Tamed by a Laird

by Amanda Scott

  “I expect he was,” Jenny said, snuggling closer. “I think Cuddy was the traveler who returned the jewels, too. When I met him with Cath the next morning, she was scolding, saying she had fidgeted all night, wondering where he’d gone.”

  “As I said, lass, the Joculator explained only most of it. He’s gey shrewd, and shows himself and his fellow minstrels in the best light whenever he can.”

  “Will you really make Reid join Archie’s service?”

  “I’ll strongly recommend it,” Hugh said. “I doubt if he knew what Phaeline and your uncle did with those settlements. He seemed stunned when I confronted them, and his attitude was gey different at Threave. Knowing Phaeline, I’d wager she kept him in the dark and just promised that you’d bring him wealth and a title.”

  “Does Phaeline tell actual lies, Hugo?”

  It was a moment before he said, “I don’t know about now. She did lie when we were children if she thought she could get away with it. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think she is lying about being pregnant,” Jenny said. “Peg and Sadie think so, and they are in a position to know. Also, there is the matter of her pearls. They never turned up, but Sadie said she found three pearls on the floor. Phaeline slapped her when she asked if they were not part of the missing string.”

  “I see, but now that you’ve mentioned her pearls, was there not something else that went missing then?” he asked.

  “Lady Johnstone’s necklace, but she found it herself where she had left it.”

  “Well, I think we’ll let Phaeline worry about her own lies, sweetheart. We’re going to leave for Thornhill in the morning.”

  “But I’ve never seen a tournament. And you promised to explain it all to me.”

  “My head still aches,” he said. “If I stay—”

  “Do you really expect me to believe, sir, after all that has happened today, that you would let a headache prevent you from attending a tournament?”

  “Recall that Archie expected me to take part in it.”

  “Then tell him you have a headache.”

  “I want you all to myself for a time, Jenny-love,” he said quietly.

  “Aye, that is a better reason,” she agreed. “Moreover, we have not yet signed our own marriage settlements. But mayhap we do not need any.”

  “We must draw something up to protect our estates,” he said. “But we will talk it all out first, and agree, before we sign anything.”

  “And you won’t issue orders to me anymore?”

  He was silent.

  “Just as I thought,” she said, nestling closer to him.

  “I’ll agree not to issue orders if you will agree to obey when I ask you to.”

  She was silent.

  “Just as I thought,” he said, leaning up on an elbow to look down at her. “How, by the way, did that wee pouch of jewelry end up in that villain’s boot?”

  Jenny told him, and when he chuckled, she reached to touch his face.

  “Do you know what it does to me when you touch me like that?”

  “Aye,” she said with a smile, stroking his cheek. Then she shifted her hand lower—to his chest, to his belly, then lower yet.

  “Kiss me there,” he murmured.

  “Yes, my lord,” she said meekly, and bent to the task.

  “Now, take me in your mouth, Jenny-love.”

  “Yes, my lord.” And she did.

  “By the Rood,” he said, “this promises well for an excellent future.”

  And it did.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed the tale of Bonnie Jenny. For those who like to know who was real and who was not, Jenny, Hugh, and Reid are fictional kinsmen of the real Dunwythie family of Annandale, which included Lord Dunwythie, Phaeline, Mairi, and Fiona. Sheriff Maxwell was also real. And, of course, Archie the Grim was Lord of Galloway and later became third Earl of Douglas.

  The English continued to occupy Lochmaben Castle for another ten years before Archie the Grim collected a formidable force and finally drove them out of Annandale. During their long occupation, despite the efforts of Annandale’s residents, they wasted much of the land and destroyed surrounding forests.

  Female minstrels were common from ancient days, particularly as gleemaidens, musicians, and dancers.

  Employing minstrels as spies dates back to the Saxons and to early Danish gleemen that followed armies in time of war and had access to both camps. King Alfred once assumed the character of a gleeman to enter a Danish camp, where he “made such observations as were of infinite service.” Others repeated this stratagem with equal success from that time forward.

