Page 22 of Lord of Dunkeathe
Or maybe she’d beentooproud. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lingered in the garden, thinking she could hold her own against the lord of Dunkeathe. She wouldn’t have been so sure that her scorn for his Norman arrogance would protect her against the other feelings he aroused.
Because it hadn’t.
And there was more to fear than losing her uncle’s respect if she told him what had happened in the garden. Uncle Fergus might accuse Sir Nicholas of dishonorable conduct and challenge him to combat.
If Sir Nicholas accepted that challenge, her uncle would probably die.
“It’s a fine day for a journey, too,” she began.
“Journey? Oh, aye,” Uncle Fergus answered absently, still looking out the window. “But all the women who want a chance for Sir Nicholas had to be here by St. John’s Day.”
“I was thinking, Uncle, that it would be a good day to go home.”
When he didn’t answer, she realized he hadn’t heard her because his attention was focused on something outside. Wondering what it could be, she went to the window and followed his gaze to see Fredella bustling toward the apartments, and carrying a bucket.
Clasping her hands nervously, she tried again. “Uncle, I don’t think we should stay in Dunkeathe after the way we’ve been treated.”
Uncle Fergus stopped looking out the window to regard her with surprise. “Sir Nicholas has treated us very well,” he said, nodding at the chamber, which was indeed quite comfortable, as was the bed.
If she hadn’t had that disturbing encounter to relive over and over, if that same excited, yet shameful, heat hadn’t coursed through her body every time she remembered that kiss, if she hadn’t had those disturbing dreams, she would have slept very well indeed on the soft featherbed.
“I wasn’t speaking of Sir Nicholas,” she clarified. “His other guests have been very rude to us.”
Uncle Fergus took her gently by the shoulders and gave her a kindly smile. “They’re just jealous.”
Shaking her head, Riona moved away. “They don’t respect us, or our country. I don’t want to stay here to be the object of their scorn.”
Following her, Uncle Fergus gave her an incredulous look. “Who cares what those ignorant Normans think? We know better, and so does Sir Nicholas. He’s been respectful, and he’s related to the Mac Tarans.”
He sat on her bed and patted a place beside him. “Come here, my girl, and listen to me,” he said gravely.
When she joined him, he put his arm around her. She laid her head on his shoulder, as she’d done many times before when she was troubled or upset.
“Riona, the Normans are generally a sad lot,” he said. “Conceited and arrogant and rude. Yet whether we like it or not, because of our king and the rebellions he’s had to deal with, they’re here to stay. That doesn’t mean we have to like them, of course, and who could? But there are a few worth getting to know, ones worth respecting, ones who could help Scotland. Sir Nicholas is one such Norman. As for the rest…” He blew out his breath as if snuffing a candle and waved his hand. “Ignore them, as I do. Why give them the satisfaction of having even that little bit of power over you?”
“So youhavenoticed what they were doing?”
Uncle Fergus laughed. “How could I not? I’m not blind or deaf.”
“Doesn’t that make you want to go back to Glencleith?”
“Not a bit of it. Just the opposite. I’ll not let a Norman think he can sneer me out of a place. Besides, they only make themselves look foolish and petty with those antics, and I’m sure a man like Sir Nicholas isn’t impressed.”
“No, he—” She fell silent, lest she have to explain how she happened to know how Sir Nicholas felt about scornful, derisive Norman nobles.
“Now cheer up, Riona,” Uncle Fergus said with a merry grin as he lowered his fatherly arm and got to his feet. “Don’t fuss about the Normans and their haughty ways. Any Scot’s worth a hundred of them any day, as Sir Nicholas has to know. I’ll wager he’s sorry he wasn’t born a Scot himself.”
Riona wondered if Sir Nicholas waseversorry, about anything.
“Now come along, my beauty. We mustn’t be late for mass. Then we’ll see what sort of things these Normans eat to break the fast.”
Although she wasn’t in any great hurry to be anywhere near the dark, devilishly attractive and seductive lord of Dunkeathe, Riona could think of no reason she couldn’t go to mass, short of feigning illness, and it was too late for that.
AT NEARLYthe same time, Lord Chesleigh’s daughter sat in front of her dressing table, finishing her toilette in no calm and placid frame of mind.
“I don’t know why we bothered to come here,” she declared to her father, her voice crisp and shrill.
Lord Chesleigh frowned as he came farther into the large chamber full of chests and opened boxes, their contents spilling onto the floor. “What’s the matter now?”
