Seduced by a Rogue

by Amanda Scott

  She stayed where she was as if she had not heard him. Then, abruptly crossing herself, she drew a breath, let it out, and stood to face him. With astonishing calm, she said, “I thank you for bringing me home in time to see him before he died, sir. But I do agree that you must return to your men now.”

  A high-pitched scream from the entryway drew everyone’s attention to a plump woman in the fashionable garb of a noblewoman, whom Rob had no difficulty recognizing as Phaeline, Lady Dunwythie. Catching up her skirts, she flew down the steps and across the yard as men and horses scrambled to make way for her.

  “What have you done to him?” she shrieked to no one in particular. Then, fixing her gaze on Mairi, she shrieked again and flew at her, claws outstretched.

  The steward jumped out of her path, whereupon Rob stepped swiftly into it. Catching her by her arms, he said sternly, “Hold now, my lady.”

  When he grabbed her, she stiffened and her shrieks ceased. His command to her therefore dropped into the sudden silence like stones into a pool, spreading ripples of visible unease through the men watching them.

  “How dare you lay your hands on me!” she demanded shrilly.

  “Madam, prithee recall your condition,” Mairi said as Rob released her ladyship. “You do not want to endanger the bairn you carry.”

  The older woman looked briefly bewildered, then irritated. “Thank you for your advice, Mairi,” she said with caustic hauteur. “Doubtless, our Fiona learned her pretty behavior from you. I do not doubt that you schemed to distress your father and now have killed him by returning as you have. I hope you are happy.”

  Rob saw the lass stiffen, but she did not reply in kind.

  Instead, coolly, she said, “We are both distressed, madam, but distress will not bring him back. We must send at once to inform Fiona of what has happened, although I fear for her state of mind when she hears of this. She will likely blame herself as quickly as you blame me.”

  Turning to the steward, Mairi said, “I shall depend on you, Jopson, to send a reliable lad who will not just blurt the news to her ladyship. But first, tell Gerrard he must command our men to stand down. We’ll send no army to Applegarth today.”

  “But, my lady—”

  “If my father was sure that the lady Fiona chose to elope with Will Jardine, then until we learn otherwise, I say she shall have her way.”

  Lady Dunwythie said fiercely, “And who are you, pray, to be giving orders here?” she demanded. “Orders about my daughter!”

  Still outwardly calm, Mairi said, “Until your bairn arrives and proves himself male, madam, I remain heiress apparent to my father’s estates. His will, unless he altered that part as well as the part about Fiona’s inheriting Annan House, does proclaim that I am to take charge in just such an event as this. Jopson, did his lordship say aught to you about changing that portion?”

  “Nay, my lady,” the steward replied. “And he would ha’ told me. So his will do be as ye say. I’ll give your orders straightaway.” He turned away to do so.

  Mairi turned next to Rob.

  Hastily, before she could speak, he said, “This event does alter things, my lady. I would be of service to you if I may, in any manner that you deem useful.”

  “I thank you, sir, for your kindness,” she said, meeting his gaze with deep sorrow in her own that he knew was for her father and not for him.

  He also knew what she would say, so again he spoke first, saying, “I will carry the message for your lady sister to Jardine Mains and bring her back to you, my lady. I can also deal swiftly with Will Jardine, and as your lord father desired.”

  “Nay,” she said, her voice warm enough in that single word to melt his heart, although the word she spoke was the wrong one. “Will Jardine did not act by himself or… or kill anyone. Nor did aught that you did, or I,” she added. “My father was a man of peace. He loathed conflict and would nearly always seek peace at any price. He is gone now, and we cannot change that. But we will have peace in Annandale if I can manage it. To that end, sir, you can help me if only you will.”

  He knew she meant that he should dissuade Alex from his sworn course of taking Annandale under his power. The knowledge entered his mind with a thud.

  Nevertheless, he said, “I will do all I can, my lady, but—”

  “No buts, sir,” she interjected with a wan smile. “I want your promise. And promises, like apologies, should never marry with a ‘but.’”

