by Amanda Scott
“Or us,” Rob added when Old Jardine gave Alex a sour look.
“Nay, I want nae trouble wi’ any o’ ye,” the old man growled.
“You should know then,” Rob added quietly, “that Will threatened to kill the lady Mairi so that the lady Fiona might inherit her estates. We have been allies in the past, sir, but I’ll tell you now to your face that if harm comes to her ladyship and I learn that Will had aught to do with it—”
“Aye, aye, I understand ye, and I believe ye. Nowt will happen to the lass. Now, then, take your men and get hence, the both o’ ye.”
“I have messages for the lady Fiona,” Rob said.
“She’s no here. Will took her riding afore ye got here. I expect I can pass them messages on to her for ye, though.”
Stifling a sigh, Rob said to tell her ladyship that her mother and sister would like her to visit them at Dunwythie Mains.
“Aye, sure, that’d be likely, that would,” Jardine said sarcastically.
“At least you can tell her mother you gave him the message,” Alex said as they went out to the others and waited for the two Annan House men to join them.
When they did, the cavalcade wended its way north on the Roman road until Rob saw Gibby waiting beside it for them, alone.
Reining in by the boy, he said, “I thought one of the lads from Dunwythie Hall would bring you out here. Where’s your bundle?”
“There by yonder rock, where I were a-sitting afore I heard ye coming, laird. But I brung ye a message ye’re to hear first.”
Rob frowned at him. “What is it?”
“Put your lug down here so I can tell ye without all these louts a-listening.”
Rob dismounted and stood over the lad. “Is this close enough?”
“Aye, sure, if ye want all and sundry to hear.”
Bending nearer, he said, “This better be good, Gib, or—”
“I’m to tell ye, if ye agree that trust be a thing as must be shared, one wi’ another, ye should ha’ a second look at yon barley field,” the boy said carefully.
When Rob looked at him in astonishment, Gib exclaimed, “Sakes, dinna look at me like that, laird. It be a daft message, I’ll agree, but it be what it be!”
What if he did not come?
The field was empty, the barley tall, and its heads full of grain, nearly ready for harvest. The woods were in full leaf, and yellow celandine bloomed below the trees. The sky was clear, and Mairi’s heart was full. He would come.
But what if Gib forgot her message? He had repeated it correctly more than once, but he might have got nervous or mixed the words, or used his own.
Knowing that Rob wanted her, she told herself to be patient, but that did nothing to quell the tumult within her. Was she doing the right thing, or was she just reacting to loneliness or her dislike of living with Phaeline?
Was she—worst thought of all—seeking to replace the father she missed so much more than she had expected she would, with a husband?
And Fiona. What about Fiona?
The more Mairi thought about Fiona’s missing their father’s burial, the more she fretted. Fee did have a mind of her own, but such behavior was unlike her.
A horseman appeared at the edge of the woods, where she and Fiona had been when they had first seen him with Will.
With the sun almost straight overhead and glaring down, Mairi had to squint to see more than his shape. But she needed no more to recognize Rob. Stifling an impulse to run up the hill to him, reluctant to reveal the depth of her feelings until she could be sure she had been right to do what she had done, she stood at the bottom of the field and watched him ride nearer.
He might not react well to all she had to say to him, but she had thought half the night about it all before she had decided that her dilemma fell into the category of things she could not control. When that thought had struck her at last, she had relaxed and fallen into deep sleep. And as the memory of it touched her now, she relaxed again. Trust was trust, and that was that.
He dismounted a short distance away and dropped his reins to the ground.
The horse was young to trust so near the ripe barley. But Mairi did not care if it ate the whole field, because Rob was striding toward her, unmindful of the crop.
Without another thought for his reaction, she smiled and went to meet him.
“I knew you would come,” she said, reaching both hands toward his.
He grabbed her wrists and pulled her close, letting go only to wrap his arms around her in a crushing hug. “I nearly didn’t,” he admitted. “But you are right to say that, unlike an apology or a promise, trust goes two ways. I’ve missed you so much, lass, more than I can say,” he murmured close to her ear. “I’d have come to you wherever you were. Will the workers come back soon, or have we time to talk?”
“No one will come,” she said. “Even Phaeline is safely inside the Hall.”
“I sent Gib back to the Hall, too,” he said, giving her a measuring look. “I’m hoping you didn’t ask me here just to send a message to my grandmother.”
“Nay, but did you see Fiona?”
“She and Will had gone riding, Jardine said. I don’t think you will see her whilst you’re here, though. Will and his father are doubtless angry to have been caught in their mischief. And there was nowt we could do, legally.”
“I feared that would be the case, but Fiona wanted him and now she has him. Mayhap she is content so. But I did not invite you just to see you again or to talk of Fiona,” she added conscientiously. “I wanted to tell you… that is, to ask you…” She hesitated. The words to express her feelings had escaped her. The phrases she had practiced in the night seemed stilted now, unnatural. He would think—
“Mairi, lass, say what you want to say,” he said, holding her away and looking into her eyes. His gaze was steady, and his eyes held the twinkle that had so surprised her the first time she had seen it. When she still did not speak, he said gently, “If you summoned me here to tell me you never want to chance meeting me again without due warning, I’ll—”
“You know that is not why,” she said, trying to think and finding it impossible while he looked at her so.
