LORD OF DUNKEATHE Read Online Free PDF Page B

desperate—which I'm not." Not yet, anyway. "It's your responsibility to see that no one suspects I'm running short of funds."
    "You're not yet in dire straits, my lord," Robert assured him.
    "Good. By Lammas I should have a bride in hand, or at least a betrothal agreement and promise of a dowry. Who else has come?"
    "Lady Mary, the daughter of the Earl of Eglinburg, Lady Elizabeth, sister of the Duke of Ansley, Lady Catherine, daughter of the Comte D'Ortelieu, Lady Isabelle, ward of Sir James of Keswick, Lady Eloise, daughter of Sir George de Chillery, Lady Lavinia, second cousin to the Due D'Anglevoix, Lady Priscilla, niece of the Abbot of St. Swithins-by-the-Sea who came with her brother Audric, and Lady Joscelind, daughter of Lord Chesleigh of Kent."
    Ah yes, the beautiful—and proud—Lady Joscelind and her equally proud and arrogant father. He wondered what they'd do when they discovered they'd been ordering their host about as if he were their lackey. That should prove interesting—although, given their natures, they might take offence that he hadn't identified himself. He'd have to ensure that he gave them a believable explanation.
    Nicholas strolled back to the window and saw that the maidservant was still standing by the cart. She shifted her feet, as if her patience was wearing thin. "That's only nine," he noted, glancing over his shoulder. "Who's the tenth?"
    "Nobody of any consequence, my lord. In fact, I probably should have denied them admittance to the courtyard, but the fellow did have a charter and you had said that all women of noble birth were to be considered. His niece meets that qualification."
    Nicholas raised an inquisitive brow, just as he had in the courtyard. That serving wench had then done the same, surprising and secretly amusing him more than he'd been amused in...well, a long time. "Who is this nobleman with a charter you don't think should be here?"
    "A Scot, my lord, the Thane of Glencleith. I asked those of our men who are Scots, and it seems he's the holder of a small estate to the north. Politically, he's completely unimportant, and I understand he's quite poor."
    "Only one Scots noble came?"
    "Yes, my lord."
    Only one—and he was a lord in this country. Clearly it didn't matter to the Scots that he'd changed the name of his estate back to the original one, or that his sister had married into one of their clans. He was still, first and foremost, a representative of the Normans and their unwelcome intrusion into Scotland .
    Yet whatever they thought, he'd earned Dunkeathe and recalcitrant Scots or no, he'd keep it. If he had to marry for money and influence to ensure that, he would.
    A fist pounded on the door. Nicholas wheeled around just as the door flew open and a short, brawny, gray-haired, bearded, potbellied Scot wearing one of their skirted garments bustled into the room.
    Before Nicholas could demand an explanation, the intruder came to a halt, put his hands on his hips, and smiled at them both. "Here you are!" he cried in heavily accented French. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, my lord. I thought you'd be in the courtyard greeting your guests, but obviously Normans have a different idea of politeness."
    He looked around the room before his gaze settled again on Nicholas. "Wonderful castle you've got here. This chamber's a bit bare, but when you're married, your wife will change that."
    Nicholas's 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