Chapter 6

Jenny saw that her reply had shaken Sir Hugh, but he said only, "We will talk later, mistress, as you suggest. The road from Dumfries to Annan is better than this one at all events. We'll be able to travel faster."

Clearly, he expected her to submit to his authority. But Jenny was just beginning to enjoy her newfound freedom and was not ready yet to give it up.

Quietly, she said, "We should not walk together for long, sir. I'd liefer not stir talk that I am flirting with the new troubadour."

He nodded and strode off to join some of the other men, leaving her feeling strangely bereft. But Peg soon rejoined her and the two chatted amiably about the countryside and other such mundane topics.

As they passed through a small village, the two fools Gawkus and Gillygacus darted onto the common and, by chasing each other and doing their tricks, quickly drew a crowd of children. Musicians played merry tunes as they strolled by.

They did not linger, because they had been later leaving Lochmaben than they had hoped to be, and everyone was eager to make camp before nightfall.

The journey was just eight miles, and except for the Joculator, who rode his white horse as usual, the others took turns riding the extra mules and ponies or driving the three carts. No one had to walk for long unless he or she chose to do so.

Jenny had enjoyed many long walks with her father and, despite several offers to ride, chose to walk with various members of the company, encouraging them to tell her their stories until they were well into Nithsdale. When at last she did accept a mount, the Joculator soon rode up alongside her.

"That young troubadour who joined us this morning seems to have taken a fancy to you, lass," he said without preamble.

Jenny smiled. "He did speak to me, sir. But I had little to say to him."

"You are new to the ways of the road," he said with a twinkle. "I should warn you that troubadours are rarely to be trusted with a pretty lass like you."

Aware that Sir Hugh was unlikely to let the situation continue as it was for long before urging her more strongly to return to Annan House, Jenny realized that he might seek to enlist the Joculator's aid. Therefore, she decided, she would be wise to make that particular course more difficult for him if she could.

"I expect he was flirting with me, sir," she said. "I should perhaps tell ye that I have met him before."

"He did say that he came to us from Annan House, just as Bryan's sister Peg and ye yourself did. Be that where ye met the man?"

"Aye, and he made his interest plain, even offered marriage." That was nearly true, although his brother Reid had been the husband offered her. Hastily, to conceal her discomfort with the fib, she said, "I swear I didna encourage him. I were kind, because I thought he were just being friendly, but I dinna want to encourage any man yet. Moreover, I'd liefer a man be more delicate of manner than this Hugo do be."

"He seemed mild enough to me," the Joculator said, looking vaguely upward as if he were trying to recapture an earlier image of Sir Hugh.

"He does appear so," Jenny agreed. "But I ha' been warned that he can be gey stubborn, sir, and set on having his way." That, at least, was perfectly true, although she doubted that Phaeline had intended to warn her against Sir Hugh.

"I see," the Joculator said, nodding. "Well, if he thinks to pursue ye, we must see that he doesna become a nuisance. I'll keep a keen eye on the man."

"I thank ye, sir," Jenny said demurely, hoping Sir Hugh would now find it difficult, if not impossible, to make her do anything she did not want to do.

Her conscience stirred again at the unfairness of her method, but she thought that Dunwythie's having sent Sir Hugh after her was even more so. Hugh Douglas was no kith or kin to her and would not be until after she married his odious brother. Despite what Reid had said about his rights, Sir Hugh was not Reid. And a betrothal, although binding in its own way, was not the same as a wedding.

She had three weeks of relative freedom left. Anyone angry with her now would doubtless stay angry, but she could not help that. She had run her father's household for nearly six years before he had died, and his death had made her mistress not just of that household but of all the Easdale estates. Then her uncle had come to collect her like one of his deceased first wife's mislaid belongings.

Ignoring her grief and her protests, he had carried her off to Annan House. Jenny had been upset, but given no choice, she had obeyed his will.

Having remained docile then for eight months, she had not realized what a strain that submission had exerted on her good nature until the chance had suddenly presented itself to escape Annan House, if only for a night or two.

