CHAPTER NINETEEN
“S HITE !”
The earthy curse exploded from Nicholas as he scrambled out of the bed.
Her hair loose and unkempt, Joscelind emitted a little shriek as she sat up, holding the sheets to her bare breasts.
“Get out of my bed,” Nicholas ordered, quite oblivious to the fact that he, too, was naked.
“But my lord—”
“Now!” he roared, the word reverberating around the room.
“You don’t want me? Even though I’m willing to give myself to you before our marriage?”
“No!”
More enraged and outraged than he’d ever been in his life, Nicholas grabbed his discarded breeches and tugged them on. He spotted the feileadh —the garment he’d worn last night, the one his beloved Riona had shown him how to wear—neatly folded on the chest. Riona must have put it there before she left, before this other woman had come into his chamber and crawled into his bed.
As he yanked on his boots, Joscelind covered her face with her hands and started to weep—or sound as if she were.
“Stop that,” he snapped. “I’ll not be swayed by false tears. Get up and get dressed and get out of my bedchamber. If you’re discovered here—”
“If I’m discovered here, you’ll have to marry me, if you’re an honorable man.”
He reached for his shirt and tugged it on. “Then woe to you, my lady, for I’m not that honorable.”
Joscelind slowly and deliberately climbed from his bed, his sheet wrapped about her. “Who do you think you are?” she demanded as if she were the one sinned against. “You’re nothing but an upstart mercenary who managed to persuade some fool of a king to give you an estate. You should be grateful I’d lower myself to sleep with you before marriage.”
Fists pounded on the door, and a Saxon voice called out, “My lord? Is anything amiss, my lord?”
Damn her! And damn him for shouting. “No,” he called out. “All is well. A bad dream.”
“Will you marry me?” Joscelind asked without lowering her voice.
He swiveled on his heel and glared at her. “Even before this little trick of yours, you would never have been my choice. As for lowering yourself, I’m sorry being in my bed is so demeaning. You should have saved yourself the trouble.”
Shooting him an enraged look, she ran to the door and threw it open. “Guards!” she called out before he could stop her. “Come back!”
Nicholas grabbed hold of the door to close it. “Don’t bring scandal and shame on yourself. Your trick didn’t work. Your gamble didn’t pay off. Accept that and go, before your reputation is ruined.”
Her lip curled as she regarded him with wrathful contempt. “My reputation won’t be ruined, because you’re going to marry me. You can act as if you’re pleased you’ve successfully seduced me, or you can look like a lascivious cad forced to do the honorable thing, but either way, you will marry me. My father will insist. Need I remind you he’s a rich and powerful man?”
The Saxon guards returned, breathless from running back up the stairs. They came to a stunned halt at the sight of Joscelind wearing only a sheet, on the threshold of Nicholas’s bedchamber—as well they might.
“Joscelind,” he warned through clenched teeth.
She ignored him. “Fetch my father,” she commanded imperiously. “At once!”
The guards looked to Nicholas for confirmation.
There was nothing else to be done. Joscelind had forced his hand. “Go.”
As they left, he went back into the room and threw himself into his chair to await Lord Chesleigh. “Get dressed, Joscelind.”
She slammed the door and marched up to him. Then she raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. “I am not some whore you can use and discard.”
He didn’t so much as flinch when she struck him. He had Yves Sansouci to thank for that. He’d endured harder blows than that many a time. “You came to my bed and now you demand to be paid. What does that make you, if not a harlot?”
She raised her hand to strike him again, but he caught her wrist and held it only tight enough to still.
It was then he saw the bruises on her arm.
His rage changed to anger of a different sort. He knew wounds too well not to realize that these could be no accident. They came from a man’s harsh grip.
“Who did that?” he asked as he released her and got to his feet.
“If you don’t marry me,” she replied, her eyes gleaming, her lips thinned, “I’ll say you did.”
Appalled and disgusted that she would even suggest making that accusation, he said, “I have never hurt a woman in my life, and no one can say otherwise.”
She stuck out her noble chin. “I’ll say you enticed me to your bedchamber and when I refused to make love with you, you forced me. That mark is proof of how you held me.”
