Unfortunately, it seemed as if every bird or animal had somehow gotten word of their approach and fled.
Perhaps it was the noise from the back of the group. Mounted on one of Dunkeathe’s mares, Fergus Mac Gordon was regaling the servants with the tale of a hunting mishap involving a dog, a dirk and a boot. Say what one would about the boisterous Scot, he was entertaining, and he’d been entertaining the men at the back of their party ever since they’d left the castle.
“Joscelind’s maternal grandmother was the daughter of the Duke of Bridgewater,” Lord Chesleigh droned on, “and therefore related by blood to the king himself.”
“On the wrong side of the blanket,” Sir Percival interjected, apparently as tired of Lord Chesleigh’s recitation as Nicholas.
They’d been cooped up inside Dunkeathe by rain and fog for the past three days. When this day dawned clear, Nicholas hadimmediately proposed a hunt. That wasn’t his favorite pastime—his youth having given him little time to indulge in sport and he still couldn’t quite shake the notion that he had more important things to do—yet he was as eager to ride out of Dunkeathe as the rest of the men who had quickly accepted his invitation. His female guests, led by Lady Joscelind, declined because the ground was too muddy.
He wasn’t sorry. It was wearying trying to be pleasant to all the ladies without making any one of them think they were too far in his favor.
Lady Riona had already left the hall when he’d proposed the hunt, and he could guess why. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him—which was just as well, because he couldn’t afford to be anywhere near her, either. Bedding a thane’s niece, no matter how tempting, and with no promise of marriage, would surely cause a great deal of animosity among the Scots. Therefore, he intended to avoid her as much as possible. He would have sent her home the day after that memorable kiss, except that it might cause grumbling among the Scots, too.
“Wasn’t Lady Joscelind’s grandmother the duke’s dairymaid, Lord Chesleigh?” Sir Percival inquired.
Lord Chesleigh frowned and twisted in his saddle to regard Sir Percival with a cold and angry eye. “William the Conqueror was a bastard, which proves that blood will show itself.”
“Oh, indeed, it will,” Percival said with a mocking smile. “Fortunately, my family carries no such taint.”
“Would you insult my family?” demanded Lord Chesleigh.
“Not your entire family,” Percival retorted as his steed pranced nervously. “Just your wife’s mother.”
Nicholas nudged his gelding between them before challenges could be issued. “Gentlemen, please. I’ll make my choice, as difficult as it’s going to be, based on the lady’s own merits.”
“Here, here!” Sir George piped up, wiping his lips with the back of his gloved hand, having just taken another gulp from the wineskin he’d brought. “If it’s merit you want, my lord, you couldn’t do better than Eloise. She’s a good girl, she is. Not the most lively you’ll ever meet, but who’d want a lively wife? That way leads to trouble.” He made a sodden wink. “Take it from me. A lively woman may be entertaining at night, but in the day, it’s quarrel, quarrel, quarrel.”
Thinking of one bold, lively woman, Nicholas was inclined to think that the nights might provide ample compensation. That kiss—
He commanded himself not to think about that kiss.
“Yes, the apple rarely falls far from the tree,” Lord Chesleigh remarked, speaking quietly so that Sir George wouldn’t hear. “I understand Sir George’s arguments with his wife were legendary.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want an argumentative wife,” Nicholas agreed. “I require peace in my household.”
“Of course you do,” Lord Chesleigh said. “After your years of combat, you wish to enjoy your well-earned prosperity. And I’m sure you won’t want to be troubled by any domestic strife.Joscelind is well able to run a household, my lord. She’ll keep a tight rein on your servants, and your purse strings, too.”
“He makes it sound like a man wants a second steward for a wife,” Percival declared behind them. “Can you see Sir Nicholas asking his wife for money?” He changed to a mocking, high-pitched tone. “Please, my dear, may I have a few pennies for a drink with my friends?”
“He doesn’t want a girl barely out of the nursery, either,” Lord Chesleigh said through clenched teeth. “He surely requires a woman who can manage the household without having to ask about every little thing.”
“I suppose that would be the one advantage to marrying anolderwoman,” Percival said, his voice full of venom, and as if Lady Joscelind was a crone instead of a woman who, granted, was somewhat older than most when they wed.
Lady Riona was even older than Joscelind, Nicholas guessed, yet he couldn’t think of her as “old.” As for being competent, everything he’d seen in Dunkeathe since her arrival told him she surely would be. The servants were always pleasant, yet deferential, when they served her, and hurried to do anything she asked of them. He’d overheard that maidservant with the mole on her breast whose name he could never remember tell another about some suggestions Lady Riona made regarding the storing of the linens, and it was clear both maidservants were impressed. Even some of the Saxon guards, not normally the most mannerly of men, bowed and touched their spears to their helmets in salute when she passed by.
“Speaking as a man, I prefer youth and beauty in a bride,” Sir Percival declared. “Wisdom will come soon enough.”
“Some never achieve that state,” Lord Chesleigh growled, staring straight ahead.
“Is that comment a reference to me?” Percival demanded.
Maybe suggesting this hunt had been a bad idea. At least in the hall, the men could amuse themselves with chess or games of chance, and there were the ladies to keep them on their best behavior.
A horn sounded.
Twice.
“A stag!” Percival cried, digging his spurred heels into his horse’s sides.
