Chapter 10

Jenny continued to glower at Hugh but to no avail. He just held on to her wrist and smiled. Light from the blanket of stars above pierced the canopy, making his strong white teeth glow. Faith, but it was hard to stay angry with the man, even when he had threatened violent retribution for a simple act of self-defense!

His strength was another point of confusion for her. It annoyed her that he was so much stronger than she was. But she had to admit that over the past days his strength had also provided comfort and security. Even when he had snatched her up and proven how easily a man might abduct her from the middle of a crowd of townspeople and protective minstrels, she had not known a jot of fear.

He would not harm her, and the safety she felt in his presence had naught to do with his being the brother of the man to whom she was betrothed. Indeed, the one certainty in her mind now was that marriage to Reid Douglas was going to be an even greater hardship than she had imagined it could be.

Clearly, Hugh did not mean to release her until she promised to behave. Determined not to make him any such promise, she said, "Why did you snatch me away like that?"

"I told you why," he said, no longer smiling. "You put too much faith in your own ability to protect yourself. I thought it better that I show you how wrong you were before someone else did and terrified you witless."

"You did not terrify me. You just made me angry."

"If you are expecting an apology, think again."

She grimaced. "We should get back before they come looking for us."

"In a moment," he said, but he released her wrist. "This is a good chance to talk, lass. Have you learned any more yet to lend credence to your suspicions?"

She shook her head. "But I've heard naught to prove the minstrels are planning a surprise for the performance at Threave, as you suggested, either, except perhaps your play. I must say, sir, Gerda suits her role. All that simpering and fluttering of eyelashes seems less ridiculous when it is supposed to be funny."

He chuckled. "I'll admit I'm enjoying the thing. If it weren't for my fear that Sheriff Maxwell or someone else might recognize me, I'd be having a fine time."

"You looked it," she said, and was surprised to hear an edge to her voice.

Evidently, he heard it, too, because he looked more carefully at her. But he said only, "We must both take care whilst we're here. I'd not be amazed if you should meet someone who knows you."

"But I have never been to Dumfries before," she said, suppressing the remains of her sharp reaction to his delight in playing opposite fat Gerda.

He was shaking his head. " 'Tis not whether or not you've been here before that endangers you. 'Tis the likelihood that someone else from Easdale may come here and recognize you from home."

She had not considered that, but it could certainly happen.

To avert Hugh's telling her again that she must go back to Annan House, she said, "There must still be much snow in the hills all around Easdale. So I expect folks there will wait a few weeks before venturing forth to any large town."

Nodding but clearly with his mind already on something else, he said, "Have you given more thought to the missing jewels? I had hoped concern for Peg might nudge your memory to recall something useful. As she has first-head privileges at Annan House and might easily have carried a small sack of jewels past the—"

"Good sakes," Jenny said, annoyed with herself. Lest he think she was annoyed with him, she added hastily, "Sithee, sir, the knacker, Parland Dow, also enjoys such privilege. And he left Annan House that night just before we did."

"Even if he did, lass, he is trusted everywhere. You won't persuade me that he is dishonest or that he somehow managed to steal jewels from Dunwythie's guests."

"But recall that I told you someone struck him down. We came upon him straightaway afterward, but the attacker got away. What if someone, knowing that the guards would not search him, slipped the stolen jewels under one of his packs, then clouted him and stole the jewels back?"

"Retrieving such a sack would be risky," he said. "But concealing it might not be. I warrant the stableyard and forecourt were full of activity at the time."

"Aye, with people, horses, and mules milling everywhere," she said. "I recall something else now, too. I saw Cuddy come out of the woods just after… Nay then," she amended, frowning as the image came alive. "Men were searching the woods for Dow's attacker by then. Doubtless, Cuddy was just one of them."

"You seemed certain it was Cuddy's voice in your dream," he said. "But you told me you'd heard it only once before then, when Cath scolded him."

"I only heard a bit of that scolding," she explained. "They were just out of sight on the same path. When we met, he directed me to the Joculator's tent. He has a certain musical quality to his voice that makes it particularly memorable."

"I ken fine what you mean," he said. Altering his voice, cocking his head, and plumping out his cheeks, he said, "Aye, sure I'll tell ye, lass. His tent be just yonder."

"That's it exactly," she said with a smile. "I don't know how you do that."

"I've mimicked voices and character traits all my life—and often suffered for it, too, I can tell you," he said, smiling back. "Some are easier than others, though. Higher voices are more difficult, and women's voices nearly impossible."

"You did Gerda's well enough when you mimicked her tonight," she said.

