Duncan was having a marvelous dream.
It could have been naught else. Even in sleep he knew ’twas improbable that Eglantine should try to seduce him, but still he was loathe to awaken.
Duncan sighed with satisfaction as Eglantine leaned over him, the softness of her breast against his arm. Her breath upon his ear made him shiver, her hair trailed against his face and he reveled in its silken touch. The countess kissed his cheek gently, granting further confirmation that ’twas a dream.
For the real countess was not so timid as this. The incongruity of that caught Duncan’s attention, for ’twas unlike a dream to be less passionate than what a man might find awake.
Surely if he dreamed of Eglantine—whom he already knew to be passionate indeed—she would fair devour him?
What if he did not dream?
Duncan opened one eye warily, noted the chill in the air and the sound of rain. Then he saw that the curl trailing across his face was ebony of hue.
’Twas not Eglantine!
Duncan sat up with a jolt, the sight before him making his eyes widen in dismay even as he eased backward.
“I do not kiss so badly as that,” Alienor said with a pout. She sat back on her heels, looking disheveled. She had unfurled her hair from her braid, the dark tresses hanging loose over her shoulders and falling to her waist. She evidently wore naught but a chemise beneath her cloak. Her feet were bare, her expression tempting, the shadows visible through the opening of her cloak promising many pleasures. Many a man might have seized what she offered.
But Duncan stared at his visitor in horror. “Ye gods, what is this you do?” he muttered.
Alienor smiled coyly and crept closer.
Duncan looked wildly about the cottage, but his men slept soundly. He would wager his last coin that Eglantine did not know her step-daughter was here.
And that she would not be pleased to learn the truth.
“You must return to your tent,” he advised in a low whisper. The determination in the girl’s eyes told Duncan that she had no more intent of heeding him than she did Eglantine. “Truly, ’tis imperative...”
“I shall have a kiss first,” she whispered, smiling as she unclasped her cloak and let it fall behind her. Truly, the chemise was so fine that it hid naught. She crawled toward him, her eyes glowing and her breasts fairly spilling from her chemise. “Do you not desire me, Duncan? Do you not wish to claim me as your own?”
’Twould be rude to make his feelings clear and worse, Duncan sensed this woman-child would not take the truth well. “’Tis inappropriate for you to be here,” he advised sternly, keeping his gaze resolutely above her amply displayed bosom. “Have you no care for your reputation, or even your chastity?”
Alienor rolled her eyes. “I would be rid of chastity and glad of it, if such sacrifice won me a true man.” Duncan’s back encountered the wall and Alienor knelt directly before him. She shook out her hair, her fingers falling to the ties of her chemise even as she smiled.
“My men will see you,” Duncan muttered.
Her smile broadened. “Then you had best ensure they know I am yours.”
Duncan seized her hand before she could display her breasts, then knotted the tie with a vengeance. He did a poor job of it, not accustomed to such finery, and the chemise still gaped open when he was done. He brushed past her, picked up her cloak and flung it at her.
“You must return to your mother’s camp,” he declared, fighting to keep his voice low enough that his men did not awaken. “You have no place here, and I seek no woman to make my own.”
Alienor’s eyes flashed. “Whyever not?” Her expression turned coy, her hand landed on his shoulder. “I could change your thinking in this...”
Duncan stood and pulled the girl to her feet. “You will change naught with your childish games.”
“I am no child! I am a woman fully. What man would decline what I offer?” Alienor demanded, then she exhaled in a low hiss. “Are you the manner of man who prefers boys?” Her voice rose waspishly, proving his earlier conclusion aright. “Aye, there are plenty of such men at a king’s court, but I had expected to find true men here, men who know of pleasing women and fighting for all they desire.” She lifted her chin in challenge. “What manner of man are you, Duncan MacLaren?”
“A man with no desire to take a child as a bride.” He gripped her elbow, snatched up her cloak and marched her out of the cottage.
“Oh, you sound like Eglantine. Always right, always thinking of duty and obligation, never sparing a moment for innocent revelry...”
“The revelry you propose is far from innocent.”
Alienor tossed her hair. “I offered naught but a kiss.”
“In such circumstance, only a fool would imagine that a kiss would be all she would pay.” Duncan glared at the defiant girl. “You are fortunate indeed, Alienor, for a less noble man would have taken what you offered and more, leaving you with naught but blood on your thighs.” Her eyes widened only briefly before her lips set mutinously. “What then of the marriage you would make? What then should Eglantine say?”
