by Ashe Barker
She tipped up her chin, then plastered a brittle smile on her face, mainly for the benefit of the housekeeper and the young maidservant. “I am indeed nurse to baby Cecily. I have no baggage, thank you. And the servants’ quarters will be fine. Please, which way is that?”
“Um, it be o’er here, miss...” Molly mumbled, settling off across the courtyard. “The kitchen entrance be the best.”
Jane straightened her spine and marched off after the girl, ignoring Robbie’s shout of “Jane, come back here.”
If his family considered it odd that he should wish to dispute the matter of her accommodations, and bellow at her across the bailey, then let him explain himself. She could but hope he would not say anything that might cost her her place here.
Chapter Sixteen
Robbie seethed. Silently, dangerously, his anger bubbled just below the surface as he followed Betsy into the keep and made his way up to the second floor where his chamber was situated. He had known well enough that Jane Bartle was as stubborn and wilful a female as he had ever had the misfortune to come across, but he had believed he had managed to impress upon her the folly of defying him.
He had been wrong, it would seem. And now, the infuriating chit insisted upon humbling herself among the servants of Mortain, when he would have her at his side.
How dare she fling his generosity back in his face this way? Who did she think she was?
He entered his chamber behind Betsy and slammed the door behind him. It rattled on its hinges, much to the housekeeper’s disgust.
“If ye mean tae demolish the place about our ears, ye will allow us time tae escape, will ye, lad?” She glowered at him as she huffed about the room, lighting candles and bending to tend to the fire.
“Thank ye, Betsy. I shall shift for myself from here.” Robbie wanted nothing more than to be alone with his fury. As soon as Betsy was gone he fully intended to march around to the kitchen wing and, if need be, he would bodily remove Jane from whatever garret had been assigned to her. He would bring her here, to his chamber, where she damned well belonged. She would share his bed, even if it meant tying her to it.
Betsy sniffed and regarded him coldly. “Aye, well, I ha’ plenty tae occupy me without dealin’ with your rudeness, lad. Ye’d best be givin’ yer head a waggle, see if ye cannae find some manners rattlin’ about in there. Oh, an’ dinnae ye be harassin’ that poor wee lassie.”
“Poor wee lassie?” He could barely believe what he was hearing.
“Aye. There’ll be none o’ that carryin’ on, not i’ this house. If the lass does nae want ye, then ye shall leave ‘er be, ye hear me?”
“Does nae want...?” He was beginning to sound like a parrot. “Betsy, ye have nae the first idea what ye’re on about.”
She plonked her girth in a chair. “Have I no’? Then ye shall tell me, eh?”
He raked his fingers through his hair, the heat of his anger starting to cool. He might be livid at Jane, but he had barely had a wrong word with Betsy Montgomery in his entire life. The woman was like a second mother to him. He had certainly never shouted at her. He was not about to start now.
“Please, Betsy, can ye no just leave it?”
“I could, aye, but I dinnae consider that wise, lad.” She watched him, her kindly expression taking him back to when he had been a boy in some scrape or other and afraid of his father’s displeasure. Betsy had always been a source of comfort and wise counsel. But he was no longer a boy, and he did not see how she could possibly aid him with the dilemma that now faced him. Hell’s teeth, she would probably agree with Janie and tell him to seek out a bride among his own clan.
“Betsy, I—”
“I, too, would appreciate an explanation, Robbie.”
The soft tone of his mother’s voice took him by surprise. He had not heard her enter, nor the giant wolfhound at her side. Lady McGregor was blind and relied upon the huge dog to guide her. It was an arrangement that had served her well since before Robbie was born, and several dogs had been her loyal companions and helpers over the years. She made her way over to the window, now shuttered against the night-time chill, and settled herself on the seat there.
“I understand there has been an... exchange outside in the bailey. This is most unlike you, Robbie, so I confess I, too, would like to know what lies at the bottom of it.”
“Mother, please, this does no’ concern you. Or you, Betsy. With respect, I would ask ye both tae respect my privacy.”
His mother levelled her sightless gaze on him in a manner he always found deeply unsettling. She rarely raised her voice, but Lady Roselyn McGregor was well able to show her displeasure and she showed it now. “You are my son, and I adore you. As does Betsy. If something has happened between you and... Miss Bartle, is it?” She paused, waiting for him to confirm.
“Aye, Jane Bartle,” Robbie replied.
“Miss Bartle.” Lady McGregor straightened her skirts. “I am given to understand that certain... intimacies have occurred between the pair of you. This is correct, I assume?”
“Mother, ye must ken that I cannae speak o’ this.” However infuriating Janie might be, he owed her this at least. His loyalty, and her privacy.
“Your men are speaking of it. ‘Tis common knowledge, Robbie. By this time tomorrow, all at Mortain will be aware of your relationship with the young woman.”
“It is none o’ their business. I shall no’ have her gossiped about.”
“I suspect you will not be able to prevent that.” His mother pursed her lips. “And if you are about to say that it is none of my business either, or that of Betsy, then I caution you to think again. You will not push away those who love you.”