God help him, she would, too. “I’ve never taken a woman against her will. It was your father, wasn’t it?”
Her face flushed, but she pressed her lips tight and didn’t answer.
“Why did he do it? Or does he require no excuse to hurt you?”
A tear rolled down her cheek, but still she didn’t speak.
He thought of what Riona had said about the pressure being brought to bear on the women here because of him, and cursed the day he’d thought of his plan to find a wife—except for one thing. It had brought him Riona.
“My lady,” he said, his tone less angry and more reasonable, “if Lord Chesleigh were a loving father and you told him that I raped you, he would demand that I be tried and executed—or he’d challenge me himself. No loving father would insist you wed the man who forced himself upon you.” He thought of Percival’s scheme. “Or did he send you here?”
Before she could answer—if she were willing to answer—Lord Chesleigh rushed into the room. He took one look at his sheet-clad, disheveled daughter, then he strode across the room and struck her with a fierce, backhanded blow. “Whore!”
Nicholas grabbed Lord Chesleigh’s arm and yanked him back so hard, he nearly pulled the man off his feet. “Strike her again and you’ll have me to deal with,” he growled before he cast the man off.
Lord Chesleigh straightened and ran a haughty, disdainful gaze over Nicholas, his shirt unlaced, his hair uncombed. “I’ll have you to deal with regardless, son-in-law,” he declared as Joscelind had put her hand to her red cheek and started to weep. “I don’t know what honeyed words you used to seduce my daughter, but honor demands that you marry her. I won’t have my family name besmirched, especially by an upstart like you.”
“At least now I know what you really think of me, my lord,” Nicholas said with undisguised loathing.
Percival appeared in the door. “Why the noise? What’s going—?” He looked from Nicholas to Joscelind, then glared at Nicholas. “What kind of lustful, lascivious scoundrel are you?” he demanded. “Eleanor’s not enough to slake—?”
“Eleanor?” Joscelind shrieked, turning on Nicholas. “You’ve been with her, too? What have you been doing, using us as some sort of harem?”
“I haven’t made love with you, or Eleanor,” Nicholas replied, his rage now under the same iron control that had stood him in good stead on many a battlefield.
Percival’s face was so red, it was nearly purple. “Rogue!” he cried. “How dare you deny it! Eleanor’s been your lover for days.”
As Lord Chesleigh and his daughter glowered at Nicholas, he serenely met Percival’s heated stare. “You have proof of this accusation, this stain upon your cousin’s reputation?”
Percival blinked, then flushed. “I’ve seen her enter your chamber at night.”
“If that were true, why didn’t you stop her? Why didn’t you ask her what she was doing?”
Beads of sweat dampened Percival’s forehead.
“Perhaps you didn’t ask these questions because she didn’t come to my chamber at night, or any other time.”
“Eleanor will confirm what I say!” Percival fiercely averred.
“Are you sure?”
Fear, doubt, dismay—all appeared in Percival’s face. “Of course she will,” he stammered. Then he straightened his narrow shoulders. “You know it’s true. If you’re an honorable man, you’ll marry Eleanor.”
“He can’t,” Joscelind declared. “I’m the one everyone knows has been in his bed. He has to marry me. My family’s honor—”
“Perhaps you should have considered our family honor before you acted like a harlot,” her father snarled. “But you will be married to this knight.”
Joscelind pointed at Nicholas. “He seduced me! He told me he’d marry me. That I was his choice. Why wait until Lammas, he said.”
“That’s not true,” Nicholas countered. “I made no attempt to seduce your daughter, my lord, and she would never have been my choice even if I had.”
Percival suddenly looked less upset. “Because you’re going to marry Eleanor, aren’t you?” he asked with more than a trace of desperation.
“The hell he is!” Lord Chesleigh declared. He marched up to Nicholas until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “Whether you’ve taken my daughter’s maidenhood or not, you will marry her. Otherwise, I’ll see to it that you lose this fine castle you’ve built and everything that goes with it—wealth, influence, the soldiers you command. I’ll have you reduced to nothing more than a common soldier again—and you know I have the power to do it.”