Despite Sir Hugh's seemingly unbounded confidence that he could force her to do as he willed, he had much less right than Dunwythie did to order such compliance. Sir Hugh's attitude made her want to dig in her heels and retain her freedom for as long as she could… if only to see what he would do next.

The last thought came unexpectedly, but she had to admit—to herself, at least—that the man intrigued her. She had enjoyed singing with him and looked forward to doing so again when they reached Dumfries.

But a man's singing voice was not the man, and she did not admire Sir Hugh's habit of commanding her as if he had every right to do so. She could not doubt that he would prevail in the end, especially as he could send for Dunwythie himself to join them. But until then, she resolved that Sir Hugh Douglas's commands would have less effect on her than his singing would.

Hugh kept an eye on Lady Easdale all that afternoon but took care to move about from group to group as they traveled, talking with all and sundry.

At present, his goal was just to make a few friends, so he offered his horse and the one he and Lucas had brought for her ladyship to others who wanted to ride. And he matched his accent to the commonest Border accent among his companions.

So far the minstrels had accepted him as a wandering troubadour. The rub would come if he could not persuade her ladyship to leave the company at Dumfries.

If he had to perform there to maintain his pretense, that pretense might well fall short. The Joculator had said they would be performing at the sheriff's behest, making it likely that the sheriff would attend their performance. And although Sheriff Maxwell might fail to recognize Sir Hugh Douglas, Laird of Thornhill, in the guise of a common troubadour, chances were just as good that he might.

"Beg pardon, sir?"

Hugh turned toward the voice and found one of the younger gleemaidens, a buxom one, walking a little to his left behind his horse. "Aye, mistress?"

"Me name's Gerda, sir, and I wanted to tell ye how much we did enjoy your singing wi' the new lass, Jenny," she said. "Ye've a fine voice withal."

"I thank ye," Hugh said, dismounting to walk with her. "My friends do call me Hugo."

Simpering at him from beneath long eyelashes, she said, "Do they, sir?"

"They do. Have you been walking long, mistress?"

"Me feet do think so," she said. "They ha' begun to complain."

"Then let me put ye up on me lad here for a spell."

"I'd thank ye kindly an ye give me a leg up."

Instead, Hugh caught her at the waist and lifted her to the saddle, retaining his grip on the reins. She chattered happily as he led the horse, and he replied as often as necessary until she said pertly, "I do look forward to singing wi' ye in Dumfries, sir. I've nae doubt we'll make a fine pair."

Catching sight of Lucas, leading his own horse with the lass Peg laughing down at him, Hugh told himself with an inward groan that things were clearly growing more complicated by the minute. The sooner he and Lucas could pack Lady Easdale and Peg back to Annan House, the happier he would be.

Spilling down the sides of two undulating hilltops, the town of Dumfries appeared even from a distance to be of fair size. The minstrels reached it in the gloaming with its lights already showing.

When they approached the hilltop, the view was vast. Jenny could see the forested hills of Galloway to the west across the river Nith, frothing white in its rush southward to Solway Firth. She also saw the fine bridge that crossed the Nith to Galloway, one of the few bridges in the Scottish Borders.

Built in the previous century by Devorgilla, mother of John Balliol, the man who had fought Robert the Bruce for the kingdom of Scotland, the bridge was said to be as fine as London Bridge. Although Jenny had never seen Devorgilla's Bridge before—or London Bridge, for that matter—her father had described the former, and she recognized it by its nine splendid arches.

Dumfries itself fascinated Jenny, because it was the most important town in southwest Scotland and its sheriff one of the region's most powerful men. Only the fact that Sir Hugh had said he wanted to return her quietly to Annan House allowed her to hope that he would not apply to the sheriff for help.

She could not see Sir Hugh now. He had ridden with different people during the afternoon, often dismounting to offer a ride to someone else. In the diminishing light, she could not tell his horse from the others, or tell if he was riding or walking.

