by Amanda Scott
Bidding them both goodnight, she hurried from the dais.
Watching her, Dev said sagely, “You can easily bring both Lady Lavinia and Lady Meg round your thumb, can you not?”
“I can, but ’tis true that we promised. Moreover, my friend, it occurred to me that you have enough on your trencher now without adding my sister to your burdens. We’ll return in a week, earlier if you need us… or me.”
Thanking him with unexpected relief, Dev told Wat to make himself comfortable in the inner chamber until his return and followed Janet from the hall.
At the landing, he watched her round the first curve above him before he opened the door into the room across the way and shut it behind him.
“Cousin Rosalie said I was not to be alone with you,” Robina said then.
She stood near the south end of the wide table, facing him. Her left hand rested near the carved wooden box containing the penknife, sealing wax, and seal. From behind her, mote-ridden rays of the lowering sun through the arrow-slit streaked golden highlights in her hair, giving her an undeserved halo.
“Doubtless,” she added when he remained silent, “Rosalie would say you should at least leave the door open.”
“We’ll have this talk without an audience,” he said, his voice carefully even. “You ripped up at Corinne before supper, and you’re angry with me, too. I want to know why.”
When her cheeks darkened, he said, “Come now, Robby. You’re rarely so reticent about sharing your thoughts. Tell me.”
Pressing her lips tightly together, she glowered at him as if his statement of the simple facts had made her angrier. Then, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin, she said, “I shan’t trouble you by explaining what I said to Corinne, sir. She is still innocent in the ways of men, though, so you should not encourage her to flirt with you. Nor should Cousin Wat.”
Dev had all he could do not to laugh at her description of the forthright, obviously man-hungry Corinne. He’d seen the maidservant in the yard with Jem Keith. She flirted as naturally as she breathed and was as enticing and amiable a lass as he’d ever met. But Robby was an innocent. He would have to tread cautiously.
Or… perhaps not. He had been about to offer her a dismissive platitude when a second thought struck him, one that he was nearly certain would irk her. It might also reveal more of the truth than she wanted to reveal.
Accordingly, he said, “Are you saying that you believe Wat and I were flirting with your maid and the sight made you jealous, Robby? Is that it?”
Her jaw dropped, her eyes flashed, and for a long moment she remained speechless, staring at him. “Jealous!” she squeaked at last. “Me? Are you mad?”
“Do you think so? In troth, if I’m wrong, it much relieves my mind, because jealousy in a woman is most unbecoming. Her temper becomes uncertain and shrill. Her eyes lose their luster; and her lips grow chapped and ugly because, in her foolish misery, she chews them. Also, more times than not, she fails even to ask the chap if she has cause to be jealous. In this instance, you certainly have none.”
Her mouth had fallen open again. She shut it. Then she said tartly, “I was thinking of Corinne’s welfare, not of you or me.”
“Blethers,” he said. “You were jealous.”
“I was not!” As she snapped the words out, she scooped up the wooden box with her left hand and hurled it and its contents at him. Her aim was uncannily accurate, too, especially as she had thrown the damned thing with her left hand.
Dev caught the box inches from his face with his left hand and the stoppered inkpot, when it lurched out of the box, with his right.
He let the lid and the other items crash to the flagstone floor.
After the clatter, silence fell.
Aghast at what she had done and hoping to avoid the likely Devilish consequence, Robina stepped hastily back, anxious to put the table between them.
“Stand right where you are,” Dev ordered curtly.
Her legs threatened to fail her, so she obeyed, resting her hand on the table again to steady herself. What demon had possessed her to throw anything at him?
Then, to her shock, he smiled. “If you can shoot as accurately as you throw,” he said, “I’d be a damned fool not to give you a bow and a quiverful of arrows.”
“Father and Rab taught me to shoot and to throw,” she said. Her voice felt shaky, so she cleared her throat. “I should not have done that.”
“No,” he said. “But I’m glad I had the privilege of seeing that throw. Pick up the penknife and the other things now, and don’t ever do that again.”
