by Amanda Scott
“Aye, cousin,” he said with a resigned smile.
He made no further objection and apparently saw no need to discuss his two companions with any of the others, most of whom engaged in conversation and merrymaking as they went. Despite their long performance, they did not seem to be at all tired. Strung out along the narrow track, with carts and sumpters lumbering behind, the minstrels seemed to number at least a score if not many more.
Some sang, and Jenny heard much laughter, turning their procession into an adventure by itself, because she had never traveled in such rag-tag company before. Nor had she ever walked outside at night before for such a distance as five miles.
The moon and stars lit their way, and the air was clear and crisp. The track they followed descended toward the river from Annan House until they could no longer see the sparkling water of the Solway Firth.
They forded the river south of town. The crossing took time, because the water, although shallow there, was still too icy to ford on foot.
The mules and high-wheeled carts transported the company’s baggage, while those afoot used a footbridge purposely made too narrow for horses and too wobbly for more than two or three people to cross safely at a time. On the west bank of the river, they followed another, hillier track toward the northwest.
Soon, the castle and town of Annan had vanished behind them, and the moon lit only the narrow track and the tree-laden hills flanking the long, flat expanse of Annandale that lay to the north of them. Moonlight reflected from the many silvery streams that tumbled down the hills to join the wider, twisting ribbon of the river.
Whenever the road crossed such a stream lacking a footbridge, as most of them did, men laid boards for a makeshift one so those on foot could cross. Jenny knew that one rarely found any bridges in the Scottish Borders, because Borderers viewed them as open invitations to English raiders and invaders.
Ever conscious of Peg’s frequent glances but enjoying the minstrels’ antics, Jenny watched them and listened to their songs as she tried to think how she might contrive to stay with them long enough to see Lochmaben.
She had hoped to retain her freedom just long enough to feel that she had enjoyed one small adventure. But to see Lochmaben, the chief seat of the Bruces, would be a special treat. The Bruces had been lords of Annandale for nearly two centuries before Robert the Bruce became King of Scots.
The English had occupied Lochmaben now for nearly ninety years, with only one brief interruption. Therefore, few Scots living in the dale had ever been inside the castle. For one seeking adventure, to learn that the minstrels could enter was simply too great an opportunity to ignore.
They soon came to a wider road that Bryan explained was one of many ancient Roman roads in the area. It was more heavily wooded there than the east bank of the river, and less populated, but they had not gone far when they saw that folks ahead of them had stopped to gather around something in the road.
A saddled horse and a pack pony stood nearby. Some distance ahead, a man sat on a white horse in the middle of the road and watched as other members of the company, some with torches, scattered into the woods on either side of it.
Jenny saw then that two of the men who had stopped were helping another man to his feet. Although he held a hand to his head, she easily recognized him.
“What’s happened here?” Bryan asked.
“ ’Tis the knacker from Annan House,” the tall, thin fool—still in whiteface—told him. “Someone clouted him when he dismounted to take a piss, he said, though he never saw who it was. The scoundrels must ha’ been hiding in the woods.”
Jenny glanced at the sumpter pony as Bryan said, “His packs dinna look as if they’d been disturbed.”
As the knacker walked unsteadily to his pony, Jenny avoided his gaze but watched nonetheless closely as he checked his packs and lashing.
He looked bewildered when he’d finished. “I dinna think they took nowt,” he said. “I ken fine that I lost me senses for a wee while, but I heard you lot laughing and singing behind me before then, so the villains must ha’ run off straightaway.”
“Likely they heard us, too,” Bryan said.
“Aye, sure,” murmured the tall fool. But he was not looking at Bryan.
Following his gaze, Jenny saw two men she recognized as members of the company step out of the woods. As they strode toward the others, their colorful cote-hardies showed beneath the long dark cloaks they wore over them.
“Did ye see anyone, Cuddy?” the fool shouted.
“Neither man nor beast,” the smaller of the two searchers shouted back.
“Any tracks?”
“Nay, the ground be all mucky from snow melt,” Cuddy shouted back.
