Lord of Dunkeathe

Riona stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Uncle Fergus thought she ought to marry a Norman? He thought a Norman nobleman would want to marry her? Maybe he had been drinking.

Kenneth looked just as shocked. “You think Riona should marry a Norman?”

“That one, aye, if she can. A woman could do a lot worse.”

Riona found that hard to believe, and so, obviously, did Kenneth. “Even if Riona wanted him,” he said, darting her a look that showed how unlikely that would be, “what about these requirements you mentioned?”

“Oh, they’re not important,” Uncle Fergus declared, waving his hand dismissively. “What’s important is that this rich fellow needs a wife, and Riona deserves a fine husband.”

“Surely he won’t want me,” Riona protested.

Uncle Fergus looked at her as if she’d uttered blasphemy. “Why not?”

She picked the reason that would hurt him, and herself, the least. “He’ll want a Norman bride.”

“Well, he was born a Norman, I grant you,” Uncle Fergus reflected as he rubbed his bearded chin. “But he’s a Scots lord now. Dunkeathe was his reward from Alexander—our king, not the English one. King Alexander’s taken two Norman wives, too, so why shouldn’t a Norman wed a Scot? And didn’t Sir Nicholas change the name of his estate back to Dunkeathe from that ridiculous Norman name, Beauxville or Beauxview or whatever it was?”

“But he was a mercenary, a hardened killer for hire.”

“Aye, he was a fighter, and poor, as well,” Uncle Fergus said. “I can respect a man like that, who’s made something of himself.”

“He’ll no doubt want a wealthy bride.”

“Aye, and we’ve no money for a dowry,” Kenneth added.

Although it was true that they had almost nothing in the way of gold or silver, Riona cringed when she saw the stunned disbelief in her uncle’s blue eyes. “What, there’s nothing?”

“Not much,” Kenneth replied, his resolve slipping into prevarication. “I’ve been trying to warn you—”

“Aye, aye, so you have,” Uncle Fergus said, his brow furrowing. “I didn’t think it was as bad as all that.”

Riona had rarely seen her uncle look so worried, and she hated being a cause of distress to him now. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t—”

“Aye, what does the money or lack of it matter in the end?” Uncle Fergus declared, smiling once again as he interrupted her. “If it was some other woman, it might, but you’re the prize, my beauty, not a bag of coins.”

She tried another reason. “Uncle, I don’t know anything about running a Norman’s household.”

“What’s to know? You’ve been running mine since you were twelve. Besides, from what I hear about Norman women, they’re a poor lot. Spend all their time at embroidery and gossip.”

Not wanting to remind him that the Mac Gordon’s shining glory had dulled in the past one hundred years, Riona refrained from noting that running the household of a minor Scots thane with a small holding was very different from managing that of a Norman overlord with a vast castle and estate. “Most of them must be more industrious. It surely takes a great deal of time and effort to run the household of a lord.”

“They can’t be any better at it than you’ll be,” Uncle Fergus replied confidently. “You’re the most clever girl in Glencleith. Look how fast you learned the Normans’ language.”

“Who’ll look after things here if I’m gone?”

That gave Uncle Fergus a moment’s pause—but only a moment. “The smith’s daughter, Aigneas, will do for a while, until Kenneth finds himself a wife. She’s a bright lass.” His father winked at Kenneth. “I don’t think you’ll mind that, eh, my son?”

As Kenneth blushed, his father addressed Riona. “We’ll have to suffer a bit, it’s true—you’ve spoiled us something fierce, Riona. But that’s a sacrifice we’ll have to make. It’s time we thought of your happiness, not our own. The rest of our people might better appreciate how good you’ve been to them over the years, too.”

In spite of her uncle’s kind and flattering words, Riona had another reason not to go. “Sir Nicholas will want a young bride. I’m too old.”

“You’re no flighty, giggling girl, I’ll grant you—but that’s a point in your favor,” Uncle Fergus replied.