Alienor lifted her chin and glanced over Duncan’s shoulder towards her mother’s camp. A disconcertingly coy smile curved her lips and he began to dread what she saw even before she spoke. “Why do you not ask her?”
Duncan pivoted to find Eglantine closing fast upon them, most of her household fast on her heels. It seemed that news had traveled fast, for the lady’s expression was dark and she strode towards him with determination.
She looked furious enough to flay him with her bare hands. Duncan hoped that he would have the opportunity to explain the truth of it, but did not doubt the lady would have her say.
He stepped deliberately in front of Alienor, for he would hide her state from the entire household. But the girl did not share his concerns for her modesty. She stepped around him, then pressed against his side.
“Fool! Do you want all the assembly to see your nudity?” Duncan demanded, glancing down in time to see Alienor pull her chemise so the front gaped. The rain had already soaked the thin fabric, rendering it so sheer that the girl’s charms were visible to all.
Indeed her eyes lit with devilry. “What shall you tell Eglantine?” she whispered. “And what will she believe?” She wriggled closer then turned to face her step-mother with a triumphant smile. “I am not a woman to go lacking in what I desire, Duncan, and you had best know the truth of it before we are wed.”
Duncan swore under his breath, and glanced up to find Eglantine approaching quickly. Her expression revealed that she had noted all the details and made the conclusion Alienor had expected. Indeed, in this moment, he had to admit that his suit for Eglantine’s hand seemed unlikely to be won.
* * *
If Eglantine had thought she was as angry as ever she could be, she quickly learned differently. Aye, for Alienor appeared at Duncan’s side and granted her step-mother another unwelcome revelation. There was no disputing the girl’s dress nor its import—Duncan held her gaze unrepentantly and Eglantine had not a doubt what he had done.
The shameless cur! She had called his character aright that first day! ’Twas no consolation to discover that she and Alienor finally had something in common.
This was sordid beyond belief! What manner of man went from mother to daughter, and with such haste? ’Twas good that Eglantine was so furious, for otherwise she might have been ill.
“This is unforgivable,” she declared. Alienor huddled closer to her lover, but Eglantine saved her fury for the one who should have known better. “You will depart this very morning, you will not return and you will not sully Kinbeath with your presence any longer.”
Duncan folded his arms across his chest. “Again you are quick to leap to conclusions, my Eglantine...”
Her eyes flashed emerald fire. “I am not your Eglantine!”
“I would argue the point.”
“I would argue naught with you. Get yourself gone!”
But Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “You have tried to dispatch me afore—what do you believe has changed this day?”
“All has changed. You have despoiled my daughter and claimed what was not yours to claim.” Eglantine took a deep breath. “Unless you two were wed last eve without my awareness?”
“We could be wed now, Eglantine, if it pleased you,” Alienor purred.
“It does not please me,” Duncan snapped, sparing an exasperated glance for the girl. “We will not be wed on this day or any other.”
Eglantine was indignant. “You would not make right what you have done? You take her maidenhead, even knowing she seeks a spouse, and then would leave her to pay the price? Even I did not imagine that you could be so base!”
Duncan’s eyes flashed. “I took naught!”
“That was not freely offered,” Alienor amended with a coy smile.
Duncan turned a look of such fury upon her that the girl took a step back. “Fetch your cloak,” he ordered. “And leave us be. You aid naught in this discussion.”
“Alienor,” Eglantine interjected, troubled by the intensity of Duncan’s tone. The girl met her gaze defiantly. “Tell me true—did Duncan take your maidenhead or nay?”
Alienor tossed her hair back over her shoulder, ensuring that all could see her pert young breasts through her sodden chemise. “He took my maidenhead,” she declared with a bravado that oft meant she lied. “He sampled all I had to offer.”
Eglantine frowned, uncertain of the reason for her doubts. Did she read Alienor aright in guessing that the girl lied? Or did she merely wish that the girl lied? She looked to Duncan, to find his expression newly grim.
“Eglantine, I took naught,” he insisted. “She accosted me in my bed but I put her aside. Alienor is as virginal as she was on your arrival, or if she is not, ’twas not I who did the deed.” His silver gaze bore into her own, compelling her to believe him. “I swear it to you.”
Eglantine hesitated, but Alienor did not. She smiled, her expression arch, and trailed her fingertips down Duncan’s arm. He did not so much as glance her way. “There is naught to fear, my love. My step-mother is not so witless that she will stand in the way of lovers true. Indeed, we have only to set the date for our nuptials to see this resolved.”