She did not reply but picked up the box lid and the wax sticks, seal, and penknife while he crossed the room to return the box and its inkpot to the table. He stood there, waiting, until she put the other items where they belonged.
She hesitated then, staring at the carving on the lid, grateful that it had not cracked, and seeking the will to face him again.
He put a hand to her shoulder. “Look at me, Robby.”
She did, exhaling and squaring both shoulders to brace herself. But when her gaze met his, her mouth curved of its own accord into a weak but rueful smile. “I’ve never thrown anything at anyone before,” she said. “I was so angry. Even so…”
“We’ll say no more about that,” he said quietly. “I do want to say one thing, though, and you would be wise not to rip up at me until you hear me out.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” she muttered.
“Ah, Robby, if only I could believe that,” he said, shaking his head. “However, the next time you rebuke a servant—or fly out at me in anger—consider first how much more you can achieve by doing so privately.”
She nodded. “I do know better. Father was always respectful. He tried to teach me and Rab, but”—she swallowed hard—“but we both have such fiery tempers that…”
“I understand about fiery tempers,” he said.
She looked away, bit her lip to keep from smiling at the understatement, and then looked back at him to say, “By my troth, Dev, I will strive to remember.”
“Then I will, too,” he said. He held her gaze, and suddenly, she could almost feel his warm lips against hers again. Then, hastily, he added, “Meantime, I expect you should rejoin Rosalie and Janet before one of them comes looking for you.”
“I must see Benjy to bed first,” she said.
“I’ll see to the laddie,” Dev said. “I want a word with him, too.”
“Mercy, what has he done?”
“That, Robby-lass, is between Benjy and me. But don’t worry; I’m not angry with him. I just want to get to know him better.”
Chapter 11
Robina felt Dev’s gaze until she rounded the first curve in the stairway. Glancing back, she listened for his footsteps and was relieved to hear none. The landing for the laird’s chambers lay ahead, with her own room and Benjy’s above it.
A peek into Benjy’s room revealed only his neatly-made cot, so he had likely run outside to enjoy the improving weather and longer-lasting daylight.
The solar was above, in an angle with two chambers flanking it. The one that shared its landing had been Rab’s. The other had a half-landing two steps higher.
Above, under the ramparts, were the Greenlaws’ room and some smaller ones that shared a narrow central walkway.
Entering the solar, she found Rosalie and Janet chatting and joined them, pulling some of Benjy’s mending from the basket there before she sat down.
Reaching for a pile of multicolored fabrics on a table near the window seat, Rosalie said, “Before you begin sewing, my dear, I want you to see these fabrics. I brought things for Janet and Bella, as I always do, and I thought of you when I saw these, especially this lovely saffron-gold silk. It will make up into a splendid gown for you to wear for Beltane.”
“Mercy, madam, I cannot afford such fine goods,” Robina said, eyeing them with quiet envy.
“Faith, I bring them as gifts. One cannot make up for years of neglect—”
“But you lived in England with an English husband,” Robina protested. “Truly, madam, no one here expected you to visit us, let alone to bring gifts. I’d wager that, in those days, it could have cost you your life to come here.”
Rosalie shrugged. “I disagree, but I understand why you’d think so, living as near the line as you do. At Elishaw, we were almost as often on the English side as the Scottish, because the line so often changed, but my mother was English, so I had cousins on both sides. Then my brother, Simon, declared for Scotland, so Elishaw is Scottish now.”
“Even so, madam—”
“My name is Rosalie,” she said. “If you must be formal, call me ‘cousin’ or Cousin Rosalie. ‘Madam’ always makes me think of older women like my mother,” she added with an impish grin.
As if she were not an “older woman,” herself, Robina thought, suppressing a smile as she agreed. Then, noting a twinkle in Janet’s eyes, she knew that Janet felt the same fond amusement and returned her attention to the fabrics.
“I hope you won’t be difficult about these, my dear,” Rosalie said.
