Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (43 page)

He saw a gillie heading their way with a jug of claret. Dunwythie saw the lad as well and motioned him away. Then he turned to Hugh and said quietly, “Mayhap if you were to invite the lad to stroll with you, sir, his head might—”

“Sakes, don’t talk about me as if I were not here,” Reid said in a tone more suited to a sulky child than to a man soon to marry. “I’m going for a walk, and I don’t need Hugh to mind my steps for me.” Turning to his betrothed, he said curtly, “Don’t wander off before I return, lass. I will escort you to your chamber myself.”

Hugh saw that the command annoyed her, but she said calmly, “I never wander, sir. Prithee, take time to enjoy your walk.”

As Reid ambled off, she glanced at Hugh, and this time he noted that her eyes were an unusual shade of soft golden-brown, almost the color of walnut shells. They were also beautifully shaped and thickly lashed. Her caul and veil completely covered her hair, but her rosy cheeks glowed softly in the candlelit hall. And her dimples were showing again.

Dunwythie’s voice jarred him as the older man said, “I’ve been meaning to ask if ye ken the reason for this new tax that Maxwell is demanding, Hugh. He has seen fit to impose it even on those of us here in Annandale, though he surely must know that we have never recognized his jurisdiction over us.”

“I ken little other than that I had to pay it,” Hugh said. “As Thornhill lies on the river Nith, I am well within his jurisdiction. But for all that he says he is acting at the royal behest, I expect the truth is he needs the gelt to rebuild Caerlaverock.”

“Aye, sure, and with Archie Douglas building his own castle on the river Dee, we’ll have them both trying to put their hands in our purses. I’m willing to support the Douglases, see you, because we need their strength here to keep the English at bay. But Maxwell has twice proven that he cannot hold Caerlaverock against them, so I’ve told him I’ll pay nowt of this snickering he demands.”

He went on, but Hugh listened just closely enough to respond appropriately. He could scarcely advise him. Maxwell or no Maxwell, his own loyalty remained with Archie Douglas, now known to all as Archibald “the Grim,” Lord of Galloway. And as Archie defined Galloway, it included most of southwestern Scotland.

In the entertainers’ clearing below the dais, a tall juggler wearing a scarlet robe longer than any of the others wore had just stepped forward. He looked older than the others did, too, certainly too old, Jenny thought, to be Peg’s brother.

Apparently plucking a long dirk from thin air, the man flung it high to join the six balls already flying upward from his hands and back again.

As his audience emitted a collective gasp, another dirk joined the first. Two white balls then flew from his agile hands toward the high table on the dais, one to the ladies’ end, the other to the men’s.

The younger of Jenny’s two Dunwythie cousins, fourteen-year-old Lady Fiona, leapt up and captured the ladies’ ball with a triumphant cry. At the other end of the table, one of the men put up a hand almost casually to catch the second one.

By the time Jenny looked again at the jugglers, the older one had six daggers spinning through the air. She had no idea where they had come from or what had become of the four balls he’d still had when she had looked away.

Musicians had played from the minstrels’ gallery throughout the afternoon and now into the evening. But as the dirks flew ever higher, each one threatening to slice the juggler’s hands when it descended, the music slowly faded. Soon the hall was so quiet that one could hear the great fire crackling on the hooded hearth.

Clearly oblivious to the juggler and the increasing tension his skill had produced in his audience, Phaeline, Lady Dunwythie, said in her usual placid way, “Our Reid is much taken with you, is he not, Janet, dear?”

Concealing her irritation as she turned to her uncle’s round-faced, richly attired second wife, Jenny said quietly, “Reid is ape-drunk, madam.”

“He is, aye,” Phaeline agreed.

“Such behavior does naught to recommend him to me.”

“You are young, my dear. So is he. But he will soon teach you how to please him, and I cannot doubt that you two will deal well together.”

“I fear the only thing that pleases him, madam, is my inheritance.”

“That may well be true, although he is not blind to your attractions,” Phaeline said without a blink. “One must be practical, though. My lord might have preferred our Hugh to marry you, because ’tis Hugh who is Laird of Thornhill. But as Hugh swears never to marry again, and as Reid must be provided for until
he
inherits Thornhill, one could say that your betrothal simply arranged itself.”

