by Ashe Barker
“Oaf,” came her muttered response. “Is that your answer for everything? How did I ever become involved with such a mule-headed, senseless clod?”
Chapter Fifteen
The autumnal chill that permeated the air the next morning was as nothing compared to the near arctic atmosphere between Jane and Robbie.
They rose at first light with barely a word uttered between them, broke their fast amid the same icy silence, then mounted their horses ready to complete their journey. Archie, Lady Falconer, and the men exchanged puzzled glances, raising eyebrows, shrugging. It was plain that something was sorely amiss, though neither Jane nor Robbie seemed much inclined to speak of the matter.
Jane had barely slept. Her eyelids felt as though grains of sand had worked their insidious way beneath them. Her head ached and she barely pecked at the generous hunks of honeyed bread produced by the innkeeper’s wife.
She watched, sullen, while Robbie negotiated to leave the horse and wagon with the innkeeper in exchange for their accommodations. He declared their need for the extra burden was at an end and the cart simply slowed their progress. The remaining supplies were stashed in saddlebags by the men. Arrangements were made with the innkeeper to have Lady Falconer’s personal chest delivered to Mortain within the week. Thus unencumbered, the party set out soon after dawn.
Their progress was brisk. Robbie set a punishing pace, determined to see Mortain before nightfall.
Jane occupied her usual place on his saddle, huddled behind him, swathed in a cloak and the tartan he had given her. Barely a word was exchanged save what was necessary to agree when it was needful to stop, or to attend to Cecily’s needs.
The baby was passed between Jane and Lady Falconer, seemingly untroubled by the jolting as the party cantered across miles and miles of rolling lowland scenery. The rain had mercifully ceased, though the ground beneath the horses’ hooves was soft and slippery in places. Visibility was decent, though, and Jane had an opportunity to take in the kaleidoscope of heather, gorse, and swaying grass and the backdrop of grey-topped hills that rose to meet the watery blue skies.
Scotland was pretty enough, she conceded, in a wild sort of way. The landscape was not gentle like the Dorset meadows, and it lacked the voluptuous bounty of the English countryside. Its beauty was harsh, uncompromising, even gaunt. But Scotland exuded its own special magic and she was glad to be here despite the taciturn presence of her ill-tempered lover.
They halted for a bite to eat as the sun reached its zenith. Jane and Lady Falconer sat together, Cecily on a blanket between them. They chewed on cold meats and cheese provided by the innkeeper and drank fresh milk.
“Something is amiss,” the countess observed. “There is an atmosphere between you and Mr. McGregor which I could slice in two with my dagger. What has happened?”
Jane swallowed hard. “I prefer not to say, my lady. If you do not mind.”
“I do mind. We may be nearing the end of our journey, but we are not there yet. If the rest of us must bear the brunt of this ill-feeling, we are entitled to know what lies at the root of it.”
“Truly, it is a personal matter and need not affect anyone else.”
“Jane, I must insist.”
“Please, Lady Falconer, it is nothing.”
The countess’s tone hardened. “Answer my question or I shall ask Mr. McGregor. Perhaps he will be more forthcoming.”
“No! You must not. We had a... a disagreement, that is all.”
“On what did you disagree?”
“On... on...” Jane pondered how much to share. Surely, Lady Falconer would view the matter exactly as Jane did. She might even be able to convince Robbie that he was being naive and pig-headed. “We disagreed on the question of whether Robbie and I should be wed.”
Lady Falconer gaped at her. “Did you say ‘wed’?”
“I did. And we are not in accord on the matter.”
The countess’s gaze softened and she reached for Jane’s hand. “He has refused to marry you? I am sorry, but you must appreciate that this was ever likely to be the case. At least he has been honest.”
“You misunderstand me, my lady. Robbie is of the view that he and I should marry. He sees no impediment to such a match. It is I who recognise the entire scheme as madness.”
The countess arched an elegant eyebrow. “I see. How... idiosyncratic. Or maybe this is merely the Scottish way. I have heard these highlanders can be headstrong.”
