Chapter 11

Apparently the company kept costumes ready for any emergency, because Cath and another woman quickly swathed Jenny in a red dress that added pounds to her figure, and a thick veil that concealed her face. Meantime, Hugh continued to argue with the other players onstage, adding considerably to the audience's delight by playing his own father and arguing with himself.

When Jenny was ready, the Joculator guided her to the stage, and the actor playing the bride's father escorted her to an altar that had appeared as she dressed.

The priest was yet another fool in whiteface, cap, and bells. When Jenny stood before him, he turned to the audience and said in stentorian tones, "Look ye all on these two. If any amongst ye ken just cause or impediment why this marriage should not go forward, speak now or forever keep a still tongue in thy head."

Silence.

"Aye, good then," the priest said. Turning to Hugh, he said, "Now, lad, d'ye take this lass for your wedded wife, to have and to hold, for fair, for foul, for…"

When he finished reciting the familiar phrases, Hugh declared loudly, "I do!"

To Jenny, the fool-priest said, "Lass, will ye have this man for your wedded husband, to be meek and obedient to him in bed and at board from this time forward till death ye depart and if holy kirk will ordain?"

"I will," she murmured.

"Louder, lass," he said in stentorian tones. "They canna hear ye in the back."

"Aye, I do then; I'll tak' all o' him," Jenny shouted back, trying to mimic Gerda's accent and manner. The audience responded appreciatively.

She could barely see through the thick veil, but she saw Hugh's quick frown and knew he had just realized she was not Gerda. Whether he knew who had taken Gerda's place or thought she was someone else, she could not tell.

When they had finished reciting the vows, the priest said, "I now pronounce ye man and wife. Will ye kindly sign the marriage lines declaring this union, sir?"

"Aye, sure, I will," Hugh said. Taking the quill the man handed him, he signed with a dramatic flourish.

"There now," the priest said. "If ye'll be so good as to turn and face the congregation, I'll present ye to them as man and wife. 'Tis proper at this point, madam," he added sotto voce, "to put back your veil."

Grateful for the cue, Jenny faced the audience and with an exaggerated gesture worthy of Gerda herself, flipped back the veil to reveal her face.

The reaction was a mixture of raucous cheers and laughter that increased greatly when Gerda ran up to the edge of the clearing in a tizzy, fully recovered from her ailment and apparently trying to tear her hair from her scalp.

The Joculator strode forward with two lutes, handing one to Jenny and the other to Hugh.

As Jenny began to pluck the notes of the love song, Hugh quickly picked up the cue. The audience reacted as the Joculator had predicted, and as Jenny and Hugh took their bows afterward, the fools, jugglers, and tumblers ran about, filling their collection baskets and hats with generous offerings from the appreciative crowd.

As Jenny and Hugh walked from the clearing at last, the priest-fool walked up to Hugh, grabbed his hand, and shook it fervently.

" 'Twas a great pleasure, sir," he said. "A more entertaining wedding I vow I never have performed. I want to thank you for letting me take part in such an unusual and inspiring event."

Jenny stared at Hugh, who was staring in shock at the man in whiteface.

"See here," Hugh said curtly. "I don't even know you, and this jest has gone far enough. Who the devil are you?"

The man looked from him to Jenny and back again. "Why, who else should I be but Father Donal from the abbey kirk? You sent for me yourself, did you not?"

Jenny swayed as if the ground had heaved beneath her feet. Had it not been for Hugh's firm hand catching her elbow and steadying her, she was sure her knees would have given way.

As they walked on, Hugh tried to discern the priest's features under their chalk coating. The man's whiteface lacked the details that Gawkus and Gilly added to theirs, such as the teardrops under Gilly's eyes and the tiny hearts under Gawkus's. This man's whiteface lacked all such detail. Only his eyes and mouth showed color.

"I want an explanation," Hugh said. "That wedding cannot have been real."

