by Amanda Scott
“Aye, well, losing one’s da must be gey hard,” Bryan said.
Peg nodded, her expressive face revealing strong sympathy.
Jenny nodded, too, saying, “I used to ride out whenever I chose, go wherever I pleased, and attend to any matter needing attention without asking permission first. My father trusted me as he would have trusted a son, whereas I am a sad disappointment to the lady Phaeline, because she believes I lack all feminine accomplishments other than my music. She does like to hear me sing and play, but she frequently deplores my lack of skill with needle or scissors.” Unable with propriety to share any deeper feelings about her life at Annan House, she fell silent.
Bryan said casually, “Ye can sing and play, can ye?”
“Well enough to please her ladyship and amuse our people, at all events.”
“What instrument?”
“I can play a lute, of course, the gittern, and the French vielle—I think you might more likely call it an organistrum.”
“ ’Tis an ancient instrument, that.”
“My father had one,” Jenny said. “He taught me to play it with him.”
“Ye didna bring any instruments in yon wee basket o’ yours.”
“Nay, for I had only my lute at Annan House and did not think of it.”
“I’m recalling that the Joculator has a vielle, but I dinna think anyone here kens how to play it. We ha’ been asked by the laird o’ Castle Moss to entertain him and his men in the courtyard today, though, afore we go on to Lochmaben.”
Jenny kept silent, but a thoughtful note in Bryan’s voice stirred a ray of hope.
Peg, too, was silent.
“Wash your faces and ha’ summat to eat,” Bryan said abruptly. “I ha’ to think on this, but mayhap…” With similar abruptness, he turned and walked away.
“Well, of all—” Peg began, but Jenny quickly hushed her.
“I think he has thought of a way to let us stay longer,” she said. “If so, I shall bless him, but I scarcely ate last night, and I’m starving. I hope there is food left.”
Because it was no part of the minstrels’ plans to burn their benefactor’s woods down, they had built their two small cook fires with care in a tiny clearing.
Jenny could appreciate their care, although she thought it unnecessary at such a damp time of year. The surrounding shrubbery fairly dripped with dew, and what little sky showed through the canopy of leaves overhead was gray and dismal. The air retained an icy crispness and smelled of rain if not snow in the offing.
Her hooded cloak of moss-green wool was fur-lined and warm, her boots and gloves likewise. Like most Borderers—indeed, most Scots—she was used to inclement weather and paid it little heed. But had Mairi been there to ask how comfortably she had slept, she’d have found it hard to do aught but agree with that young lady’s condemnation of the conditions under which minstrels traveled.
A mug of hot cider warmed her, and oatcakes hot from a griddle over the fire and spread with bramble jam sated her appetite. Peg introduced her to some of Bryan’s friends in the company as a distant cousin, and she soon found herself chatting amiably with a number of people, including two women, a mother and daughter named Cath and Gerda, who identified themselves as gleemaidens.
Jenny learned that although there were but a dozen minstrels in the company, including three women, many other folks accompanied them, some as apprentices but most being family members or others simply wanting to travel with them. They earned their keep by providing services for the company such as cooking, mending, hunting, and fishing, or helping to care for their animals.
By the time Bryan returned, Jenny and Peg were comfortably chatting with the others. However, Jenny viewed his approach with some trepidation, gathering her wits so she might counter any further objection he might make to her staying.
“The Joculator wants to talk wi’ ye,” Bryan said. “If ye follow yon deer trail through the shrubbery, ye’ll find him in a green tent after ye cross the rill.”
“I’ll go with ye,” Peg said.
“Nay, lass,” Bryan said, catching her by an arm. “He wants to see her alone.”
Chapter 3
Annan House
When Sir Hugh learned at the high table that morning that the maidservant who attended young Baroness Easdale had likewise gone missing, he said dryly, “Do your people make it a habit to run away from Annan House, my lord?”
“Dinna fash yourself, lad,” Dunwythie said. “My lady wife has sent for her own maidservant. She’s a friend o’ Peg’s, and will likely ken where she has gone.”