“There will be no nuptials!” Duncan roared.
“Aye, there will not,” Eglantine agreed. The two halted to stare at her, Alienor with loathing and Duncan with surprise. “True lovers or nay, I would not permit any of my daughters to wed a thief, no less a man who would willfully force a company to starve. Such cruelty is no good portent of a husband’s character.”
“What nonsense is this?” Duncan demanded, taking a step toward her.
But Eglantine was not fooled by his apparent confusion. Not in this matter. Indeed, she was irked that her heart responded to him even when she knew he toyed with her.
“Do not play the innocent with me,” she retorted. “Our stores have been plunder this past night, purportedly by restless spirits anxious to have us gone. There is naught to eat and naught to sow, yet we both know that no spirits were responsible for this willful destruction. The deed to Kinbeath has been stolen and the treasury raided bare.” She took a step closer. “There is but one who wants us gone at all costs, and he stands before me.”
“You are wrong, Eglantine.”
“I have had sufficient of your tales to satisfy,” she interrupted, sparing no chance that he might charm her anew. “’Tis time this matter be taken to a court and be resolved fully. Kinbeath is mine, I have had the deed to prove it while you have naught but tales. You have not only obstructed my settlement here, but in damaging the stores have put my company’s health and survival at risk. I shall have reparation from your king.”
Duncan shook his head. “’Tis clear that you are ill-disposed to listening to reason this morn.”
“’Tis clear that I finally understand the character of my opponent.”
He studied her for a long moment, his eyes alight with that unruly fire that she knew better than to trust. When he spoke, his words flowed low. “A king cannot hear a case without claimants.” He offered her his hand, the broad palm looking warm and inviting despite all she knew. “As ’tis your command, you and I shall depart this very morn to the court of Dugall, King of the Isles.”
Eglantine laughed under her breath and stepped back. “I should think not!”
“There is no other way to resolve this.”
Eglantine forced herself to be cynical, for she dared not soften her stance in the least. “Aye, I know your resolution—I should depart in your company and not return. I can well imagine the tale.” She affected the pose of a conqueror returning, shrugging with chagrin. “How unfortunate that the countess Eglantine met with an accident en route.”
“I should never permit you to be harmed!” Duncan protested hotly.
“Indeed.” Eglantine silenced him with a look that could cut glass. “And what have you achieved this morn?”
Duncan opened his mouth and closed it again, his lips tightening to a thin line. “I told you I am innocent of both charges.”
“And I say you lie.”
“Nay, Eglantine, you know better than that.” He reached for her shoulders, but Eglantine evaded his touch. “Eglantine, you draw incorrect conclusions. I did not plunder your stores. I did not despoil your daughter. I did not empty your treasury. What desire have I for a deed of no value? Would you not grant me so much as a hearing, after all that has passed between us?”
“After all that has passed between us, I expected no shadow of doubt to fall upon your intent. ’Twas clear I was wrong in that.” With that, she spun to return to her company, surprised to find that she was shaking.
Aye, ’twas unlike her to become so angry. The man summoned the worst of her to the surface.
“Eglantine!” Duncan bellowed. “You will grant me a hearing!”
She paused and schooled her expression, hoping she could ensure that her disappointment did not show. She had been a fool to grant even a meager measure of trust to a man again. “The king shall grant you a hearing. I must ensure that we survive until your return.”
“Aye? And who will argue your case?” Eglantine glanced back to find Duncan looking disgruntled and formidable. His legs were braced against the rock, his arms crossed, his dark brows drawn together in a scowl. He arched one brow suddenly, his expression changing briefly to mischief. “Since you do not deign to accompany me to the king’s court?”
Eglantine held his gaze, well aware that he felt he had been unfairly judged. “Louis shall accompany you, of course. As my châtelain, he is fully vested with the power of the house to negotiate.” She turned away then before she could be swayed further, and led Alienor back toward their own camp.
“Eglantine!” Duncan roared. “You will discuss this with me!”
But she would not. She dared not do so, not when she feared she could be readily tempted to discard what she knew was right. There was too much at stake and she had neglected her responsibilities overmuch already. Her household surrounded her, as though they would protect her from Duncan and his men, though Eglantine knew that he could force his way to her side.
But he did not lend chase. She looked back, once, and noted that he argued heatedly with Louis, who looked as pinch-lipped as that man could be.