Resisting the impulse to glance again at the dark-eyed gentleman at Lord Dunwythie’s right, Jenny said, “But Sir Hugh cannot be much older than Reid is.”

“That is, unfortunately, also true,” Phaeline said. “Hugh is just five years older, and that is a difficulty, is it not? Hugh is perfectly aware of it, too. So one might expect him to have provided an adequate allowance for Reid. But he has refused to do so, saying that Reid would do better to win his spurs, and mayhap even an estate of his own. I confess, that did vex me until—”

“Until my lord Dunwythie assumed guardianship of me and my estates,” Jenny said, widening her eyes. “Mercy, but you are blunt, madam.”

“ ’Twas providential, though, as even my lord was quick to see.”

Jenny did not bother to point out that it had proven other than providential for her. She knew she would be wasting her breath.

Applying to her uncle to support her against Phaeline’s wishes would likewise prove useless. His lordship exerted himself in all ways to please his wife, because he still hoped for an heir. Phaeline was thirteen years younger than he was, but although they had been married for fifteen years and she had several times been with child, she had produced only their daughter, Fiona.

Lord Dunwythie’s first wife had been Jenny’s maternal aunt Elsbeth, who had died in childbed, just as Jenny’s mother had. Elsbeth’s daughter, the lady Mairi Dunwythie, was now eighteen. She sat at Phaeline’s left with Fiona to Mairi’s left.

Should Phaeline fail to produce a male heir, Mairi would, at his lordship’s death, inherit the ancient Dunwythie estates and become a baroness in her own right just as Jenny had upon her father’s death.

However, Phaeline had recently declared that she was pregnant again.

Leaning nearer, Phaeline said, “Reid was wrong, you know.”

Jenny looked at her. “Wrong?”

“Aye, for today is Friday, so your first banns will be read Sunday, just two days from now. Thus, your wedding is but three weeks hence . . .”

“. . . and two days,” Jenny said, stifling a sigh of frustration.

But Phaeline was no longer listening. Looking past Jenny, she said to her husband, “Prithee, my lord, I would take my leave of you now. In my condition, I need much rest, so I mean to retire. You need not escort me, however,” she added graciously. “You and our guests must continue to enjoy yourselves as you will.”

Dunwythie stood when she did, as did everyone else at the high table. Those in the lower hall were watching a troupe of players rush into the central space and paid no heed to those on the dais.

Summoning a gillie, Dunwythie told him to see his lady safely to her chamber. As soon as she had gone, everyone sat down again and his lordship resumed his conversation with Sir Hugh.

Mairi immediately changed her seat to the one by Jenny, whereupon, Fiona—doubtless fearing as usual that she might miss something—moved to Mairi’s.

“Art reconciled yet to this marriage they’ve arranged for you, Jenny?” Mairi asked as the players took places to start their play.

“Resigned, I expect, but scarcely reconciled,” Jenny said. “ ’Tis of no use to repine, though, now that the betrothal is done. Phaeline is most determined.”

“I think Uncle Reid is handsome,” Fiona said brightly. “You are lucky, Jenny. I just hope I can find someone like him one day.”

“You are welcome to
him
if you like,” Jenny said. “Sakes, I cannot marry my own uncle,” Fiona said with a giggle. “But I do think you will come to like him in time, don’t you?”

Mairi said, “Don’t tease her, Fee. It is not kind when you know that she does not like him.”

“But I don’t understand
why
she does not,” Fiona said. “We can talk about that later,” Mairi said. “For now, if you wish to stay with us, you must keep silent. Otherwise, I shall tell our father it is time you were in bed.”

“You would not be so mean,” Fiona said.

When Mairi only looked at her, she grimaced and subsided.

Jenny had returned her attention to the players and was wondering what their lives must be like when Mairi said, “That tall juggler was astonishing, was he not?”

“Aye, he was,” Jenny agreed. “You know, Peg’s brother is a member of this company—one of the jugglers. Don’t you wonder what it must be like to travel about as they do and see all the fine places and important people they must see?”

When silence greeted her question, she looked at Mairi and saw that she had cocked her head and her gray eyes had taken on a vague, thoughtful look. She said at last, “Do you know, Jenny, I cannot imagine how they bear it. No bed of one’s own, only pallets on a stranger’s floor, and traveling, traveling, all the time.”

