Tamed by a Laird

by Amanda Scott

  Then she said bluntly, “Now will ye agree that we ought to ha’ stayed at home?” The words were barely out of her mouth before she clapped a hand to it and stared guiltily at Jenny. “Och, but I ought never to speak to ye so, me—”

  “Don’t be daft, Peg,” Jenny interjected quickly. “We are cousins, are we not? You may say what you like. However, although we may have been daft to come here, here we are and here we’ll stay until we leave. So we must make the best of it. Where do you suppose we go to relieve ourselves in this great place?”

  Peg did not know but went to ask one of the other women.

  As Jenny watched her make her way through the busy minstrels, a burst of laughter from somewhere in the crowd drew a smile.

  When Peg returned, she said with a rueful look, “The men just piss through grating in the forecourt into yon ditch, one o’ the gleewomen told me. They ha’ put buckets about for the women, but we’d ha’ nowt save our skirts for privacy. She said if we could wait till we go in for supper, the castle commander ha’ said he’ll let the women go twoby-two to use the garderobe tower.”

  “Then that is what we’ll do,” Jenny declared, determined to wait if she burst.

  As it was, they kept busy arranging their space and watching to see how others arranged theirs. Jenny noted that most members of the company took care to identify their spaces. The two fools had coverlets made of patchwork motley similar to their costumes, which amused her until she learned that they never let any bit of fabric go to waste but used the coverlets as a way to store bits they could add to their costumes as other bits wore through.

  They all went in to supper at last, and found men-at-arms setting up a long trestle just for the company. Jenny felt relief just knowing they’d not be scattered all over the stark hall. The walls were bare stone, their only decorations the rows of weapons hanging on them. Every sign of the powerful Bruce family was gone.

  Guards stood close to their table as they ate—too close, Jenny thought, careful to keep her eyes on her trencher. Members of the company, other than the musicians playing for their supper, talked quietly together as if the guards did not exist. But Jenny was well aware of them and knew that Peg was, too.

  When Jenny finished eating, she murmured, “I must visit the garderobe before I have to sing, Peg. So, if you have finished—”

  “I have and all,” Peg muttered back. “ ’Tis poor food these men eat, I tell ye, although there do seem to be plenty of it.”

  They excused themselves, and Peg asked one of two nearby, helmeted men-at-arms where they would find the garderobe. He pointed toward an archway at the southeast corner of the hall, which revealed stairs beyond. Leering at Peg, he said, “We’d fain escort ye upstairs, lassies, to see that nae one disturbs ye there.”

  “Thank you, sir, but we can look after ourselves,” Jenny said quietly.

  His eyebrows shot upward. “Can ye now? Well, ye’re quite the lady, lass! Should I be bending me knee to ye, d’ye think?”

  “Nay, sir, though I thank ye kindly for the compliment,” she said. “Come along, Peg. We must hurry.”

  “Ye do that now,” the man said, lewdly licking his lips.

  Doing her best to conceal her revulsion and hoping the fellow would not follow them, she hurried with Peg to the archway, only to hear footsteps echoing after theirs as they hurried up the stairs.

  They found the required chamber easily, and found, too, that it would admit both of them at once. Without compunction they drew the curtain and made use of the facility. But when Peg pushed the curtain aside again, they found that the two men-at-arms were quietly waiting for them.

  “Sakes, but ye’re a toothsome pair,” the spokesman said when Jenny glared at him. “There be a chamber just above that’ll take the four of us easily, so if ye’ll lead the way, me ladies, I promise ye’ll not regret it. We pay well for our pleasures, and ’tis long since we last had any such tasty lasses here in the castle.”

  Peg’s jaw dropped, but Jenny said, “I fear we canna go with ye, sirs, for your commander awaits us below. He has bespoken our presence and will doubtless be wroth an we keep him waiting.”

  “He canna want more than one o’ ye at a time,” the second man said, his patience clearly waning. “Which o’ ye has the man bespoken?”

  “I am to sing for him, and she is to play the lute,” Jenny said.