  For those interested in old coinage, the silver groat Sir Hugh won from Lucas was worth four pence. Scottish pennies were silver until the eighteenth century and were called sterlings. In 1357, Scotland struck its first gold coin, the noble. It was worth half a merk (or mark), which equaled two-thirds of a pound of sterlings. So, if you’ve ever wondered where the British term “pound sterling” comes from…

  Special licenses were obtainable from the Church by the early fourteenth century—for people who had lots of money or influence. Then, as now, such licenses allowed a couple to be married anywhere, at any time, without the formality of announcing it beforehand.

  The correct spelling of Annan (river and town) long before 1374 and for many years afterward was “Annand,” from the French family that settled there. I chose to spell it the modern way to avoid confusion.

  Devorgilla’s bridge had nine arches in 1374. It now has only six.

  Once again I am indebted to friend Donal MacRae for his invaluable assistance—this time, even more than usual, because Donal discovered the basis for this and the two forthcoming books in the trilogy in a sixteenth-century manuscript detailing events of fourteenth-century Galloway and Dumfriesshire.

  My primary sources for Douglas history include A History of the House of Douglas, Vol. I, by the Right Hon. Sir Herbert Maxwell (London, 1902) and The Black Douglases by Michael Brown (Scotland, 1998).

  Sources for the minstrels include Sports and Pastimes of the People of England by Joseph Strutt (London, 1903) and Fools and Jesters of the English Court by John South-worth (Gloucestershire, 1998).

  As always, I’d like to thank my wonderful agents, Lucy Childs and Aaron Priest, my terrific editor Frances Jalet-Miller, master copyeditor Sean Devlin, Art Director Diane Luger, Senior Editor and Editorial Director Amy Pierpont, Vice President and Editor in Chief, Beth de Guzman, and everyone else at Hachette Book Group’s Grand Central Publishing who contributed to making this book what it is.

  If you enjoyed Tamed by a Laird, please look for its sequel, Seduced by a Rogue, at your favorite bookstore in January 2010. In the meantime, Suas Alba!

  Sincerely,

  http://home.att.net/~amandascott

  Don’t miss Amanda Scott’s

  next captivating

  Scottish romance!

  Please turn this page for a

  preview of her next novel

  Seduced by a

  Rogue

  Available in mass market

  January 2010.

  Chapter 1

  Annandale, Southwestern Scotland, 1375

  What if Dunwythie has not gone away?” Will Jardine asked, peering through newly green foliage toward the large green field that surrounding shrubbery and trees sheltered from winds blowing off Solway Firth. “What if he catches us here?”

  “He won’t,” twenty-five-year-old Robert Maxwell, Laird of Trailinghail, said impatiently as they dismounted in the dense woodland. The large, well-tended field was Rob’s first objective on that chilly spring morning, but he had others as well, because Dunwythie’s lands sprawled at least four square miles, from the river Annan just west of them to Dryfe Water in the east. And much of it was rich land for crops.

  “I told you,” Rob said. “My lads saw his lordship ride off northward along the river earlier this morning.” Sternly controlling a temper reactive to even
mild opposition, he looped his reins around a handy branch as he added, “He will be away at least until midday, Will. Moreover, we have every right to be here.”

  The younger man’s eyebrows shot upward. “Have we now?” he said dryly. “Most Annandale folk would dispute that statement, including me own da, were ye daft enough to put these impertinent demands o’ your brother’s to him.”

  “Need I remind you that my brother Alex is the sheriff, just as our father and grandfather were before him?” Rob said gruffly, scanning the field and noting with satisfaction that a dozen or so workers were busy there, hoeing and pulling weeds. “Sheriffs have duties, my lad, just as every landowner does.”

  “They do, aye,” Will agreed. “However, folks dinna call your brother Sheriff o’ Dumfriesshire but only Sheriff o’ Dumfries. They ha’ good cause for that, too, as nae one here in Annandale answers to him.”

  “A sheriff, by the very definition of his position, commands the whole shire.”

