Page 47 of Lord of Dunkeathe
Percival’s face went from red to white as he paled. He started to stammer something, but Nicholas cut him off.
“I can appreciate that you’re used to women misinterpreting your actions, Percival,” he lied, hating this pathetic excuse of a man with every fiber of his being. “It must be difficult for a fellow as handsome as you to even speak to some ladies without your attention being mistaken for more than mere politeness. I can well believe you’ve unwittingly caused dissension in many a noble household just by your presence alone.”
“Yes, yes, that’s often the case,” Percival eagerly concurred. “Women don’t understand that I’m merely being friendly.”
Friendly? Under other circumstances, Nicholas would give himfriendly.“Since you’re such a friendly sort, for the sake of good relations with the other noblemen here in Dunkeathe, I suggest you exercise more care when conversing with the ladies visiting me, both now and when we’re—”
Nicholas stopped as if he’d said more than he intended, then forced himself to smile. “Should I choose your charming cousin.”
That brought a wide, smug smile to the snake’s face. Seeing it made Nicholas want to punch him even more.
“Naturally, my lord, I’ll be happy to comply.”
“Thank you.” Never had it been more difficult for Nicholas to say those words. “I’d also suggest that you refrain from paying too much attention to the maidservants, too.”
Percival laughed, a particularly unpleasant sound that was like a horse wheezing. “What, Sir Nicholas, would you have me act the monk?”
Again Nicholas smiled and addressed him as if they were comrades-in-arms. “The pleasures of the tavern are available.”
“Ah, yes,” Percival replied, as if he were making a great concession.
“There is one other matter I feel I must mention, Percival, and that’s your apparent dislike of the Scots.”
Percival frowned like a petulant child.
“Whatever you may think of them and for whatever reasons, I must remind you that my estate is here in Scotland, and my brother-in-law is a Scot. My bride will have to learn to live here, too, among these people. If you are still so good as to consider bestowing your cousin’s hand upon me, I think she would do well to speak to Lady Riona and her uncle, to try to come to some understanding of the Scots. If she does, that may make my final choice that much easier.”
Percival got an avaricious gleam in his eyes. “I was wondering if you’d be making that decision before Lammas.”
Nicholas gave him a conspiratorial smile. “I must be careful, Percival. Lord Chesleigh is a powerful man, so if I’m not picking his daughter for my bride, I must at least feign finding the choice a difficult one, and that means waiting until Lammas to announce my choice.”
Percival grinned, looking like the ambitious, greedy lout he was. “I understand completely.”
“I thought you would,” Nicholas replied.
Percival threw his arm around Nicholas’s broad shoulders, as if he was already related to him, and said, “Shall we sample the pleasures of the tavern together today?”
It was all Nicholas could do not to grab the man’s arm and twist until he screamed. “You’re welcome to, but I have too many demands upon my time with so many guests.”
Percival dropped his arm and shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Well, that’s a pity, but I suppose that’s the price one must pay as host.” He sauntered toward the door and breezily waved a farewell. “Until later, my lord.”
“Until later,” Nicholas repeated through clenched teeth as he watched him go.
CHAPTER TEN
ASE’ENNIGHT LATER,Riona sat beside Eleanor in the sunlight shining through one of the hall windows. It was a warm July day, with only a hint of rain in the air. Eleanor embroidered a band to attach to the hem of the lovely scarlet gown she owned. Riona could sew, but her skills were of a more practical sort, suitable for mending and hemming. She didn’t know complicated embroidery stitches, and wouldn’t have been able to afford the materials even if she did. Nevertheless, she was more than pleased to sit beside Eleanor and help her by threading needles or cutting the bits of brightly colored wool as her friend worked at her frame. They could talk quietly, and Eleanor was teaching her some of the stitches, too.
Across the hall, Joscelind, Lavinia and Priscilla were likewise together, whispering and occasionally casting their eyes about the hall. Lady Joscelind paid no heed to Riona, and Riona ignored her just as completely. The other two ladies seemed to have thrown their lot in with the beauty, and neither Eleanor nor Riona minded a whit. Audric and Lord Chesleigh were playing chess, the board set on the table on the dais. Uncle Fergus and Fredella were somewhere in the castle, and Percival had gone to the village again, along with D’Anglevoix.
Percival had been diligently avoiding Riona. What exactly their host had said to him was a mystery, but it was not one either she, Eleanor, Uncle Fergus or Fredella cared to probetoo deeply. They were content that it was so, and while Riona believed Eleanor could yet be Sir Nicholas’s choice, Uncle Fergus was full of plans and schemes to free her from her cousin. Unfortunately, the law was the law, and Eleanor, who could read, had seen the documents binding her to her cousin’s care. It seemed there was little they could do—legally. Yesterday, Riona had spent considerable time trying to convince Uncle Fergus that an abduction would cause more trouble than it would solve. At last, thank God, he’d conceded the point. Barely.
As for the man responsible for all this scheming, Riona had no idea where Sir Nicholas was at present. He rarely lingered in the hall, except when the evening meal was over. During the day, he personally oversaw the training of his men. Sometimes he rode with patrols around his estate, looking for outlaws or others who might cause trouble. Every morning, he spent time with his steward, going over accounts and other business. He was a very busy overlord, and he certainly couldn’t be called lazy.
Looking up from her embroidery, Eleanor nodded at Lavinia. “She’s not fooling anyone, you know,” she noted with an amused smile. “She can hardly keep her eyes off Audric.”
Riona smiled, too. “He’s not a bad-looking fellow, and he seems quite nice.”
For a Norman, she added inwardly, because as yet, the only truly nice Norman she’d met had been Eleanor. Fredella was born and raised in Lincolnshire, so more Saxon than Norman, and more Dane than Saxon, for the Danes had held that part of England for years upon years.