  He was sure his expression matched hers as he nodded in agreement, but he could not speak, because his throat was full. He wanted so much to take her in his arms that he could not trust himself to touch her.

  Nodding again more abruptly, he made his bow and left the yard.

  He was not yet halfway down the hill when he saw the defiant Gibby coming up with a basket in hand.

  Remembering what it contained, Rob smiled.

  Mairi watched Rob walk away until he had passed through the gateway and disappeared below the grassy crest of the hill, wishing he would turn and look back but feeling relieved when he did not.

  She watched men gently lift her father onto a thick blanket and carry him into the house, where maidservants and women from the cottages would prepare him for burial. Beside her, Phaeline burst into gusty, sobbing wails.

  Mairi felt then as if the past weeks had been only a dream.

  Drawing a breath and letting it out slowly, she turned to cope with Phaeline.

  Phaeline’s woman, Sadie, came running toward them, her skirts caught up high, and seeing her, Mairi felt a rush of gratitude.

  Warmly, she said, “I’m gey glad to see you, Sadie!”

  With a wry smile and a glance at the still sobbing Phaeline, Sadie said, “I’ll warrant ye are, me lady. ’Tis relieved we be to ha’ ye back again, and gey sorrowful for his lordship’s death. What would ye ha’ me do first?”

  “See to her ladyship,” Mairi said.

  “Aye, sure. And will I tell the housekeeper to send for the women then?”

  Agreeing, Mairi saw how deftly she dealt with Phaeline, and was calling down more blessings on Sadie when a youthful voice behind her said, “Beg pardon, me lady, but the laird did say I should come to ye, that ye might ha’ need o’ me.”

  Turning, she beheld Gibby, his wide, gap-toothed smile on full display.

  “Gib! Surely the boat has not gone without you!”

  “Nay, the laird did say I should bring ye a wee gift. But ye’re no to open the basket even a crack till ye’ve gone inside. So if ye be too busy yet here, I’ll wait.”

  “But will the boat wait?”

  “Aye, sure, till I go and wave it off. Unless the tide do run afore then.”

  Mairi hesitated. “But surely, you do not want to stay here, Gib. You like it gey fine at Trailinghail with the laird and Fin Walters.”

  “Aye, sure, and I’ll go back soon enough. The laird did say that mayhap ye could take me into Nithsdale when ye go to Thornhill for Easter. Sithee, Herself will be back in Dumfries by then, and the laird did say that, one way or t’other, she’d help me find how to get back to Trailinghail. Meantime, he said I could learn much here. Sithee, I be a grand chap for learning.”

  “So you are,” Mairi agreed, but her thoughts had shifted to Thornhill and Easter. Giving herself a shake and returning her gaze to the hopeful child, she said, “Go then, if you are sure, and wave the boat off so they do not miss the tide, whilst I finish sorting things out here. Then we will go inside and see what you have in that basket. Unless you want to spare yourself the burden and leave it with me now.”

  “Nay, I dinna mind carrying it. And ye might peek.”

  As he strode back to the gateway, Mairi realized she was smiling.

  Before he returned, she concluded that although Jopson’s quiet acceptance of her authority had assuaged any doubt she might have had about assuming control, he could easily do all that needed doing outside without her. And the housekeeper and her women would see to Dunwythie’s laying out.


  That left Mairi with little to do but go in to face Phaeline—and a household bursting with curiosity about her long absence, and all it might have entailed.

  It was enough, she thought, to make anyone want to turn tail and run.

  How she wished Fiona were there, if only to have someone with whom she could talk without minding each word. Realizing she would have their bedchamber to herself stirred new sadness, and tears that she had not expected to shed.

  Dashing them away, she hurried to the great hall, where she found the housekeeper in a bustle to arrange his lordship’s laying out.

  Agreeing with all that the woman suggested and assuring her that she perfectly understood her desire to supervise it all, Mairi dismissed her with relief and turned toward the stairway.

  “Lady Mairi, d’ye want to see what be in me basket now?”

