Chapter Seventeen

“Duncan MacLaren, how dare you treat my guest in this way?”

Could anything else go awry? Both girls were missing, Esmeraude had chosen again to be defiant, there was only simple fare this night and thin ale to be had. Eglantine was embarrassed enough that Burke might find her hospitality lacking.

And that without Duncan blackening the man’s eye.

Though Burke seemed to take the incident with his usual grace, Eglantine was not so inclined to let it pass without comment.

“How dare you?” she demanded of Duncan, who merely glowered at her. “How could you greet a guest with your fist?”

“How could he come to court you with another woman’s ring upon his hand?” Duncan demanded hotly. “What of the insult to you? If you imagine, Eglantine, that I shall stand aside while another man of Theobald’s ilk treats you poorly, you are sadly mistaken.”

Though his words clearly were heartfelt, they made no sense to Eglantine. “Burke is wed,” she said carefully. “He does not come to court me.”

Duncan turned a glare upon Burke, who fingered his cheek and watched them. “He is the one who spurned you before.”

“He is the one who counseled me on the merits of love.”

“That he might share your charms,” Duncan charged heatedly.

“Nay! That I might dare to seek the charms of love.”

Duncan studied her carefully. “Then why is he here?”

“My brother sends him to ensure my welfare.” Eglantine smiled. “No more than that.”

Duncan was not to be so readily persuaded. “You greeted him with affection. You fairly leapt into his embrace!”

“Aye, Duncan.” Eglantine slipped her hand through his elbow, touched that he would defend her so ardently. “He is an old friend of our family and I feared for the pregnancy of my brother’s bride. Burke brings good news, no more than that.”

“Aye?”

“Aye. Perhaps you might trust me in this.”

Duncan heaved a sigh. “Then I owe him an apology.” He offered his hand to Burke who hesitated only a moment before accepting aid in rising. “I apologize for my blow, but I thought you of Theobald’s ilk.”

Burke smiled wryly. “’Tis unfortunate that you had no opportunity to grant him personally what he so roundly deserved.”

“Are you sorely injured?” Eglantine asked anxiously.

“’Tis not the first blow I have taken, nor will it be the last.” Burke grinned. “With fortune, ’twill heal before my Alys has the chance to comment upon it.”

Duncan seemed amused by this. “She will have much to say?”

Burke rolled his eyes. “Oh, indeed.” The two men grinned at each other, now in perfect understanding, and Eglantine shook her head.

“Might we show some convention of hospitality?” she asked, disliking the sense that this camaraderie was bought at the expense of herself and Alys. “The meal is hot, if you would do us the honor of joining us at our humble board, Burke.”

“I should be delighted,” he said, bowing low as though unaware of the hues already blossoming upon his cheek.

Eglantine turned expectantly to Duncan, but he hesitated. His gaze was troubled. “Nay, Eglantine, I will not come without your answer.”

“My answer?” Eglantine echoed. She felt Burke halt and turn to watch, but could not look away from the blaze in Duncan’s eyes.

“Aye.” Duncan frowned, then shoved a hand through his hair before he appealed to her once more. “No obstacles remain between us, Eglantine. You know I am innocent of the crimes you held against me. I have courted your favor these months, I have sought to win you for my own. I have wooed you and I have repeatedly pledged my love.” He held her gaze steadily. “And through all of my endeavors, you accepted what I granted yet offered naught in return.”

Eglantine swallowed, her fear rising cold within her.

“I would have your answer, Eglantine. I would know whether my labors are wasted. I would know whether your heart is mine to claim.”

“I have nigh ten months left to choose,” she insisted, her heart pounding fit to burst. “I will answer you when ’tis a year and a day from our handfast.”

But Duncan shook his head heavily. “Nay, Eglantine. I cannot endure in this way, uncertain of your favor and our future. I cannot lay abed wondering whether my seed is planted in your belly, wondering what you would do if it took root. I cannot fear that you will leave, that you love another, that all I have to have to offer is not enough.”

“You know all of me there is to know.” He stepped closer and cupped her face in his hands. “I ask for only three words, Eglantine, a pledge of three words from the depths of your soul, and never will I ask you for more.”

