by Amanda Scott
“At first, it showed only in the pride he took, governing Dumfries,” she said. “But with the chief of your clan always away in Glasgow or Stirling, Alex has had a free hand to do as he likes without hindrance. Such freedom from restraint is not good for any man. And Easter, my dear, is just a fortnight from tomorrow.”
“You believe he’ll take those estates if he can.” When she nodded, he said, “Well, so do I. But I won’t allow it, Gran. I don’t know yet how I’ll stop him. I’m loath to seek aid from Archie Douglas, because I don’t want to humiliate Alex or other Maxwells. But I’ll not let them harm Mairi or take her land.”
“Ah, well, he’ll do nowt until he learns who inherits,” she said.
At Annan House, Mairi was finding life hard without Fiona. Never before had she realized how much of a buffer her sister provided against her stepmother.
Without Fiona, she endured entirely too much of Phaeline.
Although Phaeline did not carp or correct her as she often had before, she refused to take Mairi’s authority seriously, insisting that anyone who could so mindlessly let a man abduct her from Annan House while she carried the keys to its pantry and buttery could hardly claim to be a good manager.
“’Tis of no use to say you brought those keys back,” she added when Mairi reminded her of that fact. “We had to break in, so we have a new lock.”
Phaeline also wondered aloud two or three times a day how Mairi would ever find a husband with such a scandal to discredit her.
And Phaeline took strong exception to Tiggie.
“Cats do have their place,” she said austerely the following Friday morning as the two women and Sadie sat together in the solar.
Phaeline was embroidering at her tambour frame. Sadie sat just behind her on a stool, sorting threads for her. And Mairi had set aside her own work to pick up and stroke the now-purring Tiggie, who was otherwise determined to “help” Sadie.
Although no one encouraged further comment on the subject of cats, Phaeline went on to say, “Suppose I should trip over him and fall?” She touched her belly. “What then for the bairn I carry? Surely, that cat could live quite happily outside where it can chase mice and other vermin and make itself useful.”
“Tiggie amuses me, madam,” Mairi said quietly. “He is either in motion, in mischief, or so sound asleep that one can pick him up without waking him. And he purrs whenever I touch him. Surely, you do not begrudge me amusement or comfort, or deny the need for such yourself. We both grieve, after all.”
“Aye, we do,” Phaeline said with a sigh. “I miss having a man about more than I can tell you. One simply needs someone about the place to see that all is done properly. Females do not convey the same strong air of authority.”
“Sakes, has someone dared to be rude to you?” Mairi demanded.
“Nay, nay, ’tis just that when your father was here…” She sighed again.
“He did seek always to make you most comfortable, madam, ’tis true. He was a good man. I will try to keep Tiggie out of your way, if that will please you. But, prithee, do not ask to have him put outside, for I will not allow that. He must come and go as he pleases, because that pleases me.”
“You take too much authority on yourself, dearling. Prithee, do not grow too accustomed to it, lest you suffer jealousy of your wee brother when he comes.”
Mairi saw Sadie’s lips tighten. The maidservant got up abruptly from her stool and set upon it the cloth of threads she had been sorting.
“Forgive me, madam,” she said to Phaeline. “I must visit the garderobe.”
“Bless us, I hope that lass is not ailing,” Phaeline said as Sadie crossed the room. “If I should take sickness from her… ”
Mairi, noting that Sadie was still within hearing, said nothing.
Phaeline also expressed surprise that Mairi had allowed “that Robert Maxwell” to saddle her with one of his minions, “possibly his own offspring if we but knew the truth.” Mairi had said nothing to that, either, preferring peace to war.
Gib preferred to be outside, and she did not blame him. Jopson liked the lad and willingly put him to work, telling Mairi after a day that the wee chap was gey reliable and quick of mind, which she knew was high praise from the steward.
She soon saw that she had fallen into her old ways of yielding rather than expressing her feelings, all in the name of keeping peace, much as her father had done. The knowledge annoyed her. It also made clear the difference between the present and how she had felt at Trailinghail, where she had spoken as she thought.
