by Amanda Scott
Since she had not seen Fiona all day, Anne decided to visit her as soon as she exchanged the russet gown for one of her favorite mossy green. Peg would not let her go until she had brushed her hair and arranged it in plaits beneath a soft French hood that matched the gown, but at last, she was ready and hurried to her cousin’s room to find Fiona preparing to descend to the hall for the day’s main meal.
Molly was fussing over her near one of the windows, twitching Fiona’s pink skirts into place over a wide French farthingale. Fiona stood patiently enough, however, apparently having recovered her usual amiable disposition at last.
“You have not worn that dress in months,” Anne exclaimed as she entered. “I’d forgotten how well it becomes you.”
Fiona smiled and said cheerfully, “Now that I no longer have to marry Eustace Chisholm, there can be no reason for me to wear blue all the time. I look forward to recalling any number of my dresses to your memory.” Lifting her lace-trimmed skirt, she showed off matching pink silk slippers.
“You are very grand, love,” Anne said, laughing. “I believe you mean to flirt with Sir Christopher.”
“He is exceedingly large, is he not?” Fiona said.
“He is, but he is also kind,” Anne said. She nearly told Fiona about her shooting lesson, but it occurred to her that her gentle cousin would most likely think it an odd pastime to have enjoyed, and she did not want to spoil her own memories, so she kept her counsel, saying instead, “Are you ready to go downstairs? I feared you would insist on taking your meals in this room for at least the rest of the week.”
“Oh, no, for Mother would never allow it,” Fiona said. “Moreover, Uncle Toby said he has hired a most amusing jester who can play the lute and sing, and I want to hear him. Uncle Toby says he is an excellent minstrel and very funny, too.”
“Well, do not grow too fond of him,” Anne said. “I doubt that your mother will be as pleased with him as Toby is. Moreover, I heard from Peg that Eustace said he means to take the jester back to Hawks Rig with him.”
“Oh, that would be too bad of him,” Fiona exclaimed.
“Mayhap you should hear the man sing before you decide that we would miss him,” Anne said with a grin.
Fiona chuckled, and they went downstairs together, entering the hall to find Toby and Eustace chatting with a third man. The latter was slightly older than the other two but dressed as grandly as they were.
“There you are,” Toby exclaimed jovially as Anne and Fiona entered. “Pray, allow me to introduce to you my good friend Milo, Lord Berridge of Midlothian. My lord, this is Lady Anne Ellyson and Mistress Carmichael.”
The older gentleman made a profound leg, saying in a deep, rather harsh voice, “I am charmed, ladies. Such a privilege to be a guest in this splendid house.”
“You are most welcome, sir,” Fiona said politely.
Berridge was a stocky man, but he dressed well and bore an air of distinction wholly lacking in his host or in Eustace.
He smiled at Fiona, adding, “It surprises me that two such young ladies would come downstairs before Lady Carmichael has made her appearance.”
“No matter, no matter,” Toby said, “for here is Olivia now. Olivia, my dear, I decided that it is past time for you to be setting aside your megrims and your blacks, and to that end I have brought you a guest and a present, for all that Eustace here thinks he will take the latter away with him when he returns to Hawks Rig.”
“Whatever are you talking about, uncle?” Olivia asked in a faint voice as she made her way to her chair at the high table.
“I’ve brought you something that will vastly amuse you,” he said confidently. “Here now, Mad Jake, show yourself, you rascal!”
At his command, a flurry of red and gold erupted from the doorway to the central stairs. Spinning and whirling, the figure came, turning cartwheels and doing flips the length of the hall.
Other members of the household who had taken their places at the trestle tables burst into applause as the figure bounced upright before Olivia and then swept her a bow so swift and deep that he seemed in danger of banging his nose on the floor, if not toppling right over into a somersault.
When he straightened, Anne saw that he was a well-favored young man of no great height, but slender and wiry. He wore hugely puffed red hose, slashed with yellow, and a matching, trim-fitting doublet. On his head, he wore a funny little cap with points and bells round the rim, while more bells tinkled on the long pointed tips of his shoes. His grin was infectious, and his blue eyes twinkled merrily.