Eglantine stared up at Duncan and her mouth went dry.

She realized that she loved him. Indeed, she loved Duncan as she had never imagined she might love a man. She loved his passion and tenderness, the way he sang and the way he roared, she loved his protectiveness and his laughter and his unpredictability. Eglantine had never imagined that true love might warm her heart, but here ’twas—unsought and unexpected and undeniable all the same.

She wondered what he saw in her eyes, for a fire lit in the depths of his own. He leaned closer, as though he would will the words from her, his voice dropping low.

“Tell me, Eglantine,” he urged, his thumbs caressing her skin. “Tell me that you love me, or bid me leave. Tell me now and leave no doubts between us.”

Eglantine wanted to tell him, she truly did. She parted her lips, but fear stole her voice away. What if all went awry as soon as she uttered those words? What if she confessed her heart’s desire and Duncan exploited her weakness, as Theobald had done?

She could not believe it, and her instinct urged her to confess, but Eglantine knew her instincts were faulty.

She dared not trust them, not again.

Eglantine closed her eyes and looked down, away from Duncan’s burning gaze. “I cannot,” she whispered, fully expecting him to roar in fury.

But he said naught.

She waited, dreading his response, but there was none. Duncan’s hands fell from her face, the loss of his touch leaving her shivering with cold. He stepped back and she dared to glance towards him, only to find him looking more defeated than ever she had believed he could.

“Then, that is answer enough,” he said quietly. “I tried and I have failed, for whatever I might offer was not sufficient for you.” He held her gaze grimly, the flicker of the firelight making him look more remote than ever he had. She was reminded of the cold stones, immovable and alien, that stood in the roads and fields of this land. She was struck as she had been on their encounter that he was wrought of something different than she.

He touched two fingertips to his lips, flicking a kiss her way. “Farewell, Eglantine.”

And against her every expectation, Duncan MacLaren turned and strode into the shadows of the night.

Eglantine looked after him in astonishment, for she had never thought he might leave her. The night swallowed him quickly, as surely as if he had never been. Eglantine heard the sea crashing upon the shore, she heard the wail of the wind, but she could hear Duncan’s footfalls no longer.

He was gone.

The first sound to break from the company was Esmeraude’s wail of frustration. She ran from the back of the assembly to halt where Duncan had last stood. And she cried his name, stretching out her arms in entreaty. The sound tore at Eglantine’s heart and the household huddled together whispering.

Eglantine stepped forward and lifted Esmeraude, fighting against her own tears. She bounced the child and tried to console her.

“Duncan!” Esmeraude wrapped one hand around her mother’s neck, though she stretched one hand after Duncan as though she would beckon him to return.

She could not tell the child that Duncan was gone. She could not say the words, for that would make his departure more of a reality than Eglantine desired. So, she made nonsense sounds and hummed to her daughter. But no matter how Eglantine turned, Esmeraude looked after the man who had sung to her so many times. Esmeraude buried her face in Eglantine’s neck and wept noisily, finally taking solace from her thumb.

Eglantine glanced up to find Burke’s gaze upon her and knew she had shown him a poor welcome this night. “I must apologize, Burke. You find our household in less that ideal circumstance.”

“No apology is needed,” Burke said with his customary grace. “’Tis sufficient to know that you and yours are well.”

“How is Alys?” Eglantine asked belatedly, refusing to look into the darkness behind her, to wonder whether Duncan would return.

Surely he could not be gone for good?

Surely she could not have lost him in truth?

Eglantine hated that she did not know. She would never have anticipated that his conviction to win her had any limit, but the expression before he strode away had been eloquent.

And the dread she had felt of showing her weakness was a mere shadow compared to the consuming fear that she would never see Duncan MacLaren again.

Burke smiled, the expression making him look much younger and less stern. “Alys is well enough, though she will have my hide if I am not home before our second child is due.” He did not appear too troubled about this threat and Eglantine forced a smile in turn.

“Your son must be getting tall,” she said, feeling ’twas a hopelessly inane comment but knowing she should make conversation with her guest.

