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She certainly had no desire to see Duncan again so soon after their earlier encounter.
But she had plotted many moons for this festive season with her father’s oldest counselor, Keane, whom she waited for just outside the great hall. Unlike her sire, Keane had not lost his wits, his mind sharp as ever even if his sword arm lacked the strength to take over the keep himself.
The counselor appeared now, striding through the corridor with his irregular gait from an old battle wound. His white hair stood on end, shorn close to his head. He carried a knife at his hip even though it had been many years since he’d ridden off to war. He knew more about what had happened at Domhnaill five years ago than most, but he did not know about Edwina’s child. Except for a midwife and her servant who had witnessed the birth, everyone else privy to little Leah’s presence believed the girl an orphaned noble child left at Cristiana’s door. A resemblance among clans and villages was not unusual, with many a laird spreading bastard children among his lands.
“Good eve, sir.” She hastened to greet the advisor, drawing him aside and quickly explaining the meeting she’d arranged between Duncan and her father. “So if you could just remind the laird of his hatred of the Culcanons right before the meeting, I believe it will help our cause to send Duncan and his men packing.”
The gnarled old knight folded his arms and cupped his jaw. Then shook his head furiously.
“Nay. ’Tis the last thing we want.” He peered to ward the great hall to ensure their privacy, then leaned closer to speak. “I know you girls broke off your marriage contracts after a quarrel with the young men, but do you think it wise to savor your spite for so long when Duncan is the most celebrated knight in the kingdom? What Domhnaill needs is a man like Duncan as laird.”
For a moment, Cristiana wondered if Keane had succumbed to whatever wasting sickness her father had, for his words made no sense. But the shrewdness was still there in his lively blue eyes.
“Never.” She did not need to explain herself. Still, something like cold fear gelled in her veins. “It is a family matter of the utmost delicacy, sir, but I cannot allow that.”
More guests were arriving to sup as the vigorous chatter of some of the villagers mingled with the more refined cadence of the noble families’ conversations. The scent of roast fowl and fish permeated the stone halls and beckoned revelers from all round.
“I may be an old man, missy, but I assure you, I can take a guess at what kinds of delicate matters go on that would offend a lady. I never thought it was right to break a contract the first time, but your father always had a soft heart for you girls. Now, I’m not saying you should marry the man. I’m just saying he would be the best possible choice for a successor.”
When she started to argue, he backed up a step, that uneven gait of his biting her conscience as he hobbled backward.
“No sense getting up in arms,” he protested, tugging on his tunic and smoothing it. “Just think about what’s best for Domhnaill. Your da always did.”
“Keane—” But she would have had to chase him to keep talking. The counselor hastened toward the hall.
“Look around at our other options this eve,” he called over his shoulder as he kept on stumping along. “You’ll see I’m right.”
Frustration twisted her insides. They were nowhere near done with this conversation. True, she had not discovered a strong prospect to lead Domhnaill among her guests. That did not mean she would settle for arrogant Duncan, who’d maneuvered his way into staying here with the cunning of a serpent. Just be cause a man had the sword prowess of a champion did not mean he deserved any part of her homeland.
“Do you appear this angry at every feast in your hall, Lady Cristiana?”
The unwelcome question came from just above her left shoulder, where Duncan suddenly stood. He had appeared from nowhere as she wove through the crowd toward her seat on the dais.
The man moved with the stealth of a hunter.
“Only when I must host arrogant, demanding men over the holidays,” she assured him, wishing his presence did not make her warm all over. She hoped her cheeks did not flush noticeably.
She would have hastened her step if there were not so many people nearby to see her indulge her temper. Hurrying away from her guests would hardly be considered good manners.