"But it was," Father Donal assured him. "Your letter spelled out your wishes, sir. And the Bishop of Glasgow, who chanced to be visiting Sweetheart Abbey when your application for a special license arrived, approved it himself."

"Then he must unapprove it," Hugh said. Glancing at Jenny's face, which was nearly as white as the priest's, he realized that although by rights he ought to be furious, he wanted only to protect her.

"I'm afraid his eminence returned to Glasgow yesterday," the priest said. "In any event, I do not think he can annul your marriage, sir. Only the Pope can do that—or mayhap a papal legate when one is at hand. But why would you want an annulment after going to such lengths to marry so quickly and so publicly?"

"Because I did no such thing," Hugh told him. As he said the words, he recalled that his odd, ale-induced dream had included the signing of documents. Nevertheless, he said firmly, "I sent you no letter or application, Father. 'Tis you, I fear, who have been fooled. This marriage cannot be valid."

"I brought the application and special license with me, in the event that anyone from the local kirk should desire to see them," the priest said as they drew to a stop. "I also have your letter of instructions. Moreover, earlier, when I asked you to sign the marriage lines, I specifically noted that in doing so you would be declaring yourselves married. That precaution was necessary, of course, as you had requested that your names not be mentioned as you took your vows."

"But surely, the marriage cannot be valid if our names were not used."

"On the contrary, sir, your vows themselves were sufficient. Forbye, the declaration by itself satisfies Scottish marriage law. You and this lady are legally wedded and may now enjoy all the rights and privileges of marriage."

Feeling Jenny tremble, Hugh firmed his grip under her elbow to steady her again. As he did, a male voice behind them called out, "Hold there, Sir Hugh! We would congratulate you and your bonnie bride!"

Jenny stiffened and looked at Hugh. He was grimacing, but even as he did, she saw his facial expression alter to a most un-Hughlike look. As he turned to face the shouter, she braced herself and turned with him.

He called out, "Was ye shoutin' at me, sir?"

Recognizing the two men approaching them, Jenny nearly turned to flee.

Sheriff Maxwell held out his hand to Hugh. "Thorn-hill," he said. "One would never expect to meet you in such circumstances as these. Indeed, sir, I have twice now attended these most amusing performances, and I trow, I never did recognize you. However, my man here knew you straightaway."

To Jenny's amazement and right beside her, Hugh had turned into a wide-eyed bumpkin in nobleman's clothing. He gazed in astonishment at Maxwell's outstretched hand and then at his minion before saying in the distinctly common phrasing he had used before, "Gor, me lord, I dinna ken neither o' ye. I'd be glad to shake your hand, but I'm thinkin' one o' them fools ha' set ye on to me as a jest."

The sheriff looked dumbfounded, but his minion peered more closely at Hugh and said, "I dinna understand the jest, sir, but I'd ken ye fine anywhere. Sakes, I collected your taxes last year. Ye be Sir Hugh Douglas o' Thornhill."

"Nay, then," Hugh said, passing a hand across his mouth and then grinning.

To Jenny's shock, his grin revealed a number of blackened teeth clearly on the verge of rotting. "Just ye wait till I tell me brothers and all that a sheriff-depute o' Dumfries mistook me for a laird!" he exclaimed. "Ay de mi, how they'll hoot, all six o' them. Next, I warrant, ye'll be beggin' me to pay the laird's taxes, withal."

Sheriff Maxwell chuckled and clapped his man on the back. "I told you, you were mistaken, lad. Nobbut what this man's nearly the spit and image of Thornhill."

Hugh leaned closer to him. "Did we look into that, sir, happen we'd find the laird and me be kin. Sithee, I dinna ken who me da were. Mayhap this laird and me do be brothers, as ye might say. I dinna look a mite like me own da. And me mam… Aye, well, she were a rare lass for the lads, that 'un. Scarce knew where she slept night to night. And I ha' nae doots that some o' her mates was nobles and the like."

"Come along, lad," Maxwell said. "This man is not Thornhill."