  “Aye, sure,” Will said, grinning. “Ye tell Dunwythie that, me lad. But dinna be trying it on me. The trouble between ye Maxwells and his lordship—aye, and wi’ many another laird, too—has nowt to do wi’ taxes and all to do wi’ who wields the most power hereabouts, yon Sheriff o’ Dumfries or a laird whose ancestors have owned Annandale land for centuries. That, as ye ken fine, be the nub o’ the matter.”

  Unable to deny that statement, Rob kept silent, taking care not to trample any tender young shoots as they crossed the field toward the workers. It would not do to give the defiant Dunwythie good cause for further complaint.

  “By God’s troth,” Will exclaimed moments later. “Will ye look at that now? What d’ye think can ha’ brought the two o’ them here?”

  Rob had been watching where he put his feet as he led the way between two rows of young plants. But at these words, he looked up and followed Will’s gaze.

  Emerging from woods to the north onto what he now discerned to be a narrow path down the center of the field were two females on horseback.

  Although the two were at least a quarter mile away, their gowns, fur-lined cloaks, and simple white veils proclaimed them noblewomen, and their figures and supple dexterity with their mounts declared them youthful. One was so fair that her hair looked almost white, the other dark-haired, and both wore their long tresses in simple plaits. They were looking toward the field men, and Rob was certain that neither had yet realized that he and Will—in their plain breeks, jacks, and boots—were not simply two more of them.

  Lingering wispy skirts of early-morning fog still drifted low near the river Annan as it roared along a mile or so downhill to Rob’s left, and puffy white clouds floated overhead but did little to block the sunlight. It glistened on the still-dewy green field, and as the two riders drew nearer, it gilded the fair one’s plaits.

  “I’m glad I came with ye,” Will murmured with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  “They are noblewomen, you young ruffian.”

  “Ay de mi, what noblewomen would be riding out and about by themselves like those two are?”

  “Dunwythie’s daughters would certainly do so on their father’s land, a mile from his castle, amidst his own loyal workmen,” Rob said. “Behave yourself.”

  “Hoots, I’ve nae wish to frighten them,” Will retorted, chuckling.

  Rob grimaced, knowing his friend’s reputation with women. Glancing back at the two riders, he saw that the fair one was frowning.

  Clearly, she had realized that they were intruders.

  “We’ll go to meet them,” he told Will. “And you will behave.”

  “Aye, sure. I’ll be nobbut gey charming to such young beauties.”

  Rob sighed and altered his course to meet the two, hoping he could avoid trouble with Will. The Jardines being the Maxwells’ only allies in Annandale, he could not afford to anger Jardine’s eldest and best-favored son. But neither would he allow Will to make free and easy with Dunwythie’s daughters.

  “Who are they?” the lady Fiona Dunwythie asked, pushing a dark curl away from one long-lashed blue eye to tuck it back under her veil.

  “I don’t know them,” nineteen-year-old Mairi Dunwythie replied. Wishing, not for the first time, that she knew more about the people living in this part of Annandale, near her father’s largest estate, she added, “They stride toward us like men who know their worth.”

  “Then where are their horses?” Fiona demanded. “Men who know their worth rarely walk far.”

  “I suppose they left them in the woods,” Mairi said. “Mayhap they just want to ask how they can safely cross our land without damaging the young barley.”

  “If they came through those woods, they’ll have come from the south,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “I wonder if they are Jardines.”

  The possibility that the two strangers might be members of that obstreperous family had already crossed Mairi’s mind. But, although she had been born at Dunwythie Hall, she knew few of their neighbors by sight. Her mother had died at Mairi’s birth, and her father’s second wife, on learning of nearly continuous warfare between the Jardines south of them and the Johnstones to the north, had demanded that her lord husband remove at once to the house at Annan that had been part of her marriage tocher, or dowry.

  At the time, the lady Phaeline had been pregnant with Fiona, so her lord had readily complied. Thus Fiona had been born at Annan House, at the mouth of the river for which Annandale was named, and Mairi had lived there from the age of four with only infrequent visits upriver to Dunwythie Hall.