In truth, she had liked herself better when she was with Rob.
On Monday, three days before their planned departure to spend Easter with Jenny and Sir Hugh at Thornhill, when Mairi and Phaeline sat down for supper with Sadie in attendance, Phaeline said after a deep sigh, “I fear we cannot go to Thornhill, after all, my dear. Such a long way! And then to Dumfries for Easter service. ’Tis such a disappointment! But I have been feeling so weak of late…”
She paused, clearly expecting sympathy and agreement.
Anger leaped in Mairi, and as it did, she knew it was not only because she would miss seeing Jenny and Sir Hugh but also because she hoped to see Rob. Guilt steadied her. She said, “Jenny and Hugh will be even more disappointed, madam.”
She said nothing else and remained civil through the rest of the meal.
When they left the dais and reached the stairway, however, Mairi excused herself, meaning to go down and walk off her anger outside.
As she turned away from Phaeline, who went on up the stairs, Sadie said, “Forgive me, mistress. May I have a word?”
Believing that Sadie spoke to her own mistress, Mairi did not turn until the maidservant touched her elbow and said, “If it please your ladyship?”
“Forgive me, Sadie. I thought you spoke to the lady Phaeline. She is your mistress, after all.”
“Nay, then, she is not, and I dinna call her so,” Sadie said. “I call her madam, same as ye do. And ye be the mistress here, m’lady.”
“Nay, by my troth, not yet,” Mairi said. “Sithee, if the lady Phae—”
“Nay, mistress,” Sadie interjected, adding swiftly, “I dinna mean to be pert, but madam just says she be wi’ child. Her courses came as usual three days ago.”
Mairi gaped at Sadie then, as fury threatened to undo her.
At Trailinghail, Lady Kelso was preparing to return to Dumfries to celebrate Easter Sunday in her favorite kirk, that of St. Michael’s near the great bridge.
Alex had insisted that Rob join them in Dumfries, and Rob had agreed so quickly that he knew—after the way he and Alex had parted—that he must have astonished his brother. Rob was to escort her ladyship, with two score of his own men, since her ladyship’s sense of her worth demanded that she travel in style.
Also, Alex had taken back with him the escort her ladyship had provided for herself under the pretense of going to Glasgow.
Rob had no idea whether Sir Hugh Douglas would bring his family to celebrate Easter at St. Michael’s. But it was the finest kirk in Nithsdale, so nearly everyone who lived near enough did celebrate there. At all events, he could hope.
Mairi waited until Tuesday morning to confront Phaeline. Having warned Sadie in the meantime to make herself scarce, and finding Phaeline in the solar alone, Mairi did not equivocate.
“I have learned that you are not with child, madam, and have not recently been so. Nay, do not speak,” she added when Phaeline bristled in apparent indignation. “I have much to say, and I am not interested in hearing spurious denials.”
“That you dare to speak so to me—”
“’Tis most unlike me, to be sure, but to have worked such a deception on my father is inexcusable, and I shall not excuse it,” Mairi said as caustically as she had ever spoken to Rob Maxwell. Thought of him encouraged her to go right on:
“Good sakes, madam, I do not know whether to be sorry or grateful that Father did not learn of your wicked deception,” she said. “
But what is done is done. Now, however, as there can be no doubt of who is rightful owner here, you will listen to me. You are entitled to live in this house, and so you shall. But I am going to Thornhill for Easter. You may go with me or not, as you will.”
Phaeline eyed her angrily, but Mairi looked right back, just as angry.
“Sadie will be very sorry to have betrayed me so,” Phaeline said with a sigh.
They left for Thornhill just after dawn Thursday morning.
Mairi had not visited there before, and her first view of the house was a fine one, for it stood on rising ground above the river Nith. She felt at home the moment she entered and saw her cousin Jenny, Baroness Easdale, rushing to meet her.
Jenny’s golden-brown hair, parted in the middle, showed beneath her caul in two soft, narrow wings. She wore a plain but most becoming moss-green kirtle with a girdle of square silver links, elegantly engraved, around her hips. She greeted them all, laughing with delight and hugging Mairi hard.