“I’d think Peg must be with her mistress,” Hugh said, nodding to a gillie to fill his mug from the jug of ale the lad held.
“You are mistaken if you think Peg is Janet’s servant,” Phaeline said. “She is ours and answers to me… or to my lord,” she added with a coy look at Dunwythie that stirred in Hugh only a wish that her husband would occasionally slap her.
Repressing the thought, he said mildly, “It would hardly be unusual if Peg’s loyalty has shifted to the young woman she serves.”
“I should be most displeased if that were so,” Phaeline said. Frowning, she added, “You would please me more, brother, had you taken the trouble to dress properly before joining us at this table. To present yourself in riding dress—”
“Dinna scold him, my love,” Dunwythie interjected. “I have persuaded him to go after the lass. He’ll leave as soon as we learn which direction he should go.”
Fiona said, “I think—”
“Hush, Fiona,” Phaeline said.
Hugh saw Mairi touch Fiona’s hand in clear warning as Phaeline went on: “Mercy, but it must be plain to the simplest mind that one must ride north to go anywhere from Annan House but into the sea. I expect Jenny grew homesick and is foolishly trying to return to Easdale. That is north of here, is it not?”
“Aye, it is,” Dunwythie said, patting her hand. “But she may not ken that as clearly as ye do, my love. She may have thought that she could more easily elude pursuit by crossing the river straightaway.”
“Such speculation is useless without facts on which to base it,” Hugh said, helping himself to some rare sliced beef. “It is true that her most likely direction is north, but the lass—indeed, both of them—may have gone anywhere and must be some distance away by now. We would be wise to learn as much as we can before I set out after them. I can go in only one direction at a time, after all.”
Phaeline said with edged calm, “I still fail to see why her departure should interest you, sir. Our brother is quite capable of retrieving his own betrothed wife.”
Taking a manchet loaf from the basket, Hugh took a bite without replying. He was hungry and had no interest in discussing his decision or Dunwythie’s with Phaeline. As he chewed, he put down the roll and applied his knife to his meat.
Dunwythie said then, “As I told ye, my love, I asked Hugh to see to the matter. Sithee, I want no scandal, and thanks to his years of service with Archie Douglas, he has more experience with such delicate matters than Reid does.”
“But this is Reid’s business, not Hugh’s,” Phaeline said. “He should at least go with Hugh if Hugh is to find Janet.”
Hugh continued to eat, but his jaw tightened at the thought of having to deal with his brother on such a mission. It was enough that Dunwythie expected him to run after their baroness and drag her back without saddling him with Reid, too.
Apparently Dunwythie agreed, for he said in the mild tone he seemed always to use with Phaeline, “I fear ye’ll find Reid in no shape this morning to ride out for anything, my love. He never made it to bed but slept here in the hall with the men. I had two of them carry him to an empty bedchamber before I went to wake Hugh.”
“Why did you not have them carry Reid to his own bed?” she asked.
“Because I did not think the sight of him would aid me in persuading Hugh to see to this matter for me,” Dunwythie said with more bluntness than usual.
Wh
en she bristled at his tone, he added soothingly, “Nay, my love, dinna fidget yourself trying to defend Reid. I will own that he is young and deserved to enjoy his betrothal feast. But, believe me, he would no thank ye for rousing him now to ride after Jenny. Only think what his reaction to her disappearance will be, and ask yourself if ye want him tearing off in such a state to find her.”
“It would serve her right if he did,” Phaeline said. “She wants beating.”
“One surely cannot blame him if he is angry with her,” Fiona said. “It was wrong to leave without permission. But surely he does not have the right yet to—”
“It was indeed wrong of her, Fiona,” Phaeline interposed. “But, prithee, do not interrupt us again. You know better than to do that.”
“She spoke nowt but the truth, my love,” Dunwythie said. “However, until we talk to Jenny, we canna tell what drove her to leave. Ye must admit that such behavior is most unlike her.” After a pause, he added, “Hugh suggested that perhaps she doesna want to marry Reid.”