The younger man nodded. "Aye, he'd never say such a thing even in jest. Prideful as a cock on his own dunghill, the laird be, like most Douglases. Sorry to ha' troubled ye," he said to Hugh. "You go on about your business now. I expect ye'll soon be bragging that your acting impressed the Sheriff o' Dumfries."

"Aye, sure I will, sir," Hugh assured him.

Watching the two men turn and stride away as she struggled between outrage and laughter, Jenny took a deep breath, becoming aware of Hugh's warm hand at the small of her back as she exhaled. She looked up at him, but he was watching the sheriff and his man as if he thought one of them might look back. Neither one did.

"How could you say such a horrid thing about your own mother, and with a priest to witness it?"

His eyes twinkled when he met her gaze, but he looked ruefully at the priest before he said, " 'Twas the first thing I could think to say that might disarm them."

"Good sakes, sir, you should give thanks that a lightning bolt did not strike!"

She would have liked to say more, but the priest was still with them.

As they followed others in the company who were leaving the square with the audience, Hugh said, "You kept gey quiet back there, Father."

Eyeing him shrewdly, the priest said, "I don't mind saying, sir, that although I saw you do it several times tonight, during the play and the song you sang with your lady, it astonishes me how much you can alter your features and voice with apparently no effort. You change from one man to another before one's very eyes. I'm wondering who the real person inside your skin may be."

"We can discuss that later if you like," Hugh said. "But first I mean to find out who played this witless prank on us, and why."

Jenny had been looking around to see who was paying heed to them. Most folks were clearly going home. Aside from the first shout, she doubted that anyone other than the priest had heard what the sheriff and his man had said to Hugh.

She saw the Joculator watching them from the north side of the square, where he stood with a few of the company still packing away gear from the performance.

"Hugo," she said quietly, "I should think the man who arranged for the play would most likely be the one responsible for the whole."

"I agree," he said. "Wait here, if you will, Father. I believe we should speak to him privately first."

"Of course, my lord."

Hugh turned back. "We'll have no ‘my lords' if you please. And no ‘my ladies' either. We remain just Hugo and Jenny whilst we are with these minstrels."

"As you will, my son," the priest said. "I do recommend, however, that you arrange, both of you, to make proper confessions soon. I will hear them if you like."

Hugh did not reply to that, touching Jenny's shoulder instead to urge her toward the Joculator.

The tall man was still watching them, and although those with him were beginning to depart, he waited for Jenny and Hugh. By the time they reached him, he stood alone.

Jenny saw Lucas Horne with the others heading along the High Street toward the woods and their encampment just as he paused and looked back. She did not see Hugh make any gesture or sign, but Lucas gave a slight nod and walked on.

"I must offer you my congratulations," the Joculator said with a smile to Hugh. "You have wed yourself to a bonnie, charming bride."

"Then you know that the priest and his ceremony were real," Hugh said grimly. "Father Donal tells me he performed the marriage under a special license for which I apparently applied. Mayhap you will explain how you managed that. By sleight of hand? Was it something you put in my ale the other night?"

"I confess that is how we got your signature on the letter, the application, and a prepared copy of the marriage lines, but I assure you, we meant well."

"What on earth inspired you to such an outrageous act?" Huge demanded.

"Fellow feeling, I expect," the Joculator said. "The lass here told me how ye'd pursued her—even offered marriage—and that she had rejected ye. One could only admire your persistence, lad. And, withal, one soon noted that she needed a strong protector and did not reject ye as sternly as she told me she did, if she rejected ye at all. As she is apparently without proper kin to look after her, and ye seemed determined to protect her, I thought it only right to aid ye in your purpose."

Listening to him, Jenny felt as if some powerful force had pinned her in place from the moment he said, "The lass here told me…" When he paused, leaving her awash with guilt, she could not move or think of a word to say.

She did not have to look at Hugh to know he was furious. His anger radiated toward her, engulfing her so that her usual courage deserted her.