“Tell us a tale, lad,” Toby commanded.
“Aye, well, shall I tell ye about the two times I met King Henry, then?”
“Have you really met him?” Fiona asked, visibly awed.
“Och, aye, me lady, and he’ll be the fattest man I ha’ ever seen. Makes Sir Toby here seem nobbut a thin shadow by comparison.”
“But how did you meet him?” Olivia asked.
“Now, that were the easy part,” the jester said, “for his men did capture me and carry me tae his presence bound up in a prodigious big sack. Dumped me right out on the floor in front o’ his great throne. And Henry were fierce, too. He did say that if I ever set foot on English soil again, he’d cut off me head.”
“Then you must never go back,” Fiona said earnestly.
“Ye didna listen, lass,” he said drolly. “I already said I ha’ been there twice.”
“Then why did he not cut off your head?”
“Well, like I told ye, he said I were no tae set foot on English soil, and when they carried me in tae see him, I swore tae him I’d no done that at all.”
“But how could that be?” Fiona demanded.
In answer, the jester pulled off one boot and turned it upside down. A pile of dirt fell onto the floor. “Like that,” he said. “Ye see, wherever I go, I always keeps me both feet planted in good Scottish soil.”
A burst of laughter greeted Kit as he entered the hall, but he had heard the tale before and anticipated the last line. He also recognized the storyteller’s voice, so he was able to conceal his shock at seeing Willie Armstrong playing the fool.
Lady Carmichael caught his eye and said, “Welcome, Sir Christopher. You must hear the amusing story my uncle’s new jester has told us.”
“Och now, me lady, I never repeats me stories,” Willie said, winking at Kit.
“Pray, let me introduce Kit to our newest guest, Olivia,” Sir Toby said, turning slightly to reveal another man who had hitherto been concealed by his bulk. “Allow me to make you known to Lord Berridge, lad,” he said in his jovial way.
As the other man turned toward him, Kit nearly let his jaw drop.
“How do you do?” Tam said affably in accents far different from the Border brogue Kit was accustomed to hear from him. “You must be young Chisholm.”
Collecting his scattered wits, Kit returned the older man’s bow, murmuring politely, “I am indeed he, your lordship. Have we met before?”
“Nay, lad, but your uncle Eustace has been telling me all about you.”
“Has he?” This was a new turn-up, Kit thought, shifting his gaze to Eustace.
“Aye, he tells me you’ve been missing so long he had you declared officially dead. Said it were a fair shock to him to see you turn up alive after all.”
Kit turned to Eustace. “Forgive my astonishment, sir, but I thought you had refused to accept me as Kit Chisholm and intended to contest my claim.”
“I do intend to contest your claim to the fair Fiona, lad, for I’d be a fool if I did not,” Eustace said in a much friendlier tone than any Kit had heard from him since arriving at Mute Hill. “As to Hawks Rig, I’ll make no promises until I’ve had a chance to examine the law as it pertains to such things,” Eustace added. “We are not yet sure, after all, that someone who is officially dead can be made to live again—officially, that is. However, I’ve come to realize that you must be who you say you are, and as such, I shall welcome you at Hawks Rig.”
“Thank you,” Kit said dryly. “You are very generous, sir.”
Anne heard the odd note in Kit’s voice when he greeted Berridge, and the irony in it when he responded to Eustace, and if she did not understand the former, she could easily understand the latter. She only wondered at his calm, knowing he must be seething at what was no more than an invitation to stay at his own house.
Olivia said to no one in particular, “Do you know, I believe I have just hit upon the answer to all this.”
“Have you, my dear?” Toby said with his usual grin.
“Oh, I know I generally leave it to you men to decide what we should do; however, I believe this time that my notion is the perfect solution to everything.”
“Let us sit down before you tell us about it,” Toby said. “I’m too large a man to stand longer than I must. Take your seats, gentlemen, so the lads can begin serving, and you there, Mad Jake, bring out your lute and play us a tune. Not too loudly, mind. We want to hear ourselves talk.”
