The Countess (10 page)

Duncan spared his foster brother a dark glance, then met Eglantine's gaze. “Let the men eat while we wager.”

“Nay.” She folded her arms across her chest, as resolute as any man could be. “Your departure is the only term to which you must agree. No negotiation is necessary.”

Stubborn creature! Duncan took a step closer, but she was not visibly intimidated. “You are about to deny twenty hungry men a hot meal, twenty men you call barbarians, twenty men who were prepared to shed blood to win this land, twenty men who were prepared to seize what they believed to be theirs last evening. 'Twould seem to me to be more clever to cultivate their goodwill before retiring to your bed on this night.” He arched a brow. “But do not let me influence your choice.”

Eglantine considered him for only a moment, then she swore with surprising vigor. Duncan blinked.

“You will not make a habit of this,” she charged. “And be warned that I shall demand fair compensation for this concession.” She then waved the cooks onward.

At least the woman was possessed by a measure of sense. The men grunted approval as meat was ladled into their bowls, but Duncan captured the lady's elbow before she could return to the group.

He had only just begun to vex her, after all.

He led her toward the broch, dropping his voice. “And I return the generosity of your gesture by showing you the marvel of this broch.”

“I should like to see it.” In a move he was beginning to see as typical of her, the countess pulled her arm from his grip and marched determinedly ahead of him. 'Twas as though she had been merely waiting for an opportunity to study the structure, for she scanned it purposefully as she walked. “'Tis for defense, is it not?”

“Aye.”

“And how old is it?”

“A thousand years old, maybe two.”

Her eyes widened.

“Aye, originally it would have been taller...”

“With a roof?”

“Aye, and galleries. You will see.” Duncan smiled, offering her his hand as they reached the rubble at the foot of the tower. She ignored him—though he did not doubt she saw his gesture—hefting her skirts and striding onward untroubled by the rough terrain.

They reached the wall of the crumbling broch, which still stood the height of four men. Duncan gestured into the shadows but the lady regarded him warily.

“You will not touch me again, not when I am at disadvantage in unfamiliar circumstance.”

Duncan grinned down at her. “Perhaps I should ask for a similar pledge, as you are so impassioned in my presence.” He leaned closer, liking how she caught her breath. “But then, all I have is yours to sample, my lady countess. Will you take your compense for the meal in pleasure?”

Her eyes flashed. “Insufferable creature!” Then she ducked through the doorway. Duncan chuckled and followed, nearly running into her where she stood just in the shelter of the shadows. He caught her shoulders in his hands and knew 'twas a mark of her awe that she didn't pull away.

“How ingenious,” she murmured.

'Twas just so. The walls of this broch, like so many others, had been built of double thickness. Between the inner and outer walls of fitted stone, slabs of stone had been laid horizontally. The ends of these stones had been built right into the walls as the tower was constructed. As a result, there was a permanent floor that wound around the tower in an ascending spiral.

The inner wall was punctured by the occasional doorway, providing access from that sloping ramp to the central courtyard. Spaces for the timbers that would have supported the floor could be seen in the stonework at two levels, though now they were only empty holes. The central chamber stood open to the elements, a yawning cavity filled with stones and the occasional stubborn tuft of greenery.

There was a single point of entry at the ground level, the door in which they stood, and a small chamber for a guard built into the wall directly to their right.

The countess turned to face him, her features alight. He felt a momentary surge of pride, both that she appreciated this treasure and that he had shown it to her.

Her words though destroyed any sense of triumph. “You should surrender this immediately to me.”

Duncan laughed, though in truth her presumption annoyed him. “Why? To satisfy your whim alone?”

“Because the land is mine and you know it well.” She spoke crisply. “And this would clearly make a finer fortress. You owe me no less.”

“I owe you naught on the basis of a forged deed.” He had not intended to say as much, but once the words left his lips, he watched her carefully.

The lady was clearly shocked, though she recovered well. Had she not been noble, Duncan would have been certain that she had not known.

