Tamed by a Laird (8 page)

The assumption was logical, but he put no faith in Lady Easdale’s doing what was logical. His experience with the fair sex
was limited, but those he knew tended to put feelings ahead of logic when it came to taking action. He thought it was just
as likely that Peg, finding her mistress gone, had gone in search of her.

Returning his attention to the present, he entered the stable to find that his man, Lucas Horne, had already set things in
motion there. Their horses, saddled, waited with another horse for her ladyship and a sumpter pony with its two baskets already
laden and tied in place. Lucas was not there.

When Hugh’s bay whickered softly, he moved to stroke the animal’s soft muzzle and murmur nonsense to it. Hearing a sound behind
him, he turned to find the lady Mairi Dunwythie eyeing him uncertainly.

“May I be of some aid to you, your ladyship?” he asked.

“I’m thinking I may be of aid to you, sir,” she said. “I was coming to find you in any event when I met Sadie going in. She
told me what she said to you.”

“If you know something more that will help me find your cousin before she falls into a scrape, it is nobbut your duty to tell
me.”

“I ken my duty fine, but I do
not
want to betray Jenny if she is truly trying to get home again. She does not say much, but one can easily tell that she has
not been happy here. And she does
not
—”

Stopping abruptly, she looked rueful, as if she had said more than she had meant to say.

“If you believe she does not want to marry my brother, you need not keep it to yourself, lass. I suspected as much myself
when I saw them at their feast.”

“I did think you looked like a sensible man.”

“What possessed her to accept him?”

“Phaeline, of course. I’d best tell you the rest now, sir. Sithee, Jenny took great interest in the minstrels. She wondered
how they lived, and tried to imagine traveling about as they do. I told her I thought it must be a horrid way to live, but
I don’t think she agreed. And now, Sadie tells me that Peg meant to walk just a short way with her brother. So I’m thinking…”

“… that your unhappy cousin went with them,” Hugh said when Mairi paused. “If she did, one can only think that Peg and her
ladyship have no notion what such a life is like, or into what sort of company they are likely to fall.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mairi said. “But I am sure Peg did not mean to be gone long. And we must find her, sir, because
before I came looking for you, I learned that some of our guests are missing valuable jewelry.”

Following the trail through dense shrubbery, Jenny paused at an icy-looking rill. Still seeing no sign of the Joculator’s
tent, she tried to collect her thoughts.

The man clearly led the minstrels, and what she had seen of his juggling skill indicated a person worthy of respect. Although
his extraordinary dexterity offered no clue to how astute he was, she knew she would be wise to tread lightly.

The other tents all stood near the cook fires. That his stood at such a distance from them suggested he had a particular fondness
for privacy.

The woods were silent, the shrubbery muffling the murmur of conversation from people near the fires. The narrow rill chuckled
low as it tumbled downhill to join the river Annan. A low-pitched voice, although speaking quietly from shrubbery on the other
side of the water, was loud enough to startle her.

“They do say the King may be at Threave to see us,” a man said.

“I dinna want to talk about Castle Threave or the King o’ Scots,” a second, female voice retorted. “Not after being in such
a fidget all through the night, me lad, wondering where ye might ha’ run off to this time. I expect ye were wi’ that—”

“Now then, Cath—”

Jenny cleared her throat loudly, hoping to prevent further such comments in what sounded like the beginning of a lovers’ spat,
comments she knew would likely embarrass all three of them.

The man stopped speaking at once. She had not heard any other sound of their approach, over that of the chuckling water, before
he’d spoken. But clearly, they were nearly upon her, so catching up her skirts, she jumped across the rill.

Despite her subtle warning, her appearance on the path clearly unsettled them, so she sought to put them at ease. Recognizing
the gleewoman Cath, Jenny wished her a cheerful good morning. “ ’Tis a chilly one, though, is it not?” she added.

Plump Cath smiled then and agreed that it was very chilly. “But just now, any day without snow be a good one,” she added.
“Ha’ ye missed your way to our encampment, lass?”

“Nay, for I’m to see the Joculator,” Jenny said. “I hope I’m on the right path.”

“Aye, sure, ye are,” the man said. He was smaller than Cath, in every way. With a gesture, he added, “His tent be off the
path near that tall beech tree yonder.”

“I thank ye, sir,” Jenny said with a polite nod.

“This be my man, Cuddy,” Cath said. “Ye’ll be Jenny, if I remember right.”

“Aye,” Jenny said, wondering a little nervously if anyone in the company might yet remember, or recognize, her as Janet Easdale.

She had not worried about that the night before, in darkness, when she’d had her hood up against the chill. But morning light
was more revealing, although she wore no headdress, had plaited her hair so soft wings drooped from its center part and nearly
hid her high, shaved forehead, and although Peg had drawn eyebrows on her.

Nevertheless, it remained possible that by daylight the Joculator or someone else might recognize her. Cuddy did give her
a searching look but then nodded and grinned when she smiled. She remembered hearing his name the night before and recognized
him as one of the searchers she had seen after the attack on the knacker.

Bidding them both a good day, she went on. But as the Joculator’s green tent came into view, its very isolation suggested
that Cuddy’s quizzical look might simply have been a reaction to learning her destination.

When Lord Dunwythie had agreed to Reid’s suggestion and Phaeline’s insistence that they hire minstrels for the betrothal feast,
he had commented that, of all the folks who traveled to make their living—tradesmen, craftsmen, even beggars and such—only
minstrels had developed a reputation for honesty. Nevertheless, Dunwythie had said, when one hired them, it was sensible to
watch the men in their troupe, if only to preserve the dignity and virtue of one’s maidservants.

