lady herself.
No doubt the lady would slumber late in luxury. She would eventually rise and call for a bath, then order their departure after midday.
No sooner had he had the thought than the lady proved him wrong. She emerged from her tent, stretched and arched her back, the move even observed at such distance making him keenly aware of her femininity. She was joined by a younger woman, perhaps one who had ridden behind her the day before, and they strode across the camp together.
Duncan was curious enough to trail behind, ensuring that he kept to the periphery of the camp and was not seen. His circuitous path ensured that he fell a good bit behind the purposeful countess and he rounded a corner in time to see her swing into her saddle.
But this was no departing party she led. Nay, only the other woman mounted a steed, the two women gathering their reins as the horses pranced impatiently. An older man clucked, then lifted something to the countess, who bent to receive it.
And Duncan understood as the countess gave her heels to her steed and rode toward him. She rode to the hunt!
The countess held her fist aloft, a hooded peregrine perched there with ribbons flying from its tethers. The bird was already wet, its feathers dark, though âtwas docile upon her hand. The lady was similarly dampened in the rain, her cloak hanging heavily over her shoulders.
He dove into the shadows before she noted him, the image of her etched in his mindâs eye. Her cloak had parted to reveal her kirtle wrought of a pale moss green, its hem and cuffs unadorned. A simple girdle emphasized the narrow span of her waist, the rough leather hunting glove making her appear particularly finely-boned. He peeked out as the horses cantered past his hiding spot and felt a measure of admiration. She rode as though she was accustomed to the saddle, as though she was oblivious to the foul weather.
Duncan frowned. Surely she could not be so greedy for the thrill of the hunt that she would forget her own comfort? âTwas hardly a morning when such activity could be enjoyed.
Although he had seen more than one noble unnaturally enamored of the hunt, so anxious for their entertainment that naught else could intervene. Meanwhile all those in her party labored from first light to ensure she had every desire fulfilled upon her return.
âTwas precisely the sort of selfish indifference that Duncan loathed about the nobility and he hardened his heart against her anew.
Aye, in these parts, all labored together to ensure the comfort of all! What irresponsibility to while away the morn with her falcon, as though she had no obligations to bear!
Duncan emerged from his spot to glare after the departing countess. She rode with none but the other woman, a pair of boys running behind them.
If none would criticize the countess from her own household, he most certainly would do the honors. He strode after her, certain he would find an opportunity for his say.
She would leave by midday.
* * *
Here was Jacquelineâs chance.
Her mother was not a woman of easy confidences and did not share anything of import where it might be overheard. Ever since Eglantine had insisted they would leave Arnelaine, Jacqueline had hoped this meant the breaking of her betrothal.
Eglantine had been evasive with details among the company, and truly, âtwas impossible to escape the listening ears of a company of such size while traveling. She had briskly changed the subject when asked once about Reynaud de Charmonte and been vague about her reasons for moving the household north.
Louis had been sour with disapproval, a fact which fed Jacquelineâs hope that her mother had done something scandalousâlike destroy her daughterâs betrothal agreement.
But there had been no chance to demand the fullness of the truth in privacy. Jacqueline had bitten her tongue all the way across France and the sea and most of Britain, awaiting her moment and itching with
No doubt the lady would slumber late in luxury. She would eventually rise and call for a bath, then order their departure after midday.
No sooner had he had the thought than the lady proved him wrong. She emerged from her tent, stretched and arched her back, the move even observed at such distance making him keenly aware of her femininity. She was joined by a younger woman, perhaps one who had ridden behind her the day before, and they strode across the camp together.
Duncan was curious enough to trail behind, ensuring that he kept to the periphery of the camp and was not seen. His circuitous path ensured that he fell a good bit behind the purposeful countess and he rounded a corner in time to see her swing into her saddle.
But this was no departing party she led. Nay, only the other woman mounted a steed, the two women gathering their reins as the horses pranced impatiently. An older man clucked, then lifted something to the countess, who bent to receive it.
And Duncan understood as the countess gave her heels to her steed and rode toward him. She rode to the hunt!
The countess held her fist aloft, a hooded peregrine perched there with ribbons flying from its tethers. The bird was already wet, its feathers dark, though âtwas docile upon her hand. The lady was similarly dampened in the rain, her cloak hanging heavily over her shoulders.
He dove into the shadows before she noted him, the image of her etched in his mindâs eye. Her cloak had parted to reveal her kirtle wrought of a pale moss green, its hem and cuffs unadorned. A simple girdle emphasized the narrow span of her waist, the rough leather hunting glove making her appear particularly finely-boned. He peeked out as the horses cantered past his hiding spot and felt a measure of admiration. She rode as though she was accustomed to the saddle, as though she was oblivious to the foul weather.
Duncan frowned. Surely she could not be so greedy for the thrill of the hunt that she would forget her own comfort? âTwas hardly a morning when such activity could be enjoyed.
Although he had seen more than one noble unnaturally enamored of the hunt, so anxious for their entertainment that naught else could intervene. Meanwhile all those in her party labored from first light to ensure she had every desire fulfilled upon her return.
âTwas precisely the sort of selfish indifference that Duncan loathed about the nobility and he hardened his heart against her anew.
Aye, in these parts, all labored together to ensure the comfort of all! What irresponsibility to while away the morn with her falcon, as though she had no obligations to bear!
Duncan emerged from his spot to glare after the departing countess. She rode with none but the other woman, a pair of boys running behind them.
If none would criticize the countess from her own household, he most certainly would do the honors. He strode after her, certain he would find an opportunity for his say.
She would leave by midday.
* * *
Here was Jacquelineâs chance.
Her mother was not a woman of easy confidences and did not share anything of import where it might be overheard. Ever since Eglantine had insisted they would leave Arnelaine, Jacqueline had hoped this meant the breaking of her betrothal.
Eglantine had been evasive with details among the company, and truly, âtwas impossible to escape the listening ears of a company of such size while traveling. She had briskly changed the subject when asked once about Reynaud de Charmonte and been vague about her reasons for moving the household north.
Louis had been sour with disapproval, a fact which fed Jacquelineâs hope that her mother had done something scandalousâlike destroy her daughterâs betrothal agreement.
But there had been no chance to demand the fullness of the truth in privacy. Jacqueline had bitten her tongue all the way across France and the sea and most of Britain, awaiting her moment and itching with
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