Then she quickly shook her head. “'Twould clearly be to your advantage to convince me to leave, and 'tis only your word I have upon this forgery.”

“The others could testify to the fact that Cormac never could sign his name.”

“And have the same motivation as you.” The lady shrugged in turn. “Nay, I shall believe in the deed until you prove any lack of validity to me, and that beyond a shred of doubt.” She leaned closer, eyes shining. “Why do you not seek a court, Duncan MacLaren? I understand William's court is convened in Edinburgh, some week's ride east of here.”

Duncan felt his own reluctant smile. 'Twas strange to have them both think the other guilty of similar schemes and he felt new admiration for the lady's quick wits. “I would guess your doubt will not be readily dispelled.”

The lady laughed, a sight so fetching that Duncan's heart skipped a beat. “'Twould be sorely inconvenient to me to be cast from this holding. And indeed, there are few in my household who would welcome a repetition of our journey here.”

“Then why did you come?” She paused to study him. Duncan found himself anxious to know the truth. “I cannot fathom why you would trouble yourself, let alone uproot all who depend upon you.”

“Why should I confide in you, when you are the one who can cost me my heart's desire?” Her voice was low, her choice of words feeding Duncan's curiosity.

“Ceinn-beithe is your heart's desire?”

The lady's smile flashed. “Aye. The key to it.” Then she fell silent. 'Twas clear she thought her confession sufficient, though Duncan did not share her view.

And he was not sufficiently well-mannered to let the lady be.

“How so?” he prompted.

Eglantine straightened. “I owe you no explanation, Duncan MacLaren.”

Duncan folded his arms across his chest and regarded her indulgently. She was so evasive that he guessed the matter was of import. Or 'twould tell much of her nature.

Which made him only more determined to know. She might have stepped past him to return to the camp, but he moved squarely into her path. He folded his arms across his chest, blocking the opening more effectively than any wooden portal.

He smiled as she assessed the situation, then took a step back. Her expression conceded naught. “Perhaps your reasons will be so compelling that I will readily cede the land to you.”

Eglantine choked back her surprised laughter. “You would not!”

Duncan grinned, liking that she did not fear him. “Perhaps not. But surely, 'tis worth the effort. 'Tis no life of ease you have here and the journey must have been arduous. Why not remain in safety and comfort at your home?”

Eglantine assessed him for a long moment, then sighed. “Because I had no other choice.” Her gaze slid away and her lips tightened. “I had naught but this title and three unwed daughters.”

Duncan blinked in shock, then called himself a fool for so readily feeling sympathy for the lady. No doubt her definition of “naught” was vastly different from his own. And Alienor could not be her daughter—the two could not be five years apart in age!

Nay, she tried to manipulate him with a lie.

“Is that why you would cease Alienor's flirting? Because her value will be reduced to any suitor without her maidenhead?”

Eglantine's eyes flashed. “How like a man to state the truth so coarsely! For what 'tis worth, Alienor has been cheated of her dowry. She is left with only her beauty and her virginity with which to make a match fitting of her birthright.”

Duncan could not help but shake his head, the scheming ways of these nobles not readily forgotten. “A fitting match would be one with a wealthy lord, some decades her senior, some old knight finally come into his inheritance and desiring an heir?”

“A fitting match would be a man who makes her heart sing,” Eglantine retorted unexpectedly and with heat. “A man who cares for her happiness, for her comfort, for her safety. A man who loves her with all his heart and soul. A man with whom she will be happy for all her days and nights.”

'Twas such a poetic whim that Duncan knew not what to say.

D
uncan stared at the lady, watching frustration flicker across her features. He was certain he had heard her wrongly and wished heartily that she would elaborate.

But Eglantine was clearly not prepared to confide more of her secret desire.

“Do you pledge to me that this comrade of yours—” she waved the finger in Iain's general direction as she held Duncan's gaze “- is a man who will honor Alienor, pledge marriage to her and ensure her happiness for all his days and nights?”