"Aye, well, that was supposed to be comical," he said. "I doubt I could make anyone think I was Gerda speaking in the dark. It is easier for me to mimic her facial expressions than her voice."

She thought about that. " 'Tis true that one knew you were aping her, and so paid less heed than one would just hearing that voice come out of the darkness."

"Enough about Gerda," he said. "I want you to think now, lass, because what I just did… the musical note you heard… was little more than the difference between Cuddy's English Borderer's accent and that of a Border Scot."

"Sakes, is he English? Cath did not tell me that."

"Aye, I'm sure of it," he said. "Recall that minstrels travel far and wide, and come from many countries. And, you did have that odd dream at Lochmaben. Rather than talking to himself in it, might Cuddy have been talking to another Englishman?"

"I don't know," she said. "In troth, as time passes, it becomes harder to recall what any of it sounded like, but I don't think my dream had aught to do with jewels."

He sighed, and she felt as if she had disappointed him. "I wish I could remember it more clearly," she said. "Or know why I reacted as I did."

His hand grasped her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Nay, Jenny, don't apologize. Better to be honest and accuse no one than to make a false accusation."

Until she released her breath, she was unaware of holding it and unaware, too, of how much she had wanted him to understand her feelings. When he slipped an arm around her shoulders, she leaned into him. Then she promptly felt guilty, knowing she was seeking comfort from him when she should not.

As she started to step away, his embrace tightened, and she relaxed again.

"We should go back now," he said, releasing her and urging her forward.

Her emotions in turmoil, she protested. "But we're going the wrong way! I left my lute behind when you snatched me up. Faith, it's not even mine!"

"Lucas will have collected everything," he said. "Even your lute."

"But he didn't see us go. No one paid us any heed."

"I hope you think hard about that, and learn a lesson from it," he said, serious again. "But you may trust Lucas as I do, lass. He does not miss much that concerns me or anyone in whom I take an interest."

"Very well," she said, relaxing. "At least I can see where I'm putting my feet now. I don't know how you knew where you were going before."

"I have good night vision," he said. "And there's plenty of starlight tonight."

As they neared the encampment, Hugh suddenly put out a hand to stop her. "Who's there?" he said quietly.

"It be only me, sir," Bryan said as he stepped from the shrubbery onto the track. "The sheriff's men be searching the camp. I thought ye'd want to know."

Bryan vanished back into the shrubbery as soon as he had warned them, and they watched the sheriff's men from the woods. But if they turned up anything incriminating, neither Jenny nor Hugh saw any sign of it.

"Do you think they are looking for the missing jewels?" Jenny asked.

"If they are, it means jewelry has gone missing from other houses, too, because your uncle said he would not report the theft at Annan House yet."

When the sheriff's men had gone, Jenny said, "Peg must be gey worried about me by now."

"Nay, then, she won't be," Hugh said. "Lucas will have reassured her."

He proved right about that, but Peg was clearly angry.

As she and Jenny settled at last into their sleeping places, Peg muttered, "A fine thing! Them sheriff's louts pawing through our things, saying they be looking for jewels that they admit went missing afore this lot ever got to Annan House!"

"Did they?" Jenny said. She dared not tell Peg that jewels were missing from Annan House, too, because to do so would be to risk word of her own knowledge of that fact spreading to the others. Without a way to explain how she knew—

"As if Bryan and them would take aught!" Peg said. "But ye, wandering in the woods wi' a man whose own brother ye're betrothed to. Nobbut what Sir Hugh be a fine-looking man and a better one, I'm thinking, than the one you're to marry."

Jenny remained silent, hoping to put Peg on the defensive but knowing, too, that she could say little to defend her own actions with Sir Hugh, either, without revealing more than she wanted Peg to know.

Peg took the hint and said no more, so Jenny counted the few stars she could see through the canopy until she fell asleep.

Having left Jenny with Peg, Hugh had gone in search of Lucas to be sure the sheriff's men suspected nothing and that he had collected everything.

"I did," Lucas assured him. "Once they learned we'd joined these folks at Lochmaben, they took nae interest in our things, any road. Ye were a time though. I canna think what ye were about to abduct that lass as ye did."

"I wanted to teach her a lesson about keeping her eyes open in a crowd," Hugh said. "I don't know that I succeeded. Did you find her lute?"

"I did," Lucas said. "By, though, if ye're thinkin' ye'll sleep now, ye should ken that t' Joculator did say he'd like to see ye afore ye go to bed."

"You do not think perhaps you ought to have told me that straightaway?"

"Nah then, the man's no master of mine, nor yours, come to that. It does 'im nae harm to wait some for ye."