“Then why? Come, lass. This is not like you, to be so reticent.”
“Nay, I ken fine that it is not,” she said, trying to smile. “I thought I would be able to tell you easily, because I can usually say what I like to you. But it is not so easy after all. Sithee, I want… that is, I have come to think… to realize…” Again she hesitated, grimacing until she saw that his eyes were dancing. “Sakes, sir,” she said then with heat. “Do you know yet again what I want to say?”
“I hope I do,” he said, his eyes still alight. “But I am not such a dafty as to put words in your mouth now, sweetheart. You must speak for yourself.”
The endearment helped. She felt herself relax again and knew his demand that she speak her mind was only fair. Even so, every experience with her father and stepmother—aye, and with others, too…
“What I want to say seems improper,” she explained. “Everyone has warned me that it is never a woman’s place… that I must wait for the right man to say the words to me…” She looked up hopefully. But although the expression in his eyes had shifted from outright merriment to something gentler, he remained silent.
Mairi swallowed, looked at his chest for a moment as she drew a steadying breath and let it out. Then she looked up again and said, “I have come to believe that you would suit me well as a husband, sir. I know that others will disagree with me, may even think I have gone utterly mad. But so it is.”
“Why?” he asked, his voice sounding deeper than usual and the single word oddly unsteady.
In that moment, she felt a lurching deep inside her, as if her heart had turned over. Sensing his sudden uncertainty, doubtless stirred by things she had said before, she wanted to put her arms around him, but she resisted. The two feelings coming together at that single word gave her the confidence to say, “I was feeling
unusually weak, sir. When I asked you to come—”
“Bade me come,” he said.
“Aye, if you like. I expect Gibby may have made it sound that way, because I told him he had to tell you just so. I knew I could trust you to come to me, but I did not want to tell Gib enough to put him in possession of my feelings. Indeed, I thought I must… Sithee, at least a portion of what I must say is a matter of great importance to me and may not seem so to you. Or,” she added swiftly, “because it may seem to be a matter of much greater importance to you not to do as I ask.”
“Enough, Mairi,” he said. “Surely, you have learned by now not to try to couch the things you say to me in tactful ways. I cannot know how I will react, and neither can you until you tell me what you want of me.”
“Very well,” she said, holding his gaze. “I want to marry you, Rob Maxwell. I do trust you. The only ‘but’ in the matter is that I cannot do so if you will insist upon making Dunwythie a Maxwell holding.”
“All I want,” he said matter-of-factly, “is to make Mairi Dunwythie the beloved wife of Robert Maxwell.”
“What if by doing so you had to agree that our eldest son, or whichever child of ours inherits my holdings, must do so as Dunwythie of Dunwythie?”
“Rather than as Maxwell of Dunwythie?”
“Aye,” she said, eyeing him warily. “My father would never have understood my feelings for you, sir. And he would have been unlikely ever to agree to our union. I do love you with all my heart, but I could not betray him by allowing his title to become a Maxwell title. My cousin Jenny has retained hers. I can do no less for Dunwythie of Dunwythie.”
He smiled. “You’ll get no quarrel from me, sweetheart. What matters to you matters likewise to me. Alex will doubtless assure us that it is common in such cases for the chief or a chieftain of the clan into which a rightful baroness weds to claim her titles. But I can attend to Alex, and to any other Maxwell if necessary.”
“My father explained that no one can simply claim Dunwythie, sir, whilst I retain it. But someone might try to seize it after my death, or force my minor son or daughter, if I have only daughters, to relinquish it. If I thought that any one of your clan might do that, I could not marry you.”
“But you do want to marry me,” he said.
She nodded solemnly and stared warily at his chest, unwilling to let him see just then how much his answer meant to her, as she said, “I do, aye.”
“Look at me,” he said. When she did, striving to keep her feelings from revealing themselves, he said, “Will you trust me to deal with that, Mairi—with my family, that is—and accept my word that I will protect your estates and title from such theft? Or will you insist that we sign all the pertinent documents first, before all the proper witnesses, and only then agree to be my wife?”
She looked straight into his eyes and said, “If you tell me you can keep Dunwythie from becoming a Maxwell property, I believe you will. You have always kept your word to me, Rob Maxwell, and I know you would not make such a claim unless you knew you could fulfill it.”
He nodded, and she noted with satisfaction that his eyes were twinkling again.
In his exultation, Rob had all he could do not to snatch her up in his arms and whirl her about. But he knew that despite her trust, she remained vulnerable, and he wanted to do nothing that might make it harder for her to withstand Phaeline’s certain displeasure, which she would soon face. Mairi might believe that his joy stemmed from knowing that she loved him, but Phaeline would surely pour scorn on that belief and insist his joy came from knowing he would get her estates.
He knew what else Phaeline would say, because much of it would be the same as what Alex would say, and Lord Maxwell. None of them would believe as easily as Mairi apparently did that he could stand against a united Maxwell determination to seize the Dunwythie estates.
