by Amanda Scott
She gestured imperiously.
“I see Herself now,” he said to the lad. “You can go, but I do thank you.”
“Aye, sir. Ye’d no want to put her in a temper. Nae one would,” the lad said with the emphasis of unhappy experience. “But she’s a fine old trout, Herself is.”
“Old trout?”
“Aye, ’tis what me da called me own granddame sometimes. Means he liked her, he said. I like Herself gey fine, too, mostly.”
His sense of humor tickled by the boy’s earnest candor, Rob bent nearer and said confidingly, “So do I, lad, mostly. But don’t let me hear you call her an old trout again unless you want to stir my temper to the point where you will mind it.”
“Nay, I won’t, then. But ye’d best get a move on ye, sir. She’s looking a bit umbrageous already, t’ my way o’ thinking.”
“So she is,” Rob agreed, pressing a coin into the lad’s willing hand before striding to the dais and across it with a nod of greeting to his sister-in-law.
His grandmother, tall and stately in lavender silk with a surcoat of figured purple damask and a lavender veil, stepped back into the solar.
Following her, Rob noted the presence of his youngest nephew, five-year-old Sawny Maxwell, playing alone with a toy in the east-facing window corner. The little boy, seeing him, leaped to his feet and ran to him, shrieking his delight.
Catching him at the waist, Rob tossed him high in the air and caught him, still shrieking.
A white, long-haired cat curled on the settle in the window embrasure had sat bolt upright at the first shriek, with a narrow-eyed scowl at the child. Now it vanished into darkness under the settle.
“Hush now, Sawny lad,” Rob said as he raised the boy overhead again. “You’ve frightened our lady granddame’s cat.”
“Nay, Cheetie’s no frightened,” the boy said, grinning down at him. She hides ’cause she dinna want to nurse her kits anymore, Granddame said. Do it again!”
Rob obliged, catching the delighted boy with ease.
From behind him, his sister-in-law said, “Prithee, don’t throw him so high, Robert. Think how horrid it would be if you dropped him.”
“Uncle Rob willna drop me, Mam,” Sawny said with a grimace of disappointment as Rob stood him on his feet. “He’s gey strong.”
“He’s right, Cassia, I won’t,” Rob said, turning to her.
“You cannot be sure of that,” the lady Cassandra said, glancing back through the open doorway. “Moreover, Alexander does not like him to get overly excited.”
“Alexander can—”
“Robbie,” Lady Kelso said, mildly warning.
Obligingly biting back his opinion of Alex, Rob ruffled Sawny’s dark curls. “Do you dine in the hall with the grown-ups today, lad?” he asked the boy.
Noting Cassandra’s widening eyes, he was sure that had not been the plan.
But Lady Kelso said, “That is just what Cassia had decided, is it not, my dear?” Before Cassandra could deny it, had she dared, her ladyship added, “Why do you not take him out to the table and get him settled now, dearling. His father will be along soon, and I want a private word with Robert before we eat.”
“Of course, my lady,” Cassandra said. “Come, Sawny.”
Eyes alight, the child hugged Rob and went with his lady mother.
“That was neatly done, madam,” Rob said to Lady Kelso as the door shut behind the other two.
“It was hardly a masterstroke,” she said. “Cassia is far too meek to gainsay me. She is a kind and pleasant companion, but I’d like to see more spirit. Such meekness in a wife is not good for Alexander, or indeed, for any Maxwell. Abject submissiveness in a wife encourages strong men to think they can rule the world.”
“My wife, if ever I take one, had better not be too spirited,” Rob said, remembering some fierce quarrels between his outspoken grandmother and the late Lord Kelso. He disliked such battles. Memory suddenly stirred of Lady Mairi Dunwythie’s serene gray eyes.
The image evaporated when his grandmother said sharply, “Just what happened between you and your brother this time, my dear?”
“Nowt,” Rob said shortly. Meeting her disbelieving gaze, he said, “Nowt but what always happens. He sent me on a fool’s mission, and I failed to accomplish it. Rather than hear over and over how I’ve disappointed him again, I am returning to Trailinghail, where much work still awaits me.”
