by Ashe Barker
“But she has proved her worth many times over,” the countess continued. “She is an excellent nurse, utterly trustworthy. Her other failings are pale in comparison. She should stay.”
“Aye, she should stay,” Robbie agreed. “But not as a nursemaid. Ye see, I mean tae wed the lass.”
His words were met with stunned silence the entire length of the top table. Even Betsy and Lady Roselyn, who were already privy to his wishes in the matter, did not see fit to comment at once. It was his father, Blair McGregor, laird of their clan, who leaned forward, mug of ale in hand, to fix his youngest son with a hard glare.
“Wed the lass, did ye say?”
Robbie flexed his jaw, ready to stand his ground on this. “Aye, sir. I shall wed Jane Bartle. Just as soon as I can convince her tae have me.”
Blair McGregor took his time in responding. Despite his recent injury and brush with death, Robbie detected absolutely no diminution in his father’s sharp, intelligent gaze. Little escaped the notice of The McGregor and he assessed this situation with his customary quiet care before speaking. No one else saw fit to interrupt him.
“So, she has turned ye down, then?”
Robbie suspected his father has already been informed of the situation. He had never known any secrets to exist between his parents.
“She has,” Robbie acknowledged.
The McGregor raised an eyebrow. “I see. The lass has sense then. We can, at least, be glad o’ that.” He narrowed his eyes. “So, ye still mean tae have her?”
Robbie nodded. “I do. I definitely do.”
“Well, then we shall need tae be seein’ what she is made of. Betsy, will ye be so good as tae have the girl brought down tae join us, if ye please?”
Chapter Seventeen
“The hall? I am needed in the hall?”
“Aye,” replied Molly, the maid who had been sent to summon Jane. “I was telled tae bring ye straight down.”
Jane set aside the barely touched tray of food she had brought up to her quarters from the kitchens. She had only just started to munch her way through a hunk of bread, some cheese, a few slices of cold partridge, and an apple. Her stomach growled. She knew she may not get to finish her meal for some time.
“I expect I am needed to see to Cecily,” she said, rising from her pallet.
“Nay, I dinnae think ‘tis that. The McGregor wishes tae speak wi’ ye.”
“The McGregor?” Jane paused, puzzled. “They are all McGregors, are they not? You mean Robert McGregor?” Perhaps she would get to fill her grumbling stomach after all, for she was most certainly not about to place herself at the beck and call of that arrogant, dim-witted Scot.
The girl shook her head. “The McGregor,” she repeated. “The laird, chief of the McGregor clan.”
Light dawned and Jane’s heart sank.
Oh, dear Lord. She means Robbie’s father, the laird...
Jane could think of only one reason why the chief of the McGregors would wish to speak with a lowly nursemaid, and it did not bode well. Why, oh why could Robbie not have held his tongue? She had begged him, pleaded with him...
Biting back tears, she offered Molly a quick nod and followed the maid from the cramped chamber.
Molly led her through a series of narrow corridors and down two flights of spiral stairs, to emerge in the corner of the hall, close to the enormous fireplace. Heat from the crackling flames hit her as soon as she entered.
The room was full of people and the din of voices was near enough deafening as each tried to make themselves heard above the rest. The arrangement was much as she had been accustomed to seeing throughout her life in service. A high table was immediately in front of her, set on a raised dais. Jane recognised some of the people seated there—the earl and his wife, Lady Falconer, Betsy, and, of course, Robbie, who was at the end furthest from where she now stood. Despite her anger at his betrayal, she was still tempted to run around to his side and seek his protection.
But, that would not help her. Jane stiffened her spine and fixed her gaze on the one male at the table who she had not yet met, however fleetingly.
An older man, The McGregor sat at the earl’s right hand. One glance at his profile, and Jane had no doubt where his sons inherited their handsome features from. Even in his declining years, Blair McGregor was a devastatingly attractive man. He also exuded power and authority, though she supposed that was to be expected. He was born to it, after all.
Jane shuffled on the spot, uncertain whether she should make her way around to the front of the table and present herself. Her dilemma was solved when a younger woman seated at the end closest to her turned around with a smile.