  Nevertheless, she knew enough to realize that if the two men were Jardines, her father would expect her to welcome them, albeit with no more than cool civility.

  Discerning eagerness in the way Fiona now sat her pony, Mairi said in her usual quiet way, “Prithee, dearling, do not be making much of these men. If they are Jardines, our lord father would not want us to encourage more such visits.”

  Tossing her head, Fiona said, “Certes, Father would not want us to be discourteous either, and they are both very handsome men.”

  Mairi had noted that fact as well. Although they did not look as if they were kin to each other, both were large, dark-haired men with well-formed features. The one in the lead was narrow through hips and waist, had powerful-looking thighs and shoulders, and sat taller than his companion. He also looked five or six years older and displayed a demeanor that suggested he was accustomed to doing as he pleased.

  His leather breeks and boots had been worn often enough to mold themselves snugly to his body, but the shirt that showed beneath his dark green jack was snowy white, and as they drew nearer, she noted that his boots were of expensive tanned leather, not rawhide. He also wore a fan brooch of three short reddish-brown feathers pinned with a small but brightly sparkling emerald in the soft folds of his hat.

  The younger man had gleaming black hair, a lankier body, and looked about Mairi’s own age. He was looking at Fiona, and Mairi did not like the expression in his eyes, thinking it resembled that of a hawk eyeing a tasty-looking rabbit.

  Fiona, clearly oblivious to the predatory look, was smiling flirtatiously enough to make her sister want to scold her for it. But Mairi held her tongue and shifted her gaze back to the two visitors, almost near enough now to converse.

  “Well met, my ladies,” the younger one said carelessly. “But what are two such lovely lasses doing, riding amongst these rough field men?”

  Stiffening but without looking away, Mairi put a hand out to silence Fiona and noted, as she did, that at the same time, the other man clamped a hand to the brash one’s shoulder. Her own gesture failed in its aim, however, for Fiona said pertly to the younger one, “But who are you, sir, to address us so discourteously? And what are you doing in our field?”

  “Pray, forgive him, my lady,” the taller man said, looking at Mairi with eyes so clear and pale a blue that she could almost see her reflection in them. His voice was deep and of a nature to send strange sensations through her body, as if it
s gentle vibrations touched nerve endings all through her.

  “In troth,” he added, still looking into her eyes, “I must beg you to forgive us both. I am Robert Maxwell, and this unmannerly cub is Will Jardine of Applegarth. I believe you must be Lord Dunwythie’s daughters, are you not?”

  Mairi nodded, putting a light hand on Fiona’s arm as she did, in the hope that actually touching her outspoken sister would silence her, for a time at least, and with a second, more likely hope that the fieldworkers would intervene if either of the two visitors became difficult. For a wonder, Fiona kept silent, mayhap feeling as captivated by the man’s low, purring voice as Mairi did.

  Robert Maxwell said nothing further though, and Mairi realized that despite the unusual circumstances and what surely must seem to him to be scant protection for two young women, he expected her to speak to him. Gathering her wits, she said, “You must know that you are on my father’s land, sir. Have you good cause to be?”

  “I have excellent cause, my lady. I am Sheriff Alexander Maxwell’s brother, and I am here today as his sheriff-substitute.”

  “To what purpose, sir?” Mairi asked, although she thought she could guess.

  “Why, merely to determine the exact amount your lord father owes the Crown in taxes this year,” he said. “Sithee, one determines the figure by the number of people on the estate as well as its exact size and crop yield.”

  Mairi knew that. Her father had been teaching her— and Fiona, too—as much as he could about running his estates, in the event that his lady wife should fail to give him a son to inherit them. Phaeline had been pregnant numerous times in their sixteen-year marriage, but so far she had produced only Fiona. Dunwythie had long agreed with his lady that in due time God would grant them a son. But, at last, urged by Phaeline’s own brother, his lordship had decided to teach his daughters what they would need to know if one of them should inherit his estates.