Burke set his chalice aside and leaned forward, propping his elbows upon his knees. “Eglantine, once upon a time, I told you of the power of the love that can blossom between a man and a woman.”

“Aye, you told me of Alys.”

“Aye, I hoped to inspire you to seek better for yourself than what you had clearly been granted with Robert.” Exasperation crossed his features. “You have always been so practical, Eglantine. I could not believe when I heard that you were wedded to Theobald de Mayneris, for all the world knew that he was a worthless rogue.” Burke’s eyes narrowed. “I thought, as many others likely did, that you had reformed him, that you typically had wrought gold from dross.”

Eglantine shook her head and hugged Esmeraude closer. “Not I.”

“Nay, I know that now.” Burke watched her closely. “He used you sorely, Eglantine, and I fear that my counsel led you astray.”

“Nay, Burke. ’Twas naught but my own poor judgment at root.”

But the knight shook his head and spoke with resolve. “Nay, Eglantine. I have no doubt that Theobald set deliberately to deceive you and, similarly, I would wager that he insisted that you wed quickly. Even he would have discerned that you could not be fooled for long.”

Eglantine managed a thin smile. “It matters little, now that he is gone.”

Burke shook his head. “Nay, it matters greatly if you measure all men against Theobald’s shortfalls.”

Eglantine caught her breath. Should she have admitted the truth and told Duncan what he desired to hear?

Would he have stayed by her side if she had? Would he have continued to love her as he had done thus far?

Was he as different from Theobald in this one way as in all others?

Burke reached to wipe the last of Esmeraude’s tears, then met Eglantine’s gaze steadily. “You have always been a woman of good sense, Eglantine. Never would I have imagined that a child of two summers would show more astute judgment than you.”

“I have no good instincts when it comes to men,” she argued weakly. “’Twas that at root of my match with Theobald.”

Burke arched a brow. “Aye? And what is your instinct in this moment?”

Eglantine looked at her child. She knew with sudden clarity that she could not let Duncan leave her side. She loved him, beyond reason and belief, and could not imagine awakening without him at her side.

“I could lose him,” she whispered, the words sending a chill down her spine.

Burke nodded impatiently. “If you have not already. That was a man with tolerance expired, if ever I have seen one. What does your heart tell you to do, Eglantine?”

She swallowed. “To follow Duncan. To persuade him to listen.” She smiled uncertainly. “To confess my love.”

Burke smiled and lifted Esmeraude from her arms. “As I said, Eglantine, you have always been a woman of splendid good sense.”

Esmeraude chose that moment to wail anew and Eglantine was torn between the new bond forged between they two and her desire to chase Duncan.

But Burke bounced Esmeraude on his knee with the confidence of a man who had soothed toddlers before. “Esmeraude, if your mother goes to fetch Duncan, would you be so kind as to wait with me?”

The little girl considered him in silence, sucking her thumb with rare diligence. Though Eglantine wished the child would hasten her choice, Burke seemed to understand her need for reassurance.

“’Tis the strangest thing, Esmeraude, but I have a son a bit bigger than you. On this journey, I miss him terribly.” He leaned closer to confide this and Eglantine almost laughed to see Esmeraude respond so predictably to his charm.

She preened coyly and Burke smiled. “Indeed, there is a tale I always tell him in the evening, though I have not recounted it for over a month. I fear I might forget and oh, he would be sorely disappointed in me.” Burke snapped his fingers as though struck by a thought. “Might I tell it to you instead? Would you listen and tell me whether it still seems a good tale?”

Esmeraude’s features lit up and she eyed the knight expectantly. “Tell me a story. Now.” She did not cuddle close to him as she did with Duncan, but she clearly was contented enough to remain.

“Oh, Burke, I thank you for this.” Eglantine’s hands rose to her hair and she realized she was in no state to plead with a man to remain forever by her side.

“Go,” Burke insisted, then he smiled with a confidence Eglantine was far from feeling. “Duncan will see naught but the stars in your eyes.”

* * *

Eglantine ran first to the shore where the boats were pulled up and could not discern whether they all were there or not. She scanned the sea, cursing the lack of a moon, but could not tell whether a man had rowed away recently or not.

