Tamed by a Laird (49 page)

“Who are they?” the lady Fiona Dunwythie asked, pushing a dark curl away from one long-lashed blue eye to tuck it back under
her veil.

“I don’t know them,” nineteen-year-old Mairi Dunwythie replied. Wishing, not for the first time, that she knew more about
the people living in this part of Annandale, near her father’s largest estate, she added, “They stride toward us like men
who know their worth.”

“Then where are their horses?” Fiona demanded. “Men who know their worth rarely walk far.”

“I suppose they left them in the woods,” Mairi said. “Mayhap they just want to ask how they can safely cross our land without
damaging the young barley.”

“If they came through those woods, they’ll have come from the south,” Fiona said thoughtfully. “I wonder if they are Jardines.”

The possibility that the two strangers might be members of that obstreperous family had already crossed Mairi’s mind. But,
although she had been born at Dunwythie Hall, she knew few of their neighbors by sight. Her mother had died at Mairi’s birth,
and her father’s second wife, on learning of nearly continuous warfare between the Jardines south of them and the Johnstones
to the north, had demanded that her lord husband remove at once to the house at Annan that had been part of her marriage tocher,
or dowry.

At the time, the lady Phaeline had been pregnant with Fiona, so her lord had readily complied. Thus Fiona had been born at
Annan House, at the mouth of the river for which Annandale was named, and Mairi had lived there from the age of four with
only infrequent visits upriver to Dunwythie Hall.

Nevertheless, she knew enough to realize that if the two men were Jardines, her father would expect her to welcome them, albeit
with no more than cool civility.

Discerning eagerness in the way Fiona now sat her pony, Mairi said in her usual quiet way, “Prithee, dearling, do not be making
much of these men. If they
are
Jardines, our lord father would not want us to encourage more such visits.”

Tossing her head, Fiona said, “Certes, Father would not want us to be discourteous either, and they are both
very
handsome men.”

Mairi had noted that fact as well. Although they did not look as if they were kin to each other, both were large, dark-haired
men with well-formed features. The one in the lead was narrow through hips and waist, had powerful-looking thighs and shoulders,
and sat taller than his companion. He also looked five or six years older and displayed a demeanor that suggested he was accustomed
to doing as he pleased.

His leather breeks and boots had been worn often enough to mold themselves snugly to his body, but the shirt that showed beneath
his dark green jack was snowy white, and as they drew nearer, she noted that his boots were of expensive tanned leather, not
rawhide. He also wore a fan brooch of three short reddish-brown feathers pinned with a small but brightly sparkling emerald
in the soft folds of his hat.

The younger man had gleaming black hair, a lankier body, and looked about Mairi’s own age. He was looking at Fiona, and Mairi
did not like the expression in his eyes, thinking it resembled that of a hawk eyeing a tasty-looking rabbit.

Fiona, clearly oblivious to the predatory look, was smiling flirtatiously enough to make her sister want to scold her for
it. But Mairi held her tongue and shifted her gaze back to the two visitors, almost near enough now to converse.

“Well met, my ladies,” the younger one said carelessly. “But what are two such lovely lasses doing, riding amongst these rough
field men?”

Stiffening but without looking away, Mairi put a hand out to silence Fiona and noted, as she did, that at the same time, the
other man clamped a hand to the brash one’s shoulder. Her own gesture failed in its aim, however, for Fiona said pertly to
the younger one, “But who are
you
, sir, to address us so discourteously? And
what
are you doing in our field?”

“Pray, forgive him, my lady,” the taller man said, looking at Mairi with eyes so clear and pale a blue that she could almost
see her reflection in them. His voice was deep and of a nature to send strange sensations through her body, as if its gentle
vibrations touched nerve endings all through her.

“In troth,” he added, still looking into her eyes, “I must beg you to forgive us both. I am Robert Maxwell, and this unmannerly
cub is Will Jardine of Applegarth. I believe you must be Lord Dunwythie’s daughters, are you not?”

Mairi nodded, putting a light hand on Fiona’s arm as she did, in the hope that actually touching her outspoken sister would
silence her, for a time at least, and with a second, more likely hope that the fieldworkers would intervene if either of the
two visitors became difficult. For a wonder, Fiona kept silent, mayhap feeling as captivated by the man’s low, purring voice
as Mairi did.

Robert Maxwell said nothing further though, and Mairi realized that despite the unusual circumstances and what surely must
seem to him to be scant protection for two young women, he expected her to speak to him. Gathering her wits, she said, “You
must know that you are on my father’s land, sir. Have you good cause to be?”

“I have excellent cause, my lady. I am Sheriff Alexander Maxwell’s brother, and I am here today as his sheriff-substitute.”

“To what purpose, sir?” Mairi asked, although she thought she could guess.

“Why, merely to determine the exact amount your lord father owes the Crown in taxes this year,” he said. “Sithee, one determines
the figure by the number of people on the estate as well as its exact size and crop yield.”

Mairi knew that. Her father had been teaching her— and Fiona, too—as much as he could about running his estates, in the event
that his lady wife should fail to give him a son to inherit them. Phaeline had been pregnant numerous times in their sixteen-year
marriage, but so far she had produced only Fiona. Dunwythie had long agreed with his lady that in due time God would grant
them a son. But, at last, urged by Phaeline’s own brother, his lordship had decided to teach his daughters what they would
need to know if one of them should inherit his estates.

