LITMIR.BIZ

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first thought was that the man was half-mad, while Robert looked like he was going to faint.

      “My lord, I—I—” the steward stammered, clearly aghast and at a loss to explain what was happening.

      The fellow seemed harmless, if audacious. “Welcome to Dunkeathe,” Nicholas replied, giving Robert a look to assure him he wasn’t angry.

      Robert recovered the powers of speech. “My lord, this is Fergus Mac Gordon Mac Darbudh, the Thane of Glencleith.”

      The poor, politically unimportant Scottish noble.

      Whatever Nicholas thought of the man personally, and no matter how poor and seemingly unimportant he might be, Nicholas knew he had to be diplomatic. He’d lived in Scotland for a decade, and he still couldn’t fathom the complicated relationships between the clans. It could be that this man had relatives who were far more politically important than he himself.

      Therefore, he put a smile on his face and calmly inquired, “Is there something I can do for you, my lord?”

      “It’s not what you can do for me,” the boisterous Scot replied. “It’s what I can do for you. I’ve brought you the perfect bride.” He smiled with immense, and quite sincere, satisfaction. “My niece, Riona. She’s a very fine girl, my lord—no man could do better when it comes to marriage. She’s a sweet lass, and she’s been the joy of my life since she came to me when she was two years old and her sainted parents died.

      “She’s run my household since she was twelve, too,” he continued before Nicholas or Robert could get a word in. “The servants follow her orders without question and while she keeps them in good order, they love her. I’ll wager there aren’t many Norman ladies so beloved by their servants as my Riona is.

      “And she’s clever, too. She keeps all the accounts and knows where every penny’s spent. She’s saved me many a penny, too, I can tell you—although that won’t mean much to you, for there’s plenty in your purse, I know. But still, no man wants a wasteful wife. Granted she’s not got a large dowry, but what’s that to a man of your wealth, eh? What are a few more coins in the purse if your wife’s making your life a misery? Riona could never do that. She’ll be a bride any man could be proud of and I wouldn’t offer her up to just any man, either.”

      With that, he folded his arms over his chest and beamed as if he’d just saved Nicholas from a fate worse than death.

      Unfortunately for Fergus Mac Gordon, his niece could be the most wonderful of women, but if she was poor, she had no chance of becoming Nicholas’s bride. The personal attributes of his wife were considerably less important to him than the dowry she would bring.

      Nevertheless, the man was probably as proud as all the Scots were, and he’d likely be insulted if Nicholas refused to consider his niece from the start, so he had best not be too quick to dismiss her.

      “I thank you for bringing your niece to Dunkeathe,” he said politely, “and I’m sure she’s a very fine young woman. I assure you, I’ll take all the qualities of every lady into account before I make my choice. Now if you’ll excuse me, my steward and I have other matters to discuss.”

      “Of course you do!” the Scot cried. To Nicholas’s relief, he didn’t seem a whit dismayed by this polite dismissal as he backed toward the door. “You’re a very busy fellow, I’m sure, with this great pile of a castle to tend to. So many soldiers, too—an army you’ve got, although who’d dare to attack you here? The man would have to be mad.”

      Then, just as abruptly as he’d entered, he was gone.

      It was like the calm after a maelstrom. Or before a storm.

      “My lord, I do beg your pardon,” Robert said, clearly horrified by what had just happened. “I had no idea he’d do that, none whatsoever!”

      At the sight of Robert’s red, indignant face Nicholas had to turn away and look out the window again, for he felt the most unusual urge to laugh.

      He noticed the maidservant was still standing by the cart. “I take it you personally didn’t invite him to join us here?”

      “Absolutely not, my lord!”

      “Then it’s not your fault.”

      “I’ll inform him at once that he cannot remain here, my lord.”

      “I didn’t say he had to leave. He’s still the only noble Scot to come, and I don’t think it would be wise to do anything that might cause him to depart before I make my final choice. The ties of blood and family go deep in this country. He may be of little importance, but he might have relatives who are, and they could stand against me if he feels insulted.”

      “I haven’t heard that he has any relatives who might cause us trouble, my lord.”

      “The ties between clans are complicated. I can’t remember half the clans my sister’s related to now. It would be better to take no chances, so I should at least make it appear that I’m considering his niece.”

      Suddenly, the stocky Scot came rushing into the courtyard and headed straight for the maidservant.

      “Riona!” he called out, waving. She waved back and hurried toward him eagerly.

      God’s rood, was that young woman the thane’s niece? That woman he’d been trying not to imagine in his bed?

      “So, here you are, brother. I should have guessed you’d be holed up here instead of talking to the bevy of beauties who’ve come to vie for your hand.”

      Nicholas briefly closed his eyes and prayed for patience before he turned around.

      His younger brother strolled into the room and threw himself into Nicholas’s chair and put his feet on the table. Like his brother, Henry was strong and well-muscled, a warrior in his prime, and now he sat smiling smugly as if he had not a care in the world.

      Which was quite probably true.

      “You may leave us, Robert,” Nicholas said, subduing his envy of the brother who’d never shared his struggles.

      “Yes, you may leave me to bid farewell to my brother,” Henry said with a wave of his hand, “although I must say, Nicholas, I’m rather tempted to stay a few more days. I had no idea your net would gather such a fine catch. Mind you, that one with the giggle…” He shuddered and shook his head. “Not quite what I’d want to wake up to every morning.”

      “I didn’t think you cared who you woke up with as long as you’d enjoyed yourself the night before.”

      Henry laughed. “Well, I’d care if she was my wife, which is why you won’t find me sending out word that I’m in the market for a bride, with all and sundry welcome to come and vie for my hand. Really, brother, you make it sound like you’re nothing more than a stallion ready for breeding.”

      Nicholas took two long paces and swiped his brother’s feet from the table. “Keep your muddy boots on the floor.”

      Henry regarded him with annoyance. “Pardon me for not realizing you were getting so fastidious in your old age.”

      “That table cost more than I made the first six months of my service with the Duc D’Aubreay. You may be able to forget when we were poor, but I don’t.”

      “I don’t forget.”

      “Good.”

      Henry got to his feet. “So I do understand why you want a rich wife from a well-connected family.” His temper, so easily roused, was dying down, as it always did. Eventually. “God’s blood, so do I. It’s the method I question, Nicholas.”

      Nicholas poured himself some wine from the silver carafe. “I see nothing wrong with having women come to me, instead of running all over the countryside trying to find a bride.”

      “I suppose it does make it easier—but wouldn’t it be cheaper to go to them?”

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