“He can’t marry Joscelind,” Percival protested. “He’s got to marry Eleanor. She might be with child.”
Silence fell and everybody stared at Percival as if he’d turned green.
Nicholas wasn’t sure if he should believe Percival or not—yet it if was true, whose child was it?
Looking at the vain man standing before him, mindful of the man’s threats, he feared he knew. “Eleanor has never been my lover,” he repeated coldly. “If the child resembles its father, won’t it look like you?”
“I’ve never laid a hand on her!”
“No?”
“No! I thought she was the woman sleeping with you. But if she wasn’t…” His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “It was that Scot—that Riona!”
“Did somebody mention my niece?” Fergus Mac Gordon asked, peering around the door frame.
As he took in the sight of the irate Lord Chesleigh, an equally upset Sir Percival, a very undressed Lady Joscelind and Nicholas’s state, his brow furrowed. Then his expression changed, to one of shock, dismay and disappointment.
Nicholas suddenly felt like the scoundrel these other men claimed he was, but for a different reason. However lonely and unhappy he’d been, and however happy Riona had made him, he’d sinned a great sin against the jovial little man and his niece. He’d treated Riona as if she were his whore, worthy of only a few fleeting nights of pleasure in his bed. She deserved more. Much more.
Sick with remorse, he cursed himself for his stupid, greedy, ambitious plan. His vanity. His arrogance. All the trouble he’d caused. And the trouble to come.
“I think we should leave this chamber and allow the lady to dress,” he said, grabbing his sword belt as he headed for the door. “We’ll assemble in the hall, where we shall settle this matter once and for all. I will decide today—now—who will be my bride.”
R IONA HURRIED to her chamber door in answer to a flurry of knocks to find Uncle Fergus standing there, although standing was not precisely accurate. He was fairly jumping from foot to foot as if he were on hot coals.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, fearing that there was some new trouble with Fredella.
“You didn’t hear all that noise from Sir Nicholas’s chamber?”
“I was asleep.” Because she’d been exhausted after last night.
Then she gasped. “Has he been hurt?” she cried, trying to push past her uncle.
He barred the way. “No, he’s not hurt. He’s going to choose his bride this morning.”
She stopped struggling and stared at her uncle in stunned disbelief. “Now?”
She backed away as Uncle Fergus entered the chamber. He closed the door, and when he turned to her, he was as serious as she’d ever seen him.
“My beauty,” Uncle Fergus said sorrowfully, “something’s happened…something I didn’t expect from an honorable man. It seems, Riona, that he’s not waited until Lammas to bed the woman he wants.”
He couldn’t be thinking of her, or he wouldn’t be speaking in that way. Percival must have lost his patience and demanded that Nicholas wed Eleanor without waiting until Lammas, and told everyone why.
Uncle Fergus rubbed his chin. “Wheest, I wouldn’t believe it myself, except that I saw her, wrapped in a sheet in his bedchamber.”
“He took Eleanor to his bed?” she whispered in dismay. Was it possible Eleanor wasn’t the naive girl she seemed? Yet what of Nicholas? How could he…after they had…after she…?
“Eleanor?” Uncle Fergus repeated incredulously. “Of course not Eleanor. How could you even think it was that sweet child? It was that Joscelind.”
Joscelind?
Everything changed, and Riona knew without doubt that Nicholas was innocent. This was a trick, a scheme like Percival’s, to force Nicholas to marry.
Energy flooded through her body, as well as determination, and love. “Uncle, I’m sure Nicholas didn’t seduce her. I’m sure she came to his chamber without his knowledge or consent, as a ploy to make him marry her. He was probably already asleep when she slipped under the sheets like an adder to make it look like they were lovers.”
Uncle Fergus regarded Riona with neither relief, nor disbelief, but with a searching, steady gravitas. “Why do you say that, Riona? Are you so sure Nicholas wouldn’t bed a willing and beautiful woman whether they were married or not?”
Seeing her beloved and trusting uncle’s grave demeanor, shame trickled through her. She had deceived him, and she became achingly, keenly aware of the disappointment she would bring to the man who loved her like a father when he learned the truth.