Hugh frowned. Lucas's instincts were sometimes better than his own. "You don't like the man?"

"I dinna dislike 'im," Lucas said thoughtfully. " 'Tis just summat and nowt. He smiles much, and sometimes 'e does it in a way to melt lassies' hearts, withal. Other times, he smiles and 'is eyes be like shards of ice. And, times when he smiles, he looks as if he'd weep instead of laughin'. I canna tell which be the man 'imself. And, sithee, I'm thinkin' we ought to ken which one it be."

Hugh nodded but had no other answer. Nor did the Joculator's smile reassure him much when Hugh found him at the trestle table with other men of the company, including Cuddy and the two fools. Everyone looked pleased with himself and with the fact that the sheriff's men had found nothing and had gone.

No one admitted knowing why they had searched the camp, but each man had a mug before him, and a tall pitcher sat near the Joculator's elbow. He picked it up and reached for another mug. Pouring it full of ale, he gave it to Hugh.

"Drink up, lad," he said. "Ye've earned it. They'll be talking o' your fine performance tonight from Dumfries to Kirkcudbright tomorrow. If our audience doesna double itself overnight, I'll be that amazed."

"Thank ye, sir," Hugh said, drinking deeply. The ale was a little sweet for his taste, but he could not deny a strong thirst. Nor did he object when the Joculator topped it off again as Hugh took the seat beside him.

"We'll rehearse again tomorrow after we break our fast," the Joculator said. "D'ye ken your lines yet up through the marriage at the end o' the second act?"

"I think so," Hugh said.

"Aye, well, if it teases ye, Gerda can go over it all with ye afore we begin."

Hugh hoped that would not be necessary. Gerda was beginning to get on his nerves. She simpered and fluttered as much when they weren't acting as when they were, and he was not sure how to discourage her without giving offense.

Later, as he stood to make his way to bed, he realized he must have drunk much more than he had thought. The Joculator had rarely waited for his—or anyone else's— mug to be empty before refilling it, and he had sent one of the lads at least twice to fetch more ale from the barrel. Hugh decided that he would not be amazed if a number of them missed breakfast.

Two voices, nay more than two—mayhap three or four sets of two. He could not remember. In fact, he could not think properly. Thoughts tumbled swiftly one moment and, the next, seemed to plow through muck to form themselves, or whatever it was thoughts did to make themselves known in one's head.

How did thoughts think, anyway?

"Are ye sure?" a voice said close by, startling him a little.

"Aye, o' course," said another. "Ye can see that he's no himself."

That was true. He wasn't, but how did his thoughts know it when he had not? Or were those real voices rather than just louder thoughts in his head?

In either case, how could he be other than himself? Mayhap all his pretending had done it. But if he was no longer himself, then who was he?

The puzzle proved beyond him at that moment to solve.

"Here, lad, sit up now."

He felt himself smiling, although nothing funny had occurred. Then, numbly, he felt pressure on his arms, pushing or pulling him upward.

"Sleeping now," he muttered. He thought he was still smiling, which was odd, because if nowt was funny, he ought to stop.

"Come now, do as ye're bid," the voice said. "Ye'll be glad of it in the end."

"The end of me?" he murmured.

"He looks daft, he does, and sounds it, too," another voice said.

He opened his eyes and saw a face close to his own, a white face.

"Gawkus," he muttered.

The face grinned at him, and the other voice said firmly, "That's it, lad. Now, take this quill and write your name on the paper, just here, carefully—your full name, mind, just as ye always write it… that's it, Hugo, and now the rest."

Obediently, he wrote his name. His hand and arm felt as if they floated.

"Good lad," the firm voice said. "Now again, just here."

Again he obeyed, hoping they would then leave him be. He wanted to sleep. Indeed, he thought he was sleeping, but if this was a dream, it was an even odder one than Jenny's had been.

The voices had stopped, and he did not miss them.

Jenny broke her fast with Peg Wednesday morning and then found her lute and took it to a nearby rock slab, where she could sit and practice her songs for that night's performance. Sometime later, she saw Hugh making his way to the table.

He paid her no heed and seemed to concentrate hard on finding a place to sit, then clapped a hand to his head as he sat. When one of the lads pushed a pitcher of ale toward him, Hugh grabbed it and poured a healthy draught into his mug.

Jenny had lived an isolated life but not so isolated that she did not recognize a man who'd had too much drink the night before. The sight annoyed her. She had thought him an unlikely candidate for heavy drinking. However, Reid drank more than he should, so mayhap Douglas men simply liked their ale and whisky.