“They’d be gone now, in any event,” the fool said.
The knacker agreed, but he traveled with them a half hour longer, until they came to a side road leading to a farm where he said the owner expected him.
The air had grown colder by then, and Jenny knew the hour was late. When the road headed uphill again, Bryan said, “Ye’d best be turning back now, the pair o’ ye. As it is, ye’ll be gey late by the time ye reach Annan House.”
“Much too late,” Jenny agreed. “The moon is sure to set soon, and I do not know the way back well enough to find it in the dark.”
“Well, I warrant our Peg kens how to—”
“Nay, I do not!” Peg exclaimed. “Hoots, but I never meant to walk beyond sight of Annan House!”
“That was my fault,” Jenny said. “However, I am sure, Bryan, that if we go on to Castle Moss with you and stay the night, we can easily find our way back by daylight. Mayhap the laird of Castle Moss will even be kind enough then to—”
“Mistress, ye canna stay overnight wi’ the likes of us,” Bryan protested. “What would your people—especially your man—think o’ that?”
“Only that you were kind enough to look after me,” Jenny said glibly. “Unless you’d like to ask two lads from your company to guide us back to Annan House…”
“I knew it,” Peg said with a sigh. “Ye want to stay, and that be the truth of it, me lady. Be that not so?”
“Aye, sure,” Jenny said. “I’m having more fun tonight than I have had for a very long time. You cannot be so cruel as to make me abandon my adventure now.” With a beseeching look at Bryan, she added, “Just listen to them singing up ahead!”
Bryan shot a look at his sister that Jenny feared boded ill for Peg, but he said only, “I canna make that decision myself. I must ask the Joculator.”
Having no idea what a joculator might be, Jenny thought it wise to keep quiet. She doubted that any reasonable person would send her back to Annan House with only Peg to escort her, or send any of his own people all the way back with them. She would at least, she hoped, get to see Castle Moss.
Well aware that Bryan would make a poor advocate for her, she took care to stay with him and kept Peg at her side as he led them to the front of the company. There, singing in a pleasant tenor voice with the others, was the man on the white horse she had seen earlier. Although he had removed his whiteface, she recognized him as the juggler who had astonished everyone with his ability to juggle daggers.
Gaining his attention, Bryan said, “Sir, with your permission, my sister and… and her friend would stay the night with our company. They meant only to walk a short way with us, but what wi’ talking and all, the time sped by. Now, they fear they’ll miss their way back in the darkness and crave permission to stay—”
“Stay the night with us, aye; ye said that,” the rider said, casting a swift glance over Jenny and Peg. “Ye were foolish to come so far,” he said to them sternly. “Did ye hope to join my company as a pair of fools?”
“Nay, sir,” Jenny said hastily before Peg could speak—if she had meant to. “Being a fool, as we ha’ seen, takes more wit than we ha’ shown tonight.”
His stern expression relaxed into a peculiarly sweet smile. “Ye show some sense now, at all events. What be your name,
lassie?”
“Jenny, sir,” she said, smiling back.
“A bonnie name for a bonnie lass… And your friend be Bryan’s sister?”
“Aye, sir, she’s Peg. We’re cousins of a sort, though Bryan didna own to that, being gey wroth with us for our foolishness and doubtless fearing, too, that ye’d think less o’ him for being kin to such a pair. But ’tis my fault and none o’ theirs that we be here. I’d fain learn more about minstrels and how they do live.”
“Ye’ll stay the night with us, for I’ll no send two such lassies alone all the way back to Annan House. ’Twould be nobbut what ye deserve, mind. But his lordship will doubtless punish ye both for this foolishness, so I need do nowt.”
Jenny had not considered what Dunwythie might do. She had thought only briefly about Phaeline’s likely reaction and had dismissed Reid’s altogether. In any event, she decided, she would do all she could to extend her absence.
She was tired of not being able to make her own decisions anymore. Whether they punished her or not, she would first make the most of her adventure.
