Amanda Scott (25 page)

She looked as astonished as he was.

“Do you want to try again?” he asked.

“No, sir, not today,” she said. Then, endearing herself to him yet again, she added, “I prefer to remember that I hit something,
and I am sure I could not do so twice. I’d like to reload it by myself, however, to be sure I remember how. May I?”

“Aye, sure, lass,” he said, looking again at the handkerchief. “Let the barrel cool for a few moments, though, so you don’t
burn yourself.”

“Mistress,” Peg said, “I do not think you should be doing this. Only think what people will say when they learn that Lady
Anne Ellyson goes about firing pistols at handkerchiefs.”

“Let them say what they like,” Anne said. “I cannot be the first lady to shoot.”

“Certainly not, mistress,” Kit said. “Scott of Buccleuch’s mother shot at Henry’s men when they burned Branxholme some years
ago.”

“That fire destroyed Branxholme, did it not?”

“Aye, and Buccleuch’s been rebuilding since. The place is splendid again, but his marriage has suffered.”

“My aunt said he means to set aside his present wife and marry another.”

Peg sniffed. “Marriages are not meant to be set aside so lightly. I’m sure only men like that awful King Henry even consider
such dreadful things.”

Kit smiled. “Only the most powerful—that is, the wealthiest—can afford to divorce their wives. One must pay extraordinary
fees to persuade the Pope to allow it.”

“I’ve heard that Buccleuch can succeed by applying to Cardinal Beaton,” Anne said. “Could that be so?”

“Aye, for the cardinal is the Lateran Legate, which means Beaton acts as the Pope in Scotland. If he supports Buccleuch, that
marriage is as good as over.”

Anne said thoughtfully, “The woman Buccleuch wants is called Janet Beaton. Do you think she can be related to the cardinal?”

“That would explain Buccleuch’s haste to marry her,” he said. “A connection to the cardinal would increase his power substantially,
and I wager Beaton believes alliance with Buccleuch will greatly increase his own power in the Borders.”

As they talked, Anne had been reloading his pistol. She held it out now for his inspection.

Examining it, he said, “Aye, that’s it. Take care not to wind it too tightly, and remember that pistols are notoriously undependable.”

“Still, I think I will purchase one if you can tell me how to go about doing that,” she said. “With Henry’s men in the area,
and the chance of invasion growing stronger by the day, I’d like to have one by me if I need it.”

He nodded. “Before I saw you shoot, I’d have advised strongly against it,” he admitted, “but you possess a natural talent.
I’ll find one for you myself if you like.”

To his delight, she favored him with a wide smile as she said, “Thank you, sir. If you get one for me, I know it will be exactly
what I require.”

He had not seen her smile so before, and he was not prepared for the warmth that surged through him when she did. She had
attracted him powerfully from their first meeting, but she was beginning to affect him in ways he had never experienced before,
and he was not sure what to think—or what to do about it.

Having expected him to declare flatly that no woman should have a pistol, Anne was amazed to receive his support instead.
Really, she thought, the man was an oddity. Just when he had exasperated her by seeming never to listen, he could do something
like this that showed understanding beyond what anyone could expect.

Feeling perfectly in charity with the entire world as a result, she agreed when Peg suggested that she should change her dress
before dinner, and the three of them returned to the house by way of the garden door.

Since she had not seen Fiona all day, Anne decided to visit her as soon as she exchanged the russet gown for one of her favorite
mossy green. Peg would not let her go until she had brushed her hair and arranged it in plaits beneath a soft French hood
that matched the gown, but at last, she was ready and hurried to her cousin’s room to find Fiona preparing to descend to the
hall for the day’s main meal.

Molly was fussing over her near one of the windows, twitching Fiona’s pink skirts into place over a wide French farthingale.
Fiona stood patiently enough, however, apparently having recovered her usual amiable disposition at last.

“You have not worn that dress in months,” Anne exclaimed as she entered. “I’d forgotten how well it becomes you.”

Fiona smiled and said cheerfully, “Now that I no longer have to marry Eustace Chisholm, there can be no reason for me to wear
blue all the time. I look forward to recalling any number of my dresses to your memory.” Lifting her lace-trimmed skirt, she
showed off matching pink silk slippers.