“I was so sorry to learn of Uncle’s death,” Jenny said then, turning a more solemn face to Phaeline. “You must miss him sorely, madam, all of you.”
They had not yet told her about Fiona but did so as soon as the ladies were settled together in Jenny’s pleasant solar where a cheerful fire burned on the hearth. They had sent Sadie—now happily serving Mairi, Phaeline’s new maidservant, and Jenny’s Peg upstairs to deal with baggage and prepare their bedchambers.
So the three of them could talk freely.
“Eloped!” Jenny exclaimed when they told her. “How dreadful! And with Will Jardine of all men! Sakes, I well recall what Uncle thought of that family.”
“Aye,” Phaeline said. “He was furious beyond measure with our Fiona. But the unfortunate truth is that Mairi, too, bears some of the blame for his tragic death.”
“Surely not, madam,” Jenny said. “One cannot doubt that Fiona’s running off with Will infuriated him. But Mairi had naught to do with that.”
Phaeline grimaced, saying, “Her disappearance did affect him, my dear. He was outraged that she had been so long with an unmarried man—and a Maxwell at that. Sithee, he believed Maxwell and Jardine acted in concert. ’Twas a disgrace! His fury at having two such scandals looming over us was what sent him off.”
Frowning, Jenny turned to Mairi. “We did know that someone had abducted you, because Hugh helped search for you. But we heard naught of a conspiracy.”
Calmly, Mairi said, “It is untrue that Robert Maxwell and Will Jardine were in league together, Jenny. I will tell you all about it, I expect. But not just now.”
With another glance at Phaeline, Jenny nodded and smiled. “I am willing to wait, for I want to show you the house and our wee son. Hugh will be in soon to take supper with us, so shall we see the house now? Or would you prefer to rest for a while, madam,” she added. “Hugh told me you are with child again.”
Phaeline hesitated, so Mairi said, “That is no longer so, I’m afraid.”
“Then I am sorry for that, too, madam—a double tragedy,” Jenny said. To Mairi, she said, “So you are now a baroness in your own right, too, are you?”
“Aye, but I feel like the same old Mairi,” she said.
Jenny chuckled. “I did, too, when my father died. But one swiftly comes into one’s responsibilities, as you will soon see if you have not already done so.”
Phaeline accompanied them as they wandered over the house, and Sir Hugh—a tall gentleman, stern of face but with a twinkle in his eyes for his wife—joined them in the solar before suppertime. Therefore, it was not until Mairi retired to the chamber allotted to her use that Jenny joined her for a comfortable talk.
“Tell me,” Jenny said without ceremony. “Was Phaeline faking it?”
“Being with child, do you mean?”
Jenny nodded.
“Good sakes, has she done it before?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Jenny said. “But my Peg did suspect as much and told me so not long before I married Hugh. Sithee, Peg used to help Sadie with laundering our things when we were all living at Annan House.”
“Sadie told me because Phaeline used her supposed pregnancy to say she could not manage the journey here for Easter, after all. When I learned the truth, I told her I was coming with or without her but she could do as she pleased.”
Jenny’s merry chuckle rippled forth. “Good for you,” she said. “I’ll wager Sadie is happy about her change of situation, too. Phaeline has a sad tendency to slap her servants when they displease her, Peg said. But, now, tell me all about your abduction. Was it horrid? You seem little the worse for the experience.”
Mairi told her more than she had told Phaeline, although she did not tell Jenny everything. Nevertheless, it was a relief to tell someone who did not display greater shock with each thing she did say. Even the fact that Rob had left Gibby and the kitten with her did not faze Jenny except to make her laugh again.
“Did you bring them both with you?” she asked.
“Nay, just the lad,” Mairi said.
Despite Jenny’s apparent acceptance of all that Mairi did tell her, knowing that less information had shocked Phaeline to the bone had already persuaded Mairi that the abduction had destroyed her reputation throughout Annandale—at least, as far as her stepmother was concerned.
