Tamed by a Laird

by Amanda Scott

  It had long since occurred to him that taking Lady Easdale—Jenny—away by force or anything resembling force would prove difficult if not impossible.

  Whatever he did, he felt sure that the minstrels would side with their Bonnie Jenny if she continued to resist his efforts. Therefore, he decided, it would behoove him to discover a way of persuading her without making them choose sides.

  “Bryan says I should make m’self useful tonight to the women what do the mending, mistress,” Peg said in a tone low enough that Jenny did not reprove her for the formality. “I think I should, though I want to watch the fools when they practice. It always makes me laugh to see wee Gilly outsmart that great Gawkus.”

  Jenny smiled. She, too, liked Gilly and Gawkus. The two seemed to have been keeping a protective eye on her, and on Peg, as well.

  Sir Hugh’s man—for the stranger in their midst, with his own horses and leading a sumpter pony, must be Sir Hugh’s man—seemed to be keeping at least one eye on them. She had seen Peg riding one of his horses during the afternoon while he led it and the other one, with the sumpter trailing behind them.

  “Have you arranged our sleeping places?” Jenny asked Peg now.

  “Aye, yonder,” she said, pointing. “There be a big clearing beyond it, where Bryan did tell me we’re to meet after we sup, so the minstrels can practice all they’ll do in the market square tomorrow. Mayhap the sheriff will come to see if they be worth the gelt he’s paying for them, Bryan said, so they want to perform well.”

  They walked toward their sleeping place as they talked, making it easy for Jenny to hide her reaction to this second mention of the sheriff in so short a time. If Sir Hugh identified himself as Laird of Thornhill and asked the sheriff to help him take quiet custody of Lord Dunwythie’s rebellious ward, she feared he would agree.

  It occurred to her then that perhaps it had been no more than Gib’s mention of the sheriff’s likely presence that had stirred her uneasiness before.

  “Some do say t’ sheriff may attend this practice tonight,” Lucas said as he deftly sorted Hugh’s things. “Happen ye should grow a beard like.”

  “Before the sheriff arrives?”

  “Nah then, nae one can grow a beard in an hour. I’m just saying—”

  “I ken fine what you’re saying. Now hush and let me think. I’ll wear the purple cape again and the soft black cap, but I want its plume attached so it will conceal more of one side of my face. It matters not which side.”

  “Ye’ve met t’ man afore, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Aye, several times,” Hugh admitted. “Not for two or three years, though. One of his minions has collected the Thornhill taxes since my father died.”

  Lucas dismissed the years and the sheriff’s minions with a gesture. “T’ minute ye start to sing and the man sees your face, he’ll ken fine who ye be.”

  “I doubt it,” Hugh said. “Men see what they expect to see. Maxwell cannot know yet that Lady Easdale left Annan House, so he’ll not recognize her in Bonnie Jenny. Nor will he expect to see the Laird of Thornhill in troubadour’s clothing.”

  Lucas shook his head. “Yon troubadour’s garb be gey close to what a nobleman wears, m’lord. That purple cloak of yours be pure silk.”

  “Have faith, Lucas,” Hugh said. “I have a plan.”

  When Jenny joined the others in the clearing after a hasty supper, she was astonished at the number of people who had come. Clearly, news of their arrival had preceded them, because it looked as if most of Dumfries, if not folks from miles around the town, had come to watch them practice.

  That was surprising enough. What was more so was the chanting that began midway through the dancers’ performance. For a time, she did not catch the words.

  When she did, she did not know where to look.

  “Bonnie Jenny, Bonnie Jenny,” they chanted. “We want Bonnie Jenny.”

  Repeatedly, their voices gaining strength and volume, they chanted.

  Wishing that she could disappear into the ground, she turned abruptly away, only to find Sir Hugh right behind her, smiling.

  It was the first time she had seen him smile, and she felt its warmth. She also noted, to her surprise, an element of sympathy in it.