“You are very grand, love,” Anne said, laughing. “I believe you mean to flirt with Sir Christopher.”

“He is exceedingly large, is he not?” Fiona said.

“He is, but he is also kind,” Anne said. She nearly told Fiona about her shooting lesson, but it occurred to her that her
gentle cousin would most likely think it an odd pastime to have enjoyed, and she did not want to spoil her own memories, so
she kept her counsel, saying instead, “Are you ready to go downstairs? I feared you would insist on taking your meals in this
room for at least the rest of the week.”

“Oh, no, for Mother would never allow it,” Fiona said. “Moreover, Uncle Toby said he has hired a most amusing jester who can
play the lute and sing, and I want to hear him. Uncle Toby says he is an excellent minstrel and very funny, too.”

“Well, do not grow too fond of him,” Anne said. “I doubt that your mother will be as pleased with him as Toby is. Moreover,
I heard from Peg that Eustace said he means to take the jester back to Hawks Rig with him.”

“Oh, that would be too bad of him,” Fiona exclaimed.

“Mayhap you should hear the man sing before you decide that we would miss him,” Anne said with a grin.

Fiona chuckled, and they went downstairs together, entering the hall to find Toby and Eustace chatting with a third man. The
latter was slightly older than the other two but dressed as grandly as they were.

“There you are,” Toby exclaimed jovially as Anne and Fiona entered. “Pray, allow me to introduce to you my good friend Milo,
Lord Berridge of Midlothian. My lord, this is Lady Anne Ellyson and Mistress Carmichael.”

The older gentleman made a profound leg, saying in a deep, rather harsh voice, “I am charmed, ladies. Such a privilege to
be a guest in this splendid house.”

“You arc most welcome, sir,” Fiona said politely.

Berridge was a stocky man, but he dressed well and bore an air of distinction wholly lacking in his host or in Eustace.

He smiled at Fiona, adding, “It surprises me that two such young ladies would come downstairs before Lady Carmichael has made
her appearance.”

“No matter, no matter,” Toby said, “for here is Olivia now. Olivia, my dear, I decided that it is past time for you to be
setting aside your megrims and your blacks, and to that end I have brought you a guest and a present, for all that Eustace
here thinks he will take the latter away with him when he returns to Hawks Rig.”

“Whatever are you talking about, uncle?” Olivia asked in a faint voice as she made her way to her chair at the high table.

“I’ve brought you something that will vastly amuse you,” he said confidently. “Here now, Mad Jake, show yourself, you rascal!”

At his command, a flurry of red and gold erupted from the doorway to the central stairs. Spinning and whirling, the figure
came, turning cartwheels and doing flips the length of the hall.

Other members of the household who had taken their places at the trestle tables burst into applause as the figure bounced
upright before Olivia and then swept her a how so swift and deep that he seemed in danger of banging his nose on the floor,
if not toppling right over into a somersault.

When he straightened, Anne saw that he was a well-favored young man of no great height, but slender and wiry. He wore hugely
puffed red hose, slashed with yellow, and a matching, trim-fitting doublet. On his head, he wore a funny little cap with points
and bells round the rim, while more bells tinkled on the long pointed tips of his shoes. His grin was infectious, and his
blue eyes twinkled merrily.

“Tell us a tale, lad,” Toby commanded.

“Aye, well, shall I tell ye about the two times I met King Henry, then?”

“Have you really met him?” Fiona asked, visibly awed.

“Och, aye, me lady. and he’ll be the fattest man I ha’ ever seen. Makes Sir Toby here seem nobbut a thin shadow by comparison.”

“But how did you meet him?” Olivia asked.

“Now, that were the easy part,” the jester said, “for his men did capture me and carry me tae his presence bound up in a prodigious
big sack. Dumped me right out on the floor in front o’ his great throne. And Henry were fierce, too. He did say that if I
ever set foot on English soil again, he’d cut off me head.”

“Then you must never go back,” Fiona said earnestly.

“Ye didna listen, lass.” he said drolly. “I already said I ha’ been there twice.”

“Then why did he not cut off your head?”

“Well, like I told ye, he said I were no tae set foot on English soil, and when they carried me in tae see him, I swore tae
him I’d no done that at all.”

“But how could that be?” Fiona demanded.