“Your grandfather did not leave Trailinghail to you so that you could bolt off there whenever you quarrel with Alex,” she said austerely.
Taken aback, Rob said, “Is that what you think I do? He said the same.”
Lady Kelso grimaced. “Alex behaves badly whenever he feels inadequate to a task, my dear. He grows chilly and carps to distance himself. You distance yourself in more physical ways. I did not mean to imply that you are cowardly, for you are nowt o’ the sort, as your grandfather might have said.”
“Thank you for that much, madam.”
She said dryly, “You almost manage the high tone, my dear. But you’ve not had nearly enough practice to carry it off with me. Where was I?”
“I distance myself physically; Alex gets icy.”
“My point is that, thanks to his being nearly fifteen years older than you are, you and he have never learned to talk to each other as brothers, let alone as friends. The fact is, Rob, that Alex had too much responsibility thrust upon him at too young an age. Had he been even as old as you are now when your father died—or had your grandfather and I lived nearby at the time, instead of in Stirling—he might have managed you more deftly.”
“What’s past is past and cannot be changed, Gran. But when he treats me as if I were still a bairn, as he did just now—”
“You’re a grown man, aye, but the troubles between you are as much your fault as his,” she said bluntly. “As much as he needs to learn that you are a strong and capable man, you need to try to understand his position. Moreover, you have a duty to aid him all you can. Instead of riding off in a pelter, you would do better to stay and talk it out with him.”
“Nay, I’ll not do that, for there is no talking to him now. He sent me to do the impossible because he wants what he wants and expects that if he cannot do it, someone else will do it for him—somehow. Mayhap someone else could. But, given the situation in Annandale, I doubt it.”
With a wry smile, she said, “I believe you. I was born there, as you know. We left soon afterward, but I’ve heard much about the independent nature of the dale.”
“Even so, he blames me entirely for the failure. And I have more important things to do than to stay and attempt more of the impossible.”
“Very well, you do know your own mind best,” Lady Kelso said. “But prithee, do not fling off in a temper. Bid Cassia a kind adieu if only because you do not want to make it difficult for her to receive you when you return, as you will. Also, I have some things I want to send with you to Trailinghail. So, go now and make your adieux whilst I collect them. I will meet you in the yard.”
Wondering what she could be fetching that she could not order a minion to fetch for her, and why she would go out to the yard just as the household was about to sit down to its midday meal, Rob nevertheless knew better than to ask. Instead, he bowed and went to bid Cassandra and Sawny good-bye.
Alex stepped onto the dais as Rob was leaving them, and asked curtly if he meant to go without dining.
“Aye, for there will be no moon tonight and it may rain again,” Rob replied. “Even if it does not, darkness will fall long before we reach the tower.”
Alex nodded and turned away, his jaw tight.
“Safe journey, Uncle Rob!” wee Sawny called from his place by his mother.
Rob waved, noting as he did that although Alex glanced toward the boy, he did not call him to order.
Nor did he send him from the table.
Chapter 4
Without further delay, Rob went out to find gillies saddling fresh horses for him and for the other men
from Trailinghail. His lads were tying bundles to their saddles, provisions for the journey. So he waited patiently for his grandmother.
She appeared some minutes later with a basket in hand. The black-haired lad who had shouted Rob down in the hall accompanied her.
“This is Jake MacCullie’s Gibby,” she said, putting her free hand on the boy’s scrawny shoulder. “Jake and his wife died of a fever last year. I have kept Gibby with me, but he needs a strong man to teach him how to go on. I had hoped to find someone suitable here. However, Alex has too many as it is, he says, so I bethought me of Fin Walters, at Trailinghail. He’d be just the man, I think.”
Rob nodded. Walters was his steward, married to a good-hearted lass, and had no bairns of his own yet. “He’ll take the lad in if you send him, and I’ve no objection. Do you think you would like to live by the sea in Galloway, lad?”
Gibby shrugged. “To me, one place be as good as another, Master Rob.”
“Have you a pony?”
