Tamed by a Laird (16 page)

As they made their way toward the Joculator, who stood near the audience, Sir Hugh asked her if she knew a song called “Donsie
Willie.” She nodded, pleased with his choice. Describing a Border romance between an innocent girl and a lad with a reputation
for mischief, the song had some twenty verses with distinctive characters all telling their bits of the tale, and was particularly
fun to sing.

“If I were to sing the men’s verses and you the women’s,” he said, “I think we’d have something special that we could do whenever
we sing together.”

“Do you mean to stay for some time then?”

“I did not say that,” he said, darting another glance at the sheriff. “Sithee, all these people want you to sing. I just thought
it would be easier if we began together.”

She nodded as if she understood. But he had said “whenever” they sang together, so she decided he must have reconciled himself
to staying in Dumfries for at least a day or two longer.

As they neared the circle cleared for the entertainers, she saw that jugglers had followed the dancers. Although the chanting
for her had eased a little, it continued to provide a low, rhythmic background for the performers.

“Ye’ll go next, Jenny,” the Joculator said.

“She’s a bit skittish, sir,” Hugh said, putting a light, reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I thought perhaps a comic song
that we both know might ease the way.”

“Aye, sure,” the Joculator said, visibly noting the hand on Jenny’s shoulder and giving Hugh a speculative look.

Jenny saw both and felt a stab of guilt, recalling the fib she had told him about Sir Hugh wanting her. Nibbling her lower
lip, she avoided Hugh’s gaze but did not reject his touch.

H
ugh could see that the Joculator was still unsure of him but wondered what Jenny was thinking to bring such a look of guilt
to her face. He had no time to think about it, though, before the Joculator turned and gestured to a horn player, who instantly
produced a fanfare.

Scanning the crowd as the Joculator announced them, Hugh located the sheriff’s party by the shire’s banner flying above them.

The audience fell silent, their expectation nearly palpable. Hugh had seen such reactions before and the resulting uproar
if the performers fell short of expectation. He doubted that would be the case tonight.

The clouds had parted, the half moon gleamed overhead, and torches bathed the central area in soft, orange-gold light.

Noting frowns on a number of faces in the audience when he strode forward first, Hugh bowed deeply to Jenny, careful to keep
the plumed side of his face toward the sheriff, and gestured her forward.

Jenny came to him, moving with easy grace and smiling as she curtsied, first to him and then to the audience. She had also
noted the sheriff’s position, because she looked that way and nodded before she turned back to Hugh. Then she plucked the
first notes of their tune and began to sing.

The first verse of the song described a gentle, innocent lassie and her love for Donsie Willie despite his many sins and lack
of repentance.

Hugh replied with the second verse in the exaggerated accents and tone of an angry Border father outraged by his daughter’s
choice and determined to forbid the banns. As he sang, he heard delighted chuckles from the audience.

When Jenny sang the next verse, that of the worried mother, she, too, exaggerated her accent and feelings until, once again,
she seemed to lose herself in the music. Back and forth they went, to the increasing delight of their audience.

By the end, when Hugh sang of his joy as a reformed Willie outsmarting the lass’s determinedly doubting father, and the father’s
responses, shifting accents as he did, the audience clearly was finding it hard to suppress laughter long enough to hear the
words.

Stepping back at last, he waited for the applause to die before plucking the first notes of the love song he had sung with
Jenny at Lochmaben.

She quickly picked up the cue and began to sing the first verse.

Altogether, they sang four songs before the Joculator stepped forward again as the audience cheered wildly.

Tossing three clubs in the air, he quickly set them spinning in rapid rotation.

As cheers faded to expectant silence, Gillygacus hurried in with three even larger clubs of his own, tossing and spinning
them just as high and almost as fast.

When the Joculator turned and glowered at him, the wee man stopped dead, clapped a hand to his head with his clubs crashing
around him, snatched them up, and ran back the way he had come. As soon as the Joculator turned back, however, Gilly tiptoed
out behind him, tossing the big clubs in the air and imitating the Joculator’s every move again until the Joculator produced
his first dagger.

Then, with a comical look of dismay, Gillygacus dropped his clubs and ran to hide behind Gawkus. When their turn came, they
performed their skits and tricks with rapid repartee, much of it having to do with the sheriff, his minions, and the taxes
they collected. The fools’ wit was sharp, their quips amusing. The audience loved it, and such was their skill that the sheriff
laughed as much as anyone did.

Hearing Jenny laugh, Hugh glanced at her and saw that she was as delighted as the audience was. “They are good, aren’t they?”
he said.

She nodded, shot him a thoughtful look, and then looked away again.

“We should talk,” he said for her ears alone.

She nodded but did not look at him.

Hugh looked around. Everyone else seemed to be watching the fools, and he supposed that the other minstrels would watch each
turn as critically as the audience did, if not more so.

“They won’t need us again,” he said. “Let us walk away from here and talk.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. But she let him lead the way to a fallen log far enough away so that no one would
hear them talking.

“We can sit here if you like,” he said.

“I think we should at least
look
as if we are watching the others,” she said.

“Have you thought more about the wisdom of returning with me to Annan?”

“I have no need to think,” she said. “I don’t want to go back until I must.”

“You have a duty to obey your guardian,” he reminded her.

“But you are not he, sir, and I owe you
no
duty.”

It had not occurred to Hugh that she would doubt his word that he acted in Dunwythie’s stead. Nor, upon reflection, did he
think she did. But if she were to claim that he had no authority, he had no way to prove otherwise.