Yet the time had come to be honest, for Nicholas’s sake, and Eleanor’s.
She sat and patted the bed beside her. His expression puzzled and worried, her uncle joined her. She took his hands in hers and looked into his questioning eyes.
When she was with Nicholas it was so easy to have no regrets. When their love was a secret between them, it was easy to believe it would always be so. But that could not be.
“Uncle, I know she’s not his lover. I am.”
“You?” he gasped with disbelief. “You’re his lover?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
“Then…he’s going to marry you? That’s what he’s going to say in the hall now?”
It tore her heart, but it had to be said. “No. He’s going to marry Eleanor.”
She waited for him to look at her with disgust, with shame, with revulsion, hoping those feelings would fade and he would be kind to her, even if she’d lost his good opinion forever.
Instead, an ire such as she’d never seen arose in Uncle Fergus’s eyes. “Eleanor? He makes love with you but he’ll marry another?”
She held his hands tighter, willing him to listen and understand, a little. “He must marry her. He needs her dowry and her cousin’s influence, or he could lose Dunkeathe, and she needs Nicholas to get away from Percival. I knew that before I went to his bed, Uncle. I’ve never expected him to change his mind, and I still don’t.”
“Well, I do!” Uncle Fergus cried, jumping to his feet. “That bastard! He never even handfasted with you, did he? That I could understand. He’d have a year and a day to make up his mind and share your bed. But this? Do these Normans think our women are theirs for the using?”
“Uncle, he didn’t use me,” she protested, trying to hold him to make him stay. “I gave—”
“He took!” Uncle Fergus bellowed. “He took you and he took your honor and he took my feileadh! I’ll show him what we do to men like that!”
He charged out the door.
Gathering up her skirts, Riona ran after him and begged God to help her stop him before blood was shed.
“L ET ME THROUGH, you bloody Norman bastards!” Uncle Fergus shouted in Gaelic as he shoved his way through the crowd gathered in the hall. He stormed toward Nicholas standing on the dais, feet planted, arms crossed, looking every inch the commanding master of this castle. As Riona hurried after her uncle, she didn’t see the tender, teasing lover of their nights together, but the stern, unyielding lord of Dunkeathe. The lover was gone forever; whatever happened next, their time together was over.
“Draw your sword, you Norman dog!” Uncle Fergus cried as several soldiers surrounded him. “What are you, a coward as well as a liar?”
Nicholas answered him in Gaelic. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“You said you were going to marry Riona!”
“I said no such thing.”
“The devil you did! You took the feileadh.”
“You gave me no chance to refuse your gift. It will be returned to you, if that is what you wish.”
“Of course it’s what I wish, you bloody Norman lout not fit to stand on Scots soil!”
By now, Riona, breathlessly panting, had pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She joined Eleanor, who was looking pale and frightened; Percival, who recoiled when he saw her; Joscelind, dressed but with her hair uncovered and barely combed, as if she were determined to show to all that she’d spent the night doing something other than rest; and Lord Chesleigh, arms akimbo, furiously indignant. Nearby and to one side was Priscilla, not giggling for once as she held tight to Robert’s arm. Her brother beside her whispered to Lavinia, who in turn whispered to D’Anglevoix, who stared at Nicholas as if he wasn’t sure whether he should admire or despise him. Lady Marianne, her husband and Roban, who should have been leaving, stood near the dais, watching soberly. Riona had passed Fredella and Polly among the servants by the door.
Filling the hall were more soldiers and servants, as if everyone not immediately involved in a task were there.
She didn’t look at her uncle. She watched Nicholas, willing him to meet her gaze, to see that she was prepared for what was coming.
He did look at her, and she saw his resolve. Knew what he was going to do. What he must do. Despite her uncle’s angry protests and Joscelind’s act, in spite of the feelings he had for her, he would announce that Eleanor would be his bride.
“My lords and ladies,” he began, ignoring Uncle Fergus, who was being held by the guards. “Circumstances have forced me to announce the choice of my bride today, instead of at Lammas, as I’d planned.”
Riona clasped her sweating hands together, took a deep breath and readied herself for the impending blow.
“I wish to marry…”
Oh, God give her strength!