But this accomplished naught!

She pushed her fingertips to her temples and willed herself to think. Where would Duncan go?

To the great rock of his forebears. No other place would do.

Unless he had left completely. Eglantine’s fear lent speed to her steps and she ran towards the rock. She cursed the mist that hid it from her view. She would cut through the camp and thus save time, though she would have to watch her step. She lunged into the shadows between the tents, praying that she would arrive in time.

Then a woman screamed, the sound cut off too soon.

Jacqueline! Eglantine’s footsteps faltered, for only one thing could have prompted her tranquil daughter to scream.

Or more accurately, one person. God in heaven, but Burke had led Reynaud directly here. Again she was torn between duty and desire, but there was no choice. She had to save her daughter, whatever the cost to herself.

Eglantine crept toward the three silken tents, grateful for the sea’s waves breaking on the rocks behind her. It would cover the sound of her approach. She hugged the shadows, her heart in her mouth, and eased her way closer, one careful step at a time.

She halted in view of the entry to Jacqueline’s tent. A huge man sat there, cleaning his nails with his dagger. His familiar bulk was far from reassuring, for the presence of Reynaud’s squire confirmed Reynaud’s presence.

There was no doubt that this one’s master was inside the tent. Who knew what he had already done, or what Jacqueline had suffered! Eglantine fought her desire to hasten and forced herself to proceed one careful step at a time.

The squire looked bored, a remarkable feat for one so slow of wit as this one. Only at such proximity could Eglantine hear the muted sounds of struggle and she feared what her daughter endured.

She crouched while she thought, and her hand closed around a rock roughly the shape and size of a goose egg. She gauged the distance to the squire as she weighed the stone in her hand. Eglantine deliberately recalled all the times she had skipped stones with Guillaume at Crevy and bested both him and Burke.

To hesitate was to be lost in such a moment. She stood up and flung the stone at the squire’s brow.

It hit him square between the eyes. He made a small grunt at the impact, then fell bonelessly forward.

’Twas enough for Eglantine! She raced toward the tent, stepped hesitantly around the squire, then helped herself to the short dagger he no longer used. She plunged it into the back of her belt, squared her shoulders and stepped regally into the tent.

“Good evening, Reynaud.”

The knight started and turned, his move revealing his grip upon Jacqueline.

To Eglantine’s immense relief, Jacqueline’s skirts were only about her knees. Her kirtle was torn at the breast but Reynaud was still fully garbed. Her daughter was clearly terrified, but as yet unhurt.

Eglantine intended to keep matters that way.

She smiled at the old knight’s surprise. “How did you come to be here, Reynaud, without first enjoying the hospitality of our board? Surely you are hungered after your long journey.”

Reynaud’s smile flashed. “Dame Fortune smiled upon me and delivered my rightful due into my own hands. But three silk tents, three tents for three noblewomen. I had only just entered the first when this little bird flew directly to me.” His smile faded. “And where is my squire?”

Eglantine feigned dismay. “He seems to have fallen ill, for he lies in a faint outside the tent.”

The knight’s eyes narrowed. The pair stared at each other, then Reynaud shrugged. “If you think your presence will persuade me to halt, you are wrong, Eglantine. I have no trouble with an audience.”

In a lightning gesture, he folded Jacqueline’s arms beneath her, behind her waist, then sat astride her once more. She had time to utter a cry of protest and no more before his hand was once again on her mouth. He now had a free hand which he used to tear the front of her kirtle open further, baring her breasts to view. Jacqueline’s eyes widened in fear when his gloved hand closed over her bare flesh.

Eglantine wanted to kill him with her bare hands for abusing her child thus. She sauntered further into the tent, well aware of the weight of the blade hidden from his view. She forced her tone to remain conversational, though ’twas not easily done. “Surely, you would not taint your bride before your nuptials?”

“Surely, it matters little. And this way, I will ensure that you can do naught else with the girl but wed her to me.”

“But ’tis not her fault we are here!”

Reynaud glanced up. “What is this?”

