gift."

"Since when have you taken to dressing like a Scot?"

"Since I thought it would please Riona and her uncle, and most of my tenants who are, I point out, Scots. Adair gave me the brooch."

"You're looking damn smug."

"I'm damn happy."

"Where's Adair got to?"

"He went to help Marianne with the children."

"I suppose next time I see you, you'll have a child or two yourself."

"That depends how long you stay away this time, but yes, I hope to have children," Nicholas replied, pretending to adjust the fabric at his shoulder.

In reality, he didn't want Henry to see how the idea of being a father thrilled him, lest he be mocked about that, too. Yet he couldn't imagine anything that would make him happier, or more blissfully content, than having a child with Riona—except the attempt to get the children.

He tried to stifle any such thoughts for the time being. His current ensemble didn't do much to hide the effect on his body.

Henry sat on the end of Nicholas's bed. "That skirt looks uncomfortable."

"It's very comfortable, and it's not a skirt. It's one long piece of fabric. Ask Adair how comfortable it is if you don't believe me. No chafing, for one thing."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "What are you wearing underneath? Adair once told me—"

"Since I'm not a Scot," Nicholas interrupted, "I'm wearing something." He couldn't resist wiping the smirk off Henry's face. "But there's a great deal to be said for wearing it as the Scots do, especially when you're in love with a very desirable and passionate woman."

Henry's smirk disappeared and his eyes widened. "Good God, you haven't..." He frowned. "Have you?"

"My dear brother, surely you don't expect me to reveal such intimate details?"

Henry gave him a skepdcal frown.

Nicholas decided to change the subject. "You're determined to leave in a fortnight?"

Henry nodded.

Nicholas shook his head. "I despair of you ever settling down, Henry, I truly do."

"Now you're sounding like Marianne. But not all of us are such mighty warriors that kings give us estates."

Nicholas heard the frustration and tinge of bitterness in his brother's voice. He didn't want any old arguments or rivalries to ruin his wedding day, so he clapped his brother o
n the shoulder instead. "Since I am settl
ed down, come and see me happily wed."

To his surprise, Henry's expression was gravely serious. "You're sure about this then, Nicholas? You really want to marry this Scot?"

Nicholas nodded, equally serious, and sincere. "I really want to marry her, Henry. I love her."

"First Marianne, now you.. .I'm beginning to think there might be something to this love business."

"There is. I highly recommend it," Nicholas replied as he steered his brother to the door.

The sooner he was married, the sooner he could return to this chamber with his lovely, loving bride.

POLLY REGARDED the woman who was soon to be the chatelaine of Dunkeathe with awe and admiration as they stood together in the bride's chamber.

This would be the last
time
Riona would dress here. After today, and for the rest of her life, she would share Nicholas's chamber, and his bed—a thought that filled her with pure and perfect joy and contentment.

"Oh, my lady, you look beautiful," Polly murmured, her hands clasped in front of her bodice.

"I'm sure it's only the gown. Or my happiness," Riona said as she looked down at the scarlet dress that Eleanor had given her. She had no finer gown, and after what had happened the first time she'd worn it, she couldn't resist wearing it today. Eleanor had helped her add some new fabric to the bodice, though, so that the gown wasn't so tight or the neckline so low. Eleanor had also cleverly made it seem as if the embroidered panels had always been a part of the dress, not later additions.

Nicholas didn't know that she was wearing the scarlet gown. She'd sworn Eleanor, Polly and Fredella to secrecy and they'd worked on it only in this chamber. She was looking forward to seeing the expression on his face—not quite as much as she was looking forward to being his bride, but it was something that made her smile every
time
she thought of it.

"I think you do look beautiful," Polly insisted, "and so will Sir Nicholas." She studied Riona some more. "Aren't you going to braid your hair or put it up?"

Riona shook her head. Nicholas loved her hair, and she would wear it this way for him.

"Is there anything else you need me for, my lady?" Polly's eyes sparkled mischievously. "Need any advice from an old married lady?"

"I hardly think a week of marriage allows one to be considered 'an old married lady,'" Riona observed, "although it would depend on the husband, I suppose."

"That's true, I daresay," Polly said with a merry laugh. "In that case, I expect to be a bride forever."

"So do I," Riona said, sharing a companionable smile. "Thank you, Polly. All I need do now is wait for Uncle Fergus. You go on. I'll see you in the chapel."