“Tomorrow.” She had hoped it would not be so soon, but perhaps a cold reception would send Duncan and his men on their way all the faster. “After we sup.”
With a clipped nod, he pushed open the door, allowing a gust of bracing cold air to rush inside.
“And no need to worry about your place here, Cristiana. When I become laird here, I’m sure I’ll still require a mistress of the mead. Or perhaps you wish to become my leman?”
The barb found its mark when she did not think he could hurt her any more.
“A wise man avoids making enemies with a woman who knows her herbs,” she warned, cursing herself for ever opening her gate to him, let alone her arms. But he was already disappearing into the white swirl of a fresh snowfall outside her door.
Of all the cursed arrogance. How dare he threaten to depose her? Yet she’d committed the gravest mistake of the day. What had she been thinking to allow him to kiss and touch her, knowing he was a man of dangerously seductive skill? Of course, that had been much of the allure. The past had been hounding her ever since Duncan had arrived. Memories of their stolen moments together five years ago. The kiss that had taken place in this very spot.
Duncan thought she sacrificed much to remain unwed. In truth, after experiencing his kiss the first time, it had not been difficult to turn away other suit ors. It had only been a hardship to know she would never wed him.
But he’d become her enemy that day her sister had returned home. She’d sworn then that no Culcanon would ever lay hands on the Domhnaill legacy. And no heated encounters with her former betrothed would sway her to forsake that vow.
At sup that eve, Cristiana would have been content to make excuses not to join her guests, except that the holidays were upon them and she had invited many of her father’s allies to Domhnaill in the hope one of them would prove a strong successor for her father.
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