Eglantine fabricated the tale as she went, wishing she had half of Duncan’s skill. “Jacqueline wanted to wed you, indeed she wanted to wed you even before Theobald fell ill. But she is such a prize that I wagered we could win more coin for her hand. Then I needed funds after Theobald’s death, for he left me with naught. My brother would not see fit to demand more coin from you, but I was persuaded another might pay more for Jacqueline’s charms.”

She held his suspicious gaze, willing him to believe her lie. “I stole her away from you, Reynaud, though the girl desired naught but to do her duty. Your argument is with me alone.”

“I will not pay more.”

“Nor will any other, as I learned to my distress. All this trouble for naught.” Eglantine shrugged. “Of course, Jacqueline will wed you, as she desired to do so all along. Do not punish the child for the sins of the mother.”

Reynaud shook his head stubbornly. “This cannot be so. She fought me this night, she fights me even now. You lie!”

“Nay, you frighten her. She is virginal, Reynaud, and unaccustomed to the needs of men. She has been sheltered all these years and I failed to tell her of her marital due as yet. You have startled her, no more than that.”

Reynaud’s gaze slipped over her and Eglantine had a bold idea. She smiled and lifted one hand to the lace at the neck of her kirtle.

She loosed it slowly. “A virgin suits for a marriage bed and naught else,” she said quietly. “Duty and the securing of property is one matter, while pleasure is quite another. I would wager you have been long without a woman, Reynaud, for you must ridden hard from France’s shores.”

Eglantine took a step closer and pulled the lace free with a flick of her wrist. “I am no virgin, Reynaud, but I know how a man would be pleasured. You have been sorely inconvenienced, and this at my behest.” Eglantine parted her kirtle and untied her chemise, noting how he stared at the shadow of her breasts visible through her chemise. She was but an arm’s length away from him, nigh close enough to strike.

“Let me make amends to you. Take the toll for your inconvenience from me, for I alone am responsible for it,” she invited huskily. “And leave the taking of Jacqueline for your nuptial bed.”

Reynaud slowly smiled. “You always were a temptress, Eglantine. I knew you desired me when you were Robert’s bride.” He looked down at Jacqueline, his smile broadening. Eglantine had only a moment to believe he truly would fall for her ruse before he proved her wrong.

“Perhaps I shall have the both of you this night.”

He lunged for Eglantine, but she was prepared for him. She pulled his squire’s dagger from the back of her belt and drove it at Reynaud’s eyes. He cried out and snatched at her wrists. To her dismay, Eglantine was no match for his strength and skill. The blade fell harmlessly to the ground, but Eglantine stepped back, deliberately drawing him away from her daughter.

She saw the blur of Jacqueline rolling from the bed, and knew the girl could not pass them without attracting Reynaud’s ire. To her relief, Jacqueline caught up the blade and darted back over the bed. Eglantine heard the silk cut as Reynaud twisted her arms behind her back. She knew her daughter was safe when his hand closed cruelly over her breast.

And he knew it as well.

“Bitch!” he muttered in her ear. “Now, you shall pay for your deception.”

But Eglantine did not care what he did to her. Her every thought was with Jacqueline, urging her daughter to flee as fast and as far as she was able. She had to draw this out as long as possible, to better grant her daughter time to escape.

Eglantine spared Reynaud knowing glance. “Robert always said you could only take a woman with haste,” she sneered. “I see he was not far wrong in that.”

Reynaud struck her across the face and she fell. But Eglantine rolled and propped herself up on her hands to survey him.

“A man like Robert, now, he could take a woman over and over until the very dawn.” She smiled. “Ah, he had such vigor. For a man his age, ’twas remarkable.”

“Robert died a decade my junior.”

“Ah, his youth must have been why the memory of his fortitude lingers long.” She mused as though she was not afraid. “I believe ’twas twenty times we took our pleasure one night. ’Twas then he told me of your haste. ’Twas true, Reynaud, I always lusted for you, but Robert’s tales tempered my desire.”

“You lie!” Reynaud stepped over her and gripped her chin, glaring down into her eyes. “But I shall take you twenty-one times all the same. You will remember me, Eglantine, not your dead Robert.” He smiled coldly. “Indeed, you may never sit easily again.”