“Pish tush,” Jenny remarked when Mairi explained as much to her. “She said the same to me after I ran away with the minstrels. But I can tell you this, Mairi. When a woman bears a title in her own right, such events become just interesting facts about her life. Even a countess may draw dour looks, to be sure. But people forgive her much that would destroy an untitled woman, unfair as that may be. A husband will make a difference, too, when you wed. I promise you that.”
“Aye, perhaps,” Mairi said, striving to look disinterested. “But a baroness who takes her maidservant with her when she runs off with minstrels is a much different matter than a lady stolen from her home and kept prisoner by a laird she had met only once, and gey briefly.”
“I expect it is different,” Jenny said. She looked as if she might ask a more ticklish question next, but Mairi went right on to describe the sheriff’s attempt to take custody of her, and the moment passed. Still, she was sure Jenny must wonder if Rob had taken advantage of her.
He had, of course, but only with her aid and consent. And he had proposed marriage directly afterward. But that detail was another she did not mean to share.
She still believed that while a husband could make a difference in her situation, no one would react well to the idea of any woman marrying her abductor.
Nor could she blame anyone for thinking badly of such a plan. It was clearly daft. So, she would put it right out of her head. She would certainly not tell Jenny that the notion had ever crossed her mind. Nor would she allow it to do so again.
In fact, it was possible that Rob did not even love her, and just as well.
After all, when she had asked him to leave, he had put up little argument. And, in view of Fiona’s elopement and their father’s death, even the thought of trying to explain to Phaeline, or to anyone else, that Mairi might want to marry the man who had abducted her was beyond her ability just then to imagine.
Jenny asked next about Dunwythie. Learning that he was properly interred in the hillside cemetery at Annan House, she had only one question.
“Did you read his will?”
“Aye, straightaway. ’Twas just as he had told me, including leaving Annan House to me, although Phaeline retains her tocher right to live there until she dies.”
“’Tis odd that Fiona did not show herself even for the burial, is it not?”
“I sent messengers twice,” Mairi said. “First to tell her he had died and urge her to come home. I said Phaeline needed her, and I, too. Then I sent to remind her that we were all to come here for Easter. She did send a message that time, saying dearest Will thought they ought not to travel whilst she was so upset by her loss and that mayhap they would see
me when next I visit Dunwythie Mains.”
“Sakes, how very odd,” Jenny said with a sigh. “I still miss my father. I felt close to him right to the minute he died. Still, I’m glad we Borderers do not make such a great fuss of death and burial as the English do, and some Scots.”
Mairi agreed, but Dunwythie’s death was still raw within her, and she missed Fiona. Although she had not felt as close to her father as Jenny had to hers, neither had she lived alone with Dunwythie as Jenny had with Easdale after her mother died. Easdale never wanted to remarry and, from the outset, had accepted Jenny as his heiress. That would not have been Dunwythie’s way, Phaeline or no Phaeline.
“Attending to burials quickly and without fuss was only sensible hereabouts when the next raid or invasion might occur before they were done,” Mairi said. “Mayhap now that we’ve had peace for a time, things can begin to change.”
“Perhaps,” Jenny said. “But life is for the living, and one should get on with it.”
Easter Sunday arrived in the royal burgh of Dumfries with sunshine blazing.
The sky was clear, grass green, and a large crowd gathered for the Mass in St. Michael’s Kirk near the nine-arched bridge spanning the river Nith.
The kirk was a splendid structure. Its interior was solemn but well appointed to provide for all who attended services there.
The public area near the front was large and open for prayer stools or cushions. Private pews nearer the main entrance were grand enough and screened well so that royals and nobles could worship, safe from the stares of lesser folk.
Sir Hugh’s party had seats in a private pew that the Douglases provided for any kinsmen who had business that might keep them in town over a Sunday.
Mairi lowered her eyes demurely as she and Phaeline followed Sir Hugh and Jenny inside. Gibby, Hugh’s man Lucas Horne, and other servants had gone ahead to the open space in front to find places for the prayer stools they had brought.