Nicholas’s gaze flew to her like an arrow shot from Cupid’s bow. “Lady Riona.”
A cacophony erupted.
“You damned well better marry my beauty!” her uncle shouted.
Lord Chesleigh and Percival tried to drown each other out as they protested. The servants and soldiers clapped and cheered.
Eleanor fell to her knees. “Oh, thank God, thank God!” she cried, smiling through her tears.
As an equally overcome Fredella joined her, Lady Marianne jumped up and down and threw her arms around her husband, while Roban stamped his feet and bellowed his congratulations to the clan of the Mac Gordons.
Riona saw and heard none of it. All she was aware of was Nicholas as he left the dais and came straight toward her, his eyes shining with loving devotion and a glorious smile on his handsome face.
But no matter how her heart leapt and how thrilled she was, this couldn’t be. He would lose everything if he married her. All he’d worked for. Suffered for.
And Uncle Fergus might die.
When he reached her, his gaze searched her face, her soul, and when he spoke, his voice was low and husky, warm and tender. “Riona, will you marry me?”
She was afraid to say yes, afraid that if she did, her dream would turn into a nightmare. “You could lose Dunkeathe if you marry me.”
He took her hands in his. “I would rather lose it, and anything else I own, than you.”
“But you might come to resent me—”
“Never,” he said firmly, his voice strong, his gaze resolute. “I could never resent you, Riona. Even if you broke my heart, I could never resent you.” He went down on one knee. “If you will marry me, I will gain much more than Dunkeathe. I will gain such joy as I’ve never known, and I’ll find all the contentment I seek in your arms. Please say you will do me this great honor, Riona.”
How could she say no? She couldn’t, nor could she say yes, as tears of joy filled her eyes and a sob choked her.
He didn’t need the word. Rising, he swept her into his arms and kissed her. Thoroughly. Passionately. Fervently. Regardless of everyone and everything around them, as if they were alone.
Holding him tight, returning his kiss, she knew absolutely that whatever happened, whatever challenges they faced, they would be together, because Nicholas loved her more than his reward.
Finally she let herself feel the great happiness that she’d been trying to hold in check and gave in to the pure blissful joy of being loved by him, and loving him in return.
“By God, if you don’t wed my daughter, you’ll rue the day you were born!” Lord Chesleigh declared. “I’ll see you stripped of everything you possess.”
“You can’t do this to me,” Joscelind cried as she grabbed Nicholas’s arm and pulled him away. “You can’t treat me this way.”
Nicholas looked at them as if they were vermin. The tender lover disappeared, and he was once more the stern, determined warrior, winner of tournaments, champion of the king. “I am well aware of what you can do, my lord, but know you this. I would rather live in a hovel with Riona by my side than marry your daughter and have you for a relative.”
Never in her life had Riona felt so happy, and so humbled.
And proud—prouder, even, than being a Scot.
Uncle Fergus, Adair and Roban stepped forward, their expressions ones that should have made Lord Chesleigh reconsider his threats. Audric and D’Anglevoix likewise came to stand with Uncle Fergus and Adair Mac Taran, opposed to Lord Chesleigh.
“And I must ask myself, my lord,” Nicholas continued, “why you are so determined to see me married to your daughter if I am so unworthy to be allied to your great and noble family. Perhaps you have a reason I have yet to fathom—but I will, in time.”
Lord Chesleigh scowled. “I thought you were a better man.”
“I will be a better man, if Riona will be my wife.”
Confident now in Nicholas’s love, Riona said, “Lord Chesleigh threatened to have Uncle Fergus imprisoned for treason if you chose me.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Nicholas reached out and grabbed the man by his tunic, hauling him close. “If you ever try to harm Riona or her uncle, Chesleigh, you die. Try to harm anyone in her family, and you die.”
When Nicholas released him, Lord Chesleigh stumbled back. “You can’t threaten me!” he cried. “You’re nothing compared to me! You’re no one!”
“I am the lord of Dunkeathe, and regardless of your threats, or anything you do, Riona will be my lady. Woe betide the man who tries to stop us.”