"Perhaps you would care to explain your part in this to me," he said.

It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Hugh watched Jenny even more narrowly than he had watched the Joculator. He believed the man but could not imagine what would induce a frank lass like Jenny to tell such falsehoods.

When she hesitated, Hugh said sternly, "What exactly did you tell him?"

Visibly swallowing, she faced him then and said, "I told him we had met at Annan House, that you had expressed interest in me and had followed me, but that I had no interest in marrying any man, and had tried to make that plain to you."

"Marrying! What demon possessed you to say such a thing?"

"Mayhap it was just the first thing I could think of to disarm you."

Recognizing the echo of his words to her, regarding what he had said about his mother, he gave her a look calculated to make his lack of amusement plain.

Men were dousing torches in the square, but her deep flush was visible even in the diminishing light. She looked from him to the Joculator and back before she said, "Please, Hugo, can we not discuss this privately? I ken fine that you are angry with me, but I'd liefer explain it all only to you."

He hesitated and instantly recalled a few likely details of her tale that he, too, would rather not reveal to others. So he did not press her.

Turning to the Joculator instead, he said, "I'd also like to know what demon possessed you to believe her. I have seen her try merely to equivocate and fail. One can easily read her thoughts in every expression."

"Aye, sure," the Joculator agreed. "I knew she was lying. But I'm seeing now that I mistook which bit was the lie. Sithee, I thought 'twas what she said about her feelings for you. Anyone seeing the pair o' ye together of late would ha' made the same mistake, especially seeing ye kiss, as I did."

"So you did see that," Hugh said with a sigh.

"Aye, but even had I not, ye keep your eyes fixed on her from dawn to dusk, lad, and fidget yourself to flinders when she disappears for longer nor ye think she should. And, whilst she's singing to ye, she looks at ye as if she'd climb right into your arms. What else was any sensible man to think?"

Hugh looked again at Jenny, who was eyeing the Joculator with guilt clearly lacerating her conscience. "I… I never meant to make such trouble," she said. "I hope you can forgive me, sir."

The Joculator shook his head. "Sakes, lassie, 'tis m'self ought to be asking ye. I thought from what I'd seen that ye'd both be thanking me. But I'm thinking now I've put me foot right in it. Still and all, if ye want to undo this marriage, it should be no great thing to apply to the Kirk for an annulment. 'Tis no quite the thing, sithee, for a priest to lend himself to a minstrels' play."

"You seem to know much about many things," Hugh said dryly. "Have you created such ticklish alliances before?"

"Nay, then. I have not. But a man in my position does learn much. Be there aught else ye'd want to discuss wi' me, lad, or shall I bid ye both goodnight?"

"I've nowt more to say to you," Hugh told him. "But I have much more to say to you," he added, looking at Jenny.

"Please, sir, Peg will be expecting me. And… and the priest is still waiting, and Lucas will be looking for you. We must get back to the encampment."

"There is one thing," the Joculator said to Hugh. "The others know only that ye sought to wed her and that summat had kept ye apart. They think we were all doing ye both a favor. Sithee, we none of us had any intent to do ye a mischief."

Hugh nodded, then watched as the Joculator strode away toward the High Street. Letting him get well ahead, he slipped an arm around Jenny's shoulders, urging her to follow. "Now, lass," he said. "You have some explaining to do."

When she gestured toward the priest, still waiting patiently in the shadows a short distance away, Hugh paused beside him to say, "I expect we will have to sort this out by ourselves, Father, unless you have managed to think of a simple way to undo what was done tonight."

"There is nothing simple, my son. Of that I am sure. Until you can arrange an annulment, you are legally married to each other. May I say that you seem to suit each other as a couple much better than many I have united."

"You may say what you like, but we are going to bid you goodnight. I have a few things yet to say to my bride, whether she wants to hear them or not. And she is going to say a few things more to me, as well. Are you not, sweetheart?"

Jenny grimaced.

"Just so," Hugh said. "Goodnight, Father."