“Ah, ye must be our Robbie’s Jane.”
Our Robbie’s Jane. Dear Lord, let the earth open and swallow me now. They must all know...
Jane was conscious of the flush that rose up to engulf her, but the young woman continued as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “There are some steps, just there. Come an’ join us.”
Jane remained where she was, rooted to the spot, as one by one all the individuals seated at the high table turned to regard her.
The woman who had spoken before now got to her feet and trotted down the steps she had previously pointed out. She took Jane by the elbow and propelled her forward. “I am Joan, sister tae Robbie an’ Jamie here. Ye shall sit by me. There’s a spare seat since my wee lad has deserted me tae play wi’ his friends.”
Before she knew it, Jane found herself on the dais and being directed to take the one empty seat.
“Nay, I would have her sit by me,” the laird announced. “Aiden, would ye mind?”
The laird’s companion rose and took the seat that had been offered to Jane, leaving his own place vacant. The McGregor’s expression seemed friendly enough as he gestured to Jane to join him at the table.
Bewildered, Jane sat where indicated, at the laird’s right hand. She had not the slightest notion what to expect next. In her experience it was not customary to invite employees to dine with the family if they were about to be dismissed.
“Have ye eaten yet, lass?” the laird inquired mildly enough.
Jane shook her head. “I was about to, when Molly arrived to say that I was required here.”
“Well then, ye might like tae try a little o’ this roast swan.” The laird called for a plate, then proceeded to heap a disgustingly healthy portion of the meat onto it. “We have turnips, too, cooked i’ some herb or other. Betsy sets out a fine table, so she does. An’ maybe a wee bite o’ this venison pie...” He set the plate before Jane. “Go on, lass. We can talk while ye eat.”
Jane sincerely doubted that she would ever manage to splutter a word in this powerful man’s presence but eating may not be too difficult since she was absolutely famished. She picked up a piece of the roast swan and put it in her mouth.
The flavours exploded on her tongue. The meat tasted heavenly.
“Aye, ‘tis good,” the laird agreed. “An ye could do wi’ a bit o’ fattenin’ up. Go on, have some more.”
The next several minutes were spent in relative peace as the rest of the family chatted among themselves and Jane consumed most of what the laird had heaped on her plate. A mug of ale appeared beside her and she enjoyed the smooth coolness as it slid down her throat.
“Eleanor here enjoys a glass o’ wine wi’ her meal. Would ye prefer that, Miss Bartle?” It was Joan who asked, leaning forward to catch her eye.
Jane shook her head. “I have only tried wine once or twice, my lady.”
“Then ye might like this one, do ye no’ think so, Da?”
The McGregor was of the same mind. At his signal, a wooden goblet was set alongside her mug of ale and filled with richly coloured ruby-red wine. “This is from France,” he explained. “See what ye think?”
Jane had to conclude that this particular red wine was perhaps the headiest beverage she had ever experienced, though her knowledge was sorely limited. The deep, fruity flavour caressed her tong
ue before slithering warm and soft down her throat.
“Oh,” she declared. “It is very... Oh.”
The laird frowned. “Mmm, not sure I care for it o’ermuch myself, but the ladies seem fond of a wee drop. Would ye like some more?”
“Perhaps. A little...”
“Aiden, may I...?” Robbie had moved to stand behind the man who sat on the other side of her. He bent to mutter in his ear and the man rose with a smile. Robbie slid into his seat so Jane found herself wedged between the two McGregor males.
“Jane...” Robbie leaned over to murmur in her ear. “If ye have eaten your fill, maybe we should find somewhere a wee bit quieter. We have much tae discuss.”
“I... yes.” However displeased she might be with him, Jane recognised a rescue attempt when she saw one. The sooner she could be away from this throng and melt back into the furniture, the better. Jane dabbed at her lips with a napkin and placed it over her plate. “Thank you, my lord,” she began, offering a tentative smile at the laird. “That was delicious. Now, if you will excuse me, I—”
The McGregor was having none of it. “I shall nae have that lad o’ mine stealin’ ye away quite yet, Miss Bartle. I want tae be hearin’ about your doin’s. I gather ye have an unorthodox way wi’ ye?”