Sir Hugh had time only to open his eyes before Lord Dunwythie burst into his bedchamber, saying abruptly, “Jenny’s gone, and your brother still lies in a stupor in the hall where he passed out last night. Not that I’d send him after her even if he were sober,” he added with a grimace. “That lad lacks discretion.”
Sitting up, annoyed and feeling even less interest in Reid than in Reid’s betrothed, Hugh said, “Where did she go?”
“Heaven kens,” Dunwythie said. “Nae one saw her leave.”
“Then why do you come to me?”
“Sakes, lad, I canna go after her without creating the devil of a stir, and your brother would create a worse one. Nor can I send my men. Ye’ll have to go.”
“The lass is no concern of mine,” Hugh said.
Dunwythie glowered at him. “ ’Tis nobbut your plain duty to attend to this,” he said. “I’ll agree with ye that the lass ought no to have run off alone as she did, but we canna leave her to her fate. Worse, this start of hers will likely put my lady wife in a taking, which canna be good for her in her present condition. Forbye, Phaeline’s your own sister. Ye canna want her in a lather any more than I do.”
“Phaeline has been with child many times and seems none the worse for it.”
“Aye, well, that may be true, but ye forget that the wee bairns have no fared so well. God kens, I want a son, so I’ll no have this upsetting Phaeline. Bless us, but I canna think why Jenny ran away. I thought she had been happy here.”
“I’ve seen gey little of her, sir, but I’d guess that she does not want to marry my brother. From what little I’ve seen of him these past few days, one could scarcely blame her if that is so.”
“If it is so, she should have said she did not want him,” Dunwythie said.
Hugh gave him a direct look. “Did you ask her?”
Dunwythie grimaced. “I canna say I did, for their betrothal was Phaeline’s doing. But she told me Jenny would do as we bade her, and so she has till now. Still, if the lass didna want Reid, she could have told me.”
“Could she?” Hugh frowned. “Unless my sister has altered considerably, I should think it would be hard for such a young lass to stand against her. In the old days, when Phaeline wanted something, she rarely let anything deter her.”
“Aye, well, the question can be of nae concern now that they’re betrothed. The wedding is set for three weeks hence, as ye ken fine. They’ll be reading the banns on Sunday, and on the next two Sundays as well, so ye must find her, Hugh, and bring her back straightaway. I dinna want any scandal over this.”
“If you don’t know where she went, how can you be sure she has not sought shelter with kinsmen who will oppose the marriage?”
“Bless her, she has nae kinsmen of note, save ourselves. As to where she has gone, Phaeline thinks the maidservant we set to look after her must ken summat o’ the business. After Phaeline breaks her fast, she means to question Peg herself.”
“If you want me to find your missing baroness, you’d best let me talk to this Peg,” Hugh said. “Phaeline may force her to speak, but as I recall my sister’s grasp of geography, her interpretation of what the lass tells her may prove faulty.”
His host chuckled. “ ’Tis true, that. When we went to Glasgow two years ago, she was certain we must reach Edinburgh first and kept saying she did not want to miss seeing the castle. As if one could be in Edinburgh without seeing the castle! I couldna persuade her, though, that Edinburgh’s lying to the northeast o’ here and Glasgow to the northwest meant we’d not pass through the one to reach the other. Sakes, but I think she believes there is only one passable road in all of Scotland.”
“Just so,” Hugh said. “Therefore, I will speak with this Peg, if you please.”
“That would doubtless be wiser,” Dunwythie agreed. “Then, whether Peg kens aught of our Jenny’s whereabouts or no, ye’ll be off after her. The longer she’s gone, sithee, the more likely it is she’ll come to grief.”
Hugh agreed. He realized, too that he could not in good conscience go on saying that her disappearance was no concern of his. He did owe some duty to his family, and from what he had seen of Reid, that young gentleman would only make a bad situation worse. He realized, too, that he had no reason, other than the selfish one of wanting to go home, to refuse even to try to restore the lass to her guardian.
Even so, he could not help wishing that he had ordered his horse saddled the night before and taken his leave then of Annan House and everyone in the place.
