by Amanda Scott
When silence greeted her question, she looked at Mairi and saw that she had cocked her head and that her gray eyes had taken on a vague, thoughtful look. She said at last, “In troth, Jenny, I do not know 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 enjoyed that.”
“Aye, sure, for we went to Glasgow and 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 minstrels must be 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 prefer my own.”
“Aye, well, you don’t have to marry your odious uncle,” Jenny said.
“I am thankful to say that Reid is not my uncle,” Mairi reminded her.
“He is as much your uncle by marriage as Fiona is my cousin,” Jenny said. “Reid is gey eager to marry me and clearly expects to become master of Easdale. Sithee, that will create difficulty, because he knows naught about managing a large estate, whereas my father trained me to do so. Such a marriage cannot prosper.”
Fiona said, “It is better than if they had betrothed you to Sir Hugh, Jenny, which is what everyone knows Father would have preferred. Think what that would be like! Hugh is accustomed to managing estates and would not care a whit that you can manage yours. Why, for all that Mam claims he was a mischievous child who liked to ape other folks’ movements and voices till he’d get himself smacked, he is so stern and proper now that she says one could light a fire between his toes and he would just wonder if one had built it to burn as it should.”
Jenny laughed but took care not to look at him again. Fiona’s portrayal was apt, 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. And Phaeline had said that once he made up his mind, he never changed it. He would fold his arms across his chest, she’d said, and pretend to listen. But one’s arguments would have no more effect on him than drops of water on a stone.
“I don’t want Sir Hugh, either,” Jenny said firmly. “I should infinitely prefer to choose my own husband.”
“But you don’t know any other eligible 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—”
“Prithee, have mercy!” Jenny interjected, striving to keep her voice from carrying to anyone else. “I do not count my worth low, Mairi, but my looks are not what fashion decrees for beauty. At least, so Phaeline has told me. And she, you know, takes good care always to be well informed about matters of fashion.”
“That is true, Mairi,” Fiona said. “Mam does know what people like. Indeed, she fears that one reason you have not yet contracted a marriage is that men consider your extreme fairness unfashionable.”
Mairi smiled. “If Phaeline fails to give our father a son, leaving me to inherit the Dunwythie barony, dearling, men won’t care a whit about my coloring. Jenny is already a baroness in her own right, and her estates are fine ones. Had your mam not decided to wed her to Reid before any more eligible noblemen clapped eyes on her, Jenny would have many suitors eager to admire her.”
To change the subject, Jenny said, “Reid will return shortly, and I do not want him near my bedchamber. I think I will retire now, before he gets back.”
“Sakes, Jenny, you cannot leave your own betrothal feast!” Fiona protested.
“I am feeling decisive tonight,” Jenny said. “I want to go, so I will.”
“Then we should go, too,” Mairi said. Before Fiona could protest, she raised her voice 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 end of the hall, half fearing to see Reid Douglas lurching drunkenly toward her between the trestles. She did not see him, but when she shifted her gaze to her uncle, she realized he had been watching her.
“D’ye want to seek your chamber now, lassie?” he asked.
“Aye, sir, I do.”
He nodded and scanned the hall before meeting her gaze again. “I’ll see that ye’re no disturbed then.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said with 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 would be eager to be away if they lived near enough to go home, or longing to seek the quiet of their bedchambers if they did not.
The hour was still early, and he was not ready to retire, especially as he was sharing his brother’s chamber. Deciding to seek fresh air, he went outside, taking care to avoid the forecourt, where others would be taking their leave.
The air was crisp, the waxing crescent moon high, and he heard the surf in the distance, for Annan House sat atop a hill overlooking Solway Firth. By walking a short way, he obtained a moonlit view of the water. The tide was surging in.
Annan Hill also commanded a view of the dark vale stretching northward and the golden lights of Annan town beside the wide, gleaming silver ribbon that was the river Annan. Dark woods and rolling hills rose to the east, while to the southwest he could see the gentle hills separating Annandale from Nithsdale, gray now in the moonlight. Southward lay the sandy shore of the Firth, its glittering water, and in the distance, the long English coast backed by tall, dark, distant mountains.
After two days spent in company, the solitude was pleasant. He had not been conscious of tension, but he felt himself relax as he watched the moonlight creating paths of silver on the waters below. The sight reminded him of Ella and the only time he had brought her to Annan House, to meet his sister.
He had thought it his duty to present Ella, because Phaeline had been unable to attend their wedding. It had been a small one, because Ella had been shy and Hugh disliked the pomp and circumstance his father would have demanded for the marriage of his heir, despite his lordship’s disapproval of Hugh’s chosen bride.
The only thing about Ella that had pleased the late laird was her portion. As the only daughter of a wealthy Lothian baron, her tocher had added significantly to Thorn-hill’s coffers. Even so, the laird had thought her nobbut a wee dab of a lass.
But Hugh had loved Ella dearly. She had been sweet and quiet, and believed he could do no wrong. Although shy with others, she had never been shy with him.
