Tamed by a Laird (6 page)

“Aye, sir, she’s Peg. We’re cousins of a sort, though Bryan didna own to that, being gey wroth with us for our foolishness
and doubtless fearing, too, that ye’d think less o’ him for being kin to such a pair. But ’tis my fault and none o’ theirs
that we be here. I’d fain learn more about minstrels and how they do live.”

“Ye’ll stay the night with us, for I’ll no send two such lassies alone all the way back to Annan House. ’Twould be nobbut
what ye deserve, mind. But his lordship will doubtless punish ye both for this foolishness, so I need do nowt.”

Jenny had not considered what Dunwythie might do. She had thought only briefly about Phaeline’s likely reaction and had dismissed
Reid’s altogether. In any event, she decided, she would do all she could to extend her absence.

She was tired of not being able to make her own decisions anymore. Whether they punished her or not, she would first make
the most of her adventure.

Sir Hugh had time only to open his eyes before Lord Dunwythie burst into his bedchamber, saying abruptly, “Jenny’s gone, and
your brother still lies in a stupor in the hall where he passed out last night. Not that I’d send him after her even if he
were sober,” he added with a grimace. “That lad lacks discretion.”

Sitting up, annoyed and feeling even less interest in Reid than in Reid’s betrothed, Hugh said, “Where did she go?”

“Heaven kens,” Dunwythie said. “Nae one saw her leave.”

“Then why do you come to me?”

“Sakes, lad, I canna go after her without creating the devil of a stir, and your brother would create a worse one. Nor can
I send my men. Ye’ll have to go.”

“The lass is no concern of mine,” Hugh said.

Dunwythie glowered at him. “ ’Tis nobbut your plain duty to attend to this,” he said. “I’ll agree with ye that the lass ought
no to have run off alone as she did, but we canna leave her to her fate. Worse, this start of hers will likely put my lady
wife in a taking, which canna be good for
her
in her present condition. Forbye, Phaeline’s your own sister. Ye canna want her in a lather any more than I do.”

“Phaeline has been with child many times and seems none the worse for it.”

“Aye, well, that may be true, but ye forget that the wee bairns have no fared so well. God kens, I want a son, so I’ll no
have this upsetting Phaeline. Bless us, but I canna think why Jenny ran away. I thought she had been happy here.”

“I’ve seen gey little of her, sir, but I’d guess that she does not want to marry my brother. From what little I’ve seen of
him these past few days, one could scarcely blame her if that is so.”

“If it
is
so, she should have said she did not want him,” Dunwythie said.

Hugh gave him a direct look. “Did you ask her?”

Dunwythie grimaced. “I canna say I did, for their betrothal was Phaeline’s doing. But she told me Jenny would do as we bade
her, and so she has till now. Still, if the lass didna want Reid, she could have told me.”

“Could she?” Hugh frowned. “Unless my sister has altered considerably, I should think it would be hard for such a young lass
to stand against her. In the old days, when Phaeline wanted something, she rarely let anything deter her.”

“Aye, well, the question can be of nae concern now that they’re betrothed. The wedding is set for three weeks hence, as ye
ken fine. They’ll be reading the banns on Sunday, and on the next two Sundays as well, so ye must find her, Hugh, and bring
her back straightaway. I dinna want any scandal over this.”

“If you don’t know where she went, how can you be sure she has not sought shelter with kinsmen who will oppose the marriage?”

“Bless her, she has nae kinsmen of note, save ourselves. As to where she has gone, Phaeline thinks the maidservant we set
to look after her must ken summat o’ the business. After Phaeline breaks her fast, she means to question Peg herself.”

“If you want me to find your missing baroness, you’d best let me talk to this Peg,” Hugh said. “Phaeline may force her to
speak, but as I recall my sister’s grasp of geography, her interpretation of what the lass tells her may prove faulty.”

His host chuckled. “ ’Tis true, that. When we went to Glasgow two years ago, she was certain we must reach Edinburgh first
and kept saying she did not want to miss seeing the castle. As if one could be in Edinburgh
without
seeing the castle! I couldna persuade her, though, that Edinburgh’s lying to the northeast o’ here and Glasgow to the northwest
meant we’d not pass through the one to reach the other. Sakes, but I think she believes there is only one passable road in
all of Scotland.”

“Just so,” Hugh said. “Therefore, I will speak with this Peg, if you please.”

“That would doubtless be wiser,” Dunwythie agreed. “Then, whether Peg kens aught of our Jenny’s whereabouts or no, ye’ll be
off after her. The longer she’s gone, sithee, the more likely it is she’ll come to grief.”

Hugh agreed. He realized, too that he could not in good conscience go on saying that her disappearance was no concern of his.
He did owe some duty to his family, and from what he had seen of Reid, that young gentleman would only make a bad situation
worse. He realized, too, that he had no reason, other than the selfish one of wanting to go home, to refuse even to try to
restore the lass to her guardian.

Even so, he could not help wishing that he had ordered his horse saddled the night before and taken his leave then of Annan
House and everyone in the place.

With the last thought echoing in his mind, he said with a sigh, “Pray, send for my man, sir. If your Peg can provide a direction,
I’ll do what I can.”

After attending to his morning ablutions and dressing, he joined Dunwythie and his family at the high table only to learn
that Peg was also missing.

“Ye’re no a fool, Peg,” Bryan said angrily. “Dinna tell me ye didna ken what your dearling ladyship were about when ye brought
her with ye. What did ye think were in that basket o’ hers that she’d need for just a short walk in the moonlight?”

