The Devil of Jedburgh

by Claire Robyns

  When her trunks arrived, Greer was delighted to finally have a wardrobe to manage and Breghan was delighted at the seedlings her mother had sent along. She grabbed Annie and they spent two full days carefully replanting Gardie’s uninspired herb garden of dill, thyme, parsley and fennel. They separated the plants by their uses and properties and made space for the new seedlings. Most important were angelica, arnica and precious sticklewort, which were all beneficial in medicinal recipes.

  The tapestry of Breghan racing her mare was hung in the hall, large enough to cover four arrow slits and contribute a splash of colour to the stark grey walls. They’d given up on the apple blossoms and laid longer-lasting heather in amongst the rushes instead. Breghan was so amazed by the effect of such small changes, she immediately cast her eye across the room to search for more potential improvements. Gardie’s lads were duly brought in from the kitchen to help rearrange the trestle tables so as to clear a wide half-circle in front of one of the hall’s two hearths.

  “I’d like to commission two high-backed chairs,” Breghan said when they were done, “but that will have to wait until the laird returns. Meanwhile, let’s place some stools about the hearth.”

  “Me da is good with his hands,” one of the boys said. “He helps with chopping in the forest and once he made me ma a sturdy table.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Thomas, me lady.” He swooped a strand of orange hair from his eyes. “He didna steal nothing, me lady, the laird said he could bring a log home.”

  “That’s quite all right,” she said quickly, giving him a smile. “I’ll have a word with Bryan about it, if your father has time to spare?”

  Thomas nodded so vigorously, Breghan went directly in search of Bryan to sound out her proposal. “We have access to oak growing in Jed Forest, don’t we?”

  Bryan was less enthusiastic. “Thomas’s father is a good man, but when he’s not cutting wood for the castle, he has his fields to attend to.”

  “The boy seemed to believe he’d find the time.”

  “The laird would in all likelihood approve, and yet I’m sorry, m’lady, I don’t have the authority to spend coin on such matters without permission.”

  Breghan sighed. “Neither do I.”

  “I’ll speak to Thomas’s father and if he’s willing, we’ll broach the subject with the laird when he returns.”

  “Any news?” Breghan asked. “He’s been gone for over a week.”

  “The laird is in correspondence with his men-at-arms here. Word is, Moray and Châtelherault rode into Edinburgh with over a thousand men. The queen turned back from Glasgow to confront him there.”

  “There will be a battle,” Breghan gasped.

  “Not this time.” Bryan chuckled. “The Earl of Mar turned the castle guns on the city and the rebels fled after two days. Edinburgh would have been secured before the queen’s arrival.”

  She’d been more worried about Arran than the queen, and for the first time Breghan considered the possibility of Arran not returning at all. In her mind, Arran was an imposing figure who rose above most men, a formidable tower of strength that couldn’t be breached. But no man was infallible. If Moray had instead managed to take the castle and turn those guns on Queen Mary’s army as they entered the city, Arran might have fallen along with the next man.

  A knot formed in her stomach, twisting tighter as the day stretched until finally, as she lay in bed that night, Breghan was forced to examine her feelings.

  I don’t want him to die.

  Of course she didn’t. She understood the perils of Scotland, the wars and clan feuds that ravaged some families. Her father had become the McAllen laird when both his elder brothers had lost their lives at Solway Moss. Before that, his father and all his uncles had fallen at Flodden with James IV. In her short life, however, Breghan had been spared the worst, having lost neither father nor a single brother.

  I’m unprepared for the death of someone I care about.

  Therein lay the truth. No matter how much he frustrated and vexed her, no matter how much she fought and cursed and dreaded, Arran had claimed a small part of her heart, a part that would be forever lost in darkness if he were no longer in this world.

  In this world somewhere, not necessarily too close.

  Breghan nodded to herself, content with her conclusions. Caring enough to wish Arran alive and well was perfectly reasonable. After all, she was no monster to remain unaffected by the death of any person of her acquaintance.