Duncan could not find it within him to so guarantee his foster brother's intent. The man was a virtual stranger to him these days. He shook his head. “Nay, I cannot.”

“Then for the sake of Alienor, for the sake of a woman who knows not what she does nor even what price she will pay for any dalliance with him, ensure his departure from this place. Do this, Duncan MacLaren, do this noble deed before damage is done that cannot be repaired.”

It had been a long time since anyone had appealed to Duncan's honor and he found himself instinctively wanting to fulfill Eglantine's appeal. 'Twould be the right deed to do, of that he had no doubt.

But did she toy with him apurpose?

He granted her his best grin, intent on provoking her once more for 'twas when provoked that she revealed her character most clearly. “And if I ensure Iain's departure, what will you grant to me?”

“The meal is ample exchange for your departure.”

“Not to me.”

Eglantine expression turned wary. “What is this?”

“I will not leave Ceinn-beithe.” Duncan spoke firmly. “I will not surrender a hereditary holding to a foreigner, especially on the basis of a deed signed by a man who never could sign his name.”

“Have you heard naught I said?” She flung out her hands in frustration. “Have you no honor in your soul? Your men cannot stay!”

“You will not be rid of us so readily as that, my lady, even though you tell a fine tale.” He caught her shoulders in his hands, but she folded her arms across her chest and leaned away from him. A spark lit in her eyes, though, and Duncan stifled a smile.

He was not the only one who enjoyed their matching of wits. “Do not tell me that you will be disappointed that I will remain.”

Eglantine swore under her breath with a fluency that no longer surprised him, then eyed him accusingly. Duncan could not help but grin, for he both admired her fire and looked forward to whatever she might say.

An unexpected thread of humor ran beneath her words when she did speak. “I should have guessed that you would not make matters easy.”

Duncan chuckled. “'Tis not my way.” His thumbs moved of their own volition in slow circles against her shoulders, and the heat of her flesh rose through the wet wool of her kirtle.

They stared at each other, Eglantine's smile fading to naught. Duncan wondered if he was the only one who forgot the source of their disagreement.

Though the rain had slowed to a light drizzle, she was nigh as wet from the rain as he. The scent of her skin mingled with the odor of the damp wool, the combination warm and intoxicating. Duncan spied the pert peaks of her nipples and wondered whether 'twas the chill or his presence that prompted their state.

The very thought made his blood simmer anew. He met Eglantine's gaze and found an answering heat in those emerald depths. Aye, on this one matter, they two were in perfect consensus. He could well imagine taking the lady to her tent, peeling the wet clothes from her flesh and kissing her until she was rosy from head to toe. She would not be shy, not this Eglantine, she would not hesitate to demand her due, she would both please and be pleased.

He knew it, and he wanted to do that pleasing.

Duncan tried to pull her closer, but Eglantine resisted. “What is your heart's desire?” she asked, her voice catching on the words. “Surely you owe me the fair trade of your tale?”

Duncan sobered. Her gaze searched his, as though his answer would tell her much of him. He half-smiled, knowing with complete certainty the only thing he sought and suspecting it would tell her much indeed.

“Truth,” he declared. “The truth is all that I have ever desired.” Aye, truth from this lady would be a fine beginning. He could not dismiss his sense that she misled him, leaving matters half-unsaid that he wrought the wrong conclusion.

“Truth.” Eglantine stared at him, but did not step away, and 'twas clear he had not responded as she expected. Her lips parted, as though in invitation, their softness drawing his gaze.

Duncan caught his breath, and their gazes locked anew. The assembly was naught but a distant murmur, the mist crept from the sea to cloak their ankles, the rain had gentled though it yet fell.

The truth was that he wanted her, and given his own declaration, Duncan found that urge impossible to deny.