Jane let out a derisory snort. “They can be utter idiots, Lady Falconer. And that one in particular. If his family catch wind of the notion I fear I shall be sent away in disgrace and I could not bear that. I have advised caution and discretion. If we do not draw attention to our relationship it need offend no one.”
“Caution, eh? And discretion? Am I to assume Mr. McGregor sees it differently?”
“If you will pardon me saying so, my lady, those born to privilege rarely appreciate the realities of life for the less fortunate. Robbie will eventually marry a woman of his own class and I must ready myself for that.” She bit back a sob. “I love him, and he says he loves me, but marriage is not about love, is it?”
“Not usually,” Lady Falconer conceded. “Which is a pity, though I fear you are right. What do you mean to do, then?”
“I shall continue to share his bed for as long as that arrangement suits us both. But I will not be his mistress once he is wed. I have told him so.”
Lady Falconer regarded the scowling features of the Scot in question as he bent to check his horse’s hooves. “I gather he did not take it well.”
“No, he did not. But he will see that I am right.”
“He shows no sign of arriving at that conclusion,” the countess observed dryly.
“He will. He must. He has no option.”
* * *
“There. Mortain.” Robbie slowed the stallion’s pace and stood up in his stirrups.
Jane leaned to the side to peer around him at the brooding stone fortress that perched on the brow of the next hill. Grey battlements reared up against the darkening sky, and she could just make out the shapes of people scurrying back and forth about the foot of the keep’s huge walls.
The place looked forbidding, as though constructed solely for defence and with not a moment’s thought given to comfort or warmth. She supposed that would be right. The Scots were not known to be a sentimental bunch, if you managed to discount their occasional naive ramblings about love and marriage and taking a bride beneath themselves.
A little over an hour later the weary procession clattered across the drawbridge to be surrounded by the people of Mortain. Joyous cries of welcome rang from the battlements as the soldiers stationed there cheered at the return of their comrades. Stable lads rushed to grab dangling reins, women flung their arms about the men who accompanied them, small children clawed at the trousers of their returned fathers pestering to be flung up onto shoulders and carried aloft.
A tall man with hair as dark as that of Jane sauntered over to take the reins of Robbie’s stallion. His eyes were a vivid blue and he beamed up at the man in front of her.
“Ye took your time, brother,” he greeted.
Brother? So, this must be James McGregor, husband to Lady Eleanor.
Jane considered him to be not quite the fearsome presence she had feared, though she clutched baby Cecily close to her chest. In fact, as she studied the man more closely, she had to acknowledge that he was as handsome as her own Robbie in a darker, leaner sort of way.
Robbie grinned down from the saddle. “Aye, well, we had tae dodge Henry’s armies on the way here, an’ again on their way back. I gather the news is nae good.”
He made no mention of the desperate worry he had felt yesterday evening on hearing the news of the Scottish casualties, but Jane could almost feel the waves of relief rolling from him at the sight of his brother, hale and hearty, all his limbs intact.
Jamie McGregor’s smile vanished. “Nay, ‘tis not. But ‘tis all the better
for seein’ ye safe home again. All o’ ye.” He met Jane’s nervous gaze and furrowed his brow at the same time as he extended his hand to her. “Allow me tae help ye down, miss.”
It was not easy to dismount with Cecily still asleep in her arms, but Jane managed it, with the help of both McGregor brothers. As soon as her feet were safely planted on the ground Robbie swung from the saddle himself to take his brother in his arms. Jane stood quietly to one side, reluctant to interrupt. She appreciated how much this embrace meant to Robbie and despite their bitter quarrel she would not blemish this moment.
Jamie McGregor broke their hug and turned to regard Jane, then Lady Falconer. He bowed his head to the newcomers then returned his attention to his brother. “Ye will need tae do the introductions,” he prompted.
“Ah, yes.” Robbie belatedly remembered his manners and swept an arm toward the countess. “James, Earl of Etal and Lord of Mortain, may I introduce Lady Elisabeth Falconer, widow of the late Earl of Ashingburn. Eleanor’s mother,” he added as though he thought Jamie might not work it out for himself.
