Page 83 of Lord of Dunkeathe
Before she could speak, his face turned as hard and cold as a block of ice. “What Idocare about is who he marries. My daughter is to marry Nicholas, and it will be dangerous for anyone to try to thwart that plan. Therefore, my dear, you may be the man’s mistress, but not his wife—or your beloved uncle could meet with a most unfortunate end.”
Oh, God. He would do it, too. She saw it in his face, heard it in his voice. He was ruthless and without mercy.
“If what you say is true,Iam the impediment to your plans, not my uncle. Why aren’t you threateningmylife?”
“Because, my dear, you might be willing to risk your own safety by going to Nicholas and telling him what I’ve said here today, but you’ll never put your uncle’s life in danger.”
“If anything happened to him, I would accuse you of his murder.”
“Why, who said anything about murder?” Lord Chesleigh’s eyes gleamed with malicious intent. “I think an accusation of treason much more entertaining. A few years rotting in a prison, followed by drawing and quartering…that’s more what I had in mind.”
She fought the sudden wave of nausea as she envisioned her uncle suffering that terrible fate and summoned her courage. “He’s no traitor and you’d never be able to prove otherwise.”
“You underestimate me, my dear. I can prove anything I care to, in a court of law or elsewhere. Alas for you, King Henry lives in dread of treason, as all monarchs must. It might take but a whisper to persuade him to have your uncle charged.”
She realized something he seemed to have forgotten. “We aren’t Henry’s subjects. We’re Scots.”
“Alexander has no desire to rouse conflict with the English court, at least not for now and least of all for a man like your uncle. He’s nobody.”
Riona stared at Lord Chesleigh in horror. She could believe he would accuse her uncle, and it would unfold as he predicted. But she wasn’t willing to surrender yet. “I could tell Sir Nicholas of your plans, and anyone else who would charge my uncle with such a crime.”
“Oh, my dear,” the nobleman said with a patronizing laugh. “You really are naive. I have many friends at court who will confirm anything I say, regardless of its veracity, and other men who will be only too happy to provide sufficient evidence in the form of letters and secret pledges.”
“You mean they’d fabricate lies?”
“Now you’re beginning to catch on.” Lord Chesleigh’s lips curved up into a heartless smile. “But surely there’s no need for animosity. You may enjoy Sir Nicholas any way you like, except as his wife. You may even continue to do so after he marries Joscelind, if Nicholas still wants you. I understand that such men have their needs and one woman may not meet them.”
“What of your daughter?” Riona demanded, disgusted with the man and appalled at his callous ambition that would pay so little heed to his own daughter’s happiness.
“She’s well aware that a wife has the most power and influence, not a mistress. As to…other matters, I’m sure a man like Nicholas can satisfy you both.”
“What about Eleanor? What if Nicholas chooses her? Will you threaten her? Or her cousin?”
Lord Chesleigh laughed. “If Nicholas actually chooses that slip of a green girl, Percival can be easily persuaded to change his mind about a betrothal. He’s no more worry to me than a nit in my groom’s hair.”
He backed Riona up against the wall of the storehouse. “So, my dear, you are free to bed the man, but not to wed him—or your uncle’s life will be forfeit.”
The blood throbbed through Riona’s veins, the blood of warriors, the proud blood of her people. But for the sake of her uncle, she could do nothing. Lord Chesleigh had found the chink in her armor. “Yes, my lord, I understand.”
“Excellent.” His gaze flicked over her body. “Should Sir Nicholas ever tire of you—”
Riona shoved him away with all her might. “I’d rather die!”
The Norman merely chuckled. “We’ll see who does the dying, my dear. Never forget who is powerful, and who is not. Be sure that I will do exactly as I say I will if you or anyone else gets in my way.”
“SO HERE YOU ARE,my beauty!”
Riona turned away from the window, where she’d been watching the sun set over the hills in a glory of orange, pink and purple, to find a beaming Uncle Fergus on the threshold of her chamber.
His smile faded. “You’re not sick?”
“No, no,” she hastened to answer. “I thought that I should stay out of the hall while Joscelind’s in charge.”
“Ah, a wise notion,” he replied, coming into her chamber. “I should likely stay out of there myself. Not that she could do anything any better than you.”
“You seem cheerful, Uncle,” Riona noted, doing her best to sound so herself.
He grinned again, and expansively held out his arms. “Congratulate me, my beauty. Fredella’s forgiven me at last!”