“I am not so ungrateful,” Robina said. “It is just…”
“Just consider the greater likelihood of attracting suitors if you dress becomingly,” Rosalie said when she paused. “I know that Sir David agrees with me. Janet and I can help you with your hair, too.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” Robina demanded, and was instantly sorry. “Pray, forgive me, cousin. I am grateful and I welcome your advice. But—”
“But you are tired of being told what to do, aye?” Rosalie said. “I knew the instant I mentioned Sir David that I’d taken a misstep,” she added. “I vowed I would not do that, that I would be the soul of tact and discretion… not that I have ever attempted either virtue successfully. But one does imagine that one ought to try.”
Robina smiled then, recognizing a kindred spirit.
Dev found Benjy in the yard, playing a form of hoodman-blind with stable lads, who were all older and larger than he was. They wore hoods and were trying to capture a hoodless Benjy, who carried a string of small, noisy bells in each hand.
As Dev watched, Benjy wadded the bells in both hands, slipped silently between two of his would-be captors, and skipped away from the milling group. All of them were reaching out blindly, grabbing each other, and likely thought the boy was standing still.
Instead, he ran lightly and silently in his bare feet to the far side of the yard, where the sheepdog, Tig, lay alertly watching him. Bending as if to pet the dog, Benjy wrapped both strings of bells around Tig’s neck. Then, with a sweep of his arm, he sent the dog running around the group of older lads and watched with delight as they stumbled over their feet and tried to catch Tig.
Benjy saw Dev then and grinned. Motioning the dog back to him, he snatched at the bells, caught one string, and waved the dog around again with the remaining one. Shaking the string in his hand, Benjy dashed toward the gate, away from Tig. Half of his opponents moved toward the boy. The others followed the dog.
Then Tig rejoined him, and Benjy collected the second string and signaled for the dog to lie down again.
Dev motioned for the boy to join him.
Nodding, Benjy headed straight through the lads who were seeking him, ringing his bells as he went.
One of them—Dev thought it was Shag’s son Hobby—reached out and caught the boy’s tunic. But Benjy had untied its laces and easily slipped out of it.
“Here now, ye young deevil, that be cheating!”
“ ’Tis not; ye ha’ to catch me!” Benjy shouted back, only to run full tilt into one of the others, who held on to him.
Laughing, Benjy surrendered. “Your turn to be prey now,” he said cheerfully to his captor. “I’ll take your hood.”
“The sun has set, Benjy,” Dev said. “Time to come inside and let these lads finish any chores they have left and get to bed themselves.”
“Aye, sure,” the boy said, handing the hood back to the lad and running to Dev. “That was fun,” he said, grinning.
Ruffling his curls, Dev said, “It looked like fun, but that lad was right. You did cheat when you gave the bells to Tig.”
“I know, but our Rab said that if a man needed to catch a breath, that was one way to find time for it, if the dog would cooperate. Tig follows my signals.”
“I saw that. You and Rab have trained your dogs well, but come along now. I’m going to walk upstairs with you. I have something I want to discuss with you.”
“Are you vexed wi’ me then?”
“No, just curious about some things.”
“Tell me what they be as we walk, then.”
Dev almost told him that they should talk privately but realized that they could discuss one subject, at least. He said, “I was wondering if you might like a lad to help look after your things, the way my man, Coll, looks after me.”
“But Coll is your squire, is he not, and squires dinna look after bairns. Also, Beany said I must learn to look after me own things.”
“She is right. However, I doubt there is any rule against your having some help whilst you learn such things. You are rather old for women to be tucking you up at night, changing your bedding, and helping you dress, are you not?”
“I am that,” Benjy said with feeling. “When our Rab was here, he’d tell me stories after I was in bed,” he added with a sigh. “He told me about great battles, and about heroes like William Wallace and the Bruce. Beany tells me tales o’ wee folk and funny things that our mam and dad or Rab used to do. I like both sorts, but I dinna need anyone to put me to bed. I ken fine how to get m’self there.”