Robbie sat on the edge of his bed and lowered his head into his hands. Had he not already pushed away at least one who loved him? He had not the faintest notion of how he managed it, but his Janie had walked away from him and he had no idea how to bridge the gulf that he felt opening up between them.
“Robbie, lad, d’ye care for the wench?” Betsy had moved to settle herself beside him. She laid her hand on his arm.
He turned his face toward her and nodded. “I do, aye.”
“But, she does not return your feelings?” his mother guessed.
“I... I am no’ sure. I had thought...”
Jane had said she loved him, had offered herself to him, had comforted him when he was at his lowest. He had been convinced they were meant to be together, but now... he was not so sure. He could spank her into obedience, but not into love with him.
“Thought what, lad?” Betsy prompted.
“I had thought she would be my wife. But, she has refused.”
“You asked her to marry you?” Robbie rarely detected surprise in his mother’s soft tone, but it was there now. “And, she turned you down?”
He nodded. “Aye.”
“An’ ye thought tae force the issue, by installin’ her here, in yer chamber?” Astute as ever, Betsy had arrived right at the heart of his plan, such as it was.
“‘Tis her rightful place,” he argued.
“Except, she has chosen to go elsewhere,” observed Lady McGregor, quite unnecessarily in Robbie’s view.
“She considers herself too lowborn to wed a laird,” he offered, by way of explanation. “She is content to remain my mistress.”
“Hmm,” his mother replied. “So, is she lowborn?”
Robbie shrugged. “I suppose so. I am no’ sure o’ her background or her family.”
“Do you consider such matters to be of importance?”
He shook his head. “It never crossed my mind, not until she said as much.”
“But, you reassured her, I expect,” Lady McGregor insisted. “You will have no doubt explained to her that you love her for the wonderful woman she is. And before you say anything more, be assured I have already heard much on this subject from Lady Falconer, who holds the young lady in extremely high regard.”
“I know that,” Robbie agreed. “They are firm friends.
”
“Indeed. So, I have no doubt at all that you will have made it quite clear to Miss Bartle that your family and your clan would love her also. If she proves worthy of their respect, they would give it. I can testify to that.”
“O’ course I told her that. I said...” He broke off, trying to recall the words they exchanged the previous night. He remembered informing her that she could expect a thrashing at the first opportunity, and his anger had been because of her insistence that she was not of sufficient status to be his bride. Surely that amounted to the same thing.
“What did ye say, lad? Exactly? What did ye say tae cause her tae cut ye dead i’ the bailey an’ walk away from ye?”
Betsy’s urging caused him to reconsider. He remembered that Jane had called him an addle-pated oaf, and he had called her a harpy. Right after he threatened to spank her. Neither had she thought much of his attempt to propose marriage to her, and looking back at it now, he could see why she had considered the prospect less than appealing. He had been keen enough to tell her what he wanted, what he expected of her, but had paid no regard whatsoever to her fears and insecurities.
He could have handled it better. No, fuck that, he had made an absolute mess of everything. He had behaved like the oaf Jane had wisely said he was. His bloody stallion could lay claim to more sensitivity than he had shown last night.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Quite.” Lady McGregor got to her feet and stretched out her elegant hand to rest it on her dog’s broad collar. “It does seem to me that if you wish the young lady to reconsider your offer of marriage, then you have some work to do to bring her around to your way of thinking. I wish you good fortune with that.” She stepped toward him. “And now, I shall have a kiss from you, for I have been desperately worried I might never see you again. I am indeed fortunate to have both my sons returned safe. There is many a woman in Scotland not able to say the same.”
* * *
Jane perched on the edge of the pallet that had been assigned to her. She expected, in due course, to be instructed to move her bed into the nursery, but until such time as that arrangement was put in place she would share this small room above the kitchens with eight other female servants. With the addition of her own mattress, there was barely enough space on the floor to step between them. She sighed and told herself she should be thankful. At least she had not been expected to share a bed with another of the maids.
Bloody Robbie McGregor. Why could he not keep his mouth closed?
She shuddered at the recollection of what had happened in the bailey. It was her own fault, of course. Jane had been so transfixed by the reunion between Lady Eleanor and her baby that she had omitted to make herself scarce when she could have, while everyone else was otherwise occupied. She could have slipped away and sought out one of the servants to show her to this place. It had not been necessary to allow the entire episode to become so public.
Jane listened for footsteps on the stairs, fearing at any moment that Lady Eleanor or the formidable Betsy Montgomery would be along to inform her that Mortain had no need for the likes of her.
Jane’s years in service had afforded her a wealth of experience; she knew well enough of the follies of consorting with the gentry. In this life, there were masters and servants, and the line between was rarely crossed. If it was, that circumstance seldom ended well. At least, it did not end well for the servant. She should have known better than to become embroiled with a lover at all, let alone a man from the nobility. Her only excuse was that they had been on the road, an interlude, of sorts, between worlds. They had been in danger, had had to rely upon each other in order to reach safety. The barriers of class had, temporarily, been removed and she had inadvertently strayed across.
Weak, she knew, but it would have to suffice.