* * *

Duncan knew he should not have left Eglantine in anger. He sat and glowered out to sea, irked beyond measure at her stubborn refusal to trust him, yet knowing he would return to her side like a moth dazzled by the flame. There was no question of him abandoning her, not before she spurned him in truth.

He should not have lost patience with her. He took a deep breath of the salt-tinged wind. He would walk and let his temper fade completely, then return to the gathering. With luck, she would be waiting for him. Duncan rose, cursing his own tendency to hope beyond expectation, then spun at the echo of running footsteps.

’Twas Jacqueline, her kirtle torn and her eyes wild. “Reynaud, ’tis Reynaud!” she cried, the name all too familiar. Duncan caught her when she might have stumbled, and she gasped for breath. “He attacked me but Maman heard him.”

“And she offered herself in your stead,” Duncan guessed, then swore with vigor when the girl nodded. “Where?”

“In my tent. His squire lies outside the door. I cut the silk at the back and ran and ran and ran.” Jacqueline breathed heavily, her terror evident.

“You did well and I am glad you came to me.” Duncan drew her kirtle closed and she flushed crimson even as he led her back toward the camp. “Now, go to this Burke and do not leave his side until I return. He will defend you.”

“Nay, he brought Reynaud!”

“Nay, he came only to ensure you all were well. I would wager this one followed him.” Duncan held the girl’s gaze determinedly. “You have naught to fear from him, I swear it to you.”

She nodded grimly, looking very much her mother’s child. “Then I will go to him.” She brandished a blade beneath his nose. “But I shall keep this at hand. He might have lied to you, Duncan. Men oft do.”

Duncan escorted her as far as he dared, for time was of the essence. He watched Jacqueline step into the circle of firelight and make her way towards the knight.

He waited no longer than that. Duncan melted into the shadows, his anger rising as he heard Eglantine taunting another. She mocked the man’s prowess and Duncan winced at the sound of a blow falling.

But his Eglantine would do whatever was necessary to save her child. Duncan wished fiercely that one day he too might stand within the circle of his lady’s protectiveness, realized ’twas a quest worth any price of pursuit, then took his blade and slashed the silk from top to bottom.

He stepped into the tent, his blade at the ready, and glared at the old knight perched atop Eglantine. “I have come to cut out your heart, Reynaud de Charmonte,” he declared coldly, flicking a glance to his lady. A bruise stained on her face and her kirtle was torn to her waist. The pleasure that lit her eyes so startled Duncan that ’twas almost his undoing.

But he would have compense for that bruise.

The older man straightened, his expression turning grim. “Who are you?”

“I am Duncan MacLaren, chieftain of Clan MacQuarrie.”

Reynaud sneered, his gaze traveling over Duncan’s garb as he smoothed a hand over his own. “A mere savage!”

“A man who takes naught from a woman she does not willingly grant.” Duncan smiled thinly. “I fear that you lack not only courtesy but a heart, Reynaud, regardless of your fine attire. Shall we discover the truth of it?”

Reynaud moved with startling speed, bounding to his feet and drawing his sword in a flash. He slashed at Duncan and Eglantine cried out, though Duncan parried in time.

But only just. The man struck again and again with astounding strength. He was agile for his age and driven by fury.

And he was trained, as Duncan was not.

Reynaud struck a trio of times in quick succession, then paused. He swung unexpectedly from one side then the other. Duncan halted the blow that would have sliced his innards open and cast the blade back upon the older man with a grunt.

They soon were breathing heavily, those blows that went astray slashing the silk tent to ribbons. The lantern flickered as the chill wind from the sea found its way within. Duncan kept his gaze fixed upon the other man and struggled to anticipate his every move. He disliked the sense that he was only defending himself instead of attacking, but the other man’s skill far outranked his own.

Which meant perhaps that Reynaud should readily win.

They circled each other, the sweat gathering on Duncan’s brow at the boldness of his plan. Reynaud attacked again, his teeth bared, and Duncan took note of precisely where the man’s mail tabard entered. Reynaud’s throat was bare, which would suit Duncan well enough.