Jamie raised a dark eyebrow and bowed to kiss the lady’s hand. “You are most welcome at Mortain, my lady. Eleanor will—”
The countess snatched her hand away and glared at James. “I demand to see my daughter. At once. If you have harmed her, I shall... I shall... She does not deserve to be treated so.”
The earl narrowed his azure eyes. “I think you will find your daughter tae be in good health and as well-treated as anyone else here. She will be delighted tae see ye, I am sure.”
“Where is she?” the countess demanded. “I insist upon seeing her. At once.”
“I cannae rightly say, my lady.” He beckoned a serving lad over. “Please seek out Lady Eleanor an’ ask her tae join us in the hall. She may be in the kitchens. Or with my father.”
“Our father is here still? He is well?” Robbie looked in the direction of the castle entrance as though he expected the elder McGregor to emerge at any moment.
James grimaced. “He is well enough, considering. He was injured, fightin’ the English.”
“Dear God...”
“We feared for him, ‘tis true. But Eleanor nursed him day an’ night an’ I swear he lives only because of her.”
Robbie offered his brother a wry smile. “I see ye married well after all, brother.”
The earl returned his brother’s smile and Jane believed she detected a private joke passing between the pair. “Aye. I did.”
Lady Falconer was meanwhile rapidly losing her patience with the pleasantries. She stamped her foot. “Where is Eleanor?” she repeated. “I must insist—”
At that moment a stout, ruddy-faced woman bustled from the castle to rush down the steps. Jane wondered, briefly, if this might be Robbie and James’s mother, though the woman did not especially resemble either of them. Her curiosity was soon satisfied.
“This is Betsy Montgomery, our housekeeper,” James explained, more for Lady Falconer’s benefit than for Jane’s. “She will see ye inside. Ye must be fatigued...”
Montgomery? Archie’s mother, then?
Jane’s suspicion was confirmed when Betsy ignored her lord’s request and rushed past him to seize Archie in her arms and kiss him soundly. Jane stifled a giggle at the dour soldier’s attempts to disengage himself without causing offence, a failing she soon regretted when the earl’s attention was drawn her way once more. James of Mortain regarded her with curiosity for a few moments, then glanced back at his brother. Clearly, another introduction was expected.
“Ah, yes, and this is Jane Bartle. She is employed as nursemaid tae... ah, yes, here she is...” Robbie gently parted the folds of Jane’s voluminous cloak to reveal the small bundle huddled against her chest. “Jamie, would ye meet Cecily. Your wee stepdaughter.”
The earl blinked in obvious confusion, then his features cleared to betray his delight and stunned surprise. With perfect timing, Cecily chose that precise moment to wake up. She raised her small head and peered at the strangers who surrounded her in that forthright manner common to all small children. Fearless as ever, she extended her tiny hand from within the confines of the blanket. Her mouth puckered and Jane prepared herself for an ear-splitting wail.
“Ye found her?” Jamie could barely believe his eyes. “Ye found Cecily?”
“Aye, we did. Wi’ the help o’ Janie here.”
“May I?” James held out his arms to take the child. At Robbie’s quick nod, Jane handed the baby over.
Although she had only known the man for a few minutes, Jane could only describe his expression as wonderstruck. She did not believe the earl could have appeared more astonished had Robbie’s stallion suddenly sprouted wings and flown around the battlements of Mortain keep. He gazed down into the innocent features of this small child, his grin broadening.
“Ye did well, my brother. I dinnae have the words tae thank ye for this. Eleanor will—”
“Mama!” The screech of joy from the top of the steps brought the earl swinging around on his heel.
Jane had not seen Lady Eleanor, now Countess of Etal, for several months, but had to allow that the intervening time had been kind to her. The lady appeared well and less careworn than Jane recalled. Happiness clearly suited her. Marriage too, it would seem. The young countess looked to be more slender than before, or had she grown taller? Jane was not sure, but much seemed to be changed in her appearance and general demeanour.
Lady Eleanor rushed down the steps and across the courtyard to fling her arms about her mother. The pair of them clung to each other, both weeping, both chattering at once.
“I never thought to see you again,” Eleanor sobbed.
