The Countess by Claire Delacroix Read Free Book Online Page B

in unfamiliar environs where one was uncertain of the pattern of rain and wind. Between herself and Louis, though, they had chosen a flat site a considerable distance from the broch that Duncan seemed unlikely to surrender. The pagan stone cast a shadow over the cluster of tents, though Eglantine refused to see much import in that.
    She had posted sentries for the night, distrusting that shadows continually moved around that broch. If Duncan and his men—whose numbers she could not accurately guess—did not intend to sleep, she would not be so fool as to rely upon their honorable behavior.
    â€™Twas discomfort and anger that kept her awake that night. ’Twas guilt at involving her household in supporting her lie of being the Countess de Nemerres. ’Twas worry that she had not done enough to hide her destination, should Reynaud decide to pursue his betrothed.
    â€™Twas not any tremble awakened by a heathen’s rude touch that kept her from sleeping, nay, never that. Eglantine knew well enough that no rough man could be possessed of a whit of charm.
    Even one who spoke some variant of French. She would spare no thought to the perfection of his pronunciation of Norman French, when she could not wring that cursed “-th” from her own lips.
    She tried again in the privacy of her tent and muttered an oath when the sound still would not fall from her lips. Eglantine swung from her pallet in frustration and paced.
    How dare Duncan touch her knee! ’Twas only his appalling manners that caught her attention, that was the truth of it. Aye, he would be gone by this morn without doubt, bored and restless, seeking amusement elsewhere.
    She most certainly would not provide the man’s entertainment.
    To be sure, she should be encouraged by the presence of Duncan and his men upon this land. If barbarians could survive in this barren place, then Eglantine, with her servants and supplies, most certainly could do so. That realization made her newly determined to see her will done. To be sure, she had had a shock the evening before, but she would still succeed.
    A steady rain drummed on the roof of her tent as she dressed. She shivered at the chill in the air, then rubbed her feet, certain she would die a happy woman if they could be warm but once more.
    Eglantine stepped out into a crisp morning and compelled herself to find something about it that was not unpleasant. This was to be her home, after all, and she must make the best of matters. But for the life of her, she could find naught favorable in this drenched, grey and cold place which seemed to be wrought of rock and water and wind.
    She stood and waited. Aye, there was something to be said for the tinge of salt in the wind. ’Twas invigorating and she too felt younger than her years. ’Twould have to do.
    Eglantine took a deep breath, knowing she needed as much invigoration as possible this morn. Somehow, she had to drive Duncan from her holding, even though his ragtag company of men were likely experienced warriors. She could not win by force, but perhaps by determination.
    Perhaps by simple fortune. Given her thoughts, ’twas not surprising that Eglantine’s gaze rose of its own accord to the broch, her heart hammering with hope that he had chosen to leave.
    But Dame Fortune had not smiled upon Eglantine this morn. Duncan was yet here. Her heart fluttered when she readily picked him out, his dark hair readily discernible from his red and golden haired comrades. They were moving about, though she could not guess what they did at this hour.
    Despite the rain. Eglantine stood and stared, her pulse skipping erratically. Disappointment, ’twas all. She had wished Duncan gone, yet he lingered. ’Twould be neither her first disappointment nor her last, she was certain.
    She turned away and deliberately eyed her holding. She had hoped at least for a small manor, a shelter of some kind in this place, even a chapel, but other than that