But he knew that he could. To Mairi, he said gently, “I am not such a fool, lass, as to believe I can stand alone against a Maxwell army. Nor could you stand alone against such a force, although in time the law would side with you. But Douglas will support your position, and I have already shown Hugh Douglas and Alex, too, that my services are yours to command, marriage or none. Moreover, Alex seems to have learned a few things.”
“But the two of you are ever at odds, Rob. Art sure—?”
“He is still my brother, sweetheart. And he has come to see himself more clearly, I think. We talked more this morning, and he told me he understands why I took your side, and will not hold the incident against me.”
“Doubtless your grandmother would like to have heard that.”
He grinned, remembering. “Oh, thanks to Gibby’s comment yesterday, she was there, lass. Not in person, sithee. But, in spirit, she certainly was.”
Mairi laughed, and he pulled her close again, savoring the scent of herbs in her hair and the wondrous feeling of her slender, supple body against his again.
As his stirred in response, he eased her away again, saying, “How long must we wait to marry?”
She gave him a roguish look then. “That depends, sir, on just how much you will enjoy a wife who makes her own decisions and acts on them.”
“How so?”
“Because when I decided to let things be, and realized that we do know each other and love each other, I took an action of which you may not approve.”
“Did you, my love? Acting perhaps too hastily, in fact? I think you know well that if I disapprove of aught you do, I will certainly say so and make my own position plain. We will doubtless fratch like wildcats from time to time.”
“We will, aye, but if you don’t like what I did, you need only say so, and we will take another course. Sithee, Lord Johnstone is a man who keeps his own chaplain, and I have sent for him. He should be at the Hall by now.”
“Mairi, my love, you will make a fine baroness.”
“I forgot about banns, though,” she said, looking dismayed. “Won’t we have to wait till they’re called? Three Sundays, is it not?”
“Not if that chaplain knows his business,” Rob said. “We’ll just tell him we’ll declare ourselves married if he will not perform the ceremony. I warrant a few coins in his hand will procure us his aid in the matter.”
“Then we can be married as soon as we get back.”
At that moment he would have agreed to almost anything she wanted. But he knew he did need to make one thing clear to her from the outset.
“We can marry whenever you like,” he said. “But although I can easily agree that you will remain Dunwythie of that Ilk and pass that name and title on to your rightful heir, I do expect one concession from you in return.”
He expected wariness. Instead she smiled and said, “Tell me, my dearling.”
The warm feeling inside him nearly undid his determination to settle the matter before they did anything else. Sternly suppressing the reaction, he said, “I cannot leave Trailinghail to my steward and bailiff year round. I ken fine that you will want to live in Annandale—”
“At the Hall,” she interjected. “I must spend some time at Annan House, too, of course, but not nearly as much as you will want to spend at Trailinghail. We both have excellent stewards, so I’m thinking we can arrange to attend to our estates in turn, winters and a portion of each autumn at the Hall, a fortnight annually in—”
“We can discuss our schedule later,” he said. “I was afraid you might never want to return to Trailinghail.”
She shook her head. “My memories of the tower are happy ones, sir. I look forward to returning, especially to seeing Annie again. Indeed, I am eager to see Lady Kelso and her Eliza as soon as may be.”
He chuckled. “She will want to see you again, too, lass. She told me from the start that she quite likes you.”
Mairi smiled.
Holding her gaze, he put a hand to her cheek. “Art sure, sweetheart?”
“Aye, sir,” she said, raising her face toward his.
He needed no further invitation to claim
her lips, but neither did he allow his attention to linger there long before he suggested that they should get back.
“I left Hugh and Alex, and all their men waiting for me in the road,” he said.
“Well, we should have witnesses, should we not?”
“Aye,” he agreed, chuckling. “Alex will stand up for me, but you must ask your stepmother to be the other. I expect Hugh will want to give you away.”
She nodded, but she looked so solemn that Rob wondered if she feared that Phaeline would refuse. Her stepmother was unlikely to support their marriage.
Mairi was indeed wondering what to do if Phaeline refused to stand up with her. But Phaeline agreed at once.
“I know better than to waste my breath when you have made up your mind,” she said. “I have been thinking, too, that I should like to visit some of my kinsmen. But I could not leave you alone at Annan House or here at this place. I cannot say that I approve of your marrying this man, Mairi, but I will say no more about that.”
Mairi realized then that her stepmother had found their living arrangement as much of a strain as she had.
“I expect you are very surprised at this, though,” she said.
“Well, I knew something odd was in the offing when first that Gibby lad came in looking like he had a secret and then Johnstone’s chaplain arrived. I see no reason for you to delay, my dearling, but you must tidy yourself first. That will give everyone time to see to supper. They all want to see you wed, of course.”
Instead of taking herself immediately to her bedchamber, Mairi paused in the doorway to say, “Shall you be content to remain at Annan House by yourself?”
“I expect I have any number of female cousins who would leap at the chance to live with me,” Phaeline said. “My family has a house in Glasgow, too, so I will doubtless spend time there each year. But you must go now, dearling. I doubt your intended husband will be patient forever.”