He hoisted himself to his feet. Giving her a woeful half smile, he gently took hold of her shoulders. “Riona, my beauty, it’s past time I quit being so selfish and keeping you here with me. I should have been more encouraging, maybe, to some of those young lads who started to come ’round when you were younger, except there wasn’t a one I thought deserved you. But you should have your own home, with a husband who loves you and children to honor you.”

When she started to protest, Uncle Fergus interrupted her. “There aren’t many I’d consider for you, but this one I would. He’s not a spoiled gentleman who’s never done so much as a hard day’s riding. He’s worked for what he’s got and your sweetness and wisdom will make things smooth between you.

“As for the dowry, or lack of it, it’s love that matters, not money. Once he meets you, he’ll surely fall in love with you. And while we’re poor, our family name is an old and respected one.

“What harm can it do to go meet the man? If you don’t like him, we’ll come straight home again.”

Uncle Fergus spoke so kindly and looked at her with such love, she felt like a brute for not instantly agreeing that she should try to marry Sir Nicholas of Dunkeathe, or do anything else Uncle Fergus asked of her.

Her uncle slid a glance to her cousin. “While we’re at Dunkeathe, you’ll be in charge of Glencleith, Kenneth. It’s about time you had some practice.”

Kenneth’s face lit up with excitement, and Riona realized that between the coming of Aigneas and this chance to lead, all of his former objections were done away with.

She couldn’t fault Kenneth for that. He was young and keen to find his way, and this would indeed be good practice for him. As for Aigneas, Riona wasn’t sure of the depth of Kenneth’s feelings for her, or hers for Kenneth. This might be a way for them to find out how deep their affection went.

His father gave Kenneth a little frown. “Aigneas’ll stay with her father and just come to the hall in the day,” he warned.

Abashed, Kenneth didn’t meet his father’s gaze. “I expected as much,” he mumbled.

“Good. And there’ll be no sweet-talking her into giving you more salt for your dinner. You’d think we were as rich as the king, the way you sprinkle that about.”

As Kenneth frowned, Riona thought of something else. If she went to Dunkeathe with Uncle Fergus, that would mean several days they wouldn’t be in Glencleith, eating their own stores. Her uncle would be someone else’s guest rather than an overly generous host.

“All right, Uncle,” she said. “You’ve convinced me I should at least go and see this paragon of a Norman.”

Uncle Fergus hugged her, fairly beaming. “That’s my beauty! And if he doesn’t pick you, he’s a fool and not worthy of you anyway.”

Riona wasn’t nearly so sure of that, and it might be a little embarrassing for her to find herself being compared to other women and no doubt found lacking, but if going to Dunkeathe made Kenneth and Uncle Fergus happy, and saved them some money, surely she could endure a bit of discomfort.

“WHAT DID I TELL YOU, Riona, eh?” Uncle Fergus cried as their cart came over the ridge of a hill a few days later.

Beyond lay a river valley, and standing to the east of the river was Castle Dunkeathe, a massive feat of masonry and engineering that had to impress anyone who saw it.

Around it, other, much smaller buildings comprised a sizable village, and there were farmsteads along the road leading to it, as well as fields of barley and oats, and meadows for grazing sheep and cows. The hills around the valley were wooded and Riona supposed the overlord and his friends hunted there with their hounds and hawks.

It made quite a contrast to Glencleith, which had some of the poorest, most rock-strewn land in the country.

“Did I no’ say it was quite a fortress?”

“Aye, you did, and aye, it is,” Riona murmured as she studied the huge edifice that had been years in the making.

Two thick stone walls and a dry moat comprised the outer defenses. Towers had been constructed along the walls to watch the road and the river and the hills beyond. The gatehouse was like a small castle itself and dwarfed the wagons passing under the wooden portcullis.

She couldn’t begin to fathom how much stone and mortar it had taken to construct it, or how many men, or the cost. Sir Nicholas must have been paid very well by King Alexander, and with more than the ground this castle stood upon.