  “Aye, well, I expect ye can play your own lute, so we’ll just take this lassie along to amuse us till he’s finished with ye.” As he reached to grasp Peg’s arm, a dagger hissed through the air between them, catching the leather sleeve of his baldric and pinning it to a wooden panel set into the wall behind him.

  With a cry of astonishment, he stared at his sleeve.

  “What the devil!” exclaimed his companion.

  Gillygacus, the much smaller of the two fools, tumbled onto the landing, rolled into a ball, and sat upright, chuckling as he said over his shoulder. “Ay de mi, but ’twere a fine throw, Gawkus! Ye nipped his sleeve and pinned it to the board!”

  “By God,” the other man-at-arms said, reaching for his sword.

  “Hold there, sir, if you please,” lanky, whitefaced Gawkus said as he came into view with a dagger in each hand. “Ye may well slay us both wi’ yon great sword o’ yours. But I’ve two more dirks in hand, so I’m thinking ye’d be safer an ye let our women return to the hall. Your commander gave his word that every member of our company will be safe within these walls. I warrant he’d be gey displeased to hear that ye’re making game wi’ two of our womenfolk.”

  “It be nowt, Gawkus,” Jenny said, hoping she was right. “These men were just making sure that we could safely use the garderobe. But now that you and Gilly are here, we need trouble them no further.” Bobbing a slight curtsy to both Englishmen at once, she said, “We thank ye, sirs, and shall commend your care of us to your commander. ’Twas kind o’ ye both to look after us so well.”

  The spokesman gave her a look, then glanced at his comrade.

  As he did, wee Gillygacus reached up on tiptoe, yanked the dagger free of the wood panel, and tossed it back to Gawkus, who caught it handily.

  The man whose sleeve had been pinned to the panel lunged to catch the dwarf, but he’d already skipped beyond reach and now cheekily tipped his cap.

  Hastily, Jenny said, “We thank ye again, both o’ ye, for looking out for us. Mayhap ye’ll come down now to hear me sing.”

  Gawkus said not a word. With daggers still in hand, he gestured silently for Gilly to go down the stairs.

  Casting a last glance at the men-at-arms, the little man obeyed.

  Jenny said, “Ye go on, too, Gawkus. We’ll follow, and our friends can see that we return safely. Ye will do that, will ye no?” she said to the spokesman.

  “Aye, mistress, we’ll see ye come to nae harm,” the man said.

  She held his gaze for a long moment, then gestured to Peg to precede her, and the two of them hurried back down to the hall without further ado.

  Her performance followed soon afterward, and the reaction was as warm as it had been at Castle Moss. At the end of it, when she saw that the men who had accosted them were also cheering, she felt herself relax. Even so, she and Peg stayed close to the other minstrels until they were outside in their allotted space.

  The courtyard was a damply chilled and dreary place. But Jenny had no doubt that after such a long and tiring day, she would sleep well.

  “We pay well for what we want, and ’tis long since we had such a chance… in the castle,” Cath’s man said.

  Jenny glowered at him, shocked that he would speak so to her and wishing she could recall his name. It hovered at the edge of her mind but refused to reveal itself.

  Cath, appearing between them, snapped, “So this be where ye’ve come, then!”

  Sounding absurdly as if he spoke to himself, the man said, “There be a more private place yonder, but make nae mistake. Ye’ll do all I tell ye to do.”

  Cath had vanished, so Jenny
knew the man was speaking to her. Sakes, he stood right in front of her. She could see him talking, and no one else was there. He was no longer Cath’s husband, though. He was an English manat-arms.

  “Gey toothsome,” he had called them earlier. “A pair of tasty lasses.”

  The villain!

  “So, I’ll just take ye along…” he said sourly.

  “… and our friend Archie the Grim won’t ken nowt of it till afterward, if he does even then. Nor will Old Bleary.”

  “Whisst, ye great gowk. Old Bleary, indeed!”

  How odd, she thought, that the man talked to himself in such a strange way.

  “Is that no what they call him?”

  “Aye, but whisst now, will ye?”

  Waking, feeling almost numb with cold, and uncertain whether the man in her dream or someone nearby had made the last comment, Jenny opened her eyes.

