Seduced by a Rogue (9 page)

“I don’t need much looking after,” Rob said. Noting Gibby’s disappointment, he added, “You can clear up those things I carried
up here if you like. The shirts and my netherstocks will need laundering, so take them downstairs when you go. You may also
brush my breeks and boots if you think you can. And put those other things away in the two kists you see against yon wall.”

Gibby soon tidied the chamber. As he rose from stowing things in a kist set in the east-facing window’s embrasure, he moved
to look outside, standing on tiptoe.

“Coo,” he said. “Ye can see forever from up here.”

“Not quite as far as that,” Rob said. “You can see even more from the next level, and more yet from the ramparts. The large
chamber above this one has a window looking over the Firth as well as one like that one overlooking the bay.”

“Then why d’ye no take the two-windowed one?”

“Too many stairs,” Rob said with a grin. When the boy shook his head, he added, “This chamber was my grandfather’s whenever
he stayed here. But I’m thinking that when Herself comes to visit, she’ll want to use the great chamber.”

“Aye, she would,” Gibby agreed. “I could help ye get it ready for her.”

What had been only a wispy tickle of an idea earlier took form as he considered how comfortable the upper chamber could be.
As her ladyship was unlikely to visit soon, that chamber might even serve another purpose or person first. He would have to
consider the notion more thoroughly, to see if it had merit.

Dismissing Gibby to help set up in the hall for the midday meal, Rob said, “I want to think a bit before we dine, Gib. But
we’ll go upstairs afterward and take stock of what we might do there.”

“I told you so,” Fiona said with a grimace the following Thursday morning as she and Mairi aired bedclothes on the hillside
below Annan House’s gateway. “At least we’re outside, but only because Mam wants to keep us busy whilst she rests.”

“She is tired,” Mairi said.

The grassy hill sloped away more or less on all sides of the house. They could see the river below and the strip of narrow
but dense woodland edging it. Across the river lay western Annandale and hills separating it from Nithsdale.

The woodland edging the river continued south and then east above the breeze-rippled waters of Solway Firth, sparkling now
in the sunlight. From the woods upward, freshly tilled fields covered most of the hillside.

“I vow, Mam
must
be pregnant again,” Fiona said abruptly. “She behaves as if she were. In troth, she has been with child more than she has
been with
out
child for most of my life. And to what purpose? She has miscarried so many that she does not even seem sad anymore when she
loses one. But then, before a person can turn around, she declares she is pregnant again and Father hovers over her, fretting
about her health, just as he has been doing of late.”

“It is natural that he should concern himself,” Mairi said fairly. Her thoughts shifted abruptly to Robert Maxwell, as had
happened far too often of late. This time it was to wonder if
he
might fret over a pregnant wife as her father did.

But, in truth, Phaeline was the fretful one, always talking of how she felt, and Mairi had a notion that a wife of Robert
Maxwell’s might have no cause to do that.

It occurred to her only then that she did not
know
he was unwed. Unlike Will Jardine, who lived in Annandale and was Old Jardine’s heir, and would therefore occasion much remark
when he took a wife, Robert Maxwell was an outsider.

Mairi had assumed he was unwed from the way he had gazed at her when they met. But he was certainly old enough to have a wife
and
many
children.

“Why do you frown?” Fiona asked, startling her from her reverie.

With a self-deprecating smile, Mairi said, “I just happened to realize that although we can be nearly sure that Will Jardine
does not yet have a wife, it is a different matter with Robert Maxwell.”

Fiona’s eyebrows shot upward. “So you were thinking of
him
again, were you? How you can let your thoughts dwell on that man for even a minute when you believe he and his wretched brother
want to seize our estates, I do not know.”

“No one can control the way thoughts form, Fee. They just do. For that matter, we don’t know that
Robert
Maxwell wants to seize the estates. I believe he was just warning Father that the sheriff has the power to do so.”

“Aye, well, I won’t deny that
I
think about Will Jardine because I want to,” Fiona said. “Even if we did not know he is unmarried, one could never doubt
that he is. He would surely not flirt as he does if he
were
married.”

“Do you think he would not? Men often flirt who should not, I think, even married men. In troth, if you stop to consider,
our father’s friends often flirt with us, and nearly every one of them is married.”

“Aye, but they ken fine that we do not believe they mean it,” Fiona said as she moved to help Mairi shake out their featherbed.

“Nor
do
they mean it,” Mairi said, wondering at the odd ways of men, even gentlemen and noblemen. “If a married woman flirted the
way married men do, her husband would soon sort her out.”

After they had vigorously shaken the featherbed to settle its contents more evenly, Fiona said with a sigh, “Life is most
unfair to women, I think.”

“Even
women
are sometimes unfair to women,” Mairi said a little tartly. “I am sure that Phaeline believes I shall
never
find a husband.”

“She has certainly hinted as much,” Fiona said. “One wonders how she expects the situation to change when it is
her
determination to produce a son that prevents any eligible man from learning what your fortune may be.”

“Well, for all that she has been the only mother I’ve known and has, I think, been a dutiful mother to me, I think she would
prefer to see me married and gone.”

“Mayhap she would, but she will not say so,” Fiona said. “I suspect that one thing keeping her from insisting Father
find
you a husband is that it would force him to offer a large tocher. You’d have to have enough so that suitors would not mind
so much if Mam does succeed at last in giving him a son.”

“I don’t have any suitors.”

“So we
must
persuade her to arrange for us to meet eligible men. Mayhap she would let us hold a feast here after Easter,” Fiona added
with a thoughtful air.

“Fee, you might as well admit that you are just scheming to invite William Jardine here. You must not even dream of such a
thing!”