To that end, he had brought them to Dunwythie Hall a sennight before to observe the progress of his early plantings, the estate’s
crops being a primary source of his lordship’s wealth in an area where few men had any wealth at all.

Despite her recently acquired knowledge, Mairi was reluctant to cross words with the sheriff’s brother. Just meeting that
magnetic gaze of his made her feel precariously vulnerable, as if without effort he had melted her customary defenses.

As Mairi sought words to explain that the two men must await her father’s return and deal directly with his lordship, without
offending Robert Maxwell or rendering herself more vulnerable yet, Fiona said, “Surely, the two of you should not be prowling
about here for
any
reason without my lord father’s permission.”

“Did ye no hear him, lass?” William Jardine said, leering. “He acts for the sheriff. And the sheriff, as even such a pretty
lass must know, has vast powers.”

Tossing her head again but managing, Mairi noted, to flutter her eyelashes at the same time, Fiona said, “Even so, William
Jardine, that does not explain what right
you
have to trespass on our land.”

“Why, I go where I please, lassie! And I’m thinking that I may soon give your wee, beauteous self gey good cause to ken me
fine.”

“Enough, Will,” his companion said as he continued to meet Mairi’s steady gaze but with a rueful look now in his distractingly
clear eyes.

Despite her strong certainty that he would soon clash with her father, Mairi’s heart beat faster and heat from deep within
warmed her cheeks.

Then the man smiled, revealing strong, even, white teeth. His eyes twinkled, too, as if he sensed the inexplicable attraction
to him that she felt. Was he as arrogant and sure of himself, then, as his friend Will Jardine?

As he noted her slowly reddening cheeks and a certain quizzical look in her gray eyes, Rob was conscious of an immediate,
unusually strong awareness of an emotion that he could not readily identify.

She looked small and fragile as she sat there on her pony, and so extraordinarily fair that the light dusting of freckles
across her nose and cheeks seemed out of place, as if she had been more often in the sun than usual. But as he gazed into
her eyes, he sensed serenity and an inner strength that warned him to tread lightly and made him glad he had made an effort
to silence the impudent Will.

She seemed strangely familiar. He felt as if he knew exactly how she would move, what she might say next, and as if he recognized
the soft, throaty nature of her voice and even the confident way she held her reins in her smoothly gloved hands.

It was almost as if he had thought of her often before, despite never having met her. As he stood thus transfixed, he realized
abruptly that he was smiling. In fact, he was grinning like a fool, as if he were delighted to be meeting her at last.

Such a notion being plain daft, he tried to dismiss it and noted only then that her light blushes had deepened to painful-looking
red and spread right to the roots of her hair. He had stared her ladyship right out of countenance!

Aware that reason might now exist, other than his command, for Will’s continued silence, Rob avoided looking at him and strove
to keep his voice steady as he said, “In my concern for the lad’s rudeness, my lady, I fear I have forgotten the path our
conversation had taken. Mayhap you can aid me.”

“You were attempting to explain how one determines what taxes a man owes,” she said quietly. “You are kind to do so, but as
we are only women”—he noted that the younger lass shot her an astonished look—“you would be much wiser and doubtless accomplish
more by explaining yourself to our lord father, sir.”

He would speak to Dunwythie later, but for now he smiled at her again, ignoring instinct that warned him he might be making
a mistake to press her. “Surely your father has mentioned the size of this estate,” he said matter-of-factly. “Most men talk
often of such things.”

“Not to their womenfolk, sir. In troth, I doubt you would take my word for its size if I
could
tell you. My father will be away until this afternoon, but doubtless he will tell you all you want to know when he returns.
Come now, dearling,” she said with a glance at her sister and a nudge of her heel and twitch of her rein for her mount. “It
is time we returned to the Hall.”

Rob did not try to persuade her to linger but watched the two of them until they vanished into the woods.

“Sakes, my lad, ha’ ye lost your wits? Ye stared at yon lass like right dafty.”

“Unless you want me to teach you some manners, Will Jardine, you’ll keep a still tongue in your head until you can say something
worth hearing,” Rob growled.

“Och, aye, I’m mute,” Will said hastily, his eyes on Rob’s hands.

Realizing that one of them had formed itself into a tight fist, Rob drew a breath, let it out slowly, and relaxed his hand.

“Aye, that’s gey better, that is,” Will said with audible relief. “What do we do now?”

“We look at the other fields, of course,” Rob said, fighting a strong urge to glance again at the place where the women had
disappeared into the woods.

What on earth was amiss with him, he wondered, that he could allow one young female to affect him so? One thing was certain,
though. He must put the lass well out of his mind. To react in any other way, especially in view of Dunwythie’s defiance of
the sheriff’s earlier demands, could lead only to trouble.

“I do
not
think we ought to have left without telling our men to see those two off our property,” Fiona said abruptly.

Grateful that her sister had at least waited until they were well beyond earshot of their disturbing visitors, Mairi forced
the powerful image of the truly disturbing one from her mind as she eyed Fiona gravely.

When the image threatened to return, Mairi said quickly and more firmly than she had intended, “You flirted dreadfully with
Jardine, Fiona. Do not think I missed that. You know Father does not want us to have aught to do with that family.”