Later, though, when she found Gilly and persuaded him to give her another lesson with her dirk, she felt disappointment when Hugh did not follow them.

"Fix your mind on the knife," Gilly said when she had missed the tree for the third time. "It'll do ye nae good if ye dinna concentrate. Throw again."

Biting her lip, aware that her feelings had betrayed her, she retrieved the dirk, put her mind to her throw, and struck the tree trunk dead center.

When she cast Gilly an exultant smile, he nodded, saying, "Throw again."

When she had hit the tree five times in a row, he finally grinned and said, "Ye'll do. But practice often, and recall what I told ye. Dinna think to use yon dirk to defend yourself. Like as no, some villain will just snatch it and use it against ye."

Promising to heed his warning, Jenny thanked him, and they walked back to the encampment to find Gawkus waiting impatiently.

"I've had a notion for tonight," he said to Gilly. "I want to discuss it wi' ye."

Parting from them, Jenny went to prepare for her own performance.

As the Joculator had predicted, their audience was larger, and the minstrels outdid themselves. Tumblers flipped and tumbled over each other, and the dancers danced more wildly, whirling and stomping their feet to the music. The audience began clapping and were still clapping when the jugglers ran in to the center.

All three juggled torches. Then the Joculator joined them, juggling axes with his. People shrieked whenever it looked as if he might drop one.

Gawkus and Gilly began with the jugglers, stood aside while the Joculator did his stint, and then ran back out with ten clubs flying back and forth between them. At the same time, the two carried on a seemingly na?ve conversation about taxes and other duties of the sheriff that drew gusts of laughter from their audience but seemed most unlikely, that night, to amuse Sheriff Maxwell.

Fortunately, as Jenny noted to Hugh, the sheriff was not there to hear them.

"Someone is bound to tell Maxwell what they said about him, though," Hugh said. "Those two should take more care to mind their tongues."

"But it is the nature of fools to say what they think," Jenny said.

"A fool who doesn't mind his tongue, lass, is likely to lose his head."

The play came next, so their discussion went no further.

Everyone laughed when Gawkus strolled out to perform the wedding ending the second act. He wore priest's garb and his eared and belled fool's cap, but Jenny stopped watching when the ceremony began. Somehow, Gerda became even more irritating as a bride, managing somehow to simper at Hugh even through her veil.

The Joculator had changed the order of things, so that Jenny's songs with Hugh followed the play, and the change felt odd to her, as if Hugh had left his bride to sing love songs with her. When he smiled warmly at her in the midst of her favorite song, she wondered if it felt the same to him.

The audience loved it, though, so she decided that, as usual, the Joculator had known what he was doing.

When the applause began to fade, Gilly stepped forward to announce that they would do the entire play on Thursday night, from beginning to end.

The audience roared its approval.

When Hugh awoke early Thursday morning, the sun was peeking over hills to the east, the day was clear but crisp, and again the feeling of imminent snow touched the air. His persistent grogginess of the day before had vanished, leading him to think he had simply grown too old to enjoy drinking into the night after a busy day.

As to the likelihood of snow, its supposed imminence having misled them now for nearly a sennight, he decided the weather gods were just playing their usual spring pranks on the inhabitants of southwest Scotland.

In the mood for a brisk walk, he went first to the cook fires, where women were taking hot bannocks off flat iron griddles. Taking three bannocks for himself, he accepted generous slices of warmed-over beef to go with them and headed away from the camp, into the woods. A short time later, catching a glimpse of a blue skirt on the path ahead of him, he lengthened his stride.

Minutes later, he realized the woman he followed was Gerda's mother Cath, the eldest of the gleewomen. His spirits sagged, making him laugh at himself.

The reminder that he might spend much of the day practicing the farcical third act of the play with Gerda made him turn back to look for another blue skirt.

Seeing Jenny with Peg near their sleeping place, he strode toward them, saying casually when he reached them, "I'd like a word with ye, Jenny, about the new song we have practiced. Will ye walk with me for a spell?"

"I have not yet broken my fast," she said.

He hefted his bannocks. "I've plenty for two. Come along now, for shortly I'll have to be practicing yon play with that Gerda."

She nodded, spoke quietly to Peg, and then joined him, making no comment as he guided her back to the path he had followed earlier.

"Did you bring your dirk, lass?" he asked then.

"Aye, sure," she said. "Will we have time for me to practice?"

"We will. In troth, I want to spend an hour speaking freely. I dreamed the other night that I'd lost my self to become one of the characters I've pretended to be. That is, I think that was what happened. 'Twas a strange dream, withal. In any event, I want to be myself for a while. Art still enjoying your grand adventure?"