He deliberately moved too slowly and won a nick upon his thigh. Reynaud laughed, and Duncan pretended that the injury was worse than ’twas. He lifted his blade anew, as though ’twas not so readily done, and Reynaud was quick to engage once more.

His sword swung through the air and Duncan ducked, jabbing at the other man’s legs. Reynaud darted back and swung his blade low. Duncan winced as it nicked his shoulder. Again, he feigned greater injury than he had sustained and fell to one knee.

He groaned and gripped his shoulder as though ’twas sorely wounded. He dropped his knife, ensuring ’twas directly below him, then fell atop it.

And moved no more.

Reynaud laughed, then shoved Duncan with one booted foot. “And whose heart shall we see?” he murmured. Duncan heard the knight sheath his sword. He peered between his lashes to see Reynaud draw a smaller blade with a jeweled hilt from his belt.

Duncan held his tongue, watching the man carefully. His hand was beneath him, by no accident, and his fingers closed around the hilt of his own blade. Silently, he willed Reynaud closer.

“Sadly, you heathens do not fight that well, for all your size and vigor. I had so hoped you would show greater promise than this.”

Reynaud raised the knife and bent to drive it into Duncan’s chest. Duncan waited until the last moment to strike, but a weight fell suddenly across his back.

“Nay!” Eglantine cried, then she screamed as Reynaud’s blade sank home. She must have hidden in the shadows, when Duncan thought she had fled for aid.

“Eglantine!” Duncan bounded to his feet with a roar that astonished the older knight. Reynaud grappled for his sword, but he was not quick enough. Duncan drove his own blade into the other man’s throat, grunting as he drove it deeper into the chest.

“Just as I suspected,” he muttered, as Reynaud sputtered before him. “There is naught but stone where your heart should be.” He forced the blade deep beneath the mail, then he cast the villain aside, leaving him to die unattended.

But Eglantine. Duncan fell to his knees beside her and turned her pale face to his. He pulled the jeweled blade from her shoulder and the warmth of her blood ran through his fingers. He whispered her name and cradled her close. He could not lose her now! He could not be the reason for her demise.

He should not have wished to win her protectiveness; he would never have done so if he had realized this would be the price. Duncan kissed her brow and held her tightly even as he whispered her name.

And Eglantine opened her eyes. She smiled at him and raised one hand to touch his face. Her fingers shook and Duncan closed his hand around hers.

“I do not intend to die, Duncan. Not so soon after I have found you.” She swallowed and her smile broadened. “’Tis naught but my shoulder that is wounded and ’twill heal. The blow did, though, steal the wind from me.”

Relief fed Duncan’s anger and he rose to his feet, his lady cradled in his arms. “You should never have taken such a risk! What possesses you to believe that you alone are responsible for solving the woes of all around you?” he demanded, even as he strode toward the company and some aid. “What foolery made you risk your own hide for me?”

Eglantine laughed softly and kicked her feet. Her manner was entirely inappropriate, to Duncan’s thinking, though he loved the way she leaned her cheek against his heart.

“He could have killed you! He could have injured you more sorely than this! What then of your daughters and your obligations? Why, if you were not wounded, I should give you a shake fit to rattle your bones!”

“I could not let him kill you, Duncan.” Eglantine’s voice was low but thrummed with such conviction that Duncan fell silent. He looked into her eyes and found love shining there so brightly that the sight nigh stole his breath away. She raised trembling fingers to his face. “How could I let him kill you when I love you so much as this?”

Duncan caught her close as his vision blurred, the tears streaming down his face as he whispered her name. She had given him the greatest gift of all in those few words alone, and he could not speak for the lump in his throat.

“Do you still love me, Duncan, despite my foolish fears?”

He nodded and his voice was hoarse. “Aye, Eglantine, aye. With all my heart and soul. You need never doubt it.”

She smiled and twined her arm around his neck. “Then kiss me, Duncan, and get us to a priest. I will wait no longer to be wed to you in truth, regardless of how this scratch does bleed.”

And Duncan could do naught but comply. He kissed her until they both were breathless then grinned, before he raised his voice and bellowed for Ceinn-beithe’s priest.

The lady would have no chance to change her mind.