Margaret Moore - Scoundrel Of Dunborough

The chandler turned on his heel and started back to the inner gate just as it opened to admit another man, this one also richly dressed, but plump and darkly bearded. His tunic was shorter and more embellished, with an embroidered hem and neck. His boots were of fine leather, as were his bossed belt and gauntlet gloves.

Ewald. Of course. The dealer in hides and tallow was as broad and boisterous as Norbert was thin and wheedling, but equally as greedy. The two were like vultures come hurrying to the battlefield, and Celeste a corpse.

“Good day, Gerrard! And you, too, Norbert!” Ewald declared. “Why am I not surprised that you’re here already, Norbert? That nosy son of yours should be a spy for the king.”

“I doubt you’ve come to pass the time of day,” Norbert retorted. “You want to see her, too, don’t you?”

Ewald’s cheeks flushed. “Well...” he began, drawing the word out as he rocked back and forth on his heels, his thumbs tucked in his wide leather belt beneath his protruding belly, “as a matter of fact, I do. To give her my sympathy on her sister’s death. A bad business, that, a very bad business.”

Business had nothing to do with it, Gerrard thought sourly. Warped and thwarted love did. “Unfortunately, Sister Augustine is resting and cannot be disturbed,” he said firmly.

Norbert, not surprisingly, continued to scowl, while Ewald, equally not surprisingly, smiled like a man who’d won a bet.

“Tomorrow will do just as well,” the tanner jovially replied. “Tell her I was here, if you will, and I’ll be delighted to speak with her at a time of her convenience. I’ll offer her a very good price for the house.”

“I will do no such thing,” Gerrard said. “You will wait to discuss business with her when she comes to you, and not before. Now I give you good day, gentlemen.”

With a look of sly triumph, Norbert nodded and started toward the gate. Only slightly subdued, Ewald bowed and followed.

Carrion crows, the pair of them, and Gerrard would be damned before he’d tell Celeste that they’d been there. He wasn’t their messenger and she didn’t need to be bothered, he thought as he walked back to the gate.

He came to a startled halt. Celeste—Sister Augustine—was gliding toward him across the grass, the ends of her veil lifting in the breeze. Even in a nun’s habit, she looked like royalty, poised and proud and beautiful.

“I thought you were resting,” he said, baffled by her presence and wondering if he should have let Norbert and Ewald meet her.

“I am rather weary,” she replied, her lips set in a thin line, “so if it’s possible, I’d prefer to have the evening meal in Roland’s chamber. Alone.”

He was glad he’d sent the chandler and the tanner away, yet couldn’t help feeling somewhat dismayed by her manner and that she apparently didn’t want to dine with him, either. Still, that might be for the best. She aroused old memories and some of them were best forgotten.And if she hated him, he could hardly blame her. It was his fault she’d been sent to Saint Agatha’s.

“Since you’re a guest, you’re free to do as you like,” he said. “I’ll have the meal and some wine sent up to the chamber in due course.”

She nodded and her lips curved up into a little smile. A very little smile. “Thank you, Gerrard.”

After that, she walked gracefully away, leaving him to ponder what she would think of him if she ever found out all that had happened while she was in the convent.

* * *

Later that night, Gerrard sat alone on the dais in the great hall of Dunborough. The evening meal had been served, and most of the soldiers not on guard duty had already returned to the barracks or bedded down on pallets in the hall, along with the ever-present hounds. A few of the household servants were still awake and talking quietly in a corner. The female servants had their own quarters above the kitchen, while the rest either slept in the kitchen or in the loft above the stalls where the grooms and stable boys also bedded down.

Gerrard glanced at the stairs leading to the family chambers. What would Celeste think if she knew about his dealings with her sister? And the offer Roland had made to him?

He had planned to use Audrey’s wealth for his own ends and had even been prepared to marry her to get it, although that hadn’t been his idea. It had been Audrey’s suggestion that he bribe the king to give him Dunborough and a title. When he and Audrey wed, she would have had what she desired most—a powerful and titled husband—and he would have had his heart’s desire, the estate of Dunborough and the power to rule it.

Now Audrey was dead and Roland had another estate, thanks to his marriage, so he had offered Dunborough to Gerrard, pending the king’s approval.

Although Roland was no doubt sincere, Gerrard still couldn’t quite believe that he would willingly give up the estate they both had craved for so long, especially after his father’s will revealed Roland was indeed the elder twin and given the way Gerrard had treated Roland all these years. But he had.

It was tempting to accept Roland’s offer, even though that would mean being beholden to his brother for the rest of his life. And when he remembered that he’d been willing to use Audrey D’Orleau and her wealth to get what he wanted, he felt so ashamed, it seemed better to leave Dunborough and never return.

Yet to give up the chance of being the lord of Dunborough! He had yearned for that for as long as he could remember.

Gerrard abruptly rose and started for the door, grabbing his cloak from a peg before he went out. It did no good to sit and brood. That was the sort of thing Roland would do. Better to be doing something—anything—than mope.

He’d go to the tavern in the village. It was always lively, even at this time of night. There were other places a man could find companionship of a different sort, but he’d given that up along with too much ale.

Gerrard stepped into the yard. A quick glance confirmed that the watchmen were on the wall walk and two guards stood at the gate.

A cold Yorkshire wind sent clouds scudding across the half-moon and he sniffed the air, wondering if it would snow before morning. Hard to say.

How much he hated winter and the cold that forced him to spend too much time indoors! He felt imprisoned when the weather was too bad to ride. Perhaps that was what being in a convent was like, and not only in the winter. Considering that and celibacy, he knew he could never stay in such a place. He would flee at the first opportunity.

A movement near the large oak beside the inner wall caught his eye. Someone clad in a long dark cloak was moving in the shadows near the kitchen.

“You there, what are you doing?” he demanded as he hurried forward.

Celeste—Sister Augustine—stepped out of the shadows. At the same time, one of the soldiers appeared on the wall walk above and the guards at the gate charged toward her.

“All’s well,” Gerrard called to them. “You can go back to your posts.”

They obeyed and he turned to face Celeste, trying not to notice her large eyes or full lips. “You had better stay inside at night. My men are all trained archers. You might have been mistaken for an intruder and shot.”

“Fortunately, I was not.”

Her voice was as placid as her expression. Where had that lively, daring girl gone? He would have wagered much that even the nuns couldn’t stifle her vivacity, although apparently they had.

“Is anything the matter?” he asked. “Is there something you require?”

Dolt! If she wanted something, she would go to the hall and summon a servant, not wander about the yard like a lost soul.

“The chamber is very comfortable, thank you,” she replied. “I simply couldn’t sleep. And you?”