She had been a gentle lass who never thought ill of anyone, and when she died, it seemed to him that most of what was soft and gentle in him had died with her. The rest had died with her wee bairn a sennight later.
He had stopped feeling any strong emotions then and doubted that he would ever feel such things again. Now, watching the moonlight on the water, he felt only lingering sorrow and the familiar, ever-present sense of loss.
Although Mairi and Fiona had offered to go with Jenny to her room, she had disclaimed any need for their protection. “Faith, Mairi,” she said on the first landing. “Even if Reid were sober enough to find my chamber, my door has a strong bolt.”
“I thought you might like some company,” Mairi said, unpinning and pulling off her caul to reveal a long tumble of silky, sand-colored hair.
“Forbye, it will be easier to send him away if we are all there,” Fiona said.
“Right now, all I want is my bed,” Jenny told them. “Goodnight now, both of you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Turning away, she hurried upstairs, trying to ignore the gloomy mood that threatened to overcome her. She had known from childhood that she would marry one day, but it had never occurred to her that anyone could make her marry a man for whom she had no respect or liking. Her father had talked to her of marriage, but he had envisioned a comfortable and loving union such as he had enjoyed. He had certainly never imagined a man like Reid Douglas as his only child’s husband.
Entering her chamber, she found her maidservant laying out her night things.
“Och, mistress, ’tis glad I am to see ye,” Peg said, trying without success to straighten her cap over her un-tamed riot of red curls. “If ye dinna mind, I’m hoping to walk a short way wi’ me brother Bryan and them, so I can talk wi’ him.”
“You mean to leave Annan House with the minstrels?” Jenny raised her eyebrows. “Will the lady Phaeline allow such a thing?”
“I dinna mean to ask her,” Peg said. “ ’Tis more than a year since I’ve seen our Bryan, and I saw nowt o’ him today long enough for speaking.”
“Then you should go,” Jenny said. “What’s more, if you’ll help me change out of this gown into a plain one, I will go with you.”
“Nay, then, ye mustna do any such thing!” Peg exclaimed. “ ’Tisna fitting for a lady to be traipsing about wi’ a lot o’ such common folk!”
“I’ve been longing for an adventure before I must wed, even a wee one,” Jenny said. “If I take off my caul and veil and don my old blue kirtle and a cloak, people will just think I am another maid bearing you company whilst you meet with Bryan. And if anyone does catch us, I will bear the blame,” she added. “My lord and my lady will assume that I succumbed to impulse and you went along to look after me.”
Peg hesitated, visibly moved by the latter argument.
“Hurry,” Jenny said, feeling a surge of excitement that she had not felt since childhood. “Oh, Peg, this will be fun!”
Peg looked askance at Jenny’s stout walking boots. “Them boots be too fine to belong to any maidservant.”
“Well, there is still snow on the ground, and I haven’t any others,” Jenny said. “If anyone asks about them, just tell them I’m a waiting woman to her ladyship and she often gives me her castoff clothing.”
“We’ll ha’ to hope that nae one o’ them kens what big feet she has, then,” Peg said dryly. “Will ye be having me tell any more lies for ye?”
“Aye, if necessary,” Jenny said with a grin as she pulled off her caul and veil and began to unpin the long, thick golden-brown plaits thus revealed. “I’m no good at telling lies myself, so if we’ve any to tell, you must do it.”
“What about Bryan? Must I lie to me own brother?”
“Only if he cannot hold his tongue,” Jenny said. “But for this one night, I want to be just a common Border lass, Peg. That way, my going with you and the minstrels will not stir any talk or upset.” As she spoke, she took a fresh shift from one of the kists, rolled it up, and stuffed it into a covered basket along with a hairbrush, a long scarf, and an extra pair of stockings. Then, snatching up her oldest hooded riding cloak and a pair of warm gloves, she announced herself ready.
“What be ye taking all them things for?” Peg asked suspiciously.
“In case I need them,” Jenny said. “Hurry now, or they’ll be gone.”
Hugh continued to watch the churning, moonlit tidal surge, letting his thoughts roam as and where they would until he grew chilly.
Then, reluctantly, he went inside and up to his brother’s room. Finding it still empty, he went to bed, expecting Reid to disturb him on his return.
Instead, he slept until a clamorous pounding on the door woke him.
Chapter 2
Learning from Peg as they hurried down the stairs that the minstrels meant to travel only five miles before camping for the night on their way to Dumfries, Jenny assured her that they could walk with them for as long as she liked.
“But ye’ll no be wanting to walk five miles, me lady,” Peg protested.
“Don’t talk so loud,” Jenny said. “And do not address me so when we are with them, Peg. I think I should be your cousin—and gey common, remember?”
“Aye, me la—” Clapping a hand to her mouth, Peg fell guiltily silent.
They found the minstrels milling in the stableyard, chattering and laughing as they piled things in carts or lashed them to loudly braying mules while Dunwythie men-at-arms tried to see what they were doing and what they meant to carry away.
“Do you see your brother?” Jenny asked, raising her voice so Peg would hear it above the din. She wished she had not done so when she saw the itinerant knacker, Parland Dow, passing by.