“'Tis not the truth you desire from me,” she declared, color tinting her cheeks. She straightened imperiously. “Let me pass.” She lifted a hand to urge him aside when he did not move, but Duncan caught her fingers in his.

“And what is it that you truly desire from me?” he demanded, letting his voice drop low with provocation. She hesitated and he deliberately ran his thumb across her palm. He kept his gaze fixed on hers as he bent and licked her palm.

The lady shivered and hastily pulled her hand away. “Your immediate departure. 'Tis all I desire.” Even the words sounded breathless.

Duncan chuckled. “Liar.” He could not resist the urge to touch her. He cupped her shoulder in his hand and when she did not recoil, slid that hand up her throat to cup her jaw. The lady did not retreat. Indeed, she swallowed when he stared at her rosy mouth, then her tongue slipped across the fullness of her lips. He felt her tremble.

Perhaps this at least was honest between them.

Eglantine was so very soft, softer than he had ever imagined flesh could be. But beneath the softness of her jaw was the uncompromising bone. He felt that her teeth were clenched, her breath held, and he slid his thumb along her jaw in a coaxing caress. She exhaled shakily and closed her eyes, but Duncan did not miss how she trembled, nor how reluctantly her face turned to his palm.

If she had told him the truth, then she was the woman he had always dreamed of finding. A woman unafraid of his temper, a woman who knew he would hurt none, a woman with a poet's heart as whimsical as his own, a woman for whom no half measure would do.

If she lied, he was a fool to be seduced by her beauty and her deceit.

He had always been a man cursed with too much hope.

Duncan felt Eglantine's pulse beneath his thumb, saw the thousand questions light her fine eyes. He was aware that she was far smaller than him, so delicately wrought that he could have snapped her neck in his hands if he had so desired.

But he did not so desire, and she knew it well.

“Let me pass,” she demanded tightly, her eyes demanding something entirely different.

Duncan smiled. “There is a toll of a kiss to pass through this portal.”

“Liar.”

He grinned. “Nay, 'tis an old tale, one entwined with the history of this place.”

“I have no time for whimsical tales.”

“Indeed? I had thought you would want to know the history of Ceinn-beithe, particularly how 'tis prized for mating. Is that not of import to your daughters?”

“I know already that Ceinn-beithe is a fortunate place for a handfast.”

“Do you know why?”

Eglantine shook her head, her wariness making him smile.

“But one kiss and the tale is yours.”

She assessed him, her gaze slipping to his lips then back to meet his gaze. Then she shrugged as though insouciant but he was not fooled. “I suppose I have naught to lose, as I am given to understand that a barbarian will take what he is not willingly accorded.”

Duncan laughed. His heart swelled that Eglantine trusted him to take no more than she desired to grant. Even in their brief acquaintance, she had seen that his temper was naught but harmless noise. No other had been so perceptive, not other had accepted him as he was.

Not even Mhairi.

Perhaps Eglantine truly was afraid of naught. Perhaps this was a lie. Either way, she stood fearlessly, waiting and watching, simultaneously soft and strong. Daring him to take that kiss.

And he would dare.

The lady was irresistible. Duncan had no choice but to surrender to temptation. He drew her against him, his chest tightening with desire at her curves pressed against his chest.

“One kiss, and thence your tale,” she reiterated firmly.

“Unless, of course, you beg for more.” Her eyes flashed at his audacity and her lips parted, no doubt to lose a recrimination, but Duncan did not grant her the chance. He dipped his head, then tasted her sigh as his lips closed over her own.

* * *

Eglantine had been a fool to confide even a measure of her reasons for coming to Kinbeath, yet she was more a fool to let Duncan touch her.

Still she could not step away. How could she resist a man whose aim was so noble as the truth? A nigh impossible objective, a goal for a dreamer, yet he had uttered it with a conviction that tempted her to believe.