  The chanting continued.

  Sir Hugh’s gaze shifted to a point to her left, behind her.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  “The Sheriff of Dumfries has arrived, I believe.”

  “Aye,” she said, eyeing him warily now. “People said he might come.”

  “Also, the Joculator is trying to get your attention. He looks pleased, lass.”

  It was also the first time he had called her “lass” without first nearly calling her “my lady.” But the sheriff’s arrival had not stopped the chanting.

  Swallowing, looking straight ahead—at the middle of Sir Hugh’s chest—and fighting to retain her composure, she said, “I… I’m not sure I can face that.”

  “Aye, sure, you can,” he said. “Just imagine the whole lot of them, sheriff and all, stark naked and standing on their heads.”

  Her vivid imagination promptly produced such a picture, and a choke of laughter escaped her. Squeezing her eyes shut only made it worse. As most of the chanting voices were male, in her mind’s eye, she saw a forest of waving bandy-legs and male appendages.

  “Come along,” Sir Hugh said, chuckling. “I’ll walk with you. I’ve had an idea for a song that I think might be amusing.”

  She went willingly, finding comfort in his presence. She was not shy, because her father had been painfully so and she had often had to serve as his spokesman when he had not felt up to speaking for himself. But never before had she had to face an audience filled with such high expectations of her.

  Singing at Castle Moss and at Lochmaben had been much like singing at home. Although individuals in an audience might criticize, most sought only a good time. At home, others had also contributed their talents on such occasions, so one had simply done one’s best and stepped aside for the next performer.

  As they made their way toward the Joculator, who stood near the audience, Sir Hugh asked her if she knew a song called “Donsie Willie.” She nodded, pleased with his choice. Describing a Border romance between an innocent girl and a lad with a reputation for mischief, the song had some twenty verses with distinctive characters all telling their bits of the tale, and was particularly fun to sing.

  “If I were to sing the men’s verses and you the women’s,” he said, “I think we’d have something special that we could do whenever we sing together.”

  “Do you mean to stay for some time then?”

  “I did not say that,” he said, darting another glance at the sheriff. “Sithee, all these people want you to sing. I just thought it would be easier if we began together.”

  She nodded as if she understood. But he had said “whenever” they sang together, so she decided he must have reconciled himself to staying in Dumfries for at least a day or two longer.

  As they neared the circle cleared for the entertainers, she saw that jugglers had followed the dancers. Although the chanting for her had eased a little, it continued to provide a low, rhythmic background for the performers.

  “Ye’ll go next, Jenny,” the Joculator said.

  “She’s a bit skittish, sir,” Hugh said, putting a light, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I thought perhaps a comic song that we both know might ease the way.”

  “Aye, sure,” the Joculator said, visibly noting the hand on Jenny’s shoulder and giving Hugh a speculative look.

  Jenny saw both and felt a stab of guilt, recalling the fib she had told him about Sir Hugh wanting her. Nibbling her lower lip, she avoided Hugh’s gaze but did not reject his touch.

  Chapter 7

  Hugh could see that the Joculator was still unsure of him but wondered what Jenny was thinking to bring such a look of guilt to her face. He had no time to think about it, though, before the Joculator turned and gestured to a horn player, w
ho instantly produced a fanfare.

  Scanning the crowd as the Joculator announced them, Hugh located the sheriff’s party by the shire’s banner flying above them.

  The audience fell silent, their expectation nearly palpable. Hugh had seen such reactions before and the resulting uproar if the performers fell short of expectation. He doubted that would be the case tonight.

  The clouds had parted, the half moon gleamed overhead, and torches bathed the central area in soft, orange-gold light.

  Noting frowns on a number of faces in the audience when he strode forward first, Hugh bowed deeply to Jenny, careful to keep the plumed side of his face toward the sheriff, and gestured her forward.