A tradesman of many skills, Dow had butchered beef and lambs for the feast. He served many noble families in Dumfriesshire and Galloway, and had first-head privileges with most of them, meaning he could come and go as he pleased. One reason for his great popularity was that he cheerfully shared gossip with everyone he met. He knew Jenny well, and she did not want him to see her with the minstrels.
When he rode past her, leading his laden pony toward the gate, she was sure he had not recognized her. In her old clothes, with her hood up and her hair in plaits, she doubted that anyone could who did not look her right in the face.
Peg, still eagerly scanning the scene, was quiet a little longer before she pointed and said, “There he is, near the bell tower. Bryan!” Shouting, she waved.
As the knacker passed through the gate, one of several young men standing nearby waved back to Peg and hurried to meet her.
“I’m glad ye came,” he said, giving Peg a hug. “I ha’ scarcely seen ye!”
“Aye, so we were thinking we’d walk with ye for a time,” Peg told him. “Ye dinna all ride them mules, do ye?”
“Sakes, no, we’ll walk ahead and they’ll follow us— the carts, too,” he said, chuckling but casting a curious glance at Jenny. “Who’s your friend, lass?”
Peg gaped but recovered herself when her gaze met Jenny’s. “I’ll tell ye true, Bryan,” she said. “But only an ye promise ye’ll tell nae one else.”
“Why should her name be a secret?” he demanded, frowning.
“Because I will it so,” Jenny said quietly but with a mischievous smile. “If you cannot agree that whilst I stay with you, I am your cousin Jenny, then Peg must tell you no more.”
Bryan looked at his sister, then back at Jenny.
“I dinna ken who ye be, mistress, but I ken fine that ye be nae kin o’ mine.”
“Will you not accept me so, just for a short time?”
“Dinna be mean, Bryan,” Peg begged. “Let her come.”
He shook his head. “These be my friends, lass. I canna tell them lies.”
“I shan’t ask you to tell them anything but only to accept what I tell them myself,” Jenny said. “Many of my own people call me Jenny, and if we tell the minstrels who I really am, I fear they may not let me go with you. But, indeed,” she added earnestly, “I mean them no harm.”
“Who are ye then?” Bryan asked. “I warrant I should call ye ‘me lady.’ ”
Meeting Peg’s anxious gaze, Jenny nodded.
“She’s me lady Janet,” Peg said. “She just wants to ken more about the minstrels and them that she saw tonight, and mayhap enjoy a wee adventure.”
Bryan stared at Jenny, his eyes wide with astonishment.
“Sakes, my lady, was it no your betrothal feast where we performed?”
“Aye, sadly,” Jenny said. “ ’Tis why I yearn for adventure now. Sithee, I’ll have no time for it when I’m married, and that will happen in three weeks’ time!”
“But what o’ your betrothed man? What will he say about this?”
“He can say naught,” Jenny said firmly. “He is not yet my husband.”
Bryan hesitated, clearly reluctant.
Peg said, “What harm can it do? We want only to walk wi’ ye for a bit.”
Jenny kept silent, fixing Bryan wi
th a somber but hopeful look.
He sighed. “Come along then,” he said. “But mind, ye’ll both ha’ to turn back afore we reach Castle Moss.”
“Castle Moss?” Jenny said. “ ’Tis an odd name, surely.”
He chuckled. “ ’Tis named for the Water o’ Moss on which it sits. They say the castle’s walls be fourteen feet thick, but I dinna ken if that be right, ’cause we camp in the laird’s woods. But tomorrow night, at Lochmaben, they’ll let us sleep inside their wall. I warrant they dinna trust us in their woods, minstrels or no, nobbut what their castle be surrounded mostly by water.”
“Lochmaben!” Jenny exclaimed. “But the English hold Lochmaben Castle. They have held it all my life. Do they not still occupy it?”
“Aye, sure, for all the good it does them,” Bryan said with a shrug. “The Annandale folk keep them pent up inside and sell them their food and supplies. So they welcome us to entertain them every year when we come by.”
Peg nodded. “ ’Tis true, me lady. Minstrels, fools, and players can go almost anywhere, even places other folks cannot.”
“But you said only that this company was going to Dumfries, Peg,” Jenny reminded her. “You never mentioned Lochmaben.”
Peg shrugged. “I didna ken they’d go there, but it be nae great surprise. Even Englishmen like to laugh and hear music now and now.”
“Faith, but I’d like to see that castle,” Jenny said wistfully. “Lochmaben was the Bruce’s own seat, was it not?”
“Aye,” Bryan said, his attention clearly wandering back to his friends.
Peg eyed Jenny with mistrust visible even in the dim light provided by the high crescent moon and the stableyard torches. “Ye’re no thinking we should—”
“Not another word, Peg,” Jenny said with a laugh. “I think the others are ready to go now. Are they not, Bryan?”
“Aye, mistress, although them guards do still be a-searching yon carts.”
“Cousin Jenny,” she reminded him gently.