Jenny, having awakened that morning to find Peg gone from the tent Bryan had set up for them the night before, had hurried
outside to find her only to stop short on the path when she heard Bryan’s voice. Shielded by the dim light of an overcast
morning and the dense woodland where the company had set up their encampment, she felt sorry for Peg and remorseful but nonetheless
determined to keep Bryan from sending them back to Annan House.

That Peg kept silent did not surprise Jenny. The maid-servant would not want to tell Bryan she had known exactly what her
mistress had put in the basket.

“Dinna be wroth wi’ me, Bry,” Peg said at last with a sob. “I ha’ served her since she came to Annan House, looking more like
a half-drowned kitten than a grand baroness. It had been pelting rain all day, and they had no let her bring even her own
woman wi’ her. And, too, she has been gey kind to me.”

Wanting to hear no more reminders of how she had looked and felt on her arrival at Annan House, Jenny stepped forward. “Don’t
blame Peg,” she said quietly to Bryan. “Had she refused to bring me, I’d have followed on my own.”

“But why did ye want to run off, mistress?” he asked.

“Prithee, call me Jenny. I prefer it so, particularly whilst we remain here where so many others might hear us. Mayhap you
will understand if I tell you I have lived at Annan House since my father died nearly eight months ago. For all that time,
I have felt as a captured bird must feel if denied the right to fly free. Even hawks and falcons do escape the falconer’s
leash sometimes.”

“But noble ladies do not fly from their protectors,” Bryan said. “Nor do they deceive the people who admire and look after
them.”

“She did not really deceive me,” Peg admitted in a small voice. “I watched whilst she put the things in her basket.”

“Still, right is right, and wrong is wrong,” Bryan declared. “People at Annan House must be gey worried about both o’ ye by
now.”

Jenny bit her lip. “I should not have brought Peg so far,” she said. “I did promise to see that she does not suffer for aiding
me, though, and I will.”

“ ’Twill be harder to keep that promise now,” he pointed out.

“All you say is true,” Jenny said. “But, if I do not seize this chance, I may never know such freedom again. The man I am
to marry has made it plain that he expects me to seek permission from him for aught that I do.”

“Aye, sure, as any woman should,” Bryan said.

Jenny sighed. “I cannot agree, but I know I have not explained myself well. Sithee, until I moved to Annan House, I lived
with my father and our people. My mother died in childbed when I was a bairn, so I scarcely remember her.”

“Your da should ha’ got ye a new mam,” Bryan said, frowning. “Most men o’ property would ha’ married again.”

“Aye,” Peg said. “Just as Lord Dunwythie did after the lady Mairi’s mam died a-birthing her. The lady Phaeline be the only
mam she kens.”

“Doubtless many urged my father to remarry,” Jenny said, seeing no reason to tell them she did not envy Mairi’s having Phaeline
as a stepmother. “But my father was a shy man and sought no second wife. Instead, he trained me to take his place at Easdale.
I expect he raised me more as a son than a daughter. As a result, I had little by way of a normal childhood, because I spent
most of my time with him.”

“Did ye ha’ nae friends or playmates, then?” Peg asked, frowning.

“I knew other children, of course, but they were all common and trained to treat me with great respect, because of my rank.
Their parents and the others who worked on our estates or looked to us for protection did likewise.”

Bryan still eyed her with disapproval. “At Annan House, did ye no find the ladies Mairi and Fiona friendly and kind t’ ye?”
he asked.

“They are my cousins,” Jenny said with a smile. “I love them as kin, but we were raised so differently that I find it hard
to feel close to them or confide in them. Since my father died, I find it well nigh impossible to confide in anyone.”

“Aye, well, losing one’s da must be gey hard,” Bryan said.

Peg nodded, her expressive face revealing strong sympathy.

Jenny nodded, too, saying, “I used to ride out whenever I chose, go wherever I pleased, and attend to any matter needing attention
without asking permission first. My father trusted me as he would have trusted a son, whereas I am a sad disappointment to
the lady Phaeline, because she believes I lack all feminine accomplishments other than my music. She does like to hear me
sing and play, but she frequently deplores my lack of skill with needle or scissors.” Unable with propriety to share any deeper
feelings about her life at Annan House, she fell silent.

Bryan said casually, “Ye can sing and play, can ye?”

“Well enough to please her ladyship and amuse our people, at all events.”

“What instrument?”

“I can play a lute, of course, the gittern, and the French
vielle
—I think you might more likely call it an
organistrum
.”

“ ’Tis an ancient instrument, that.”

“My father had one,” Jenny said. “He taught me to play it with him.”

“Ye didna bring any instruments in yon wee basket o’ yours.”

“Nay, for I had only my lute at Annan House and did not think of it.”

“I’m recalling that the Joculator has a
vielle
, but I dinna think anyone here kens how to play it. We ha’ been asked by the laird o’ Castle Moss to entertain him and his
men in the courtyard today, though, afore we go on to Lochmaben.”

Jenny kept silent, but a thoughtful note in Bryan’s voice stirred a ray of hope.

Peg, too, was silent.

“Wash your faces and ha’ summat to eat,” Bryan said abruptly. “I ha’ to think on this, but mayhap…” With similar abruptness,
he turned and walked away.

“Well, of all—” Peg began, but Jenny quickly hushed her.

“I think he has thought of a way to let us stay longer,” she said. “If so, I shall bless him, but I scarcely ate last night,
and I’m starving. I hope there is food left.”

Because it was no part of the minstrels’ plans to burn their benefactor’s woods down, they had built their two small cook
fires with care in a tiny clearing.