“Don’t fuss yourself over the man, Nicholas,” Uncle Fergus said, no longer angry, but gleefully delighted. “His threats against you are useless in Scotland. Alexander will ne’er take away the estate of my nephew-in-law. He owes me a great debt that he has yet to repay.”
This was the first Riona had heard of such a debt. She didn’t think her uncle would lie about such a thing, but perhaps, with his love for her and his belief that she should marry Nicholas—
“I saved the king’s life when he was a lad,” Uncle Fergus continued. “We were hunting and he was charged by a wild boar. I killed it.”
Riona gasped. “Alexander was the lad?”
“That’s what I heard about Fergus Mac Gordon!” Adair Mac Taran cried triumphantly.
“Aye,” Uncle Fergus said with a grin, “so it was, and Alexander told me that day that if ever I require his aid, I have but to ask.”
“But…but that was years ago,” Riona said doubtfully, fearing that time and distance would have eroded such a vow.
“Aye, it was, but I send reminders from time to time.” Uncle Fergus crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, clearly pleased by the effect of his announcement. “I’m not the best hand with money, but I’m not completely hopeless when it comes to kings and courtiers. I have my friends, too. It was the toss of the dirk that was the best part of the story anyway.”
Fredella appeared as if out of nowhere and threw her arms around Uncle Fergus and hugged him tightly. “Wheest, girl, let me breathe,” he said, laughing.
Nicholas again addressed Lord Chesleigh, who was not laughing. “So much for your threats, my lord.”
“What about Eleanor?” Percival demanded, dragging her forward by the arm. “Her dowry will be better than Joscelind’s. You’ll have no need to call on anyone’s favors for your prosperity. Nor did she try to entrap you—”
“She didn’t, but you did,” Nicholas charged, glaring at him with revulsion. “I know all about your plan to force Eleanor into my bed, and then make us marry.”
Nicholas reached out and took hold of Percival’s wrist. His expression grim, he tightened his grip until Percival cried out and released his cousin. She ran to Uncle Fergus, who put his arm protectively around her. His other arm was around Fredella.
“You are free to remain here, my lady, if that is what you wish,” Nicholas said to her. “I’ll protect you even if we don’t marry. But you never wanted to marry me, did you?”
“No, my lord, I’ve never wanted to marry you.”
Her denial was so strong, so absolute, so firmly spoken, Riona could hardly believe it was the same young woman speaking.
“There you have it, Percival,” Nicholas said evenly. “She doesn’t want me, and even if my choice wasn’t already made, I’ll not have an unwilling bride.”
“I’m her legal guardian, not you!” Percival exclaimed. “She has to do what I say, and go where I take her. You have no rights where she’s concerned.”
“Then go to the courts,” Eleanor cried, her hands balled into fists, her whole body trembling with rage. “And while you’re in London trying to get the means to make me do what you want, I’ll be here. Away from you!”
“Come, Joscelind. We’re going,” Lord Chesleigh announced. “Let’s leave this man with the barbarians.”
Before Joscelind moved, Nicholas stepped forward. “If he’s the one who hurt you, you’re welcome to stay here, too.”
Riona could easily believe Lord Chesleigh was a violent man. And it was no wonder to her that Nicholas would generously offer Joscelind refuge, despite what she had done.
Joscelind’s eyes narrowed, as if she feared a trick. “You’d do that for me? After…everything?”
“Yes.”
Still skeptical, Joscelind addressed Riona. “What about you? Surely you don’t want me to stay.”
Riona went to Nicholas and took his hand. Holding it, secure in his love, she said, “Whatever has happened between us is in the past, and if you wish to stay, I have no objections.”
“Joscelind, come with me, or I’ll cast you off as I would an old shoe,” her father commanded.
She turned to go with him.
“Joscelind, please, reconsider,” Riona said.
Joscelind raised her chin and fierce pride shone in her eyes. “And what? Lose my family and my dowry? Be grateful for your mercy? Watch the two of you be married? I would rather endure whatever punishment my father decrees for my shameful behavior than be dependent on your charity.”
“Then I wish you well, my lady, and whatever happiness you can find.”
More regal and dignified than ever, Joscelind nodded, turned and followed her father.