  From then on, Breghan made a point on quizzing Duncan on their ride each morning. The news filtered through sporadically and usually days after the event.

  “The army rides for Glasgow once again,” Duncan informed her.

  “But I thought Moray was believed to be fleeing to Dumfries?”

  “The queen is more concerned about Argyll surrendering. The earl failed to join Moray in Edinburgh with his own troops but he’s still a threat and now hides behind the walls of Castle Campbell.”

  “Arran willna appreciate cooling his heels in Glasgow instead of chasing after Moray and ending this runaround with a confrontation,” Broderick predicted.

  Breghan gave silent thanks to God above that Arran was subject to the queen’s will.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the queen had returned to Edinburgh to gather more troops, fearing an invasion from the South.

  A few days later, Bryan approached with a broad smile. “I’ve had a word with Thomas’s father and he’s keen to make your chairs. He asks for payment in oak and birch from Jedburgh Forest and his son’s time. Seems the young Thomas is the true woodworker in the family.”

  That explained the boy’s enthusiastic nodding. “I’ll speak to Gardie.”

  “I already have. No reason he can’t start right away if he’s not expecting coin from the laird’s coffer.”

  “Wonderful.” Breghan clapped her hands.

  “What will be truly wonderful is if we don’t get burnt bread and water for supper. Gardie wasn’t happy about losing one of his lads for a couple of weeks.”

  “Couldn’t we employ another maid from one of the crofter families to help in the kitchen?” Breghan put up a hand to halt the argument forming on his lips. “Commissioning furniture is outside my authority, but the laird won’t balk at me employing maids for the household as I deem necessary.”

  “’Tis the getting of those maids that troubles me.” Bryan turned to go and she swore she heard him mutter, “Good luck with that,” as he went.

  Breghan dismissed his sour disposition and went in search of Greer. The lack of female workers hadn’t escaped her notice. Surely that would change now that Ferniehirst had a mistress. A good hour later, however, Greer was nowhere to be found.

  “Are you sure she hasn’t been through here?” she asked Annie, who was sweeping up the rushes in the hall.

  “That’s the third time you’ve asked, me lady, and naught has changed. Perhaps she’s in the washhouse?”

  “I’ve looked there and everywhere else.” Breghan went outside again and strolled all the way to the pigpens at the bottom of the bailey. On her way back, she stopped in at the stables, the stalls all empty at this time of day. She’d already asked, because she knew Greer had taken to bringing Angel apples from the orchard. Apparently half the men-at-arms had gone into Jedburgh earlier and the rest of the horses had been let out to graze. As she stepped out into the sunlight, she heard a noise from behind. Breghan paused and listened. There it was again. A distinctly female giggle.

  Greer…

  Her first instinct was to hold her breath and walk away on her tiptoes. The last time she’d ignored that instinct, she’d come across Callum and the image still upset her. This time she didn’t have the choice. She was mistress here and the castle maids were under her protection. She turned around, put her hands on her hips to bolster her determination and called out, “Greer! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  A long silence was followed by sounds o
f movement and muffled talking. Just when Breghan thought she might have to go hunting through the stalls, Greer appeared.

  “Yes, me lady. I was…” She smoothed down her skirt, apparently oblivious to the straw sticking in her braid. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be needing me.”

  “Whoever else is there?” Breghan stared into the dim recesses. “You may as well come out.”

  “This isn’t what it looks like, me lady.”

  Breghan brought her gaze back to Greer, who dropped her eyes and shuffled her feet.

  From the shadows, a figure emerged, drawing Breghan’s attention and a gasp. “Duncan.”

  “We were only talking,” he said, his face so red, it almost glowed in the dim lighting.

  “We used to be fast friends,” Greer said. “We haven’t seen each other for years and…and…we were just talking and remembering.”

