He poured her more wine from the pitcher, knowing full well that was not what she had meant. “There is a woman,” he admitted softly. Even saying the words aloud seemed perilous.
“Aha!” his aunt cried in triumph. “I hoped there would be one.”
“Though her birth is far above mine.”
“A most promising premise for any tale.”
Ramsay looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”
His aunt smiled. “How often does a tale begin with a beautiful princess, unhappy despite her wealth, and a handsome and honorable suitor, alas lacking in fortune but prepared to go to any lengths to win his lady’s affection?”
Ramsay chuckled. “Life is not a tale, Aunt.”
“It is if you choose to make it so.” She sipped her wine, her expression turning coy. “How do you think the tale of your uncle and I began?” She made a gesture, indicating the fine holding that surrounded them. “Château de Joie was built by my father and grandfather, and all the men of my line before that. It was my legacy, for I was the sole surviving child of my parents’ union.” She smiled. “My father had no intention of surrendering my hand to a warrior from Scotland, however alluring I found him to be.”
Ramsay was surprised, though he realized he should not have been. He knew the holding was from his aunt’s family, but when he had first arrived, his uncle had been so at ease in his position of authority that he might have been born to it. “I had not thought of it before.”
“Matters are not always what they seem. You must know that.” She sipped her wine, watching him. “Tell me of your lady.”
“She is not my lady, Aunt, nor is she like to be. Her father is the Hawk of Inverfyre, the sworn enemy of the MacLaren clan.”
Eudaline’s eyes lit. “The one who claimed the estate your father coveted.”
“And his father before him. And my brothers and cousins.” Ramsay winced at the memory of all that fruitless greed.
“How did you even meet her?” His aunt paused in the midst of lifting her cup. “Or do you only admire her from afar?”
“I met her first when I was seized by her father and cast into his dungeons.”
“An inauspicious introduction, to be sure. I warn you, Ramsay, I like this tale and already wish for its happy conclusion.”
Ramsay frowned for it was not a mere tale he recounted. “The dungeon at Inverfyre is called the Hole. It is designed to fill with rainwater and drown the occupant.”
“Barbaric,” his aunt said with a shiver. “But undoubtedly effective.”
“It began to rain that night. The water rose above my knees so quickly. I believed that day would be my last.” He shook his head. “And then she came. Evangeline.” He said her name with the reverence it deserved. “She defied her father to aid my escape, casting down a rope. She returned my crossbow, distracted the guards, and left her palfrey for me.”
Eudaline laughed with delight. “And that is why you shower attention upon that mare! It washermount.”
“No steed deserves unkindness,” he said gruffly. “And Gealaich bore me well.”
“Doubtless the creature was pampered in return,” his aunt said beneath her breath, then smiled. “But now you can return in splendor to court your lady’s favor, in your armor, with your destrier and your wealth. You could even return her palfrey. How many years has it been?”
“Five.” Ramsay shook his head. “But naught I can do will ever be sufficient to win her father’s endorsement. I will not dishonor her with an illicit match.”
Eudaline savored her wine, her gaze knowing, then set the cup aside. She poked a finger at a missive that had arrived that day, left upon the board where she had placed it at Ramsay’s arrival in the hall. “You would not speak of Evangeline Armstrong of Inverfyre, would you?”
Even the sound of her name upon the lips of another startled Ramsay. “I do.”
“She is to be wed, according to my old friend, Elizabeth. Of course, you would not have met Elizabeth, for she was wed before me. We grew up together, here at Château de Joie, for Elizabeth’s family lived in the town. Her father was a jeweler of great renown, and Elizabeth wed very well, earning the admiration of the Lord of Haynesdale over the course of his acquisition of a brooch for his mother. Sir Stephen may yet be made a duke, by my understanding, for he is in such close service to the King of England that some say the elevation is inevitable. Elizabeth, naturally, is more taciturn about the possibility, but they have three sons, all of whom I understand are most handsome…”
“Aunt,” Ramsay interrupted tersely, knowing full well that this detour from the subject at hand could last a long while. “What of Evangeline Armstrong?”
Eudaline blinked. “She is to wed Rufus Percival. Did I not say as much?”
“Rufus Percival?” Ramsay bounded to his feet in outrage. “How can this be? The man is a scoundrel and a villain, a base knave of no merit whatsoever…”
His aunt smiled. “He bested you once, did he not?”