One of his men, overhearing, said, “We saddled one for him, laird. Herself did send word out to us to do that soon after we arrived.”
Rob shot a look at his grandmother but said only, “What is in the basket?”
“Another one in need of a home,” she said. “Cheetie had a litter of five, and Alex said that any I leave when next I go a-visiting will have to be drowned. So I thought you might have use for a good mouser at Trailinghail. It would be fitting, as Cheetie herself was born there. Gibby can look after him until you get home.”
“Nay, then, me lady,” the boy protested. “That wee terror bites and scratches, and I dinna hold wi’ cats any road! Nor, they dinna like me any better.”
Taking the basket from her, Rob lifted the lid just enough to see a small, fluffy orange-and-white kitten with enormous golden eyes that instantly narrowed in wrath. As quick as lightning, the kitten tried to shove its head through the opening.
“Whoa, laddie,” Rob murmured, pushing it gently back inside and fixing the lid’s reed loop over its ring with a peg to hold it there. “Very well, madam,” he said. “I’ll take your wildcat and your orphan, too. Have you other commands for me?”
“Nay, my dearling,” Lady Kelso said with the quick, charming smile that Rob had inherited from her but rarely saw. “I think I have burdened you sufficiently to ensure an entertaining journey. I shall miss you, but I do mean to go a-visiting before returning here for Easter. Mayhap, before I go to Glasgow, I shall visit you at Trailinghail. That was ever one of my favorite places to stay.”
“You know you will always find a hearty welcome,” Rob said.
“I do know that,” she said, nodding. “I also know that unless you ride until midnight, you won’t get home today. ’Tis all of five-and-thirty miles after all.”
“Aye, well, we’ll see,” he said. “’Twould be but seven hours on a dry day. But we’ve already traveled more than fifteen miles today, and the forest tracks will be boggy from the rain. I’ll not mind making camp, if need be, but if we have clear starlit skies, I’ll want to push on home. In any event, we must go now,” he added, extending his free hand to her.
“I don’t want to shake your hand, Robbie-love,” she said, stepping close and putting her arms around him.
Hugging her as hard as he could without dropping the basket, he kissed her cheek and said, “I do hope you will visit us soon, Gran.”
“Just mind that you haven’t let the place go to rack and ruin before I do,” she said gruffly, stepping back. “You’ll suffer the rough side of my tongue if you have.”
Smiling, Rob watched as she walked stiff-backed away until she was inside the keep. Then, turning to his new young charge, he said, “Get you on your pony, lad. We’ve a long journey ahead, and I want to hear no more sauce from you.”
“Nay, then, I ken that fine,” Gibby said. “Just dinna make me mind that wee terror ye’ve got in yon basket. Then ye and me will get on fine.”
“We’ll get on better if you mind that cheeky tongue of yours,” Rob said.
“Aye, sure,” Gibby said, flinging himself onto the horse provided for him.
A quarter of an hour later, they crossed Devorgilla’s Bridge into Galloway. Below the bridge, the river Nith roiled in spate, its water so high that it threatened to invade the lowermost of the cottages on the steep hillside below the town.
“See how high the river can rise,” Rob said to his young companion, who had chosen without invitation, or command to do otherwise, to ride beside him. “Such dangerous spates as this are why we have Devorgilla’s Bridge.”
“Aye, sure,” Gibby said. “But ’ware now, sir! That wee terror’s a-trying to get out o’ his basket.”
Glancing at the basket he had tied to his saddle, Rob saw two small white paws poking out from under the lid, clearly seeking freedom for their owner.
Grinning, he reached back and pulled out the peg that held the lid in place. Flipping the reed loop off its ring with a fingertip, he opened the basket and deftly grabbed the kitten before it could fling itself out.
“Mind your fingers, laird,” the boy warned. “He’s gey fierce!”
“He won’t bite me,” Rob said confidently just as needle-sharp teeth buried themselves in the soft skin between his thumb and forefinger. Yelping, he freed himself, murmured soothingly to the kitten, and tucked it inside his leather jack. For the moment, astonishingly, it seemed content to stay there.
Noting Gibby’s gap-toothed grin, he said, “Not one word from you now.”