Unorthodox? Not usually considered a good trait in a servant.
Jane attempted to repair the damage. “I may have acted impetuously on occasion, my lord, but I assure you, that would not normally be my approach. I am a good and decent nursemaid. Diligent, hard-working. Cecily likes me, and—”
“Aye, so I hear. But ‘tis not yer nursemaidin’ that most interests me. I would hear your account o’ how ye managed tae buy our wee Cecily here back.”
The money. He knows I took Lady Falconer’s sovereigns to pay for Cecily.
Jane swallowed hard. She had hoped never to have to make reference to this morally dubious matter again but it seemed she must explain her actions to the laird himself.
“I am not a thief,” she blurted. “‘Tis true that I took the money from Lady Falconer’s room without first asking her, but I felt it was needful. I... I will repay it.”
She had not the first notion where she might lay her hands on twenty silver sovereigns, but she was sure the Lord would provide. Somehow.
“Da, she didnae mean—” Robbie attempted to intervene, only to be cut off by his father’s shout of laughter.
“By God, lass, ye’re full o’ surprises. I was meanin’ ye tae tell us of how ye followed that bastard Culpepper, then led my lads tae where the wee bairn was bein’ held. But I daresay your own version of events will be better.”
Thoroughly confused, Jane dared a glance at the laird. He was still chuckling and seemed not in the least put out at her admission. “You do not mind? About the sovereigns?”
“Why would I? ‘Twas no’ my money. An’ it sounds as though ye put it tae an excellent use.”
“That is what I thought at the time, my lord.”
“Quite so. And I trust Lady Falconer is of similar mind.” He slanted a glance down the table and caught the countess’s eye.
Lady Falconer dipped her chin. “I am, my lord.”
The laird picked up the flagon of wine and refilled Jane’s goblet. “There, ‘tis settled. Now, ye can tell us all about—”
“Blair, do not harangue the girl so. She has had a long journey and must be tired. Perhaps, instead of interrogating her, you could allow Robbie to properly introduce her to the rest of us.”
The laird narrowed his eyes at his wife, a still-lovely woman who was seated on the other side of the earl and his countess. He grunted, then waved an arm at Robbie. “Ye heard your mother. Get on wi’ it, then.”
Robbie did not waste much time on the pleasantries. “Ye’ve met Joan already.” He gestured to his sister, who beamed at Jane. “She has a wee heathen of a lad somewhere about. I dinnae doubt ye will get wind o’ him soon enough. Ye met Betsy when ye first arrived, an’ Aiden. They are Archie’s ma an’ da, an’ close friends tae the McGregors.”
Jane nodded and murmured how pleased she was to make their acquaintance. She had little training in fine manners, but that response seemed obvious enough.
Robbie continued. “My father, of course, Blair McGregor, Laird o’ Skye an’ the Outer Hebrides, chief o’ the Clan McGregor.”
“I... I have heard that Skye is very beautiful.” Not entirely true. Jane barely comprehended where Skye was, let alone what the landscape might be like. But the laird appeared satisfied and he returned her smile readily enough.
“An’ this is my mother, Lady Roselyn McGregor.”
The lady in question rose from the table, followed by a huge hound that emerged from beneath her seat. Jane gasped. She had not realised the animal was there.
“Please, do not let Donnar alarm you,” Lady Roselyn said, quickly laying her hand on the dog’s shoulder. “‘Tis just that I do not see, so I rely upon him to guide me. He is always with me, and whilst I am told he has a somewhat ferocious look to him he is perfectly docile, I assure you.”
“Oh.” Jane was astonished. “You are blind.”
“I am.” Lady Roselyn walked the length of the table and bent to hug Jane. “I am delighted to meet you, my dear.”
“Dinnae be fooled by my wife’s blindness, lass. She sees far more than anyone else I have ever met.” The laird caught Lady Roselyn by the elbow and tugged her toward the arm of his chair. Lady Roselyn perched herself there while the dog disappeared back under the table.
Robbie completed his duties by nodding at his brother and his wife. “Ye know Lady Eleanor, o’ course, an’ ye met my brother outside.”