With the last thought echoing in his mind, he said with a sigh, “Pray, send for my man, sir. If your Peg can provide a direction, I’ll do what I can.”
After attending to his morning ablutions and dressing, he joined Dunwythie and his family at the high table only to learn that Peg was also missing.
“Ye’re no a fool, Peg,” Bryan said angrily. “Dinna tell me ye didna ken what your dearling ladyship were about when ye brought her with ye. What did ye think were in that basket o’ hers that she’d need for just a short walk in the moonlight?”
Jenny, having awakened that morning to find Peg gone from the tent Bryan had set up for them the night before, had hurried outside to find her only to stop short on the path when she heard Bryan’s voice. Shielded by the dim light of an overcast morning and the dense woodland where the company had set up their encampment, she felt sorry for Peg and remorseful but nonetheless determined to keep Bryan from sending them back to Annan House.
That Peg kept silent did not surprise Jenny. The maid-servant would not want to tell Bryan she had known exactly what her mistress had put in the basket.
“Dinna be wroth wi’ me, Bry,” Peg said at last with a sob. “I ha’ served her since she came to Annan House, looking more like a half-drowned kitten than a grand baroness. It had been pelting rain all day, and they had no let her bring even her own woman wi’ her. And, too, she has been gey kind to me.”
Wanting to hear no more reminders of how she had looked and felt on her arrival at Annan House, Jenny stepped forward. “Don’t blame Peg,” she said quietly to Bryan. “Had she refused to bring me, I’d have followed on my own.”
“But why did ye want to run off, mistress?” he asked.
“Prithee, call me Jenny. I prefer it so, particularly whilst we remain here where so many others might hear us. Mayhap you will understand if I tell you I have lived at Annan House since my father died nearly eight months ago. For all that time, I have felt as a captured bird must feel if denied the right to fly free. Even hawks and falcons do escape the falconer’s leash sometimes.”
“But noble ladies do not fly from their protectors,” Bryan said. “Nor do they deceive the people who admire and look after them.”
“She did not really deceive me,” Peg admitted in a small voice. “I watched whilst she put the things in her basket.”
“Still, right is right, and wrong is wrong,” Bryan declared. “Peo
ple at Annan House must be gey worried about both o’ ye by now.”
Jenny bit her lip. “I should not have brought Peg so far,” she said. “I did promise to see that she does not suffer for aiding me, though, and I will.”
“ ’Twill be harder to keep that promise now,” he pointed out.
“All you say is true,” Jenny said. “But, if I do not seize this chance, I may never know such freedom again. The man I am to marry has made it plain that he expects me to seek permission from him for aught that I do.”
“Aye, sure, as any woman should,” Bryan said.
Jenny sighed. “I cannot agree, but I know I have not explained myself well. Sithee, until I moved to Annan House, I lived with my father and our people. My mother died in childbed when I was a bairn, so I scarcely remember her.”
“Your da should ha’ got ye a new mam,” Bryan said, frowning. “Most men o’ property would ha’ married again.”
“Aye,” Peg said. “Just as Lord Dunwythie did after the lady Mairi’s mam died a-birthing her. The lady Phaeline be the only mam she kens.”
“Doubtless many urged my father to remarry,” Jenny said, seeing no reason to tell them she did not envy Mairi’s having Phaeline as a stepmother. “But my father was a shy man and sought no second wife. Instead, he trained me to take his place at Easdale. I expect he raised me more as a son than a daughter. As a result, I had little by way of a normal childhood, because I spent most of my time with him.”
“Did ye ha’ nae friends or playmates, then?” Peg asked, frowning.
“I knew other children, of course, but they were all common and trained to treat me with great respect, because of my rank. Their parents and the others who worked on our estates or looked to us for protection did likewise.”
Bryan still eyed her with disapproval. “At Annan House, did ye no find the ladies Mairi and Fiona friendly and kind t’ ye?” he asked.
“They are my cousins,” Jenny said with a smile. “I love them as kin, but we were raised so differently that I find it hard to feel close to them or confide in them. Since my father died, I find it well nigh impossible to confide in anyone.”
