She raised panicked eyes and spoke swiftly. “No, no, my lord, that’s not necessary. Please, I beg you, say nothing to him!”
He studied her as the dance forced them away from each other for several steps. When they were together again, he dropped his voice to a whisper.
“Has Percival ever laid hands on you?”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “Just once, when he was drunk.”
“Once is once too many,” Nicholas growled, his loathing for Percival growing stronger. “Only the weakest of men hurt women. Ishallspeak to him.”
“No, please, my lord,” she whimpered, tears starting in her eyes. “He’ll be angry with me. If you truly want to help me, smile and look as if you like me.”
That lout Percival must have put pressure on her to try to win his hand. No wonder she always seemed so anxious.
Nicholas reluctantly smiled, although he felt far from happy. “So I take it your cousin is cruel when he drinks.”
With an equally false smile on her face, Eleanor nodded. “Yes.”
“Has he ever hurt anyone else when he was drunk?”
The dance required them to part again. As Eleanor moved away, she had the strangest expression on her face, as if she desperately wanted to tell him something, but was afraid to.
Nicholas’s impatience grew until they were facing each other once more. “What has he done?”
She glanced at her cousin.
“Pay no attention to him,” Nicholas quietly snapped. “I promise he’ll never know how I found out.”
That seemed to relieve her. “He was in the village today, at the tavern. When he was leaving to return to the castle, he met Lady Riona and he…he…”
Nicholas felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach.
“She’s not hurt,” Eleanor hastened to add.
The dance came to an end—and not a moment too soon for Nicholas.
Leaving Eleanor, he headed for the door. He had to find Riona. If Percival had dared to lay a hand on her, if she’d been harmed or injured in any way, he’d wish he’d never heard of Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe.
WONDERING WHEREUncle Fergus could be, or what might have detained him, Riona paced the floor of her chamber. It was past time for the evening meal, but she wasn’t about to go to the hall, even if Uncle Fergus might have gone there after returning from the village. Surely when he realized she wasn’t there, he’d look for her here. Then she’d tell him that she wanted to go home.
She heard her uncle’s familiar, and rapid, footfalls in the corridor outside the chamber. With both relief and trepidation, she hurried to the door and then stared in dismay at his enraged, florid face.
“Ah, Riona, there you are,” he said as he marched into his chamber, hisfeileadhswinging with his brisk strides. “I thought you might be in the hall. I’m glad you’re not.”
“Weren’t you?”
“No, I’ve been with Fredella. Something terrible has happened.”
They’d seemed blissfully happy that morning. “Did you quarrel?”
“God love you, no. It’s that bastard Percival. That disgusting, sillygowk.I ought to take my sword and lop off his head. That’d muss his fancy curls. Probably uses tongs, the popinjay.”
He must have found out what had happened in the village.
“Please, uncle, don’t fuss yourself,” she said, hoping to make him calm, too. “As you can see, I’m quite all right. No harm was done.”
Her uncle stopped pacing to look at her with furrowed brow and puzzled mien. “Has he threatened you, too?” he demanded.
Now she was as confused as he. “No, he didn’t threaten me,” she cautiously replied. He’d done more than threaten, but she didn’t want Uncle Fergus to attack him.