As they left the square and walked along the High Street, Jenny braced herself. She knew Hugh was still angry and that he had every right to be.

Remembering the threats Reid had made to her, and the way he had flung himself off when he could not deal with her as he believed he should, she hoped Hugh's temper would not express itself in similar ways.

"We're private enough now," he said. "Tell me."

She could see torches ahead, nearing the path into the woods. But most of the townsfolk had vanished into their own dwellings, so she and Hugh were practically alone on the High Street. The moon was just showing itself in the west. Waxing toward full, it cast its silvery light along the street.

"Well?" he said with a trace of impatience. "Telling me you seized the first thought that came to mind, as I did with the sheriff, won't serve now, lass."

"I know," she said. "I used your words only because I could not tell the truth without revealing more to the Joculator than either of us wants to reveal."

"Nevertheless, you must be honest with me."

"You are going to be angry."

"Sakes, I'm already angry!"

She drew a breath, let it out, and then said, "I told him you were an unwelcome suitor because I wanted to make it harder for you to take me back. I never thought he'd decide for himself that I ought to marry you. Well, who would think such a thing? It was an outrageous thing to do."

"It does argue, though, that he still does not recognize us," Hugh said. "I doubt that he would risk such a stunt except in the belief that he was uniting an unprotected maiden to a man who would protect her. I find it troubling, however, that he did not ask why Sheriff Maxwell accosted me. He must have seen that."

"Do you think he heard him call you Sir Hugh?"

"Perhaps," he admitted. "Even if he didn't, there were others about when Maxwell called to me. I think our luck may be running out."

Hastily, she said, "We still do not know what, if anything, threatens Archie the Grim or Threave. Nor have we learned aught of the missing jewels other than that the sheriff apparently did not find them in this camp. We must at least go on with the minstrels to Threave, sir, to warn Archie Douglas."

"There is plenty of time before the anniversary of the King's coronation for me to take you to Annan House and still ride to Threave in time to warn Archie."

"Well, I don't want to fratch with you, especially when you are vexed with me already, but you did ask if I was tired of my adventure. I would not like to live like this forever, but I'm not tired of the minstrels. I'd liefer go on with them than return and wait in disgrace to marry Reid. In troth, I hope waiting for the Pope to annul our marriage means I can put off mine to him indefinitely."

"There must be other ways to annul this marriage," he said.

"Even so, it will take time," she said. "So there can be no great hurry for us to be going back. By the bye, sir, what did you do to your teeth?"

Accepting a brief change of subject, Hugh said, "charcoal," and used a sleeve to wipe the residue off his teeth. "I'd kept some with me to use in just such a case."

As they walked, he could hear others chattering ahead and realized that he would miss the minstrels almost as much as she would.

He had done many things, traveled great distances, and met people of all sorts. But although he had posed as a troubadour before, he had done so only to glean information and not as part of any company. Their way of life differed from any other he had known, and in truth, he rather envied them their freedom.

She was silent, making him wonder what she was thinking and if she worried that he was still angry. In truth, he did not know what he felt.

He had sworn he would never marry again. The pain of losing Ella and her bairn had been too great to risk suffering through it again, ever. The thought that Jenny might suffer the same sort of death was too horrible to contemplate.

As the thought crossed his mind another, much worse one, chased it—that Jenny could suffer the same fate as Ella had. After all, many women did die in childbirth, or from complications afterward. But how much worse it would be if he were not with her then, if she had only the self-serving Reid to look after her!

He put his free hand atop hers in the crook of his arm. She was not wearing gloves, and her hand felt small and warm under his. Her skin was silken, her fingers slim and fragile. His urge to protect her was stronger than ever. That he had other strong urges where she was concerned was a fact, too.

He would not mind taking advantage of those husbandly rights the priest had assured him were his. But getting the annulment would be more difficult if he did.

When he sighed, she looked up.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. "About this marriage, I mean."