But before Lord Chesleigh and his daughter reached the door, a man Riona had never seen before strode into the hall. His boots and breeches were splattered with mud and his hair windblown as if he’d ridden hard and come a long distance in a short time. “Nicholas!” he cried. “And Lord Chesleigh. How fortunate.”
“Who the devil are you?” Lord Chesleigh demanded.
Still holding Riona’s hand, Nicholas hurried forward. “This is Henry, my brother.”
Lord Chesleigh sniffed. “Whoever he is, he should let my daughter and me pass.”
“You’re leaving, my lord?” Henry politely inquired.
“Yes. At once.”
“Excellent. You’ll be pleased to hear I’ve brought you an escort, for it seems several very powerful people in London are very anxious to talk to you about some of your associates and their activities. I gather they’ve already prepared a place for you in the Tower.”
Lord Chesleigh blanched. And then he went for his sword.
He was too slow. Nicholas had let go of Riona, pulled out his sword, and set the tip on the man’s neck before Lord Chesleigh had even gotten his weapon out of its sheath.
“I don’t think that would be wise, my lord,” Nicholas warned as Riona let out her breath slowly.
“You’ve got a dungeon hereabouts, don’t you, Nicholas?” his brother asked.
“Yes, I do.”
“Wonderful! The men and our horses are too fatigued from our journey to start back to London today.” Henry gestured to two of Nicholas’s soldiers. “Take his lordship to the dungeon.”
The soldiers hurried to obey, grabbing the Norman and frog-marching him out of the hall.
“Joscelind!” her father cried out desperately. “Joscelind!”
“Don’t worry, Father,” she said coldly as she followed them. “I won’t desert you. And I’ll do all I can to prove your innocence. Otherwise, I’ll be left with nothing.”
When they were gone, it was as if everyone in the hall exhaled at the same time.
“Who was she?” Henry asked his brother.
“Lord Chesleigh’s daughter. Are there accusations against her, as well?”
“No, and I must say, I’m glad. It would be a great pity to have such a beauty imprisoned in the Tower.”
Riona was glad, too. She didn’t like Joscelind, but she wouldn’t wish disgrace and poverty on her, either.
Henry suddenly started and pointed. “Percival!”
Near the kitchen entrance, Percival stopped and stared as if he’d been shot by an arrow and pinned to the wall.
“What? What do you want?” he demanded as he inched toward the door.
Henry strolled toward him. “So this is where you’ve got to,” he said with a smile. “I hear your tailor is very upset with you—a small matter of a few hundred marks owing, I believe. And your jeweler is unhappy, too. Indeed, I believe you’re in debt to most of the merchants and half the usurers in London.”
“You’re lying!”
“I could be wrong, of course,” Henry replied. “But I certainly wouldn’t let my brother marry any relative of yours until he had the dowry in his hands.”
“Is that true?” Eleanor demanded of her cousin. “What about my money?”
Like a trapped rat, Percival’s gaze darted from the main door far away to the kitchen doors nearby blocked by Polly and the rest of servants. He broke for the kitchen, shoving Polly and the others roughly out of the way. Several of the soldiers nearby immediately gave chase.
“Shall I go after him, too?” Henry asked his brother.
Nicholas shook his head. “He won’t get far. My men are well trained. They can run for miles if they must, and I’m sure he can’t.”
Riona put a comforting arm around the distraught Eleanor, who might have nothing now except her title. “Perhaps you exaggerated a bit about the debts?” she asked Henry hopefully.
Nicholas’s brother shook his head. “I wish I could say I had, but I fear it’s all too true.”
“Never mind, my girl!” Uncle Fergus exclaimed. “You’ll always have a home with Fredella and me.”
“She can always stay with us,” Marianne offered.
“Or Nicholas and I,” Riona added.
As Eleanor smiled tremulously, and all seemed resolved at last, the servants began to whisper and murmur among themselves, clearly excited and pleased, while the remaining Norman nobles hurried to speak to Riona and Nicholas, as did Marianne, Adair and Roban.
After a little time had passed, Henry managed to draw his brother aside. “So, what did I interrupt?”