  Turning to find Gibby right behind her, holding up the basket, Mairi lifted the lid to see Tiggie curled up inside.

  “Good sakes,” she said, “I never suspected this! Indeed, I thought you were the present, with the basket just containing your clothes and more food.”

  “Aye, sure, I am part o’ the gift,” Gib said. “Nae doots, ye need me to look after that wee scruff. As to clothes, I’ll do well enough wi’ these.”

  “You would look after Tiggie for me? I thought you ‘dinna ha’ nowt to do wi’ the wee terror,’” she said, teasing him with his own words.

  Gibby shrugged. “We get on good now. Any road, the laird did say I couldna come in the boat without I agreed to look after the lad and keep him quiet.”

  Mairi lifted the kitten out. By the look of it, it was still more than half asleep. When she set it on the floor, it took a tentative step, swayed, and shook itself.

  “Why, what’s amiss with him?” she asked.

  Gib shrugged. “Whisky, I expect.”

  “Whisky!”

  “Aye, sure, the laird himself did say not long since that whisky gives a man good sleep. So I gave a thimbleful to the lad there, and as ye see, it worked a charm.”

  Mairi bit her lip, reminding herself that her father lay dead in the house and that kittens almost certainly ought not to drink whisky, but it was no use. Try as she might to stifle the laughter bubbling in her throat, it pealed out and filled the hall.

  “Sakes, but he liked it fine,” Gib muttered.

  Rob’s journey back to Trailinghail passed without incident and without wind. Thus it also passed in a fog of boredom with naught to divert him from thoughts that remained at Annan House with Mairi. He was sure she would miss her sister, Fiona, as much as, or even more than, she would miss his lordship.

  But he remembered his gentle mother’s death, as well as his stern father’s, and he knew that losing any parent was dreadfully hard.

  He also knew, however, that his continued presence would have done more harm than good. It would certainly have caused tension with her stepmother and also much gossip and many accusations.

  Moreover, he did not doubt for a minute that when she considered the matter at length, she would blame him at least a little for Fiona’s elopement.

  Not only had he taken Will to Dunwythie Mains the day they had all met but he had abducted Mairi while Will was working his devilry with Fiona. If only to spare Mairi more pain, Rob knew he was doing the right thing by going home.

  The decision did not make the long, dull trip easier to bear.

  They did reach the mouth of the bay shortly before dusk. But, having used up the entire ebb tide to get there, they arrived at low water.

  Holding off, far enough out to avoid being seen, they waited for the incoming tide to rise so Rob could use the sea entrance to get back inside the tower.

  By the time he did, the sun had been down for several hours and darkness was fully upon them. If Alex’s men were watching the sea, Rob decided, they had probably watched the sun go down and gone about their business.

  Bidding his men goodnight, he reminded them to return to the tower by ones and twos in the morning so as not to draw undue attention. Then, taking the stairs, he let himself in with the latch chain, pulled it back inside, replaced the bars, took a jug of whisky from the shelf, and went to the kitchen to get supper.

  Feeling more his usual self after he’d eaten, and knowing his grandmother would be in the great chamber, he went up to tell her he was back.

  “Mercy me,” she said when Eliza let him in. “You did explain about the tides, but I did not think you could truly make so long a journey in so short a time.”

  “It did not seem short to me, coming back,” he said.

  “Aye, well, you got her home safely,” she said.

  He told her what had happened. Then, after she exclaimed her dismay at Dunwythie’s death and he had answered all the questions he could, he asked if Alex was still outside the gate.

  “Aye, sure, and stubborn enough to stay until Christmas, I’m thinking.”

  “Nay, then, he will not,” Rob said. “I mean to have him inside tomorrow to tell him he must parley with Lord Johnstone or one of the other Annandale lairds if he persists with this foolish scheme of his.”

  “So it is foolish now, is it?”

  “Aye, and always was,” he told her. “When one hears only one side of an argument, that side seems right. But in this case, the other side’s reasons make more sense. To my mind, Gran, when a thing is working, one ought not to meddle with it. The system in Annandale has worked well for a century and more, so there can be no need for us Maxwells to assert power there, or any good to come from it.”