Instead, she forced a smile to her lips as Duncan looped her arm through his and escorted her to the dais table. She took the center seat when her father did not dine in the hall, which was most days now. Normally, she sat at her father’s left and Keane to his right, but during the holidays, the dais table was full of high ranking guests. All of those seated had traveled with their wives for the promised festivities of the season, making the number of guests even and leaving the seat beside Cristiana vacant once again. Keane would have normally accepted an invitation to dine with her as her father’s advisor, but he already sat with the knights. She had no choice but to pass another meal with Duncan.
“You think I demand too much?” He bent forward to grasp a handful of her skirts and lifted them slightly for her to slip one foot over the bench to take her seat. “You are free to make your own demands of me. In fact, I would welcome it.”
The unexpected slide of her skirts up her ankle—by his hand, no less—caught her utterly off guard. Whatever strange battle he waged against her, she was clearly the less experienced tactician.
Settling into her seat as quickly as possible, she tugged back her gown in a small skirmish for the velvet under the table. In the end, he relinquished the cloth, but not before his knuckle grazed her thigh in a contact she felt all too well through the layers of linen and velvet.
“Is that so? Then prepare yourself, sir.”
Before she could change her mind, Cristiana stood. She was the mistress of the hall in her father’s absence. She could address the folk of Domhnaill if it served her. The noisy chamber quieted instantly as heads turned her way.
“My good people,” she began, speaking to the high-ranking villagers mixed in the crowd as much as the lofty landowners from neighboring holdings. “I welcome Duncan of Culcanon again this night and have had more time to consider his request.”
Beside her, he stiffened. Good.
“You have generously offered me a portion of the some mysterious treasure at the end of your time with us.” There were a few gasps of surprise and a few cynical laughs. “But in the spirit of the holiday, good sir, we ask that you share some hint of what you seek before then? Your hunt can be our entertainment.”
She sought answers and hoped this would be a way to obtain them. At very least, she had made her court aware of his intentions. No doubt he would not be able to search in secret if everyone in attendance knew what he was about. Perhaps his work would be so hampered by interested attendees that he would leave, frustrated and empty-handed.
For a moment—judging by the dark expression in his gaze—she thought she had succeeded in outfoxing him. But as he rose to his feet, his visage cleared and the carefree courtier appeared again.
Ready to take up her challenge.
“Good mistress, I would not deny you.” Though he spoke to the assembled company, he stood close to her. Very close. As if they were lord and lady of this hall.
With an effort, she smiled up at him and wished she could tug herself away from him as strenuously as she had yanked her skirts from his fingers.
“Then how does your treasure hunting proceed? Tell us what you seek.”
She had put him under the whole court’s scrutiny. All eyes turned to him. Yet his gaze remained steadfastly upon her.
“For now, I can only tell these good people what I’ve found. Nay,” he said, breaking his gaze at her to grin at the assembled folk. “Each day, I will show them instead.”
Murmured interest rolled through the crowd as Duncan turned to her once more.
“Today, my friends, this is what I found.”
Like a bird of prey, he swooped toward her so quickly she could do naught but panic. Wrapping her in his arms in front of the entire company, Duncan of Culcanon drew her to him and kissed her full upon the mouth.
Chapter Four
It was a small victory and it wouldn’t last. But Duncan would never forget the sweetness in that moment he kissed Cristiana.
She’d been so surprised, her lips had parted in exclamation just before his mouth claimed hers. What man would not take advantage of such irresistible temptation? After what had transpired between them in the brew house earlier, he’d counted on the way her body stilled at his touch. He’d known she would not withdraw. Whatever awareness had sparked between them years ago became a potent force now.
When cheers and laughs erupted in the hall, he recognized it was time to retreat. With regret, he relinquished his hold on her.
Suspecting she would be angry all too soon, he savored a fleeting moment when her expression remained starry-eyed. For a moment, he could almost forget he attended her on a mission of deceit. That he’d come to wrest away her keep. Stuffing down those thoughts, he picked up his drinking horn to toast the company and deflect attention away from Cristiana.
“I am sure no other treasure I find will be half so rewarding.” He raised his cup to a hearty round of cheers from his knights. “To the health of your laird and his lovely daughter.”