  The dim glow of torchlight over the courtyard revealed several pairs of men moving about. Most looked like menat-arms.

  Deciding she had dreamed the whole thing and had wakened because of the cold, she pulled up her blanket, snuggled closer to Peg, and went back to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  Sunday morning, Hugh and Lucas arrived at Lochmaben just as the sun’s first rays peeked through the space between low rose-colored clouds and the hills to the east. They had left Castle Moss well before dawn and had made good time.

  An hour later, they were waiting with their two sumpter baskets for a boat to come and take them across the last ditch into the castle. In the intervening time, they had arranged to leave their horses with lads watching the minstrels’ animals and Hugh had talked their way past the sentries at each of the three drawbridges.

  The air had grown colder overnight, making the gentle breeze icy. Thinking wistfully of the hooded wool cloak in his gear, Hugh drew his long purple silk cape more closely around him and wished his plumed cap came lower over his ears.

  The smell of snow in the air was stronger today, and clouds gathered over hills to the east and south as they had each day for a week. But whether they would do more than thicken and threaten as they had before or dissipate again during the night would be important only if Lochmaben denied them entry.

  Lucas was muttering, but Hugh ignored him, because the castle gates had begun to swing open. Aside from men manning the drawbridges from secure stone towers on the castle side of each of three previous ditches, he had seen no guards outside the castle wall. They’d had to shout to men on the wall.

  Hugh knew that harassment from Scots in the dale had made the precautions necessary. The life of English soldiers occupying a Scottish castle miles from the border must be unpleasant. Yet the English had controlled Lochmaben for decades.

  His private opinion was that the Scots could rout them if a strong leader had the stomach for it. David Bruce, the previous King, had not been such a leader. That he could carry his famous father’s blood in his veins and refuse to fight for freedom from English occupation had mystified many Scots. But David was dead, succeeded by Robert the Steward, a man reputed to have been a fine warrior.

  And so he had been—in his youth.

  The third anniversary of the Steward’s coronation was nearly upon them, and so far, he had done nothing to justify his warrior reputation. He was in his sixth decade; his eyes were always bloodshot, and men said he seemed only half awake most of the time. Those who knew him best called him Old Bleary.

  His sons were no prizes either. But Robert the Bruce had decreed that the King’s eldest son must succeed him, thus ending the ancient practice of Scotland’s most powerful nobles’ choosing the worthiest man among them to be King of Scots. But Bruce’s method had clearly weakened the Scottish Crown and, in Hugh’s opinion, even threatened Scotland’s future as a nation.

  A boat now appeared in the open gateway, with two men rowing a third. They did not seem to be in any hurry.

  “D’ye honestly think they’ll let us in?” Lucas muttered.

  “I believe they’ll let me in. I’m hoping they’ll keep you out.”

  Lucas’s bushy dark eyebrows shot upward. “Ye’re hopin’?” He looked toward the sky. “Behear the man! Have I offended ye then by tellin’ ye flat that ye be daft as muck to be walkin’ into t’ English lion’s mouth like ye’re a-doin’?”

  “Nowt o’ the sort, and you know it,” Hugh said. “We ken fine that the English have spies everywhere, including a number of Scots, may the devil seize them. ’Tis likely that someone from this lot has seen us traveling together.”

  “Aye, that be true.”

  “It is, and for that someone to wonder, after I’d got inside, what had become of the dour chap who was with me would be a nuisance. But if they refuse to let you in and you camp nearby, they’ll just think you’re waiting for me. They won’t molest you even if you make friends with the lads tending the minstrels’ beasts.”

  “But won’t the English be keepin’ their eyes on me?”

  “What if they do?” Hugh said. “They’ll seek signs to suggest that we might represent a military threat. I don’t mean to give them cause for such worry, nor will you. I do want you to learn what you can, however.”

  “I’m thinkin’ we should ’ave waited patiently ’ere for them minstrels to come out again,” Lucas muttered.

  “But I want to talk to her ladyship without stirring a lot of curiosity. That is much more likely to happen if I can meet her quietly inside than if I have to persuade the minstrels that I have any right to speak to her as they travel. Moreover, we’ve no idea where they mean to go next from here.”