  “And playing around in the hay,” Duncan wiped his brow. “We were only grappling and tickling like we used—”

  “Yes, well,” Breghan interrupted, uncomfortable in the role of listening to Duncan explain his actions and motives, “I really only needed to speak with Greer.”

  Greer immediately came forward and stepped in line with Breghan as she walked toward the orchard.

  “I’ve no wish to interfere with your affections,” Breghan said. “In truth, it makes me happy to see you and Duncan spend time together—outside the stables. You must understand that proprieties need to be maintained, Greer, especially if I’m to expect other mothers to allow their young daughters up to the castle.”

  “Other mothers?” Greer stopped short, her mouth frozen half open.

  “That’s why I was looking for you, to ask if you can recommend anyone.”

  “I don’t—no, me lady, I have no one, there is no one—”

  She caught Greer’s hands in hers to still the stuttered response. “You don’t know of anyone?”

  “None that will come, me lady.”

  “Why ever not?” She dropped Greer’s hands and continued walking.

  “Have you not heard the stories of the laird, me lady?” Greer’s voice was hushed, her face a ghostly pale. “Have they not spread that far north of the shire? That explains much, why you came, why you were willing to sacrifice yourself.”

  “The Beast of Roxburgh is feared the length and breadth of Scotland,” Breghan assured her. “It never occurred to me that Kerr tenants were as influenced by the rumours as the rest of us. Any story accumulates fabricated rubble as it rolls along, the truth always lies closest to the source.”

  When Greer looked at her blankly, Breghan elucidated, “In the short time I’ve known the laird, I’ve come to doubt many of those stories have any substance.”

  “Oh, they’re all true, me lady.” Greer stopped walking again.

  As they’d reached the edge of the orchard anyway, Breghan plucked a blossom from a nearby bough and sank to the ground. “They say he’s buried six wives, Greer.”

  Greer dropped beside her, flat on her bottom, pulling up her knees to wrap her arms around her legs. “That was the old laird, me lady, and ’twas four wives, not six.”

  “There’s your evidence of a tale gathering moss.”

  “Each one died in childbirth along with their bairn.” Her eyes were huge as she looked at Breghan.

  “Arran—the laird—survived,” Breghan pointed out. ’Tis said he killed his mother. A wave of sadness passed through her from head to toe as she realised she’d just heard the source of that particular rumour. She held the blossom beneath her nose and breathed in deeply, willing the scent to infuse sweetness into her sudden gloom.

  “Even the devil needs an heir,” Greer whispered hoarsely. “The laird’s survival strikes another cursed bargain with new dues to be paid.”

  Breghan lost all patience. “You can’t truly believe such superstitious nonsense or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m here because the laird threatened to kick us off the farm if I refused and then where would we go?”

  “He can’t do that.” Even as she spoke, Breghan thought he was perfectly capable of doing just that. Arran wouldn’t gall at stamping his will where and when he chose. That she was the stimulus for his threats only made it worse. “Rents are negotiated and can’t be cancelled willy-nilly.”

  “My da’s getting on and cannot work the fields as hard as he used to.” Greer turned her eyes down. “We’ve enough grain for our table and the laird pays us in coin for what little is left over.”

  Breghan knew the rents were usually paid in grain to be used by the castle or sold to surrounding towns. When the harvest was good, the farmers could sell any excess to their laird for extra coin. “He takes nothing for the rents at all?”

  “We’re dependant on his charity.”

  Breghan wasn’t surprised to find generosity and threats went hand in hand when it came to Arran. She’d seen for herself the way he lavished noble intent so long as it didn’t directly conflict his own purpose.

  She was, however, dumbfounded by Greer’s logic. “You accept the laird’s charity, yet still believe the worst of him? If times are so bad, you should jump at the chance to earn a wage and not wait to be threatened into it.”

  A shudder went through Greer’s slender shoulders. “We do what we must to eat and live, me lady, but we’ll no willingly offer service to the devil’s servant.”

