Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

J anice stood at the entrance to the great hall, watching as the big platters of food were brought in and deposited on the long table in the center of the huge room. The guests would help themselves to the food and sit at the other tables around the room in the order in which she had placed their names that day.

Despite her careful seating arrangements, however, everyone was in high spirits, and many old friends were greeting each other after months and years of separation. She had no doubt at all that her careful planning would soon go awry as people forced their way into other people's seats.

She knew that she would likely have to use all her diplomatic skills to calm down some heated disagreements before the night was over.

Her brothers were being their usual half-witted selves. Alasdair had grabbed a young woman out of her chair and was spinning around the room with her in an improvised dance.

Andrew was singing to a young lady with an ear-splitting off-key serenade, and she was silently enduring the unwanted attention, although she was clearly not enjoying it. Some enjoyed this kind of playfulness, though, but this lady was clearly not one of them.

Janice went over to them and smiled at the young woman. "Excuse me, milady," she said politely, "but my brother is needed by the housekeeper. It is an emergency of some sort. You know how these things happen when you least expect them." She gave a little laugh and rolled her eyes heavenward.

The expression of relief on the woman's face told Janice she had done the right thing, and she steered her brother out of the great hall into the atrium, from where she dragged him into an adjoining parlor. A strong smell of whisky assailed her nostrils, and that, as well as his bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks, told her he was totally inebriated.

"You are embarrassing both yourselves and your guests, Andrew," she said sternly. "If you cannot behave in a dignified manner for yourself, think of your father. He is cringing with embarrassment, and so am I."

Andrew had the grace to look a little ashamed and might have agreed with his sister had Alasdair not swaggered up and thrown an arm around his twin's shoulder. He too reeked of whisky.

"Did I hear you tell my brother to stop singing?" he slurred. "He is a wonderful singer—like me!"

He began to raise his voice in a tuneless melody that was almost unbearable to listen to, then Andrew joined in again, and together they walked back into the great hall. Fortunately, they were apprehended by Laird Stewart, and he took each of them firmly by the arm.

"You will not behave like a pair of spoiled children in front of our guests again!" he growled. "I may be old and ill, but I am not dead yet. You are embarrassing me and your sister, and if you do it again, I will send you both out of the ceilidh under guard. Who will be embarrassed then? I do not make idle threats, as you know! Do you both understand, or must I thrash it into you?"

The laird had never laid a hand on any of his children, but the threat and the look on his face were enough to intimidate them.

"Yes, Da," they mumbled, looking ashamed and crestfallen.

"Get out of my sight!" Laird Steward snapped. "And try to behave like men instead of children for once in your lives!"

After he had sent them away, he sagged into a chair, coughing uncontrollably.

Janice knelt on the floor beside him, her heart breaking for him. He was so frail, and his sons simply did not appreciate the effort he was making just to cope with the throng of people he had invited for their benefit. She fetched him a glass of water and held it to his lips, waiting for the fit of coughing to stop. She was furious with her brothers and with the group of hangers-on who surrounded them for making her father's last few months on Earth such a trial.

"I am sorry, Da," she said gently, as she wiped his lips after the coughing had stopped. Her heart was breaking for him.

"'Tis not your fault, Janice," he said, still wheezing a little. "You are a good girl, and I am proud of you. If only you could be laird! I worry about what will happen to the estate when one of my sons is in charge. I hope it will still be standing after a few years have passed."

"I may not be able to have the lairdship, Da, but I still have influence," Janice pointed out. "I will take care of it as best I can."

She sounded more confident than she felt, however. She and the laird had been more or less running the estate together for the last few years, but she had a feeling that when it was in the hands of one of her incompetent siblings, it would go to rack and ruin.

Bernard yawned as he came within sight of the castle. He was exhausted but glad he had spent some time in the village, for it had given him an insight into what the villagers thought of their laird, lairds-to-be, and Janice.

He had talked at some length to Jim Elliott, whose opinion of Laird Stewart was that he was a good, caring man with a heart of gold.

"I can see him in Janice," he remarked, "but no' those eejit sons o' his. He doesnae deserve boys like that." He shook his head and tutted.

"Everybody says that," Bernard remarked, laughing as he sipped his ale.

"That is because it is true, lad." Jim raised his ale to his lips, shaking his head.

Now, as Bernard gazed up at the layered turrets of the castle, he thought about the twins. He knew that, for Laird Ballantine's plan to succeed, one of the weak-minded brothers would be a perfect solution, but he could not help but be sorry that Janice would not be doing the job of looking after the estate. She deserved it, and she was good at it.

Then he cursed himself. Bernard Taggart! he thought viciously. You have been led astray by a pretty face and a shapely body, and you know that is not part of our plan.