  Jenny came to him, moving with easy grace and smiling as she curtsied, first to him and then to the audience. She had also noted the sheriff’s position, because she looked that way and nodded before she turned back to Hugh. Then she plucked the first notes of their tune and began to sing.

  The first verse of the song described a gentle, innocent lassie and her love for Donsie Willie despite his many sins and lack of repentance.

  Hugh replied with the second verse in the exaggerated accents and tone of an angry Border father outraged by his daughter’s choice and determined to forbid the banns. As he sang, he heard delighted chuckles from the audience.

  When Jenny sang the next verse, that of the worried mother, she, too, exaggerated her accent and feelings until, once again, she seemed to lose herself in the music. Back and forth they went, to the increasing delight of their audience.

  By the end, when Hugh sang of his joy as a reformed Willie outsmarting the lass’s determinedly doubting father, and the father’s responses, shifting accents as he did, the audience clearly was finding it hard to suppress laughter long enough to hear the words.

  Stepping back at last, he waited for the applause to die before plucking the first notes of the love song he had sung with Jenny at Lochmaben.

  She quickly picked up the cue and began to sing the first verse.

  Altogether, they sang four songs before the Joculator stepped forward again as the audience cheered wildly.

  Tossing three clubs in the air, he quickly set them spinning in rapid rotation.

  As cheers faded to expectant silence, Gillygacus hurried in with three even larger clubs of his own, tossing and spinning them just as high and almost as fast.

  When the Joculator turned and glowered at him, the wee man stopped dead, clapped a hand to his head with his clubs crashing around him, snatched them up, and ran back the way he had come. As soon as the Joculator turned back, however, Gilly tiptoed out behind him, tossing the big clubs in the air and imitating the Joculator’s every move again until the Joculator produced his first dagger.

  Then, with a comical look of dismay, Gillygacus dropped his clubs and ran to hide behind Gawkus. When their turn came, they performed their skits and tricks with rapid repartee, much of it having to do with the sheriff, his minions, and the taxes they collected. The fools’ wit was sharp, their quips amusing. The audience loved it, and such was their skill that the sheriff laughed as much as anyone did.

  Hearing Jenny laugh, Hugh glanced at her and saw that she was as delighted as the audience was. “They are good, aren’t they?” he said.

  She nodded, shot him a thoughtful look, and then looked away again.

  “We should talk,” he said for her ears alone.

  She nodded but did not look at him.

  Hugh looked around. Everyone else seemed to be watching the fools, and he supposed that the other minstrels would watch each turn as critically as the audience did, if not more so.

  “They won’t need us again,” he said. “Let us walk away from here and talk.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. But she let him lead the way to a fallen log far enough away so that no one would hear them talking.

  “We can sit here if you like,” he said.

  “I think we should at least look as if we are watching the others,” she said.

  “Have you thought more about the wisdom of returning with me to Annan?”

  “I have no need to think,” she said. “I don’t want to go back until I must.”

  “You have a duty to obey your guardian,” he reminded her.

  “But you are not he, sir, and I owe you no duty.”

  It had not occurred to Hugh that she would doubt his word that he acted in Dunwythie’s stead. Nor, upon reflection, did he think she did. But if she were to claim that he had no authority, he had no way to prove otherwise.

  It occurred to him that Sheriff Maxwell would accept his word. But having no desire to reveal himself to the man in troubadour’s guise, he rejected that avenue. He did not need anyone’s help to deal with one defenseless young female.

  She was eyeing him as a puppy in expectation of supper might, so he said bluntly, “You would do better to obey his lordship’s wishes. And not just for your own sake. Doubtless you are unaware that some jewelry disappeared when you did.”

  “Jewelry!” She looked at him indignantly. “When I did!”

  “Aye,” he said, studying her. “Several guests reported pieces missing.”

  “You think I took them?”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You were thinking it!”

  “Nay, I was not. But I’d not be amazed to learn that Dunwythie, Phaeline, or both suspect that your Peg may have taken them.”