  Arran was no saint, but even he didn’t deserve such a severe comparison. Would she be so quick to judge the measures he resorted to if she’d had to live with such avid fear on her doorstep day in and day out?

  She had to ask, even though she already knew the answer. “I suppose the laird threatened Annie too?”

  Greer nodded. “Three of Annie’s brother’s serve as Kerr men-at-arms. The laird said they could go back to farming for all he cared…for as long as they still had a farm.”

  Damn Arran. Damn all men. Why did they always choose brutish force above all else? Anger itched beneath her skin and she jumped up, brimming with restless energy. She was halfway to the stables when she remembered Angel wasn’t there. She kept on walking, past the stables, beneath the portcullis and on toward the wall of trees she now knew was the start of Jed Forest.

  She’d actually expected better of Arran and that alone raised her fury until the hairs prickled at her nape. He’d taken her into his bed, held her in his arms all night, and she was fool enough to think that changed a thing.

  He’d selected a wife the way other men selected a breeding mare and thought to treat said wife with even less regard. Once he’d discovered Breghan might rear at the bit too often for his liking, he’d swapped marriage for a handfasting without consulting either the bride or her father.

  When she passed through the first line of firs and birches, Breghan ensured she stayed parallel to the road so she wouldn’t lose her way. The foliage hid her from sight and the act of kicking through layers of dead leaves sapped some of her hemmed-in frustration.

  How in heaven’s name had she erased the image of Arran standing in front of Magellan’s cottage with a lit torch in his hand and fierce determination etched on his jaw? Of course he’d use threats to subdue innocent folks and bend them to his will.

  It took hours of walking before Breghan arrived at the root cause of her anger. Despite everything, she still harboured a secret sorrow for the young boy stalked by whisperings that he’d murdered his own mother. She was losing herself, making excuses for Arran’s boorish nature and pitying a man who had none.

  The sun had already begun to set, the late October breeze chilled and pushing her back to the warmth of Ferniehirst’s great hall. She stopped just inside the entrance and her gaze swept from one end to the other.

  She saw Greer’s animated face as the girl leaned forward in private conversation with Duncan. Some men had gathered on the stools placed around the hearth, drinking their ale and bantering while waiting for the meal to be served. Scattered around the hall were small tables covered
with linen cloth and painted clay jugs that overflowed with the flowers she’d had Annie pick.

  Suddenly everything beautiful seemed as temporary as those apple blossoms that turned too quickly to be of use.

  As temporary as herself.

  She should be yearning for the day she was finally free to leave Ferniehirst, not rearranging the furniture.

  Chapter Eleven

  The morning air was thick, wrapping around her like a cold, damp blanket. Above, the sky was bruised with clouds that darkened by the minute. The last day of September had come and gone and taken the bloom of summer with it. Breghan shivered beneath her cloak, cursing her sunny optimism for not wearing the fur-lined velvet instead. “Yesterday, it was summer!”

  Duncan, riding at her left, turned his face heavenward. “The day will warm up—”

  “But not before we’re thoroughly drenched,” Broderick finished in a grinding tone.

  Breghan knew it wasn’t the possibility of a drenching that made him grumpy. She’d informed the men it was past time she introduced herself to the Kerr tenants and Broderick had been mumbling about “paying bloomin’ calls” and “firkin’ niceties” ever since.

  She’d been in no mood to politely pretend she hadn’t heard. “You can thank your high and mighty laird when he finally decides to come home.”

  “Should I add that you’re missing him and he must make all haste when I send my next report?” he returned dryly.

  Breghan had flipped her chin high and looked forward, reminded of why she usually conversed with Duncan on these rides and left Broderick to his brooding. He was a huge bear of a man with hair blacker than midnight that covered most of his face and what she could see of his legs beneath his kilt. She’d never actually seen or spoken to a bear, but she imagined the experience could only be more congenial.

  That Arran had thought she might be comforted by Broderick’s presence was just another notch against her darling handfasted husband.