Aye, she was of no further interest to Duncan now that she refused to do his bidding. She should have expected as much. Eglantine’s footsteps flagged, and she acknowledged only now that she had hoped for better of this man.
But that was only because Eglantine was a fool when it came to men. She had not needed further proof of that weakness.
But once again, she had it.
Célie met her, bouncing a teary Esmeraude upon her hip.
“Milk!” The hungry toddler reached for Eglantine who caught her close and held her tight, rocking on her feet as she tried to soothe her.
“My lady, what shall we do without the goats?” Célie asked. “They are not to be found and Esmeraude is hungered.”
“Let us go to Gunther and Gerhard,” she suggested, knowing full well that the toddler was listening. “Esmeraude grows so big these days, perhaps ’tis time she had the same porridge in the morn as all of us.”
Esmeraude sniffled once more, then locked her hands around Eglantine’s neck, evidently reassured that she was becoming a big girl. Eglantine kissed her daughter’s brow and smoothed back her hair, unable to deny the unwelcome fact that Duncan had aided her in re-establishing this fragile bond.
Aye, she owed him thanks for that and naught more—and truly, he had had thanks enough from her already.
* * *
The woman was vexing, Duncan would grant her that.
But in her place, he would have wrought the same conclusions, and truly Alienor had done naught to aid matters. He did not know who had destroyed the stores or plundered her treasury, but it had not been him, nor had it been done at his dictate.
And the timing of Iain’s absence was notable.
Duncan knew Eglantine well enough to know that words would not suffice in this—’twould be his deeds that spoke the truth in this. He needed to provide her compensation for her loss, a reasonable request given the circumstance, and that could only be won at Dugall’s court.
He needed to prove that his pledges were not empty ones, as that rogue Theobald’s had clearly been.
Which meant that Duncan had to find the real culprit—and Duncan guessed that Iain could be found worming his way into Dugall’s favor. Aye, ’twould be there and only there that Iain might win a redress of what he considered to be the injustice of Cormac appointing Duncan his heir.
Duncan did not truly care whether he was chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie, though he doubted he would win his true desire without that title. Aye, he would still woo his countess Eglantine, but it seemed that events would follow a different order than he might have preferred.
Truly, Eglantine had already derived the best solution to their competing claims, that of merging the claims through marriage. But Duncan would wed Eglantine, not one of her daughters, to forge that bond. He knew he could persuade Dugall to approve the match, for that man had a king’s fondness of wealthy foreign blood. He and Eglantine would make a traditional handfast, here at Ceinn-beithe where ’twould be well-favored by the Fates. Then he would have a year and a day to woo her and win her, a year and a day of certainty that she would be by his side.
Duncan did not doubt it could be done. The true challenge would lie in convincing Eglantine to even make the handfast in the first place. Duncan knew better than to expect anything to be simple with this woman.
Indeed, ’twas a fair measure of what he liked about her.
He decided to leave a small group behind at Ceinn-beithe and take the rest of his party along to Dugall’s court. They had need of a warmth and a meal,
Gillemore offered to remain, much to Duncan’s surprise.
“Do you not wish to be out of the rain? It cannot be good for your knees.”
“Ah, my knees are as hale as any man’s.” The older man grinned. “Where there is a cow, there will be a woman; and where there is a woman, there will be temptation. I will stay to ensure that naught happens that could make matters worse.” Gillemore spared Reinald a dark glance. “For I am better fit for such a labor than some of us.”
All the men laughed aloud at that.
“Oh I should give them trouble such as they have never had before,” Reinald jested, to much laughter.
“But there is no cow, Gillemore,” another observed. “Does that mean they are not women?” The chatter broke out in earnest, insults and jests flying fast. The men were doubtless glad to be traveling again.
Duncan shook his head with relief as he checked the small boats they had stowed among the rocks. Aye, ’twould be good to have Reinald under his own eye. The last thing he needed was another issue between himself and Eglantine.
He glanced up from the hull of the first boat to find her châtelain hovering on the perimeter of his party. ’Twas clear the older man knew his role, and equally clear that he did not understand what the men said to each other in Gael.
’Twould be a long trip for Louis, Duncan imagined, but the choice had not been his to make.
* * *
’Twas the older man left by Duncan who found the goats, and that before Duncan’s party had even departed.
