Holding her throat, sure he meant it, sure he could and would do what he said, Eleanor envisioned spending the rest of her life in such imprisonment and started to cry.
“I’ll try to do better,” she sobbed, her breath coming in great gasps, unable to look at her cousin’s cruel face. “I’ll try to talk to him. I’ll try to persuade him to marry me. But if I can’t…if he chooses another…” She slid down onto the floor, kneeling at Percival’s feet, her hands clasped as she pleaded. “Please don’t send me to such a place, Percival. Please! I’ll die!”
He only scowled at her the more. “Then see that he picks you, you useless cow.”
He staggered out of her chamber, slamming the door behind him and leaving Eleanor weeping on the floor.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS THE SERVANTSbegan to clear away the remains of the evening meal, Lord Chesleigh turned to Nicholas with a smile that reminded Nicholas of a toad.
He was regretting inviting the remaining nobles to take their turn seated at the high table. Before, he could enjoy his meals in relative peace, perusing the occupants of the hall as he wished. Now, he had the talkative, boastful Lord Chesleigh on his left, and his daughter, who at least wasn’t so inclined to talk, to the more honored right-hand side.
“After that fine meal, what say you to some dancing, my lord?” Lord Chesleigh suggested.
Before he replied, Nicholas subdued the urge to survey those in his hall once more to see if Lady Riona had come after all. He could guess why she hadn’t, especially since her uncle wasn’t there, either. They were probably packing their things, determined to leave in the morning. Later, they’d probably tell every Scot they knew about the lascivious, sinful Sir Nicholas who’d set out to sully a virtuous lass’s honor.
So much for any hope that he’d ever be accepted in this country. It had been a faint one, but he had harbored it, especially since he’d come to accept his sister’s marriage to Adair Mac Taran.
“An excellent proposal,” he replied to the nobleman, hoping he didn’t make a fool of himself. “And you, Lady Joscelind?” he politely inquired of the beauty beside him. “Would you care to dance?”
“I would enjoy it very much, my lord,” she answered, her voice so soft he could hardly hear it, and her eyes demurely lowered.
Did she really think he could forget the forcefulness of her voice in the courtyard when she’d ordered him to unload her baggage? Maybe she thought her beauty and her father’s wealth and power would be sufficient to make him forget.
Perhaps he’d have to overlook that behavior because of the rewards such a bride would bring.
“I’d like to refresh myself first,” she said. “If I may.”
“Of course. I shall eagerly await your return.”
Lady Joscelind gracefully rose. She looked down the hall, silently signaling her maidservant to attend her.
Nicholas followed her gaze, then once more scanned the hall. His noble guests appeared well fed and generally happy, several of the men still excited by the hunt. Robert sat between Lady Priscilla and Audric, across from Sir George and a very annoyed looking Lady Eloise.
The Scots thane and Lady Eleanor’s maidservant weren’t there, either, although Eleanor was, looking rather pale. Perhaps she was a sickly sort—one reason he could give Percival not to wed her, should that prove necessary.
Nicholas gestured for the maidservant nearest to come closer. It was Polly, the one who was going to marry Thomas and had been so grateful for the small dowry he’d given her to allow that to happen soon, he feared she’d swoon when he told her. “Tell Robert I wish to speak to him, and I want the tables taken down.”
She nodded and hurried off to do as she was bid.
“Very pretty wench,” Lord Chesleigh remarked.
“She’s betrothed to my head shepherd,” Nicholas replied, his tone containing a mild warning.
“So I heard. My daughter told me something of that, and I understand you gave her a dowry?”
Nicholas regarded the nobleman with an inquiring look, although he probably shouldn’t be so surprised that such news had traveled so quickly. He wondered if Lady Riona had heard it, and if that mollified her anger any.
“Not that I blame you, my lord,” Lord Chesleigh continued with a sly and knowing smile. “She seems quite…entertaining.”
“I don’t sport with my maidservants.”
Lord Chesleigh colored at Nicholas’s brusquely spoken words. “So I was given to understand. But you must admit the dowry suggests—”
“The dowry was a gift to encourage her to marry and get out of my castle, lest she be seduced by men who ought to know better.”
Lord Chesleigh’s brow lowered. “And just what are you implying?”