"We should be able to get it annulled easily enough in time. The priest said we can, and he does not know about Reid. I'm nearly sure that a prior betrothal is always grounds for annulment."

"Then what about those rights and privileges he mentioned?"

"Sakes, I'm not going to take advantage of them, if that's what you're thinking," he said, wishing more than ever that he could.

"Oh."

Was it his imagination, or had there been a touch of disappointment in that single word? Calling himself a witless fool, he fell silent again.

The silence lasted only until they entered the encampment, when raucous cheers erupted all around them.

The Joculator stepped forward, hoisting a pitcher and two mugs. "My finest claret to toast your wedding," he said. "And ye'll see yonder that the lads ha' refitted your tent for ye, Hugo, so ye can sleep wi' your lady tonight."

"Aye, and we all promise to ignore your moans o' passion," shouted some wag from the crowd, sounding much like Gilly.

"Oh, no," Jenny murmured.

Hugh saw to his chagrin that every member of the company was happily waiting to celebrate with them. "Sakes, lass," he muttered. "We'll have to go along or tell them all the truth and disappoint them. Which shall it be?"

Although the thought of spending the night alone in a tent with Hugh shook Jenny, the thought of having to confess to them all that she had lied horrified her. It was true that the Joculator had arranged their marriage, but she harbored a fear that her fib had run through the whole camp. Even if it had not, people would want to know, in detail, why their leader had thought the wedding was such a fine idea.

Even Peg and Bryan, although they knew her real identity and Hugh's, looked utterly delighted. "I'd hate to spoil everyone's pleasure by refusing to sleep with you," Jenny murmured back to Hugh. "But if we sleep together, won't that—"

"That's all we'll do, I swear," he said in the same tone. "I'll have Lucas make up two pallets in the tent. He'll say nowt to anyone else."

"I suppose that may serve," she said. She had been about to point out that if they spent the night together, everyone would assume that they had coupled. But her choice remained the same. And, in truth, the thought of sleeping beside him stirred so many thoughts and feelings that she could not think straight.

For the next half hour, she stayed close to him and drank claret from his mug. She knew she had talked to people, thanked them for their kindness, but she could not remember what, exactly, she had said to anyone. And when Hugh took her to his tent at last, urged on by cheers and rowdy comments, her knees quaked and her skin felt numb.

"I'm going to sleep in my kirtle and shift," she muttered.

"Aye, that's a good notion," he muttered back, his voice sounding hoarse. Snatching up a tallow candle in a dish, he turned away rather abruptly to look over the sleeping arrangements as if to see if Lucas had followed his instructions.

Although there were indeed two separate pallets, with separate blankets, Jenny thought they were too close together. Evidently, Hugh thought so, too, because he tried to shift them farther apart, but there was not enough room.

Peg brought water but left straightaway, leaving Jenny alone with him.

Hugh handed the candle to Lucas, saying, "See that no one gets up to any mischief tonight. I'd liefer not have to knock heads together."

"Aye, sure," Lucas said. His lips twitched, and he turned away as quickly as Hugh had earlier. Seconds later, they were alone in the dark.

After they got into their beds, Jenny lay stiffly and sensed that Hugh did likewise. But after a time, exhaustion claimed her, and she slept.

When she awoke, gray dawn light peeked in around the tent flap and Hugh lay just as he had the night before. The only difference was that she had evidently grown chilly, because she was snuggled closely against him.

"Good sakes, I'm sorry!" she murmured, wriggling back to her own place.

"Don't apologize," he said. "I'd have spent the night reflecting on certain rights and privileges even if you hadn't made it impossible to avoid such thinking. But although my thoughts dwelt on the rights husbands think most about on their wedding night, one right did occur to me that I'm afraid you will dislike."

"If you think I'll dislike it, I know I will," she said, sitting upright and facing him, prepared to do battle. "What is it?"

"A husband's right to command obedience," he replied. "We will leave for Annan House today, Jenny, and I don't want to hear any argument."