He was a gruff and rough individual, his hands calloused and his features burnished by the wind. He fair glowered at Eglantine as he drove the goats towards her and so fierce was his expression that she did not immediately guess his intent. He gestured to the creatures and loosed a spate of Gael that made all draw back and regard him warily. Esmeraude, hovered behind Eglantine, too curious to hide herself away but clutching her mother’s skirts for protection.
The man uttered something that could only have been a curse, seized a pail and set to milking the first of the goats. The beast chewed complacently while he worked, his touch evidently experienced and more gentle than his manner.
When done with the first, his scowl deepened as he surveyed the household still watching him in silence. Indeed, he filled the silence and then some, his hands flying as he commented thoroughly on the situation. He pointed emphatically to the goats’ teats hanging so low.
And Eglantine understood that he was irked that the creatures had missed their milking. ’Twas true enough that the creatures would be uncomfortable and one bleated plaintively as though to complain as much.
“Didier, aid the man. He speaks aright, for the goats have need of milking.” Eglantine addressed one of the boys who aided Gunther and Gerhard, who immediately hunkered down to milk the third goat.
Duncan’s man had already begun to milk the second, but he did not miss her deed. Eglantine won a grunt for her efforts and a litany of Gael. It seemed to rhyme, as though ’twas a saying of some kind. Though she could not fathom what he had said, there was an echo of approval in his words that needed no translation.
He stood finally, his task completed, and brushed his hands upon the length of wool wrapped about his hips. His feet were bare, his legs more hairy than she might have imagined possible. His stature was surprisingly small, though Eglantine realized as much only when he paused directly before her.
“Gillemore,” he said, tapping one fist upon his heart and repeating what was clearly his name. His bushy brows were shot with silver and seemed thick enough to have a life of their own. He regarded her warily from beneath them and Eglantine knew she was being assessed. Then he offered the pail of milk to her and inclined his head slightly. He spoke again, the words incomprehensible as his intent was not.
Eglantine inclined her head as she accepted the heavy pail. “I thank you for your aid in this, Gillemore,” she said warmly. “I feared the goats lost for good and heartily appreciate your assistance. ’Tis most unexpected.”
He nodded, his expression somber, and she wondered how much he had understood of her words. How did she proceed from here? She set the bucket by her feet, a tug on her skirts revealing Esmeraude’s curiosity.
“Milk!” the toddler exclaimed with undisguised delight. She cupped her hand and dipped into the pail before she could be stopped, then attempted to drink from her fingers before the milk ran through them. More milk spread on her face and down the front of her kirtle than made it into her mouth, but she looked so pleased that ’twould have been impossible to chide her.
Esmeraude turned a glorious smile on this Gillemore, even as the milk dripped from her chin. She abruptly dipped both hands into the bucket, cupped them together and offered a taste of the milk to him. “Milk is good,” she informed him solemnly.
The older man was clearly charmed. He fought a smile and lost, then dropped to one knee. He cupped his own hands together and Esmeraude poured the milk into his hands. She surveyed the results, then fetched another handful for him. Truly most of it returned to the pail, though she only seemed to notice as much when she saw how small the amount was in Gillemore’s palms.
He was infinitely patient with her, the contrast of his manner and his appearance surprising to Eglantine. Gillemore spoke gently before Esmeraude could repeat her gesture again, halting her with a wink, then drank slowly of the milk she had given him.
Esmeraude watched him avidly, so breathless for his response that she might have wrought the milk herself. Eglantine bit back her own smile. Gillemore rose to the occasion, making a great show of sighing with satisfaction and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed contentment, as though he had sampled the finest fare in Christendom. His eyes twinkled and he smiled at the child, his approval clear in his thanks to her.
Esmeraude was suitably proud of herself for making another conquest. She hugged Eglantine’s knee and bit her lip as she eyed Gillemore coyly. “You tell a story?” she asked, then stretched out her hand in appeal. “A story for me?”
Eglantine bent and scooped up the toddler. “Do not trouble Gillemore for a tale,” she said softly. “He has found the goats and brought you milk which is a fine labor indeed.”
The toddler frowned, not pleased with this news. “A story! A song!”
“Hush, I shall tell you a story,” Eglantine offered, searching her memory even now for some tale she could tell. Indeed, she had best become used to amusing Esmeraude herself, for there would be no timely songs from Duncan now.
Or perhaps ever again. As much as she wanted a resolution to their stalemate, Eglantine could not say she would be glad to never see the rogue again. He was not without his own charms—but ’twas good that she knew those charms were not for her. She hefted Esmeraude—who was getting heavy for such deeds—and made for her tent, well aware that the toddler waved at Gillemore over her shoulder and that Duncan’s man watched her go.
