Page 37 of Lord of Dunkeathe
“Or are you going to say I set upon you with no provocation?” she inquired as Percival’s face reddened. “That I just went wild and attacked you for no reason? I’d take care what you say to Sir Nicholas about me, for if you imply that I behaved wantonly, I’ll tell him exactly what happened. Who do you think he’ll believe?”
“He doesn’t like the Scots any more than I do, you stupid whore!” Percival cried, lunging for her.
She was sober and he was drunk, so it was easy to neatly sidestep him. He went sprawling in the mud and whatever else was on the ground.
“I’m willing to say nothing of this disgusting incident, but if you ever come near me again, I’ll go to Sir Nicholas and tell him everything,” she said, mindful of Uncle Fergus, and what he might do if he heard of Sir Percival’s unwelcome advances.
Percival was a fool and easily defeated when he was drunk, but he had surely been trained to use his weapons, and in a fight, sober, against her uncle, he might be able to do serious harm.
“You’d better keep away from the servants, too. Sir Nicholas takes a very dim view of men who try to seduce them.”
As Percival struggled to his feet, she hurried off, back to the castle to pack her things.
Tomorrow, she would gladly leave this place and not look back.
KEEPING A WARY EYEon her cousin, Eleanor watched as he staggered about her well-appointed chamber like an enraged and caged beast. In one hand, he held a wineskin that he’d nearly emptied. His wet hair hung limply around his face and she’d heard him drunkenly shouting at one of the servants to take away his clothes and burn them. He had washed after his fall in the village and was once again well-dressed in costly attire. Unfortunately, the wine and his fetid breath overpowered the perfume he’d liberally sprinkled on himself.
“You’ll not speak t’ her or that uncle of hers, and neither ’ill Fredella, d’you hear me?” Percival charged, slurring his words and sending spittle flying as he paused to glare at Eleanor. “You stay away from ’em! I only tola…tollerrr…tolerated ’em ’cause Nicholas seems t’ like that oaf.”
He wiped his chin, then took another gulp of wine.
Eleanor clasped her hands and pleaded, “Surely there’s no harm—”
“Are youdeaf?”Percival shouted, waving the wineskin at her, his face reddening. “I said you can’t speak to ’em and you’d better bloody well do as I say!”
He took another drink from the wineskin, his fifth since coming to her chamber, and he stumbled into her small table, rocking it and sending a clay vessel of soap crashing to the floor. Eleanor stood still, too terrified of her enraged cousin to even try to pick up the pieces.
“She’s prob’ly not even a lady—they prob’ly forged that parchment her uncle showed Sir Nicholas’s steward, and that Robert’s too stupid to see it.”
He sat heavily on the end of Eleanor’s bed, and his head fell forward, his shoulders slumped.
“But if Sir Nicholas likes them…” Eleanor ventured, daring to hope his tirade was over.
Percival raised his head and glared at her with his bleary, bloodshot eyes. “I still don’ want you talking to those two. You should be talking t’ Nicholas and doing everything you can to get him. That’s why we came, not so you could be friendly to savages who wear skirts and have ugly nieces.”
“But Percival,” Eleanor implored, “I can’t force Sir Nicholas to like me. If he doesn’t want me, what can I do?”
Percival rose unsteadily. “You canmakehim like you.”
“I’m trying but—”
“The hell y’are!” he retorted, shaking the wineskin at her.
“Percival, please.” She spread her hands in supplication. “I’m doing all I can—”
“Do more!” her cousin roared before he drained the wineskin and tossed it aside.
“I don’t think I could ever be happy with such a man.”
“Happy?” her cousin screeched.
With a snarl, he grabbed her by the throat and shoved her backward onto the bed. “Happy?” he shouted. “Did anybody ask me if I’d behappyyou were left on my hands?”
He shoved once more, then pushed himself away. “If you weren’t pretty, I’d’ve packed you off to a convent by now. Maybe I should. Maybe I will.”
Coughing, she stared up at him. His expression was as fiendish as a gargoyle.
“If you don’ do as I say, Eleanor, I’m goin’ send you t’a convent—in the most remote place I can find. I’ll tell the nuns you’re a lewd, wanton wench and ought t’ be kept under strict watch. By God, I’ll tell them to wall you up in a cell to keep you away from men—don’t think I won’t!”