The jester did a back flip and ran to the rear of the room, reappearing a moment later, lute in hand. Looking about, he found a three-legged stool that he drew near the fireplace, where he sat down and began to strum.
“Now, lass, explain this brilliant notion of yours to us,” Toby invited. “I’m sure we are all eager to hear it.”
“You mock me, sir, but you will soon agree that it is the very thing. You will recall that Buccleuch and his lady were here yesterday for the wedding.”
“Aye, as who could forget,” Toby said. “His lady dragged herself around all afternoon as if it were her wedding that we’d called off instead of poor Fiona’s.”
“Well, Janet is upset, of course,” Olivia said. “I know you must all have heard the rumors that her marriage to Buccleuch is about to end.”
“Aye, for he’s tired o’ the lass and none too particular about who knows it.”
“Janet said she came because she wanted to see Fiona married, but on their return to Branxholme, she will go home to her family at Ferniehirst,” Olivia said.
“Mercy,” Fiona breathed. “How awful for her!”
“Is there to be a divorce, then?” Eustace asked.
“It is as good as done, Janet told me, because Beaton is coming to the Borders soon to confer with Buccleuch, and he is bound to support both the divorce and Buccleuch’s new wife, who is his own cousin, after all.”
“Buccleuch’s cousin?”
“No, Beaton’s, and that is what stirred this notion in my head.”
“Tell us,” Toby commanded, gesturing to Malcolm to carve him a more generous slice of the great roast of beef.
“As you know,” Olivia said, “Sir Eustace insists that his betrothal to my daughter must take precedence over the earlier one with Sir Christopher, because Sir Christopher is legally dead and did not take a part in that earlier one.”
“Not to mention,” Eustace interjected, “that I spoke my own vows.”
“With respect, sir,” Olivia said, “that can make no difference, because your nephew had an excellent proxy in his father.” To the table at large, she said, “I am persuaded that both betrothals are perfectly legal. After all, our own High King of Scots married in France without setting a foot there.”
“But where does this brilliant notion of yours enter into it?” Toby asked.
“Why, with Cardinal Beaton, of course. If he is coming here to confer with Buccleuch and put an end to his marriage—”
“More likely, he’s coming to see how strong our defenses are before he lets Jamie come within a hundred miles of the line,” Eustace said.
“Even so, he will be talking with Buccleuch at Branxholme, which is less than two hours from here on horseback. I mean to invite him to Mute Hill, and I warrant he will come. Then he can decide which of you Fiona must marry. Indeed, I shall be surprised if I cannot persuade him to perform the ceremony himself.”
Glancing at Kit, Anne thought he looked pale.
Lord Berridge said mildly, “What an exciting household this promises to be. Do you know how soon Beaton expects to be in the Borders, my lady?”
“Janet thought he would be at Branxholme within the next sennight,” Olivia said, smiling. “If you are still here, sir, I hope you will attend the wedding.”
“Indeed, I will. Dear me, I am sure it must be the first wedding to which I have ever been invited where no one knows who will act the part of the groom!”
Chapter 13
Fergus had disappeared again.
“I cannot find him anywhere,” Catriona said to Maggie, when the two met again in the latter’s parlor. “He’s simply vanished. I think he’s terrified of Jonah.”
“Aye, and I canna blame the lad,” Maggie said. “Jonah’s gey wicked.”
It had happened again! One moment gray mist, the next the cozy parlor and lovely Catriona only inches away, her soft breasts peeping ever so invitingly from her low-cut green, gauzy gown—so close, but maddeningly untouchable.
“What if Fergus really can sense Jonah’s presence the way you can sense Claud’s?” Catriona said. “What if Jonah is really near us all the time now? He can change his shape at will, after all. He could be anyone, or anything, for that matter.”
“Fergus is just afraid,” Maggie said. “I dinna doubt that Jonah be watching, but we canna worry about him until we find Claud.”
“I am watching.” He tried to say the words aloud, but no sound issued forth. They could neither hear nor see him, and even Maggie seemed unable to sense how near he was, although he was strongly aware of a third, unseen person with them in the room. Clearly, Jonah—or someone else—was enjoying this dreadful game.