He had told his people, therefore, to stay vigilant. But he had treated the minstrels with the respect he showed tradesmen
he trusted, such as the knacker Parland Dow, who enjoyed first-head privileges at Annan House and at Dunwythie Hall, the much
larger Dunwythie estate to the north. Dow came and went as he pleased, especially when it was time to turn Dunwythie cattle
into Dun wythie beef.

As Jenny neared the green tent, her uncle’s warning echoed in her mind, making her hope the Joculator would not insist that
they talk alone inside. Her steps slowed, and she was contemplating the wisdom of shouting to him when the tent flap opened
and he stepped outside, ducking considerably to do so.

He wore a long red-and-black striped robe that made him look even taller than he had looked the night before. His soft, flattened
black cap tilted rakishly over one eye, and the shoulder-length hair that had looked golden by the light of the hall cressets,
and silver-gray in the darkness afterward, was pale flaxen by daylight.

As he straightened, his gaze swept over her, piercing and shrewd. “So ye wish to stay with us, do ye?” he said.

“I do not ask to stay long, sir, but I’d not refuse an invitation to bide with your company for a few days,” she said, relieved
to detect no indication that he recognized her as the young woman whose betrothal he had helped celebrate.

“Ye speak uncommon well for a maidservant, if so ye do be,” he said. “How does our Bryan come by a cousin wha’ speaks like
a lady?”

Feeling heat flood her cheeks, Jenny said, “If it offends ye, I’ll keep to me old ways, sir, but ye should ken that I ha’
served the lady Mairi Dunwythie for many months past, and I do try to speak as she does.”

“I’ve nae objection, lass. I’ve made my fortune by learning to speak as my betters do whenever it will serve me, in this country
and in others. Bryan tells me ye claim to play several instruments. That, I own, does interest me. Did he speak truly?”

“Aye,” Jenny said. “But I warrant ye’ll want to judge for yourself.”

He smiled then, the sweet smile she remembered from the night before. “I will, lass. I certainly will. Let me just fetch out
my lute.”

He dove back into the tent and emerged seconds later with two lutes, one of which he handed to her. Moving to a rocky outcropping,
he used the skirt of his robe to whisk off dirt and pebbles, then indicated that she should sit.

“Play whatever ye like and sing, too, if ye can,” he said. “I want to judge your skill, but ye needna try anything difficult.
’Tis not the nimbleness o’ your plucking that will impress me but your ability to entertain others.”

Nodding, she swiftly reviewed the songs she knew and selected the Border love song she had been playing the first time Phaeline
had commented on her skill. As Phaeline rarely said anything kind to her, that moment had impressed Jenny. Moreover, the love
song had been one of her father’s favorite tunes. But whether the song would impress this man, she could not know.

His lute was a fine one, its strings true of sound. Delighting in the instrument, she soon lost herself in the song. She was
used to playing and singing for others, generally those she knew well, so she felt no self-consciousness now.

When she glanced at him and saw that his eyes had shut, an image of her father looking just so made her smile.

Opening his eyes, he looked as if he had detected the smile in her voice. Then, nodding, he reached for the other lute, plucked
one string, then another, and soon was playing along with her. When the song ended, he began another one that she knew, and
she quickly joined him, thoroughly enjoying herself.

When that song ended, he said, “Ye play well, and ye’ve a pleasant voice. Ye’ll need to learn to flirt with your audience
though, if ye would please them.”

“Flirt?”

“Aye, sure, for how else do ye think to stir listeners to throw their gelt to ye? We dinna entertain for nowt, lass, and the
more ye impress your audience, the more they’ll fling. A tithe of all ye earn, by the bye, goes into the company fund to purchase
aught we might need. Ye’ll keep the rest for yourself.”

She had not thought about making money, and the thought now stirred only discomfort. “Might not some listeners expect other
things of me if I flirt enough to make them throw money at me?”

“They may think about such other things, lassie, but nae one here will expect ye to act on their thoughts. One of our gleewomen
invites liberties, the others do not. It is all one to me. We’ll play only a short while here at Castle Moss before we depart
for Lochmaben, so this be a good place for ye to show us your worth.”

“What about the hurdy-gurdy? Bryan did say that you have one.”

He smiled again, but this time she detected sadness in him. “I do have a
vielle á roué
that belonged to my son, but ’tis an instrument that requires two to play it. We’ll see after Castle Moss if ye’ll bide with
us long enough to try that, or not.”

“I want to see Lochmaben,” she said. “But I am unsure what I should do about Peg. This was all my fault, but I fear she may
lose her place if she returns alone.”

“She made a choice, just as ye did. Ye didna force her to come all this way.”

Jenny nearly corrected him, knowing that Peg would have refused to go back without her. But she knew she could not explain
that without revealing who she was and why Peg would feel obliged to stay. Remorsefully, she realized that she ought to have
thought it all through before deciding to accompany the minstrels.

She had acted on impulse, a fault she had thought she’d long outgrown. Her father had been quick to condemn her impulses whenever
she had succumbed to them. She could almost hear him scolding her now from the high cloud on which, since the day of his death,
she had often imagined him sitting.

“Take that lute with ye, lass, and practice whilst we make ready to go. Choose two songs—one to sing and the second to sing
if they like ye.”

“How will I know to play the second one?”

“I trow ye’ll ken that fine, lassie, just as ye will if they don’t.”