It occurred to him that Sheriff Maxwell would accept his word. But having no desire to reveal himself to the man in troubadour’s
guise, he rejected that avenue. He did not need anyone’s help to deal with one defenseless young female.

She was eyeing him as a puppy in expectation of supper might, so he said bluntly, “You would do better to obey his lordship’s
wishes. And not just for your own sake. Doubtless you are unaware that some jewelry disappeared when you did.”

“Jewelry!” She looked at him indignantly. “When
I
did!”

“Aye,” he said, studying her. “Several guests reported pieces missing.”

“You think
I
took them?”

“I did not say that.”

“You were thinking it!”

“Nay, I was not. But I’d not be amazed to learn that Dunwythie, Phaeline, or both suspect that your Peg may have taken them.”

“Peg would
never
do such a thing,” Jenny said. She frowned then as if she had had a second thought.

“You sound sure of her but do not look so,” he said. “In troth, I do not suspect Peg, but I would like to know what gave you
pause just now.”

She hesitated, drew a breath, and then said with visible reluctance, “ ’Twas only that she was ready to leave when I entered
my bedchamber and had already laid out my night things. But that was because she wanted to walk with her brother. She’d had
no chance to speak much with him earlier, she said. Peg has served me now for months, sir. By my troth, I do not believe she
would steal from anyone.”

“I think it unlikely, too,” he admitted. “The minstrels fell under suspicion at once, of course. But apparently some things
disappeared after they had left Annan.”

“Well, Peg was with them, so she cannot have taken those jewels either.”

“Your saying so may persuade me that she had nowt to do with it. But it is unlikely to satisfy Phaeline or a suspicious sheriff.
Recall that as a member of the household, Peg enjoys first-head privileges and therefore would not be searched. If she is
to persuade others of her innocence, you must be there to speak for her, lass.”

“I will be then, but it cannot matter if I finish my adventure first,” she said. “Peg came with me and will return with me.
I won’t let her suffer for her loyalty.”

A short silence fell before he said gently, “You implied earlier today that you had something you wanted to confide to me.
Will you tell me what it is, or have I proven myself undeserving of such a confidence?”

Jenny’s breath caught in her throat. Having expected him to pursue his own course to the exclusion of all else, she had thought
that he would continue to urge her return to Annan House. She had not expected him to invite her confidence.

It was hardly the first time he had surprised her. His singing that very night had amazed her. She had already learned that
he had a pleasing voice, speaking or singing. But as he sang the men’s parts of the song, he’d altered not only his accent
but also his voice and appearance, to become the very characters telling the tale.

In two instances, she had recognized traits of men in the minstrel company. His portrayal of the stern, indignant father displayed
much of the Joculator with a touch of Dunwythie thrown in. The result had been so amusing that at times she’d had trouble
keeping a steady voice to sing her own verses.

He had inspired her, too, to put more feeling into the women’s parts of the story than she might have otherwise. He had also
helped her forget herself and the uneasiness she had felt at the prospect of singing to such a large, expectant audience.

And now his willingness to listen to her made it seem wrong not to tell him of her odd feelings, especially in view of the
missing jewelry and his mentioning Peg’s first-head privileges, which had reminded her of the knacker.

Recalling that he was kin to Archie the Grim settled it. Despite his determination to take her back to Annan House, she instinctively
trusted Sir Hugh. It seemed only right to share her feelings, however vague, with him.

Wary of eavesdroppers, she glanced toward the shrubbery behind them. As far as torchlight and moonlight allowed her to see,
the shrubbery there was particularly dense. No one else seemed to pay them heed, and his very presence calmed her, encouraging
her to speak. Still, she kept silent.

At last, he said, “You will have to answer me one way or another, you know. Have I put myself beyond the pale?”

She did not want him to think she believed him un-trustworthy. And he had given her no cause to fear what he might say or
do. Although he might easily have gone to the Joculator and told him he represented Dunwythie and had come to fetch his lordship’s
errant ward home, he had not issued even the mildest threat to do so.

Such a course would have proven almost as embarrassing as the scandal that her uncle feared would have—and potentially as
damaging to her reputation. Clearly, Sir Hugh was protecting her name as carefully as he protected Dunwythie’s.

She tried to gather these rambling thoughts but could seem only to marvel at his patience. Certain it could not last much
longer, she blurted the first words that came to her: “I fear I may have stumbled onto some sort of intrigue.”

Even in the dim light, she saw his eyebrows slant upward and could scarcely blame him. When had
she
decided that her unease had substance?

He said mildly, “What manner of intrigue do you suspect, and who are the intriguers?” Blunt questions to which she had no
solid answers.

With an inward sigh, she gathered her thoughts. Then she said, “I don’t know why I said that about intrigue, sir. In troth,
I can tell you only what happened and hope you can help me explain why it makes me feel as I do. First, I saw a man struck
down in the road for no apparent reason.”

“What man?”

“A knacker, Parland Dow.” She described the event.

“I know Dow,” he said. “Someone doubtless tried to rob him.”

“They took naught, he said, but mayhap you are right. Next I overheard a spat between a man who had been away overnight and
his wife. It was not the spat that struck me but his saying the King may be at Threave for the coronation celebration.”

“Aye, that would strike anyone,” he said with a smile.

“Aye,” she agreed. “Primarily, though… I… had a gey strange dream.”

She thought she heard his teeth grind together, but he said evenly enough, “What sort of a dream?”

The only reason she could recall the details she had pieced together was that they reminded her of the confrontation she and
Peg had had with the two men-at-arms at Lochmaben. She did
not
want to describe that to him, so she said, “You know how it is with dreams. They fade quickly and one never remembers all
the details.”