Chapter 4

4

T he Monday following the Sabbath, Maryn heard Rosemary humming a hymn long before she appeared at the cottage door. In one hand the smiling maid clutched a book, the other a basket.

"Forgive me, Lady Maryn. Mam needed me longer this morn and said to thank ye for the book o' verse." She returned it to the parlor shelf with brisk efficiency. "She's sent freshly made bannocks and some asparagus from our garden. I'll stir up that maltaise sauce with a lemon and orange ye're so fond of for supper if ye like."

"Bethankit," Maryn said. "You're welcome to take more time at home if needs be. A close-knit family is one of life's best gifts."

"Truly, milady." Rosemary's usual exuberance dimmed briefly. "I've also brought a wee bit o' blather from around Berwickshire."

"Oh?" Maryn brightened. Rosemary's news added color to her days. "I'm a captive audience then."

As the maid went about the cottage tidying this or that, she shared her gleanings. "Reverend Percival's wife has pleurisy and was missing from service yesterday but Ladykirk's circular stair tower is finally complete. A bonny sight!"

Maryn tried to imagine it finished. Built in the sixteenth century, the old kirk seemed in need of constant mending.

"A vile fever's kept a few parishioners at home and Dr. Sinclair quite busy. Little Tommy Forsyth fell from an apple tree and hurt his pate but is better. Four new bairns have been born in the parish lately, all thriving."

"Praise be," Maryn said, wishing she could call on them in person rather than send gifts in the name of Grandfather and Lockhart Hall. She'd known these tenant families since birth, most of them. Once she'd attended their christenings with her mother.

Rosemary went into the kitchen. "As for gentry such as yerself, the social season shall open with a ball at Wedderburn Castle a fortnight hence."

"Lady Charis's debut, I suppose." Maryn smoothed her voice to hide the beat of hurt beneath. How long had it been since she'd seen the Humes?

"She's quite bonny, I hear, and verra like her mother the countess."

Lady Wedderburn was nearly a saint in these parts. And Maryn hadn't forgotten the kind notes she'd sent to Lockhart Hall after the accident. Suddenly Wedderburn Castle seemed far closer than the eight miles betwixt them.

Rosemary began trimming the asparagus, her voice carrying from the kitchen. "'Tis said one of her uncles will squire her for the season."

Though he went unnamed, Maryn suspected the very one. Unwillingly, she took stock of the Humes in the sudden silence. Everard, the laird, was alive and well. The family's black sheep, David, had died fighting for the Jacobites in the last Rising. Ronan and Bernard Hume had wed and were living with their wives and children on Berwickshire estates. The twins, Alistair and Malcolm, resided in Glasgow as doctor and barrister.

And the youngest? She knew far too well his whereabouts and happenings. Her gaze landed on the stack of literary magazines in a corner. Tatler tracked Orin Hume's every move.

"I'm sure Lady Charis will make a brilliant match." With that terse summation, Maryn went to her writing desk and took out a fresh sheet of foolscap, wanting to quell her sudden disquiet.

Nothing settled her quite like writing. Who was it that said the pen tames the most formidable beast? She'd always prefer her comedies of manners to real life, the people on the page to those in person. Lady Cowslip and Lord Folderol, Captain Quicksand and Parson Aflutter made amusing companions. Thankfully, these fictitious friends never failed to help her forget the past and the real personages that peopled it.

After supper, Maryn and Bassett went for a walk as the sun sank in soft spring splendor. Though Thistle Cottage was surrounded by sheltering trees on a hill, if one ventured further the whole world seemed to fall away. Maryn could see for miles across heather-clad hills rife with castle ruins and a distant village or two. Rosemary was a mere speck on the path that led to her family's humble home a mile away.

She'd stood here in many a changing season weighing the merits of each. Autumn often wrapped the landscape in a gauzy haar scarf, winter a snowy white fur, and summer a riot of silken colors. Spring tiptoed in, green and damp and misty though tonight it seemed almost summery. The sudden dust storm on the main road in the distance certainly bespoke a dry spell.

Conscious her rose-hued gown might stand out on the hill, Maryn lowered herself to the grass as Bassett continued on in pursuit of a butterfly. Her attention narrowed to the distant horses. Two riders. At a canter. They left the main road and veered toward Wedderburn Castle's main gate. Nothing odd about that. People were always going to and from the Hume's ancestral seat. She relaxed somewhat. Even if the riders had spied the lass on the far hill they'd merely think her a tenant on Lockhart lands.

Hardly the granddaughter of a duke.