“But the only traveling I have done is to move here from Easdale, whilst you have traveled with your father and Phaeline,” Jenny said. “You said you enjoyed it.”

“Aye, sure, for we stayed with kinsmen everywhere we stopped. That was fun, because they were all eager to show us how well they could feed and house us, and provide entertainment for us. But these minstrels must
provide
the entertainment wherever they go, and if they displease the one who is to pay them, they go unpaid. They may even face harsh punishment if they offend a powerful lord. It cannot be a comfortable life, Jenny. I much prefer my own.”

“Aye, well,
you
don’t have to marry your odious cousin,” Jenny said.

“I am thankful to say that Reid is
not
my cousin,” Mairi reminded her.

“He is as much your cousin by marriage as Fiona is mine,” Jenny said. “He clearly cannot wait until I have to marry him, and he just as clearly expects to become master of Easdale. Sithee,
that
is bound to create difficulties, because he knows naught about managing such a large estate, whereas my father trained me to do so. Such a marriage cannot prosper. I am sure of it.”

Fiona said, “Still it will be better than if they had decided to wed you to Sir Hugh, Jenny. Only think what that would be like! He
is
accustomed to managing estates and would not care a whit that you can manage your own. Why, he scarcely says a word to us. Indeed, he is so solemn that my mother said one could light a fire between his toes and he would simply wonder if one had built it to burn properly.”

Jenny laughed but took care not to look again at Sir Hugh. Fiona’s portrayal was an apt one, for Sir Hugh Douglas was unlike any man Jenny had met. He did not flirt with her or tease. Nor did he laugh or make jest with his friends. She had heard Phaeline say, too, that once

Hugh made up his mind, he never changed it. He would just fold his arms across his chest, she said, and pretend to listen. But one’s words would have no more effect on him than drops of water on a stone.

“I don’t want Sir Hugh, either,” she said firmly. “I should infinitely prefer to choose my own husband.”

“But you don’t know any other suitable men,” Mairi said. “Had Father taken you to Glasgow, or to Edinburgh or Stirling, I warrant many men more suitable than Reid is would have paid court to you, for you are beautiful, wealthy, and—”

“Have mercy!” Jenny interjected, striving to keep her voice from carrying to anyone but Mairi and Fiona. “It is too late even to be thinking of such a course. Moreover, whilst I do not count my worth low, Mairi, my looks are not at all what fashion decrees. At least, so Phaeline has told me. And she, you know, takes good care always to know about such things.”

“That is true, Mairi,” Fiona said. “Mam does know what people like. You recall that she said only yesterday that she fears one reason you have not yet contracted a marriage is that men consider your fairness unfashionably insipid.”

Mairi smiled. “My coloring won’t matter a whit if your mam fails to produce a son, dearling. As for Jenny’s beauty, although she counts it low, others will not. Had your mam not decided to wed her to your uncle Reid before anyone else could clap eyes on her, Jenny would find many eligible young men eager to admire her.”

Desiring to change the subject, Jenny said, “Reid will return shortly, and I do not want him near my bedchamber, so I think I must go before he gets back.”

“Sakes, Jenny, you cannot leave your own betrothal feast!” Fiona protested.

“I am feeling very decisive tonight,” Jenny said. “So I think I will.”

“Then we should go, too,” Mairi said. Before Fiona could protest, she raised her voice a little and said to Lord Dunwythie, “Forgive me, sir, but Jenny would like to retire now. I think Fiona and I should go, too, if you will excuse us all.”

Jenny glanced toward the lower hall, half fearing to see Reid Douglas already lurching drunkenly toward her between the trestles. She did not see him, but when she looked at her uncle, she realized that he had been watching her.

“D’ye want to seek your chamber now, lassie?” he asked.

“Aye, sir, I do.”

He nodded and observed the lower hall for a long moment before turning back to meet her gaze again. “I’ll see that ye’re not disturbed then.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said with deep sincerity as she made her curtsy.

Hurrying from the hall with Mairi and Fiona, she cast one more wistful glance at the minstrels and wondered again what it would be like to be one.

Hugh was bored, so when the play ended, he lost no time in bidding his host goodnight. He did not want to spend the next hour exchanging polite phrases with other guests, most of whom were doubtless as eager to be away as he was if they lived near enough to go home, or to seek their chambers if they did not.