Lady Falconer wept too. “I was so worried. That man said you have been condemned to hang.”
Jane gaped. She had been aware of the discord, and that matters were serious, but not on this deadly level. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. No wonder, then, that the countess had left Ashingburn Manor with such haste on the day the Scots arrived there.
“I wanted to get here sooner,” the countess went on, “but the roads were so bad, and there were armies on the move...”
“I know. It has been awful, so much bloodshed. But, you are here. Are you really here?” Lady Eleanor peered into her mother’s travel-weary features.
“I am. We are.”
“Can you stay? Jamie, they can stay with us, can they not?” Lady Eleanor never paused to wait for her husband’s reply, further indication if that were needed that she was sure of herself, and of him, and of her place here. “Where is my father?” She glanced around, scanning the newcomers for sight of Lord Falconer.
“I... I am sorry,” Lady Falconer began.
“My father?” Lady Eleanor appeared bewildered suddenly. “Is he well?”
Lady Falconer shook her head, her face betraying the anguish of the truth. “I am so sorry, sweetheart. He... He...”
“He is not here?”
The countess shook her head again. “He... he died. About six weeks ago. I could not get word to you, until now.”
“My father is dead? But... how?”
“He took a fever. I tried to nurse him, but...” She shrugged. “It was God’s will.”
“But, I do not understand. You said ‘we.’ You said, ‘we are here.’”
James of Mortain cleared his throat and took a step toward his wife.
Eleanor turned to look at him. To really look at him. For the first time, her gaze fell upon the squirming bundle he held in his arms. Her face paled to the colour of parchment. She stood for a moment, transfixed. Then, she held out one hand as though trying to actually touch the apparition that had appeared before her, fearing the vision might evaporate at any moment.
“Cecily? My Cecily...” Her voice came out as a strangled croak.
Her husband closed the short distance between them and held the baby out to her.
Wordlessly, Lady Eleanor took the child. She stared into the tiny pink face
for several moments, then let out a wail of sheer unadulterated joy.
Tears welled in Jane’s eyes when Lady Eleanor buried her nose in the baby’s neck as though to simply inhale the warm, milky smell of her. Still shaking, the young mother sank to her knees in the courtyard. Tears streamed unchecked down her face as she hugged the child she had surely never expected to hold in her arms again.
Her husband crouched beside her and enfolded both Eleanor and Cecily in his arms. Jane could not catch his words of comfort because he spoke in a low tone, for his wife’s ears only.
Eleanor turned to him, mouthing the words ‘thank you, thank you’ over and over.
The earl took her in his arms once more, then looked back at the rest of them over his shoulder. “We shall be in shortly, but we would appreciate a few moments alone. Betsy, Aiden, I wonder, could you see tae showing our guests inside an’ makin’ sure all are fed an’ refreshed?”
“Aye, lad, that we shall.” A man of perhaps fifty or so strode forward to take the reins of both Archie’s and Robbie’s horses. “The men shall go to the barracks an’ we shall send food at once. Ye must all be famished...”
Fergus, Angus, and the rest took no further urging. Two of them draped Colin’s arms across their shoulders to aid his steps and they all trooped off in the direction, Jane assumed, of the guardroom.
“Your chamber is ready an’ waitin’ for ye, young Robbie,” announced the ruddy-faced Betsy. “Yours too, Archie.” She cast a swift glance Jane’s way. “Ye shall have a place i’ the servant’s quarters, Miss Bartle. Wee Molly here will show ye where tae go.”
A maidservant of perhaps thirteen years old trotted forward. “Have ye any baggage, miss?”
Jane shook her head. Even the clothes she stood up in were not truly hers.
“Jane is tae remain wi’ me.” Robbie’s command rang across the bailey, causing both Betsy and Aiden to halt in their tracks.
“But, I thought ye said she were nursemaid tae the bairn?” Betsy queried. “Did I misunderstand?”
“No!”
Jane and Robbie answered in unison, as Jane cast a furious scowl in his direction. Did he really have to make an issue of this right here, right now, with everyone looking on? Had he heard nothing whatsoever of her words regarding discretion?