In answer, the jester pulled off one boot and turned it upside down. A pile of dirt fell onto the floor. “Like that,” he said.
“Ye see, wherever I go, I always keeps me both feet planted in good Scottish soil.”

A burst of laughter greeted Kit as he entered the hall, but he had heard the tale before and anticipated the last line. He
also recognized the storyteller’s voice, so he was able to conceal his shock at seeing Willie Armstrong playing the fool.

Lady Carmichael caught his eye and said, “Welcome, Sir Christopher. You must hear the amusing story my uncle’s new jester
has told us.”

“Och now, me lady, I never repeats me stories,” Willie said, winking at Kit.

“Pray, let me introduce Kit to our newest guest, Olivia,” Sir Toby said, turning slightly to reveal another man who had hitherto
been concealed by his bulk. “Allow me to make you known to Lord Berridge, lad,” he said in his jovial way.

As the other man turned toward him, Kit nearly let his jaw drop.

“How do you do?” Tam said affably in accents far different from the Border brogue Kit was accustomed to hear from him. “You
must be young Chisholm.”

Collecting his scattered wits, Kit returned the older man’s bow, murmuring politely, “I am indeed he, your lordship. Have
we met before?”

“Nay, lad, but your uncle Eustace has been telling me all about you.”

“Has he?” This was a new turn-up, Kit thought, shifting his gaze to Eustace.

“Aye, he tells me you’ve been missing so long he had you declared officially dead. Said it were a fair shock to him to see
you turn up alive after all.”

Kit turned to Eustace. “Forgive my astonishment, sir, but I thought you had refused to accept me as Kit Chisholm and intended
to contest my claim.”

“I do intend to contest your claim to the fair Fiona, lad, for I’d be a fool if I did not,” Eustace said in a much friendlier
tone than any Kit had heard from him since arriving at Mute Hill. “As to Hawks Rig, I’ll make no promises until I’ve had a
chance to examine the law as it pertains to such things,” Eustace added. “We are not yet sure, after all, that someone who
is officially dead can be made to live again—officially, that is. However. I’ve come to realize that you must be who you say
you are, and as such, I shall welcome you at Hawks Rig.”

“Thank you,” Kit said dryly. “You are very generous, sir.”

Anne heard the odd note in Kit’s voice when he greeted Berridge, and the irony in it when he responded to Eustace, and if
she did not understand the former, she could easily understand the latter. She only wondered at his calm, knowing he must
be seething at what was no more than an invitation to stay at his own house.

Olivia said to no one in particular, “Do you know, I believe I have just hit upon the answer to all this.”

“Have you, my dear?” Toby said with his usual grin.

“Oh, I know I generally leave it to you men to decide what we should do; however, I believe this time that my notion is the
perfect solution to everything.”

“Let us sit down before you tell us about it,” Toby said. “I’m too large a man to stand longer than I must. Take your seats,
gentlemen, so the lads can begin serving, and you there, Mad Jake, bring out your lute and play us a tune. Not too loudly,
mind. We want to hear ourselves talk.”

The jester did a back flip and ran to the rear of the room, reappearing a moment later, lute in hand. Looking about, he found
a three-legged stool that he drew near the fireplace, where he sat down and began to strum.

“Now, lass, explain this brilliant notion of yours to us,” Toby invited. “I’m sure we are all eager to hear it.”

“You mock me, sir, but you will soon agree that it is the very thing. You will recall that Buccleuch and his lady were here
yesterday for the wedding.”

“Aye, as who could forget,” Toby said. “His lady dragged herself around all afternoon as if it were her wedding that we’d
called off instead of poor Fiona’s.”

“Well, Janet is upset, of course,” Olivia said. “I know you must all have heard the rumors that her marriage to Buccleuch
is about to end.”

“Aye, for he’s tired o’ the lass and none too particular about who knows it.”

“Janet said she came because she wanted to see Fiona married, but on their return to Branxholme, she will go home to her family
at Ferniehirst,” Olivia said.

“Mercy,” Fiona breathed. “How awful for her!”

“Is there to be a divorce, then?” Eustace asked.

“It is as good as done, Janet told me, because Beaton is coming to the Borders soon to confer with Buccleuch, and he is bound
to support both the divorce and Buccleuch’s new wife, who is his own cousin, after all.”

“Buccleuch’s cousin?”