  “Peg would never do such a thing,” Jenny said. She frowned then as if she had had a second thought.

  “You sound sure of her but do not look so,” he said. “In troth, I do not suspect Peg, but I would like to know what gave you pause just now.”

  She hesitated, drew a breath, and then said with visible reluctance, “ ’Twas only that she was ready to leave when I entered my bedchamber and had already laid out my night things. But that was because she wanted to walk with her brother. She’d had no chance to speak much with him earlier, she said. Peg has served me now for months, sir. By my troth, I do not believe she would steal from anyone.”

  “I think it unlikely, too,” he admitted. “The minstrels fell under suspicion at once, of course. But apparently some things disappeared after they had left Annan.”

  “Well, Peg was with them, so she cannot have taken those jewels either.”

  “Your saying so may persuade me that she had nowt to do with it. But it is unlikely to satisfy Phaeline or a suspicious sheriff. Recall that as a member of the household, Peg enjoys first-head privileges and therefore would not be searched. If she is to persuade others of her innocence, you must be there to speak for her, lass.”

  “I will be then, but it cannot matter if I finish my adventure first,” she said. “Peg came with me and will return with me. I won’t let her suffer for her loyalty.”

  A short silence fell before he said gently, “You implied earlier today that you had something you wanted to confide to me. Will you tell me what it is, or have I proven myself undeserving of such a confidence?”

  Jenny’s breath caught in her throat. Having expected him to pursue his own course to the exclusion of all else, she had thought that he would continue to urge her return to Annan House. She had not expected him to invite her confidence.

  It was hardly the first time he had surprised her. His singing that very night had amazed her. She had already learned that he had a pleasing voice, speaking or singing. But as he sang the men’s parts of the song, he’d altered not only his accent but also his voice and appearance, to become the very characters telling the tale.

  In two instances, she had recognized traits of men in the minstrel company. His portrayal of the stern, indignant father displayed much of the Joculator with a touch of Dunwythie thrown in. The result had been so amusing that at times she’d had trouble keeping a steady voice to sing her own verses.

  He had inspired her, too, to put more feeling into the women’s parts of the story than she might have otherwise. He had also helped her forget herse
lf and the uneasiness she had felt at the prospect of singing to such a large, expectant audience.

  And now his willingness to listen to her made it seem wrong not to tell him of her odd feelings, especially in view of the missing jewelry and his mentioning Peg’s first-head privileges, which had reminded her of the knacker.

  Recalling that he was kin to Archie the Grim settled it. Despite his determination to take her back to Annan House, she instinctively trusted Sir Hugh. It seemed only right to share her feelings, however vague, with him.

  Wary of eavesdroppers, she glanced toward the shrubbery behind them. As far as torchlight and moonlight allowed her to see, the shrubbery there was particularly dense. No one else seemed to pay them heed, and his very presence calmed her, encouraging her to speak. Still, she kept silent.

  At last, he said, “You will have to answer me one way or another, you know. Have I put myself beyond the pale?”

  She did not want him to think she believed him un-trustworthy. And he had given her no cause to fear what he might say or do. Although he might easily have gone to the Joculator and told him he represented Dunwythie and had come to fetch his lordship’s errant ward home, he had not issued even the mildest threat to do so.

  Such a course would have proven almost as embarrassing as the scandal that her uncle feared would have—and potentially as damaging to her reputation. Clearly, Sir Hugh was protecting her name as carefully as he protected Dunwythie’s.

  She tried to gather these rambling thoughts but could seem only to marvel at his patience. Certain it could not last much longer, she blurted the first words that came to her: “I fear I may have stumbled onto some sort of intrigue.”

  Even in the dim light, she saw his eyebrows slant upward and could scarcely blame him. When had she decided that her unease had substance?

  He said mildly, “What manner of intrigue do you suspect, and who are the intriguers?” Blunt questions to which she had no solid answers.