She was silent for a moment, as she looked to the left and right of the path.

"No one else is near," he said. "I saw Cath earlier, but she returned whilst I was talking to you. So, tell me, have you had enough of this yet?"

"I have not yet learned what I want to know," she said. "I expect this life could grow tedious, though. Also, it will soon be time for planting at home, and I do not know if the steward his lordship installed there knows his business."

"I warrant he does, or Dunwythie would not have put him there."

"I suppose," she said, and they went on talking about crops until they came to the hilltop where she had practiced throwing her dirk before. Finding a flat rock, they ate his bannocks and beef, and then practiced flinging their dirks at deadfalls.

As they walked back in companionable silence, Hugh tried to recall any other time that he had talked as easily about planting and crops with a woman as he had with her. He hoped Reid would appreciate her knowledge, but he had a strong feeling that his brother did not appreciate her at all.

Jenny had likewise enjoyed their discussion. Hugh clearly cared as much about Thornhill as she did about Easdale, and from what he had said, the size of the two estates was similar. He had also given her some more tips to improve her aim, and had promised to teach her the best way to hone her blade.

When they returned to the encampment, Gerda waved to Hugh.

"Like a wife already," Jenny said with a chuckle.

Hugh shook his head. "That's why I mean to stay single."

Still smiling, she watched him go, and then turned her attention to tasks of her own. One of the dancers had offered to help her furbish up her old blue kirtle for the remaining performances in Dumfries, and she wanted to practice some new songs to add to them. They would keep the love song that she and Hugh always sang, but everyone else was adding new things, and she wanted to do likewise.

The evening's performance went well. Some of the tumblers and two of the jugglers appeared in whiteface, wearing colorful caps without ears or bells. In the minstrels' world, Jenny had learned, the latter such trappings were for fools alone.

Gawkus and Gilly jested again about tax collectors and such to the delight of most of the audience. However, the sheriff was there with a large party of his own, and Jenny noted that he did not look as amused by their jests as he had before.

When the Joculator had finished his turn, the audience, which always fell silent to watch his juggling and sleight of hand, burst into applause and then fell as quickly silent again when Jenny walked into the clearing alone with her lute.

After the first two songs, she gestured to the children to join her, and they soon had the audience singing along with them. Thus, the mood was merry when the players ran in to begin their play.

The action moved swiftly through the first two acts. Gawkus drew much laughter by playing the priest with a solemnity wholly at odds with his clownish appearance. At the end of the wedding ceremony, when Gerda grabbed an astonished Hugh by his ears to kiss him soundly on the lips, the audience roared its approval.

The third act paraded the troubadour's lady loves, all played by Gerda. Her costume changes were little more than the addition or deletion of a scarf, hat, apron, or wig. To each of these ladies, Hugh's reaction was the sorrow of love lost. When Gerda returned as herself at the end and led him off with a collar and leash, the audience laughed, hooted, jeered, and otherwise expressed strong appreciation.

As Hugh joined Jenny directly afterward to sing, he murmured, "We'll do the comical song first instead of the love song. In troth, I'd prefer that Maxwell hear only my character voices tonight."

She smiled and nodded as if to the audience and began to pluck the tune on her lute. Hugh let her play it through, joining in with his lute only as she began to sing the first verse.

The evening ended as the previous one had, although the sheriff glowered at the fools when they reappeared to pass baskets as the audience prepared to depart.

But the following night, midway through the second act of the play, it became clear that something was amiss. Gerda played her role and said her lines correctly, but she lacked the spirited attitude she had displayed before.

As Hugh and the other two players argued about the upcoming wedding, one trying to talk him out of such a false step, the other encouraging him to take it, the Joculator approached Jenny and drew her well away from the stage to say, "Ye'll ha' to take Gerda's place for the rest o' the play. The poor lass be puking up her guts behind yon trees and canna finish."

"But I don't know the play," Jenny protested. "Surely, Cath—"

"Nay, she'd be too old for it. Ye're of a height wi' Gerda, and ye'll put on a veil and a padded gown, so none will ken any difference till ye take off the veil."

"But I don't know the lines!"

"The priest will tell ye what to say, just as they do in real weddings," he said.

"And for the third act? What then?"

"Why, ye'll take off yon veil and reveal yourself as Bonnie Jenny. Then ye and Hugo can sing that love song ye do so well. Nae one will think aught but that we've changed the ending from farcical to romantic. Trust me, lass, they'll love it."

Jenny did not think that she was going to like it at all. And what Hugh would think, she could not imagine.