  “I don’t disagree with that, Rob, but what about Archie Douglas?”

  “Douglas is another matter,” he said. “If he asserts power, it is because he needs many men to assure the safety of the Borders, and all ken that fine. So they think it no great thing if he should ask for more gelt or goods to supply his army. The Douglases have long proven their ability to protect us from the English. We Maxwells lack that repute, thanks mostly to other, long dead Maxwells.”

  “So you mean to challenge Alex on the matter, do you?”

  “If necessary, I will, for I promised Mairi I would. At present, I mean to let him know only that she is no longer here, so he can go home and take his men with him before they lay waste all the land around Trailinghail.”

  Chapter 17

  Accordingly, the next morning, Rob sent a lad to invite the sheriff in to break his fast with Trailinghail’s laird. Not much to Rob’s surprise, Lady Kelso and Eliza entered the hall shortly after Alex did.

  Having brought two of his own men along, Alex said as he approached the dais, “I trust you do not mind my escort and will welcome them at high table.”

  Rob nodded, knowing that Alex would be more civil with them there and more discreet. However, it was too much to hope that the two henchmen, whom Rob knew well, did not know most of what was going on.

  Signing to the gillies to begin serving, Rob shook hands with Alex and nodded to the other two.

  Alex said, “I brought them in the hope that your invitation this morning means you have come to your senses, lad, and will let me take custody of her ladyship. She will doubtless want to bring along a maidservant, as well.”

  “I have spared you the necessity of assuming that burden,” Rob said. “The lady in question is safely at home. Moreover, your dispute with Dunwythie is at an end, Alex. His lordship is dead.”

  “Are you daft enough to think I’d believe that? My lads have kept careful watch, as you must ken fine. No female save that Annie lass has left this tower since I came here. Moreover, I would surely have had word of such a death if you have.”

  “I swear to you by all I hold dear or holy that she is not here, Alex. If you do not believe me, then search until you content yourself that I speak the truth.”

  Alex frowned at him, then shifted his gaze to Lady Kelso. “Madam, do you also swear that the lady is not here?”

  “I do, Alexander. Moreover, you should think shame to yourself that you ac
cuse your brother of lying when he gives his oath. Likewise, if he says Thomas Dunwythie is dead, the man is stone cold and likely in his grave by now.”

  “But how… how can you know all this? And how could she have been here two days ago and gone now, when we have searched all who left here?”

  “Because you did not see all who left, of course, including me,” Rob answered. “Do not ask me to share the secrets of Trailinghail with you, however, even without your henchmen. Before you came here and threatened to lay siege to my tower, mayhap I would have shared them, Alex, and gladly. But no longer.”

  “But Dunwythie was headed to Dumfries! How can you know he’s dead?”

  “Because I saw him die and declared him so, myself.”

  Alex was quiet, and Rob did not like the pensive look on his face.

  Then Alex said, “Who will inherit?” And Rob knew he had been right to suspect he was already scheming again.

  With a shrug, Rob said, “As Lady Dunwythie is with child, we cannot know the answer to that yet. However, you may be sure the Douglases will take interest, too. My advice to you now is to let be.”

  “Aye, likely you’ve the right of it… for now,” Alex said.

  “Certainly until after Easter,” her ladyship said. “You would be most unwise, my dear Alex, to flex your power before the holy season has ended, lest you hear the priest at St. Michael’s denounce you before the congregation on Easter morn.”

  Alex smiled at her and said, “You ken fine that I would never defile the holy season, madam.”

  Hopeful that he had fulfilled his promise to Mairi, Rob watched with relief as the sheriff’s party departed later that morning. When he went back inside after seeing them off, Lady Kelso awaited him in the empty great hall.

  Without bothering to exchange pleasantries, she said, “You do know that he covets the Dunwythie estates, do you not, Rob? One could see it in his eyes the first time he mentioned his right to seize the property. Your brother has developed a voracious taste for power, I fear.”

  “I agree with you,” he admitted.