Cristiana’s face remained bright pink, but she drank to her father’s health and motioned for the servers to start the meal. Upon taking his seat, Duncan noticed her hands shook slightly as she reached for the eating knife on the chain at her waist.
Not for a moment did he believe she trembled out of passion for him. Nay, he felt the anger emanating from her as surely as heat from the sun.
“You left me no choice.” He dipped his head to explain, needing to remain in her good graces for at least a little longer. He had tested her patience in the brew house earlier, but just now he may have worn out what scant welcome he’d had completely. Though he’d arrived at Domhnaill with a large retinue of men, they were unarmed and therefore easier to uproot from a stronghold where they were not wanted.
And it was imperative he remain under her roof. He did not have the forces to take the keep from without.
All around them, diners exclaimed over yet another lavish feast for the holidays. The mighty Yule log still burned brightly in the hearth, echoing the flickering of torches ringing the great chamber. The scent of fragrant pine and honeyed mead mingled with the gingered spices of rich sauces and savory tang of roasted meats.
“You could have simply shared your task with the assembled guests when I asked. Or made up some fanciful lie to distract us from the truth.” She did not look at him as she refilled his mead from a flagon left on the dais table. A fat silver ring set with rubies clanked against the hammered metal pitcher.
“I could not risk having the whole keep learn how deadly serious I am about my quest, lest every villager and guest alike would be tearing apart your lands and the structures upon it to join in the hunt.”
“You cannot be serious.” Frowning, she did not wait for him to serve her a morsel of spicy roasted duck, but speared a bit on the tip of her knife. She tested the heat of the dish by putting the bite close to her lip before nipping it off with her teeth.
“You have not guessed the object of my quest?”
Oddly, she seemed to pale at his words. What did she fear he sought? He tucked away that question to mull over another time. For now, he would share his full purpose with her, if only to draw her into the scheme and keep her quiet while he went about the task.
“I cannot possibly imagine—”
He withdrew her eating knife from her hand and set it aside, determined to serve her if only to maintain an appearance of goodwill between them.
“It is not a conversation for the hall, where anyone might overhear,” he confided, choosing a steaming bit of smoked fish for her.
“There is nothing on my family lands for which you could have any rightful claim.” She did not seem to see the bite of fish he waved in front of her.
There could be no doubt about it now. Her skin had lost all color.
Did she have some knowledge of the prize he sought?
“I have as much right to such a treasure as you.” He kept his voice low as he replaced the food on their trencher. “It belongs with the Culcanons as much as any Domhnaill.”
“It?”
He could not name the emotion behind that one incredulous word.
Cursing below his breath, he put his lips close to her ear and whispered the purpose of his quest.
“The old Viking treasure. I’ve discovered a reliable clue to its whereabouts.”
He expected her to be pleased. The rumored wealth of a long ago mutual ancestor had been buried be fore a Viking invasion to protect it. But he had not anticipated the obvious relief that sent a rush of color back into her cheeks and a burst of laughter from her lips.
“You’re searching for a box of trinkets no one has discovered for some two hundred years?” The news seemed to encourage her appetite for she reached to retrieve her knife.
He clamped the jeweled handle to the table and fed her his fish offering instead. She took it without hesitation, her spirits seemingly restored as much as her appetite. By the rood, what had worried her before? What treasure had she feared he would discover at Domhnaill?
“Aye.” One day he would confide how he came by the medallion with the map he wore about his neck. How his people would not make it through another winter without the spoils from such riches.
But if he could not locate the wealth of the crafty old ancestor who’d fathered both the Culcanon and Domhnaill clans long ago, claiming Cristiana’s lands became all the more crucial. She might laugh at the idea of the Viking treasure, but his finding it was her only possible hope of keeping her lands. And even then? He could not imagine walking away from the strength and resources of Domhnaill. If he did not take it now, what warmongering knight might steal it out from under her? Duncan could not afford an enemy lord so close to home.