And his touch tempted her to do far more than that. He was not what she expected, that much was certain. The skin of the wolf she had seen stretched within the broch to dry, a reminder both of his ability to conquer such a beast and his suggestions as to how the fur might best be enjoyed. She had never seen a man hunt like an animal—certainly not a man who also sang like an angel to pacify a child.

She wanted to know how he kissed, though she told herself that curiosity about one's opponent was healthy. The more she knew of him, the more effectively she could drive him from her estate.

She forgot that part when his lips closed over hers. She knew she should fight him, she had every intention of giving him less than the willing kiss he wanted.

But his chest was strong and broad, his hands strong. He was rough and the most aggressively masculine man she had ever encountered—but he touched her as though she was wrought of glass. He caught her close, cradling her against his chest as though he would protect her from all the ills of the world.

For Eglantine, who had waged her own battles, his protectiveness was irresistible.

If he had assaulted her, if he had forced his will, if he had tried to seduce her with his touch, Eglantine would have fought him tooth and nail for the right to choose.

But his lips met hers gently, reverently, as though he would coax her to join him in this embrace. 'Twas seductive enough to have this man, so rough of look and manner, touch her as though she were a rare treasure. 'Twas a concession on his part, and Eglantine knew it well.

'Twas as though he knew intuitively how best to disarm her. Aye, in her days and nights, she had been forced, she had been claimed, she had been savored—but Eglantine had rarely been seduced.

And never by a man who looked like a barbarian, sang like an angel and dreamed like a poet.

She could smell Duncan's skin, feel the rasp of his whiskers upon her skin. Duncan's warm hands cupped her face, as though she were a fragile prize, not a competitor for the land he would have for his own. His hands slid down her back, as though he would memorize every curve of her and savor it, then he cupped her buttocks in his hands and drew her against his strength. The hardness of him, the sheer size of him, made Eglantine's breath catch in her throat.

And 'twas then she recalled that competitors was what they were. The conquest of her was but a game to him, and her own body traitorously played on his side.

Eglantine pulled away abruptly. Duncan let her go and she was shocked to realize that she had expected naught else. His stormy grey gaze trailed from her lips, which burned with new vigor, to her eyes, which undoubtedly revealed too much.

His expression was so intense that Eglantine nigh could feel his gaze slip over her. She certainly could still feel the imprint of his erection against her belly, and she yearned as she had seldom yearned in her life, to feel his heat inside her.

How would Duncan love a woman? Thoroughly, Eglantine would wager. Slowly, ensuring that she remembered not only with whom she coupled, but the splendor of the mating for all the rest of her life.

She was a fool to be so tempted by something so fleeting as lust. Duncan rubbed finger and thumb together absently, as though reliving the touch of her flesh beneath her hand, and Eglantine had difficulties catching her breath. The languorous movement of his strong fingers captured both her gaze and her imagination.

Aye, this man knew how to coax the embers to flames. This man would sacrifice all to pleasure. Eglantine's mouth went dry with her certainty of his passion, her conviction that he would suffer no half measures.

But he told her a tale. Truth was not his heart's desire, it could not be. 'Twas not honesty of any kind he desired—'twas her holding and naught else.

She had best recall
that
truth.

“Why do you want Kinbeath?” she demanded.

Duncan looked across the sea, his dark brows drawing together as he sought the words. Eglantine wondered whether he would have the audacity to tell her a lie or the courage to surrender his real reasons.

She wondered whether she even wanted to know the truth, or what she would do if she found his reason as compelling as her own.

The man's kiss had addled her wits indeed! The matter was clear.

Duncan folded his arms across his chest, his gaze meeting hers once again. “I told you already.”

“Nay, you did not. I would have recalled.”

One brow lifted and his lips tugged in a crooked smile. “'Tis clear you would not have done so, Eglantine, for I did tell you.”

When he looked at her like that, as though he would prefer to have her to rabbit stew, Eglantine could barely recall her own name. When he uttered her name as though 'twas an invocation to pleasure, she could barely string two thoughts in a row, much less recall some passing comment he had made.