“Fergus said you talked with his lass,” Catriona said.
“Aye, and what of it?”
“I just wondered if you talked with Kit Chisholm, too, that’s all.”
“I havena talked wi’ him yet, but I did peek into his thoughts the day the lass pushed him into the brook,” Maggie said. “He’s a good man, so dinna vex me by complaining, Catriona, for I havena told ye all o’ Jonah’s wickedness yet.”
“There’s more?”
“Aye, but when Fergus vanished after I mentioned it the first time…” She paused, then added bluntly, “I didna want tae frighten ye away, too.”
“I won’t go anywhere,” Catriona said. “I mean to see this through, but you cannot kill a mortal, Maggie, whatever else we do. You’d be banished forever.”
“I ken that, lass, but I’ll no let that Jonah leave my Claud stuck tae any mortal till they both die. The thing is,” she added reluctantly, “Jonah said if I kill the wrong one, then his spell will allow the Host tae take our Claud.”
A scream of terror filled his mind, and the gray mist rose to enclose him.
Catriona clapped a hand to her breast. “No! Oh, what are we to do?”
“We’ll do what we must,” Maggie said grimly. “And that Fergus will, too.”
“I’m here,” a small voice said. “I’m afeared tae let Jonah Bonewits see me wi’ ye, but I’ll do what I must tae protect my lass.”
“Good lad,” Maggie said, suppressing the urge to make him show himself so she could vent her true feelings by shaking the wee eavesdropper till his ears flew off.
The afternoon and evening passed pleasantly, thanks to the skills of Toby’s jester. However, Anne noted with disappointment and mild exasperation that Fiona was more taken with the jester’s music and stories than she was by Sir Christopher. She was polite and responsive to any comment he addressed to her, but the lively jester was a fascinating novelty.
Kit tried more than once to introduce the problem of the betrothal, clearly wanting to understand his uncle’s puzzling position in the matter, but none of the others seemed interested in discussing it. Apparently, Eustace and Toby had decided to let Olivia have her way and leave everything to the cardinal.
Eustace seemed unconcerned about Beaton choosing Fiona’s bridegroom. When he left Sunday morning after Pa
rson Allardice celebrated mass in the chapel, Anne thought he seemed unnaturally cheerful, as if he were certain Beaton would select him. She tried to assure herself that his good humor might stem from nothing more than winning the new jester from Toby, as he had said he would, but it was far easier to suspect him of further nefarious plotting. She did not trust Eustace an inch.
Toby was not cast down by losing the jester, having decided the household at Hawks Rig would have more need of entertainment than the one at Mute Hill.
“That fellow’s too energetic by half,” he explained when Fiona asked why he had let Eustace take Mad Jake away with him. “All that flipping and jumping around, and when he pulled a coin out of a maidservant’s ear whilst she was pouring my ale… Well, I just thought that was enough, that’s all.”
“But I thought he was funny, Uncle Toby, and he played his lute very well, too,” Fiona said. “Moreover, he sings songs I like, and he teaches me new ones, which our other minstrels never did.”
“Well, if I’d realized you were taken with the chap, I’d have kept him, my dear,” Toby said, fondly patting her hand.
They were in Olivia’s bower, having retired there after their chief guest’s departure. Kit was also preparing to leave. He, too, intended to ride to Hawks Rig, as everyone knew, but Eustace had not invited him to ride with his party.
“Pray do not concern yourself over the jester, uncle,” Olivia said as she drew her tambour frame nearer. “I would remind you that despite our recent company and the plans that continue for Fiona’s wedding, this is still a house of mourning. Anne, pray draw that curtain a little more so the sunlight does not strike my face. I should think you would have noticed that it is practically blinding me.”
“Yes, Aunt Olivia,” Anne said, hurrying to obey. From the window, she had a view of the garden, and to her surprise, she saw Kit walking there with Lord Berridge. They were too far away for her to read the expressions on their faces, but she could tell by the way Kit moved that he was speaking forcefully, and she wondered what his lordship had said to annoy him.