But Jane Bartle was a practical woman as well as a passionate one. She would not for a moment deny the intense feelings that Robbie McGregor invoked within her. She had responded, had welcomed what had taken place between them. She had even been stupid enough to let herself fall in love. But despite all of this, she was no naive romantic, no innocent abroad. In the real world, no good would come of having grand ideas above her station, of hoping for that which could never be hers. That way lay heartbreak and ruin.
Jane Bartle was, above all else, a survivor. She would continue her liaison with Robbie McGregor if she could, and she would somehow make him see that their relationship need not, must not compromise her position here.
He would see sense. He would bloody well have to.
* * *
Robbie scanned the hall, searching for a glimpse of Jane. He had not expected to see her among the wenches who scurried about with trays of food, but perhaps at the lower end of the gathering, seated among the seamstresses and the tradesmen from the village. All had been assembled, invited to share a meal with their lord in celebration of the safe return of both himself and Archie, not to mention the near miraculous arrival of little Cecily.
However much he craned his neck, he could not catch sight of her. He had to accept that Jane was not here.
The merry-making continued unabated. The baby was passed between her adoring relatives, and it did not escape Robbie’s notice how taken his brother was with the wee one. He was not surprised. He knew Cecily to be a most agreeable child. He had not been averse to dancing her on his knee himself because he loved to hear her high-pitched squeals of laughter, and she had regularly fallen asleep in his arms.
Really, James had no chance.
The great hall was arranged with the top table placed on a raised dais at one end, closest to the huge fireplace. The other tables were set out in long rows at right angles to the dais. In this manner, the lord could see and be seen by all. The more senior servants and guardsmen took the seats closest to the top table, the lower ranks furthest away.
The top table itself was occupied by James, of course, with Eleanor at his side. Their seats were in the centre. Only the side facing the hall was used. It would have been considered ill-mannered indeed, as well as foolhardy, for anyone to be seated with their backs to the assembled company. Lady Falconer had been placed beside her daughter and Lady McGregor was next to her. The two appeared to be finding much to talk about. Robbie sat next to his mother, at the end of the table. On James’s other side, their father conversed with Archie while Betsy watched the proceedings in the hall below with her usual eagle eye. At the far end of the table, Robbie and James’s sister, Joan, tried to keep her son, Duncan, entertained though with little success. The lad was determined to scramble down into the main hall to find others of his age to play with. Eventually, Joan relented and let him go.
Robbie was so engrossed in his own musings that at first he did not hear his brother speak directly to him. It was only when his mother dug her elbow in his ribs that he leaned forward to meet Jamie’s gaze.
The Lord of Mortain was balancing his new stepdaughter on his knee and pulling faces at her, much to the child’s amusement. He paused to grin at Robbie.
“So, from what ye tell us, this family owes much tae Miss Bartle. Ye say she actually followed the soldiers who took Cecily and discovered where she was being held?”
“Aye, so she did. She was able tae lead us straight there.”
“I just wish she had told me what she knew,” Lady Falconer complained. “I would have...”
Robbie sighed. They had been through all of this already and he fully understood Jane’s reasons for holding her tongue. What was more, he thoroughly agreed with her reasoning.
“Jane has explained. She knew that you and the earl were in no position to take Cecily back. Culpepper would have just snatched her again, and who knows what would have happened then? Jane had spoken to the foster parents, even though they had no idea who she was. She was quite sure that they were kind people and that they cared for Cecily, and that she was in no immediate danger with them. So, she bided her time until a real chance at a rescue presente
d itself. We were that chance, and when we arrived at Ashingburn she told us all she knew.”
Lady Eleanor joined their conversation. “I... I cannot believe it. I barely even knew Jane when I was at Ashingburn. She spent all her time in the nursery. Such a loyal servant...”
“And resourceful,” Robbie’s mother put in. “An exceptionally bright girl. Where is she now, by the way?”
Robbie ground his teeth. He knew full well where Janie had preferred to place herself and it was not at his side.
His brother shrugged and held a small cup of aired milk to Cecily’s mouth. “I expect she will be with the other servants.”
“She should be here, with us,” Eleanor insisted. Robbie could only applaud silently. “I want to thank her,” his sister-in-law continued, “and assure her that she will have employment here for as long as she wants it. I can think of no one better to be Cecily’s nurse.”
Well, she will be delighted to hear that, at least.
“Betsy, d’ye think ye could find someone tae summon the girl?” Jamie asked. “My wife is right, Miss Bartle should share our celebration since her actions are the cause of it.”
“Aye,” Robbie agreed. “That she should.” His mother had advised him to concentrate on persuading Jane to reconsider his offer of marriage. He supposed he might as well begin that campaign here and now. He would start with the little matter of Jane’s place in this household. “But, Eleanor,” he went on, his smile deceptively mild, “I dinnae think ye should rely on Jane tae be nursemaid tae wee Cecily here.”
Lady Falconer raised an eyebrow. She clearly considered it her duty to come to the girl’s defence. Sure enough, her next words confirmed this. “I do not see why not. I will confess that the girl struck me as somewhat flighty when first I engaged her, and without doubt she possesses a tendency to be outspoken.”
Robbie groaned inwardly. He had been left in no doubt as to that particular quality.