Margaret Moore - Lord of Dunkeathe

None of them, it seemed, recognized Sir Nicholas from the courtyard.

Then Robert Martleby summoned Lord Chesleigh and his beautiful daughter. His expression haughty, Lord Chesleigh strode forth, escorting Lady Joscelind. For a moment, Riona thought he might chastise his host. Instead, the man bowed and said in a hearty voice that was only slightly condemning, “My lord, this is a very great pleasure, but you should have declared yourself in the courtyard.”

That caused a bit of a flutter among the other guests.

“He was in the courtyard?” Uncle Fergus loudly whispered. “Where? I didn’t see him.”

Maybe her uncle hadn’t met Sir Nicholas after all. “By the stable. He wasn’t dressed like that.”

Uncle Fergus chuckled. “Clever man, to watch the ladies before they knew who he was, to see how they really are.”

Riona’s gaze darted back to the man on the dais. Was that why he’d done that?

“I should have enlightened you, but I was not properly attired to receive my noble guests,” Sir Nicholas replied, “and I couldn’t refuse the request of so graceful and beautiful a lady.”

Riona was somewhat amazed Lady Joscelind didn’t clutch her father’s arm to steady herself when the lord of Dunkeathe addressed her in that deep, seductive voice.

As for Sir Nicholas’s excuse, Riona could more easily believe Uncle Fergus’s explanation. She suspected there were very few things that could embarrass a man like Sir Nicholas, and she was sure his clothing wouldn’t be one of them.

Any offense clearly forgiven, Lord Chesleigh smiled with genial bonhomie. “Nonetheless, my lord, you must accept my apologies for any inadvertent offense.”

Sir Nicholas’s next words, spoken with no real contrition, convinced Riona there was indeed another motive for his behavior. “As you must accept mine for not introducing myself.”

Lord Chesleigh fairly beamed as he reached for his daughter’s hand and drew her forward. “May I present my daughter, Joscelind.”

She made a deep obeisance and when she rose, presented a charmingly flustered countenance. “I also beg your pardon, my lord.”

“Think no more about it, I beg you, and please, consider Dunkeathe your home while you’re here.”

If ever a man could make a woman swoon with his voice alone…

“And a very fine fortress it is,” Lord Chesleigh said. “I commend you, my lord.”

Sir Nicholas gave him another very small smile, and a brief bow. “Thank you.” Then he glanced at his steward.

Lord Chesleigh and Lady Joscelind took the hint and moved away.

After a quick look around the hall to see if there were any other ladies waiting to be introduced, Uncle Fergus started forward. “Come on, Riona, our turn next.”

She had no desire to parade in front of all these people and be presented to a Norman lord like a fish on a platter. Unfortunately, Uncle Fergus was already hurrying forward, so unless she wanted him to call out for her to hurry up, she had no choice but to follow. As she did, she reminded herself that if she had no wealth, fine clothes or beauty, she still had much to be proud of. Her uncle and cousin loved her, she was as noble as anyone here and she had one considerable advantage they lacked.

She was a Scot.

“Fergus Mac Gordon, Thane of Glencleith,” the steward announced. “And his niece, the Lady Riona.”

“Ach, we’ve already met!” Uncle Fergus cried, grinning at the lord of Dunkeathe as if they were boon companions.

They had met! When? Where? Why hadn’t he told her?

As her uncle looked at her and gave her a wink, she had her answer. He thought he’d been helping and kept this for a surprise.

In spite of his kindhearted motive, she wanted to groan with dismay, especially when Sir Nicholas’s expression didn’t alter, and snickers and disapproving murmurs reached her ears.

“As if anybody would want to marry her,” Lord Chesleigh said behind her.

His scornful words lit her pride and roused her anger. Who was this Lord Chesleigh to speak so arrogantly? These men and their mute relatives were all here like beggars at this man’s whim.

She would show them what Scots were made of, and that they were the equal of any here, including their host. She didn’t care what any of them thought of her, even Sir Nicholas, with his grim face and arrogant method of finding a wife.

So she gave Sir Nicholas a bright smile and said, in Gaelic and in a voice loud enough to carry to the far reaches of the hall, “Good evening, my lord. Don’t you look different in your fine clothes. I might never have recognized you, except for the hair.”

Surprise flared in Sir Nicholas’s dark eyes and there were more incredulous whispers behind her. They were all surely wondering what she was saying.

Let them wonder.

“My uncle didn’t tell me you’d met, but I should have expected it. He’s a very friendly fellow.”

“Yes, he is,” the nobleman replied, clearly recovered from his surprise—and in unexpectedly good Gaelic.

That took her aback, but she tried not to show it. He was the one who was supposed to be thrown off guard. “I didn’t realize you spoke our language so well, my lord,” she lied, for she hadn’t expected him to speak it at all. “I’m most impressed.”

“I suspect there’s a great deal about me you don’t know.”

God help her, that voice of his was like temptation incarnate, and his gaze was so steady, she felt as if he was staring into her very soul, looking for the truth.

But she wasn’t about to let him intimidate her here anymore than she had in the courtyard when she thought he was just a soldier. “I daresay you’re right. I can only guess why you were skulking about the courtyard this morning instead of greeting your arriving guests.”

His eyes narrowed very slightly. “I wasn’t skulking.”

“Whatever you were doing, I’m sure you had your reasons,” she replied, telling him with her tone and eyes that she didn’t believe his reasons would be sufficient for her.

His steward coughed.

She knew an attempt to interrupt when she heard it, and she’d said enough to show them all that she was proud of her heritage and the country that bred her. “Come, Uncle,” she said, slipping her arm through his. “Let’s leave Sir Nicholas to his other noble guests.”

As they walked away through the crowd of muttering Normans, Uncle Fergus laughed softly. “He fooled everyone except my clever girl. You showed him some Scots spirit, too. He’s got to be impressed.”

Riona didn’t care if Sir Nicholas was impressed or not, or what he thought about her. She couldn’t imagine living in this place among the Normans and their Saxon soldiers, and certainly not with him.

AS THE SERVANTS carried away the remains of the baked apples, Nicholas turned to Robert, seated to his left at the high table. To his right was the elderly priest who had taken residence in the castle after the chapel had been completed. Father Damon greatly appreciated the ease of his duties ministering to Sir Nicholas, as well as the household and garrison. The lord of Dunkeathe was certainly no stickler on religious matters.

Robert stopped looking at the table where the beautiful Lady Joscelind and several of the other guests were sitting. Nicholas couldn’t blame the man for being distracted; so might he have been, if he hadn’t encountered Lady Joscelind in the courtyard.

“I’m going to give the garrison commander the watchword for tonight,” he said, rising. “If my guests require more wine or food, or music, it should be provided.”

“As you wish, my lord. And the watchword is…?”

Nicholas gave his steward a small smile. “Restraint.”