“My lady.” A harried-looking young maid that Duncan had not seen before approached Cristiana in the hall.
The maid bit her lip and frowned. Her head scarf was askew and dark curls sprang from the side as if she’d been hard at work on a difficult task.
“Yes?” Cristiana stood immediately, perhaps sensing a matter of some import.
Since the meal was well underway, he could not imagine the woman came to report any problem in the kitchen. Could the maid be a nurse to the old laird?
Duncan tensed. Not only had he liked the lord of Domhnaill, but he also found himself resenting any news that would upset Cristiana. How strange that his world had become bound up in hers again so quickly.
“You said you wished me to fetch you any time—”
“Of course,” Cristiana murmured, seizing the girl’s arm as she attempted to withdraw from the table.
Duncan rose to help her, lifting her skirt to clear the bench and not receiving so much as an ill-favored look this time. But then her mind seemed elsewhere.
“I will come with you.” The distracted expression upon her face concerned him.
“No!” both women exclaimed at once. The maid’s eyes went to Cristiana’s as if to judge her expression.
What did they hide?
“A sick room is no place for a warrior whose strength depends upon good health,” Cristiana explained. “One of the children has a fever that could benefit from herbs and I’m the closest thing to a wise woman Domhnaill has. Please do enjoy the minstrels and the dancing.”
Not waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and hurriedly led the maid from the hall.
Something was not right.
Thinking she would surely lead him to the old laird so he could judge her father’s condition for himself, Duncan eased a narrow taper from its place on a hearthside altar and followed the women through the maze of the darkened keep.
“I think the lass sleeps, my lady,” the maid told Cristiana some hours later.
Cristiana held Leah’s delicate form across her lap, her niece’s head cradled to her shoulder as she sang her patient a third lullaby. Her forehead no longer felt as hot, but Cristiana had not fully recovered from the scare of seeing the girl sweating and pale when she’d entered the bedchamber earlier.
Leah had found some ease, however, from a hot broth with soothing herbs.
“I don’t mind holding her a bit longer,” Cristiana assured her, wiping an auburn curl from Leah’s forehead. “My guests have no need of me at this hour.”
“Yet I did not see the young Culcanon laird bedding down in the great hall.” The maid poured fresh water into a bowl by Leah’s bed and folded fresh linen strips to set beside it in case the girl’s skin needed more cooling in the night. “I mention it only because he seemed concerned for you earlier. Perhaps he awaits some word from you.”
Cristiana did not think that was the case. But what if Duncan roamed the keep at night while everyone else slept? Was he treasure-seeking even then? Or could he be searching for something else under cover of night?
A frightening thought occurred. What if his whole tale of seeking hidden riches was, in fact, a careful fabrication intended to conceal what he really sought?
She peered down at Leah, frightened to her toes.
“Very well.” Cristiana eased out from under the warm weight of the child she’d raised as her own. “I will leave her in your care, but please do have someone fetch me if the fever returns or if she seems uneasy.”
“Of course.” The maid rose to tuck the bed linen around Leah’s shoulders. “Good night, my lady.”
Fearing she’d find Duncan lurking just outside the door to the chamber, Leah shared with a nurse and two other children—an older girl who’d come to foster at Domhnaill and a boy some eight summers fathered by one of the knights, Cristiana was relieved to find the corridor clear. He had not followed her.
Unable to hasten her weary footsteps, she wound her way down the stairs of one tower and paused as she neared the great hall. All the torches had been extinguished for the night, but the hearth fire blazed as if recently stoked. Grunts and moans, giggles and sighs of couples in various stages of passion made Cristiana duck her head and hasten toward the staircase to the tower where her own bed awaited.
She nearly ran into a man and woman cavorting in the shadows outside the hall. Her feet tangled with another pair of feet, her skirts catching on the pant leg of a man who stood close to the tower stairs.