Jane managed to smile at the earl and countess. “You are looking very well, my lady,” she offered.
“Thank you,” Eleanor replied. “And I very much wish to get to know you properly. Of course, I have to thank you for your help in rescuing my little girl and for seeing her safe here to me.” She shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. “Mere thanks are not nearly enough...”
Embarrassed, Jane shook her head. “I did what I could, my lady. I was happy to help.”
“Please, you must call me Eleanor. ‘Tis only fitting, since we are to be sisters, I gather.”
“S-sisters?” Jane gaped at the countess. “I do not understand.”
“Oh, I apologise.” The countess reddened. “I had understood Robbie to say that you and he are to wed.”
Robbie cleared his throat and glowered at his flustered sister-in-law. “Janie and I have yet tae discuss the details.”
“Oh, but I thought you said—”
“We shall speak of this later,” Robbie growled.
Jane opened her mouth, ready to let him know exactly what she thought of his announcement to his family. It was at best premature, at worst totally unwarranted. Indeed, hell would freeze over before she consented to be his bloody wife and the sooner these McGregors were apprised of that fact, the better. She would dispel any illusions without delay.
A warning hand on her shoulder halted that plan. “Later,” Robbie repeated. “When ‘tis just the two of us.”
She shot him a fulminating glare but remained silent. It looked like she was to retain her position here after all. She would not jeopardise that now by indulging in a fit of temper at the dinner table. Robbie McGregor could wait.
Lady Eleanor seemed to be of the same mind and was eager to direct their conversation toward less contentious territory.
“That is a most fetching gown, Jane. Such a beautiful colour. It sets off your dark hair to perfection.”
Jane glanced down at the sumptuous red velvet and stroked the soft skirt. “It is lovely, yes, but sadly, it is not mine.”
“I said that you may keep it, Jane. Of course it is yours.” Lady Falconer had been observing the proceedings in silence, but she spoke now. “Consider it a gift.”
Lady Eleanor furrowed her brow, then nodded. “Ah, yes, I thought the gown looked a little familiar. It wa
s once yours, Mama.”
“It was, though I fear it never looked so well on me as it does on Miss Bartle. It is but a dress. I am glad you like it, and that it suits you so well.”
“I appreciate your kindness, my lady. Were it not for your generosity I would have arrived here in nothing but a cloak and a length of tartan.”
Again, the table fell silent. Jane gawped at her companions and clapped her hand across her mouth. What on earth had possessed her to say that? She could only blame the wine and resolved never to touch another drop.
Eleanor was the first to speak. “Was there some difficulty, then, with your own clothes?”
Jane nodded. “I... I left them behind.”
“Left them behind?” Eleanor repeated. “You mean, you forgot them? All of them?”
“Yes,” Jane whispered. “All of them.”
“I see,” Eleanor observed. “You must have been very preoccupied.”
“Jane, there is no need to say any more,” Robbie warned, his grip on her shoulder tightening. He addressed the rest of the company. “A misunderstanding, that was all.”
“A misunderstanding which resulted in the loss of Miss Bartle’s entire wardrobe, including those items upon her person?” The earl eyed his brother with undisguised interest. “No wonder we are hearin’ talk o’ weddings.”
“It is no’ what ye think,” Robbie ground out.
“No.” Jane gulped. “It is not. Nothing like that. I—”
“Did I raise the pair of you to behave like rutting stags?” Lady McGregor assumed a stern expression, sliding her sightless gaze from one of her sons to the other. “You have embarrassed Miss Bartle and I shall not have it. You will cease this at once.”
“We should leave. Now.” Robbie gripped Jane’s elbow and sought to aid her from the chair. He spared a furious glance for his brother who made no attempt to conceal his amusement. “One more word from ye and ye shall find yerself flat on your back i’ your own hall.”
The earl’s grin widened. He did not appear concerned at the threat.
Jane could not have been more mortified had she been stripped naked right there and then. She should never have accepted a second, or was it a third, goblet of wine. Had she had her wits about her she would never have mentioned the events in Stratford at all, and now look what she had done. The brothers were about to come to blows because of her. Jane’s tongue took on a life of its own as she tried to restore some semblance of propriety.