Shifting position enough to see how Phaeline would react to that statement, Hugh saw that Mairi, sitting between Phaeline and Fiona, had apparently done likewise to see Dunwythie.
As their gazes collided, Phaeline said testily, “Do not fidget so, Mairi. If you have finished breaking your fast, you may go upstairs and see to your duties. You, too, may be excused, Fiona.”
Fiona, standing, looked as if she might protest, but Mairi turned as she stood up, and gave her sister a gentle push. Making their curtsies, they left the hall.
Phaeline, still irritable, said, “How did you come to think that Janet does not want to marry Reid, Hugh? You must agree that ’tis an excellent match. After all, you made it plain these two years past that you will not marry again. So if Thornhill is to remain in the family, Reid must produce an heir to succeed, himself.”
“Did you ask Mairi and Fiona if Lady Easdale had confided her plans to them?” Hugh asked, wanting to avoid discussion of his position and seeing naught to gain from pointing out that any benefit from the match between Reid and Janet Easdale would clearly be Reid’s. “I’d think she might have talked to them.”
“Of course, I asked them,” Phaeline said. “I was not surprised, though, to learn that Janet had said naught to them of her intention to leave. She does not seem to converse easily with anyone, and therefore has had much to learn since she came to us. I am sure her father meant well by her, but he was only a man, after all, and scarcely equipped to teach any daughter how to get on in life.”
Dunwythie said, “I find Jenny sweet and charming, but she did have an unusual upbringing. Still, she is a gey competent lass, so I warrant she will manage to look after herself until ye find her, Hugh.”
Looking toward the lower hall, Phaeline said, “Whatever can be keeping that girl? Oh, there she is,” she added as a plump young woman hurried into the hall. “Sadie, come and tell us what you know of Lady Easdale’s whereabouts.”
The maidservant hurried forward, pushing stray dark curls back up under her cap as she did. Without stepping onto the dais, she curtsied, saying, “I ken nowt o’ her ladyship, me lady. Be she not in the house?”
Sensing Phaeline’s impatience even from two seats away, Hugh looked at Dunwythie, but his lordship had already put a calming hand on his lady’s.
He said, “Sadie, lass, we depend on ye to aid us. Peg doesna seem to be in the house this morning. D’ye ken where else she may be?”
Color flooded Sadie’s cheeks, and her eyes widened, but she remained mute.
Dunwythie said, “Come now, if ye ken aught, ye must tell us.”
Biting her lower lip, Sadie glanced at Phaeline.
“It becomes clear, Sadie, that you feel some mistaken notion of loyalty to Peg,” her ladyship said. “Let me remind you—”
“My love,” Dunwythie said gently, “this morning has been a most unrestful one for ye, and I’d have ye consider our wee son’s well-being. I’m thinking we should let Hugh talk with Sadie whilst I see ye laid down on your bed. Come now, and I’ll take ye up m’self,” he added with a speaking glance at Hugh.
To Hugh’s surprise, Phaeline made no objection to her husband’s decision but rose at once and let him take her from the hall.
Alone with a nervous Sadie, Hugh said, “I must order my horse saddled, lass. Stay a bit whilst I finish this fine beef, and then you may walk with me to the stable.”
If it occurred to her that he could easily shout for someone to take his order to the stable, Sadie did not say so. She just nodded and waited patiently until he had finished his meal. He did so without haste, as usual, and tried to decide how much he should tell her. When he stood at last, he noted with satisfaction that she looked less fearful albeit much less patient as well.
“You’ll do, lass,” he said approvingly. “I suspect we’ll get on well. So, as we walk, I want you to tell me all you know or suspect about where your friend Peg may have gone. I vow you’ll not suffer for the telling. Whatever the tale may be, I’ll make all right for you with his lordship before I leave Annan House.”
She glanced up at him as he touched her shoulder, urging her toward the stairway to the courtyard. “We’ll go this way,” he said. “If my man comes looking for me, I want to be sure someone tells him where I’ve gone.”