  “They’ll be a-goin’ to Dumfries.”

  “Aye, in time,” Hugh agreed. “But we don’t know how soon or where they might go in the meantime. Sithee, I’m just being cautious—as you suggested.”

  “Och, aye, ye’re right cautious, ye are,” Lucas said with a snort.

  “Hush,” Hugh said. “They’re near enough now to hear you.”

  Lucas fell obediently silent as the boat beached nearby.

  The three men in it were well armed. Two drew swords as they stepped ashore but stayed by the boat. The third strode forward, content to keep a hand on his sword hilt as he said, “What be ye a-wanting here, ye two?”

  Doffing his plumed cap with a flourish as he swept a deep bow that made the purple cape billow, Hugh said, “I am told that your imprisonment in this great castle marches slowly. I’ve come to provide music and laughter for your entertainment.”

  The man shrugged. “We’ve nae need o’ ye, though. We’ve a whole company o’ minstrels inside—fools, jugglers, gleewomen—all sorts.”

  Hugh straightened and looked down his nose at the man. “Good sakes, am I not aware of this company? In sooth, I come to join them, having been detained in Annan town to sing for Lord Dunwythie because of my great talent. ’Twas he who sent me after them, knowing me to be the finest troubadour in all Scotland.”

  “Aye, well, ye’re a pensie, pompous prink withal, and right full o’ yourself.”

  Hugh dismissed the comment with an airy gesture. “I have performed in many countries,” he said. “Soon I will perform for the King of Scots on the anniversary of his ascension to the throne. But, in kindness, I deign to perform here at Lochmaben for you English. And I tell you, sirrah, your commander will be gey wroth with you if you cause him to miss hearing the fine songs and epic tales of the great Hugo.”

  Replacing his plumed cap, Hugh waited, hoping he had said enough and not too much. It was years since he had last pretended to be other than himself. He took care to avoid Lucas’s gloomy gaze.

  “Ye say ye be with them others inside?” the English leader said.

  “Not to say with them,” Hugh said. “I come to join them. The so powerful Lord Dunwythie said I should do so, because they go on from here to Dumfries and then to the fine new castle of the Lord of Galloway, who is shortly to honor the King of Scots.” He spread his hands. “And so, did the matter arrange itself.”


  “Mayhap it did,” the soldier said. “What of this man? Does he sing?”

  Hugh winced. “Nay, he possesses an eldritch voice. He is only my servant.”

  “Then he must remain here,” the soldier said. “Ye’ll come with us in the boat and wait in the forecourt whilst I speak with our commander.”

  “Then I shall need to take one of those baskets,” Hugh said with a sigh. “The one with my lute, Bouchard.”

  Lucas gave him a look that told him he recalled from a previous occasion that Bouchard meant “big mouth” in French. But he nodded and handed Hugh the basket.

  “If our commander refuses to hear ye sing, he may order ye chained and cast into our dungeon,” the leader of the boatmen warned.

  Hugh shrugged. “He will not be such a fool.”

  They put him in the bow of the boat and rowed back to the castle. Hugh saw Lucas dismally shaking his head before the gates swung shut behind them.

  He knew that Lucas would stay close and keep an eye out for trouble. What he would do if he spotted any, he did not know. But Lucas was resourceful.

  Putting other thoughts aside, Hugh concentrated on looking confident and relaxed. He was neither. It was not the first time he had walked into the English lion’s mouth with no weapon other than a dirk shoved into one boot, but it was the first time he had done so while the two countries were supposedly at peace.

  He did not think the English would care one way or the other about a Scottish baroness pretending to be a gleemaiden. However, if they discovered they had two noble landowners inside Lochmaben, both pretending to be what they were not, the English commander would be well within his rights to declare them spies and hang them or—and much more likely—hold each of them for a large ransom.

  The hall was unnaturally quiet as Jenny walked toward the dais, where the castle commander and his officers sat in state. She stopped by the lone stool below it, reminding herself that they had liked her performance the night before and that it was all part of her adventure. Holding her head high, she strove to look serene.