The grin widened, but the boy did not speak.
As they rode on in silence, Rob found his thoughts returning to Dumfries and Alex. Was his grandmother right? Was the tension between them as much his fault as Alex’s, and his own duty to his clan greater than aught else?
Had he come to think of himself as a man of Galloway rather than a Maxwell of Dumfries? Or was he right to believe Alex was incapable of accepting the fact that his younger brother was no longer a child who merited constant, watchful attention and dutiful censure? Should he exert himself more to aid Alex in his plan to extend their clan’s power over all of Dumfriesshire or simply stay away from Alex for his own peace of mind—and mayhap for Alex’s, as well?
What if he did stay away?
What if Dunwythie’s defiance then spread to the other lairds, and worse?
Rob was sure that, before long, Alex’s response would be ruthless enough to cost lives—men of Annandale and Maxwells alike. Might there, he wondered, be a way that would not result in the deaths of so many more of the region’s young men?
What might Dunwythie care about more than he cared about impeding any extension of the sheriffdom? He cared about peace, they said. And he took pride in his forebears. Dutifully, Rob tried to focus his mind on potential strategies.
His unruly thoughts drifted instead to the lady Mairi Dunwythie.
According to the Jardines, her ladyship was Dunwythie’s heiress apparent. But the lass herself was Dunwythie’s treasure. His lordship had to be well aware of his good fortune in having such a beautiful, serene, and sensible daughter.
Because, Rob wondered, how could the man not be?
Their journey continued without incident unless one counted persistent efforts of one small kitten to escape captivity.
They reached the outskirts of Kirkcudbright by torchlight after clouds had hidden the last of the stars. As they prepared to eat, the kitten made it plain that it, too, had urgent needs. But when Rob put it down, it dashed into the shrubbery.
Shouting for his men to circle the area and warning them that Lady Kelso would take a dim view of the kitten’s loss, Rob waited grimly for its reappearance. When it shot out from under a bush and frantically clawed its way up his leg into his arms, he felt a wholly unexpected surge of pure delight.
A generous helping of minced beef assured him of its continued goodwill.
Loudly purring, the kitten slept beside him that night, woke him at dawn with a rough, wet lap across his nose, an
d after they had broken their fast, rode contentedly inside his leather jack the rest of the way home to Trailinghail.
“But why must we leave Dunwythie Hall?” Fiona demanded that same fine morning. “And why go now in such haste?”
“Hush, Fee,” Mairi said. “Your mam feels unwell again.”
“If that is so, it is even more reason not to be mounting our horses and hurrying back to Annan House. Forbye, I don’t want to go home.”
Sternly, clearly having overheard her, Phaeline said, “Your father made the decision because of threats that dreadful Maxwell person made. ’Tis clear we will be much safer at Annan House until the Maxwells come to their senses. So, unless you would incur my gravest displeasure, Fiona, you will obey without further protest.”
“Aye, madam,” Fiona said with a sigh.
Mairi knew that, although her father had decided to leave Dunwythie Hall, her stepmother had likely prompted that decision, for so it often was. Phaeline always preferred Annan House, because she thought the area there more civilized.
Mairi also knew that Fiona’s imposed silence would end as soon as they were well on their way. Indeed, the Hall had scarcely disappeared behind them when the younger girl hissed as they rode side by side, “I’ll wager you are no more eager to return home than I am.”
“I ken fine why you do not want to go, Fee,” Mairi said. “But you cannot think that I have the same reason.”
Fiona hunched a shoulder. “No one ever cares what I want. But Father will heed neither of us at home, especially as he means to visit the other lairds and warn them about the Maxwells’ newest threat. One wonders what we’ll have to occupy us there, other than our usual duties and needlework. Aye, and Lent began yesterday and tomorrow is Sunday. So we’ll be all morning in kirk and until Mam grows tired of the sacrifice, we’ll have no meat to eat!”
Mairi said, “At least we know more about the estates now than we did before Father took us to the Hall. Also, our people will have planted the fields below Annan House during our absence. So we can learn even more about such things at home.”