Motioning a gillie over, he gave his order, then turned back to Sadie. “Now then, tell me what you know,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him.
“Aye, sir,” she said. “I canna tell ye much, except Peg canna ha’ meant to be gone for long. Certes, but she never said nowt about going away overnight.”
“But she was going somewhere, I think.”
“Aye, for her brother Bryan be one o’ the jugglers wi’ the minstrel company that performed here yestereve. Peg had been busy all day and had nae time to talk wi’ him, she said. So she meant to walk a wee while wi’ them after they left.”
“I expect she saw no reason to seek permission for this walk,” Hugh said, glancing down at her as she stepped aside to let him go ahead of her into the yard.
Her color rose again at his words, telling him she was still nervous.
“Well?” he said when she did not reply.
“She didna mean to beg leave,” Sadie said. “ ’Tis why I ken fine that she didna mean to be away overnight. She’d lose her place did she do that a-purpose.”
“I cannot speak for what his lordship will do about Peg, but I will do what I can to protect her. I can tell you that he is most interested in finding her.”
Sadie was silent until they reached the stable, where she paused to look up at him. “The lady Phaeline did speak earlier o’ Lady Jenn… Lady Easdale.”
“Aye, for it looks as if she went with Peg, or Peg with her,” Hugh said.
“I dinna ken, sir, but I do mind one other thing Peg said about the minstrels.”
“What was that?”
“That they be bound for the town o’ Dumfries.”
Hugh frowned. “If that were so, would they not follow the Roman road that fords the river a mile or so north of Annan and goes straight on to Dumfries?”
“I expect so,” Sadie said. “But Peg didna say that. The only other thing I can recall be summat she told me a time ago. I doubt it would help ye now.”
“Tell me,” Hugh said.
“She said the company be going to entertain the Laird o’ Galloway a few weeks hence, when his great new castle on the river Dee be finished.”
“I hope that information will not prove helpful to me,” Hugh said with a grimace. “I want to find her long before then.”
“Aye, sure, sir, but I warrant she’ll be back soon now. She’ll no want to lose her place, I can tell ye. Forbye, I doubt she would ha’ taken Lady Easdale with her, or that her ladyship would ha’ consented to go in such company.”
Hugh doubted it, too. He tried to conjure up an image of the elegant young noblewoman he had seen, traveling with assorted minstrels and players, some in patchwor
k motley and all easily recognizable as common folk.
He dismissed Sadie, certain that he had learned all she could tell him and uncertain whether it helped him. Dunwythie and Phaeline both assumed that Peg’s disappearing at the same time Janet Easdale had meant the two had gone together.
The assumption was logical, but he put no faith in Lady Easdale’s doing what was logical. His experience with the fair sex was limited, but those he knew tended to put feelings ahead of logic when it came to taking action. He thought it was just as likely that Peg, finding her mistress gone, had gone in search of her.
Returning his attention to the present, he entered the stable to find that his man, Lucas Horne, had already set things in motion there. Their horses, saddled, waited with another horse for her ladyship and a sumpter pony with its two baskets already laden and tied in place. Lucas was not there.
When Hugh’s bay whickered softly, he moved to stroke the animal’s soft muzzle and murmur nonsense to it. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to find the lady Mairi Dunwythie eyeing him uncertainly.
“May I be of some aid to you, your ladyship?” he asked.
“I’m thinking I may be of aid to you, sir,” she said. “I was coming to find you in any event when I met Sadie going in. She told me what she said to you.”
“If you know something more that will help me find your cousin before she falls into a scrape, it is nobbut your duty to tell me.”
“I ken my duty fine, but I do not want to betray Jenny if she is truly trying to get home again. She does not say much, but one can easily tell that she has not been happy here. And she does not—”
Stopping abruptly, she looked rueful, as if she had said more than she had meant to say.
“If you believe she does not want to marry my brother, you need not keep it to yourself, lass. I suspected as much myself when I saw them at their feast.”
“I did think you looked like a sensible man.”
“What possessed her to accept him?”