* * *
Adversity showed the true nature of Eglantine’s daughters, if naught else. Alienor pouted, insisting that she had been despoiled and further that her true mother and father would have ensured that Duncan paid the price for his deed, instead of letting him sail away never to return. Eglantine abandoned the girl to her sulking, having no patience for such recriminations when there was so much else to be resolved.
Jacqueline rose admirably to the occasion. Eglantine found her daughter using veils pilfered from her own collection, patiently sifting the dirt from the flour. Gunther and Gerhard had sufficiently recovered their spirit to aid her appreciatively. Jacqueline flushed when Eglantine arrived.
“I know ’twas your favored one, Maman, but ’twas the veil of finest weave and the greater good would be served.”
“You show splendid good sense as always, Jacqueline, in putting it to good use.” Eglantine smiled. “Indeed, ’tis foolery to try to wear a veil in this land of unruly winds. I am glad to be rid of it.”
The two shared a smile, then Gunther brought a small bowl of porridge sweetened with the last of the honey for Esmeraude. That child showed every measure of her charm, undoubtedly determined to prove herself as ‘big’ a girl as her mother had suggested. She rocked amiably between Eglantine’s knees as Eglantine held the bowl, the child humming cheerfully and tapping her spoon in the bowl as she ate.
All smiled at her as they passed. Truly, Esmeraude could charm the sun from the sky, when she desired to do so.
’Twas not long before Eglantine heard Duncan’s men calling to each other, and she could not help but watch. The waves splashed as they urged the small boats into the sea and their laughter was hearty and deep. She did not mean to pick out Duncan’s silhouette, yet ’twas precisely what she did.
From the angle of the sunlight, ’twas impossible to tell whether he looked back. Though Eglantine told herself ’twas a good thing, her heart still felt leaden. She knew that she had cursedly poor luck with men—had this interval with Duncan not proven the truth of it?
But what if Duncan did not lie to her?
What if he never returned?
Who knew whether she would ever have the opportunity to grant Duncan the hearing he had requested? Eglantine had the urge to run after him, to cry for him to halt, to have that honesty between them that he so coveted, but she did not do so. If he lied, as all men had lied to her, then such a deed would only show her to be a weak-willed fool.
So she held her ground, but watched him sail away because she was too weak to deny herself one last sight of Duncan MacLaren.
’Twas only when the small boats disappeared in the haze hugging the horizon that Eglantine permitted her shoulders to sag. She rubbed her brow and could not imagine how she might have wrought a situation any worse from what Theobald had granted to her. Her eyes filled with tears as surveyed her humble surroundings and thought longingly of home.
Home. It seemed so distant from this wild place. She recalled Arnelaine’s fields, Crevy’s towers, the meadow beyond the woods and the sparkle of the millstream. She smiled in recollection of her mother’s smile, her brother’s gruff protectiveness of his sweet bride.
Brigid should have had her child by now—the realization made Eglantine feel the tug of home more ardently. She wished that she had not missed that arrival, then wondered whether the babe was a boy or a girl. Guillaume would not care and that certainty made her smile broaden.
As long as Brigid was fine. Oh, he probably paced a trench in Crevy’s stone floors while she labored to bring the babe to light, that would be Guillaume. Eglantine’s smile faded to naught. She hoped with sudden fervor that all had gone well.
New doubts needled her. Perhaps she should have lingered, been there for Brigid’s delivery. Indeed, the shock of her departure would have troubled sensitive Brigid. And who else could have come?
What if Eglantine’s mother had been ill, as was so often the case in the winters of later—or worse, her mother chose to meddle rather than to aid, as was often her wont. Brigid had no other family nearby, save Burke’s Alys.
What if the babe came early and Guillaume was yet at court?
Eglantine fretted, seeing another duty she had failed to fulfill when ’twas too late to make amends. How could she have stayed though, and left Jacqueline prey to Reynaud? ’Twas a muddle of poor choices she had been granted and that was the truth of it—indeed, it seemed that no matter what choice she made, there was a disappointment to be borne.
But there was no point in dwelling upon what could not be fixed. Eglantine pressed a kiss to Esmeraude’s brow and was grateful for one victory in her life. She prayed for not only the best, not only that both Brigid and babe were hale, but that her brother would forgive her all.
Indeed, there was little else she could do from here.