He sighed and urged his horse into a trot. When he reached the stables, he kept a look out for the little girls, Flora and Ailsa, but rather, to his disappointment, he could not find them. Damn. What was happening to him? He was going soft in his old age. He had never seen himself as a father, but when he observed Janice having so much fun with the little ones, he felt a sting of jealousy. Then he realized he was thinking of Janice and children at the same time again.

He decided to go to bed and hoped that he woke up in the morning feeling more like his usual rational self. It must be all the ale he had drunk that was making him fantasize like this. Yes, that was it.

He climbed the stairs, intending to pass the great hall on the way to his bedroom, when he saw Janice again, and this time she was doing something else that was utterly astonishing. It was completely out of character with his notion of an upper-class and wealthy young woman. Janice had her arms around one of the maidservants and was whispering to her softly, seemingly comforting her while the young woman wept on her shoulder.

A pitcher of ale lay smashed at her feet, and her hand was bleeding where she had cut in on the broken glass. Janice was holding her lace-edged handkerchief against the wound, uncaring of the damage the blood was causing to the fine material.

"Be at ease, Josie," she murmured. "I am here, and I will look after you. Go to Aggie and get her to tend to this, then rest for a few moments. You have had a shock. I will have someone else deliver the ale."

The girl looked at her gratefully. "Thank ye, mistress," she murmured. "Ye are sae kind. What about this mess?" She looked at the pool of ale and shards of glass on the floor.

"You cannot clean that with a cut hand," Janice said firmly. "I will have one of the kitchen maids come to take care of it. Go now."

The girl smiled at Janice but said nothing. Her expression, a mixture of gratitude and fondness, said it all for her before she turned and made her way back to the kitchen.

Bernard was shocked. He had never seen anything like the sight of the mistress of a castle comforting a maid before, and he was lost in admiration for Janice Stewart. She was unlike any other woman of her class he had ever met.

Presently, she looked around to see Bernard staring at her, and she lifted her chin to stare defiantly back at him, her grey eyes resembling storm clouds.

He moved toward her, their gazes still locked, until he was standing just outside the puddle of ale and glass on the floor.

"What happened?" he asked, pointing to the mess.

Janice sighed angrily. "My brother Alasdair," she replied tersely. "He was stumbling back into the hall after going to relieve himself when he bumped into poor Josie. He is thoroughly inebriated, and he bumped into her. It was not her fault, and all might have been well if he had just left her alone, but he struck her on the back of her head—deliberately, I might add, then told her it was all her fault, and she stumbled. This was the result." She indicated the shambles at her feet, shaking her head. "And if I could have him flogged, I would."

Bernard watched the anger suffusing her beautiful face, flushing her cheeks and making a deep frown gather on her brow.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, puzzled. "She is a servant, not someone of your own station."

Janice's eyes blazed as she walked forward and stuck her forefinger into his chest so forcefully that he took a step backward.

"She is a person! " she growled. "And she deserves to be treated with the same dignity as you and I do. If I do not treat her that way, I will receive contempt and disloyalty, and I would deserve it."

"What about your brothers?" he asked. "Do they also deserve contempt and disloyalty?"

She huffed. "No doubt they do," she replied. "But they are grown men, although sometimes I suspect that they are overgrown little boys. And although I try to keep an eye on them, they are of age, and there is little I can do about their behavior." She grunted in frustration.

At that moment, a plump, middle-aged woman came to clean up the glass and ale on the floor. She gave a quick nod to Janice, then knelt down to her labors.

"Thank you, Bettie," Janice said as she and Bernard moved away. "I had better take my place inside." Her voice was reluctant as she sighed and squared her shoulders as though she was going into battle.

At that moment, Janice would have given anything to be in the strong, capable arms of the man standing before her. He was one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, with the afternoon sun streaming through the windows picking out golden highlights in his light brown hair. In this light, there was more gold than green in his hazel eyes, whose gaze was now fixed on her. Like most women, she admired the height and strength of big men, both of which gave them a feeling of safety and security. It would take a very brave man to fight his way past Bernard Taggart!

Bernard watched her as she went in through the big oak doors to the great hall, then he turned away, thinking about what a remarkable woman Janice was. He had never before seen such compassion from a member of the upper classes to one of the lower. It was extraordinary.

She is a person!

The words Janice had said rang in his ears as he moved out to stand in the courtyard and look over the surrounding countryside. He was so hungry that his stomach was beginning to rumble, but he needed a few more moments to think before he went down to the kitchen to eat.

He sympathized with William, who hated formal gatherings and always made his excuses to be away as soon as he could so that he could go to play cards with the guards or chess with Bernard. Carousing with maidservants was not one of his favorite pastimes, although he did like their company.

However, the growling in Bernard's stomach had become too loud to ignore, so he turned to go down to the kitchen, where he knew something hot, tasty, and filling awaited him.

That was the moment that Janice chose to run full tilt back toward him and collided with him with such force that he stumbled backward and almost fell down.