“Well, if I am not to think of Will Jardine, then you must swear never to think of Robert Maxwell again,” Fiona said. “In
time, I do think I can persuade Father to engage more kindly with the Jardines and thus make friends of them. Even if he does,
though, he will never agree to let you marry a Maxwell.”

“But I don’t
want
to marry him,” Mairi said. “I’ve no thought of marrying anyone yet. Nor will I until I meet a man with whom I could bear
to spend my life.”

She meant what she said. Her thoughts might now and again—without effort—turn to Robert Maxwell. But although he might be
handsome and display reassuring strength and undeniable charm, he was no less an enemy, and he had behaved arrogantly when
they’d first met. So that, she told herself, was that.

Since leaving Dunwythie Mains, she had missed it more each day. During the sennight they had spent there, her father had behaved
as if she and Fiona were important to him and useful. He had exerted himself to explain things, and to introduce them to his
steward, his bailie, and others who might aid them—if it ever came to that.

He had also promised to introduce them to neighboring landowners in days to come. Instead, he was traveling hither and yon
to talk to other men about the sheriff’s threat, leaving his daughters at home with Phaeline.

Mairi felt as if, after a week of pretending to be an adult, she had returned to her childhood. Fiona was right, she decided.
Their life at Annan House was boring. If she had an ounce of spirit, Mairi told herself sternly, she would not stand for it.

She would
do
something about it.

R
ob stepped out of Trailinghail Tower into the yard late Friday morning to find the knacker Parland Dow dismounting from his
horse.

As Rob went toward him, an orange-and-white ball of fluff pursued by one of his hounds shot across the yard and up his leg.
The dog saw Rob and skidded abruptly to a halt, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Rob bent to pat its head.

The kitten, climbing to Rob’s shoulder, looked down and hissed.

“Hush, cat,” Rob said as he ruffled the dog’s ears.

He had feared for the kitten’s life at first but only until he saw that the fearless little beast was able—with the aid of
only one or two roared commands from him—to inspire the same respect in his dogs that it had inspired in Gibby. The cat apparently
viewed the dogs as playmates if not as rather large, amusing toys, so Rob had relaxed his vigilance.

The hound trotted after him as he went to greet the knacker.

“I did hear at Dumfries about the wee gift Herself gave ye,” Dow said, nodding toward the kitten as they shook hands. “I see
ye’re still plagued wi’ him.”

“So I am, but welcome to Trailinghail,” Rob said. “What news do you bring?”

“As to that, sir, ye mayn’t like some of it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Aye, well, I heard rumors in Kirkcudbright that the sheriff does intend to seize lands from men of Annandale and other such
places as refuse to bend to his will,” Dow said. “Men fear such talk may lead to clan war.”

“Aye, it might,” Rob said. Realizing he’d sounded curt, he said cordially, “What further news have you?” Most information
of value that reached Trailinghail came from such itinerant tradesmen, who collected and shared it as they traveled.

“I’ve summat and nowt,” the knacker said with a twinkle. “Ye did say ye ha’ work here for a thirsty man, did ye no?”

“I do, and a drink for you first, if you’ll come inside,” Rob said. When they had settled by the hall fire, he said, “You
told me you were for Annandale, I think.”

“Och, aye, and I’ll be there again afore too long,” Dow said. “Ye ken fine that I take work where I find it, so I ken Annandale
as well as Nithsdale or Galloway. I did hear that ye’d visited Dunwythie Mains and other estates whilst
ye
was there.”

“I did,” Rob said. “What can you tell me about Lord Dunwythie?”

“A gey good man,” Dow said. “Treats his people well, and he’s a fair man, too, highly respected and peaceable. More so than
most o’ that Annandale lot, I’d say. Lord Johnstone o’ Johnstone, now he be a fierce one. And I’m thinking ye ken Old Jardine
and
his
lot for yourself, sir.”

“I do. What do you know of Dunwythie’s family?” Rob inquired mildly as he leaned forward to add more whisky to Dow’s goblet
from the jug.

“His lordship’s ancestors were in Annandale afore the Bruce, and—”

“I don’t care about his ancestors,” Rob said testily. “I want to know about his immediate family. He has at least two daughters,
for I saw them.”

“Aye, he does, and nary a son,” the knacker said. “His lady be frequently wi’ child, but…” He spread his hands.

“I saw Lady Dunwythie when I was at Dunwythie Mains,” Rob said. “She does not look much older than her daughters.”

“She do still be
young
enough to bear babes,” Dow said, doubt visible in his slight frown. “But aside from her daughter—”

“Daughters,” Rob reminded him gently.

“Aye, sure, I expect she does look upon both o’ them as hers.”

“Are they not?”

“Nay, only the younger one, the lady Fiona.”

“I see. Then his elder daughter…”

“Men say the lady Mairi would be his lordship’s declared heir but for his lady wife’s insisting
she
will give him a son. Meantime, nae one can be sure the lass will succeed to aught save her own mam’s portion. If ye were
a-thinking—”

“Nay, nay,” Rob said hastily, although his thoughts were definitely busy. At least Dow had confirmed what the Jardines had
told him about the lass. He added, “You must know as well as I do what the reaction from my clan would be—aye, and that of
the Dunwythies—were I fool enough to consider such a marriage.”

“I ken that fine, aye. But she be a gey handsome lass, withal.”

“She is that,” Rob agreed. “I expect her father thinks most highly of her.”

“He does, aye, he does,” Dow said, nodding. “I’m told, despite his lady wife’s belief that she’ll ha’ a son, he has been teaching
the lady Mairi all she’ll need know to manage the estates should the worst befall him.”

“A wise man,” Rob said. “But I expect he cares much for the lass. She is not only beautiful but also seemed well spoken and
sensible—surely a daughter in whom a father would take pride and for whom he would risk much to protect.”