“I know some tales that I could tell you,” Dev said when they reached the landing outside the boy’s door and Benjy opened the door.
Turning with a grin, he said, “I’d wager you ken some good ones, too.”
“I do,” Dev said, following him in and shutting the door. “I might think of a short one now to tell before I return to Lord Buccleuch. He awaits me downstairs, likely plotting to defeat me again at chess, but there is another matter I want us to discuss first.”
“That does sound as if ye’re vexed,” Benjy said, eyeing him doubtfully.
“I’m not, I promise. In fact, the boot may be on the other foot, laddie, because I overheard something you said to his lordship.”
Benjy frowned. “What was it?”
“You said you expected that I’d leave here or die, as your mam and dad and Rab did. You were speaking to his lordship in confidence, but I kept listening. Perhaps you would liefer I had not, Benjy, but I want you to know that I mean to stay here and see that you and Robina—and Coklaw—keep safe.”
“I ken fine that ye mean that, Dev,” Benjy said solemnly. “But men dinna choose their deaths, do they, or their bounden duties.”
“That’s true,” Dev admitted. “But I promised Rab as he lay dying that I’d look after you and Coklaw, and see that you grow into a good man and a good laird. You’re right to think of duty, and you know I owe mine to the Douglas and his grace, the King. The likelihood of either demanding service from me right now, though, is small. His grace is in the North, trying to tame his cousin, the Lord of the Isles, and will be there for some time. The Douglas sent me here and expects me to keep Coklaw from the greedy English.”
“What if you do have to fight?”
“Then I’ll arrange for my father and the Scotts to send men to look after you here. In any event, I’d like you to put your trust in me, Benjy. I don’t insist that you do so, because one has to earn trust by being trustworthy. But do think about that, will you?”
“Aye, sure, Dev. I didna ken that ye’d promised our Rab whilst he were a-dying. But if a man makes such a promise, he must keep it, aye? Did ye swear as a Borderer?”
“Aye, laddie, I did,” Dev assured him.
“Then that’s how it will be. If ye think I should have a lad to help me look after me gear, I’m willing. I dinna think Beany will m
ind if I tell her that I’ll learn to do it all m’self, too. So, now will you tell me a story?”
Robina spent the rest of the evening with Rosalie and Janet in the solar. Rosalie’s woman, Potter, joined them when she came to ask when her mistress wished to retire and stayed because Rosalie asked her to help them advise Robina.
Squirming while the attire-woman looked her over from tip to toe, Robina held her tongue when Potter said, “As ye’ll likely agree, mistress, her ladyship should confine her hair more tidily. Them plaits be too heavy and come loose too easily. She’s still a maiden, so she need not wear a veil, but some nice netting would—”
“I’d liefer you not discuss me as if I were a plant to prune,” Robina interjected then. “Nor do I want to stuff my hair in a net. I like it as it is, because I can tend to it mysel—”
Catching Janet’s dancing gaze and the slight shake of her flaxen head, she broke off, saying, “You are all determined to make me miserable.”
“Not miserable, dearling,” Rosalie said. “But if you want a husband, you must—”
“I don’t want a husband,” Robina said impatiently. “I have Benjy to look after, and I love it here at Coklaw. Nor have I met anyone with whom I’d liefer spend my life. Men are too quick to command and rarely heed anyone save other men of their rank or higher.”
“I won’t argue that with you,” Rosalie said. “But I can assure you, dearling, a married woman has more freedom and power in her home than a sister does. I know, because I was a sister first and then a wife. As a widow with a generous portion, I make my own decisions now. Imagine how glorious it is to do that!”
“You have told me that before, cousin, and almost does that persuade me. However, I cannot seek a husband merely to murder him so I may join your company.”
With a burst of laughter, Rosalie said, “I am so glad I decided to come to you, my dearling. You cannot imagine how many times I wanted to murder Richard Percy.”
From then until Robina and Janet retired to their beds and Rosalie to hers, she entertained them with tales of life in England. Many of her tales drew laughter, but several made Robina wonder how she had stood it for so long.