When they reached the woodland where they were to camp, beyond the north end of town, Peg excused herself to find Bryan, and Jenny went with the gleewoman Cath and her daughter Gerda to seek privacy to relieve herself.

Jenny liked Cath, but the woman seemed to have been in a bad mood most of the day. "Is aught amiss?" Jenny asked her as they walked away from the camp.

Cath sighed. " 'Tis nowt, lass, only that me man has a cousin I dinna like, and I've had me fill o' him these past days."

"Is he another member of the company?"

"Nay, although Drogo does sing with us now and now," Cath said. "Sakes, but I thought he served a fine nobleman. Saw him with the man more than once, we did. Now I learn he does nowt o' the sort."

"Mam," Gerda said quietly.

"Aye, well, it be true," Cath said. "He's nae good, that Drogo. He were always getting Cuddy into mischief whilst they were bairns."

"We should get back, Mam," Gerda said. "Here be as good a place as any."

Jenny knew that Peg would set their things to rights as soon as she had talked with Bryan. So, sensing that Cath's comments had made Gerda uncomfortable, she tactfully lingered behind when mother and daughter returned to the camp. Darkness was swiftly falling, but a half moon peeked through the clouds and would soon give more light. Jenny shifted her position a little to gain a better view of the moon.

"Who's there?" a man called out. "If that be ye, Cath, d'ye ken if we're to try our new skills on the folks here tonight, or do we wait for the larger crowds?"

" 'Tis just me, Jenny," she replied. "Who are ye?"

Two men appeared out of the darkness.

"Me name's Jem," said one of them in a deeper voice, not the one who had called out, thinking she might be Cath. He indicated the other. "This be Gib."

"Since ye seek Cath," she said, smiling, "I warrant ye must be musicians."

"Gib does play the gittern," Jem said. "But I be one o' the jugglers."

Gib said, "I'm telling ye, Jem, he said we're to do nowt that may keep us from going to Threave. And since the sheriff may come to—"

"Whisst, man," Jem said testily, darting a look at Jenny. "The lass be new and canna care what we do or dinna do except as it affects her singing."

Curious now, Jenny looked from one man to the other.

"Aye, well, I've said nowt," Gib said with a shrug. "But Cath were here just a wee while ago, for I heard her voice. I dinna ken where she can ha' vanished to."

Abruptly, Jenny recalled her strange dream at Lochmaben. Cath had vanished from that, too. And someone in it had told someone else to "whisst."

What if it had not been a dream, or perhaps half dream and half real?

Realizing that the two men were waiting for her to speak, she said, "Cath was going back to the encampment. Doubtless she is in her tent or near the cook fire."

"D'ye no want us to see ye back safely?" Jem asked.

"Ye be kind to offer," she said. "But I ken the way and 'tis safe enough here."

She wanted to think.

When they had walked on, she tried to clear her mind of all but her half-remembered dream.

She was certain that someone in her dream… if it was a dream… had mentioned the King and Archie the Grim. And, now, thinking about it, she was sure someone had mentioned Threave Castle. What else had they said?

Trying to recall the details, she felt a chill that she did not think resulted from the chilly air. There was nothing ominous in talk of Threave, though. Everyone was talking about the Lord of Galloway's fine new castle. And the minstrels would soon perform there, which would be a grand occasion for them. But something about that dream, coupled with the encounter she had just had, disturbed her.

She should, she thought, talk this strange unease over with someone to see if, between them, they could make any sense of it. But in whom should she confide?

Not Peg. Peg might tell Bryan, and Jenny did not feel as if she knew him or anyone else in the company well enough to trust them with such nebulous thoughts.

A whisper at the back of her mind suggested that she could trust Sir Hugh.

Although she tried to ignore it by telling herself she did not know him well enough either, the thought persisted.

Rustling in the bushes reminded her of the increasing darkness. Deciding she had lingered long enough, she followed the burn back to the campsite and walked straight into Hugh himself, standing like a tree in her path.

"Where have you been?" he demanded. "The others came back an age ago."

"Not as long as that, surely," she said, feeling perfectly safe now and ready to do battle with him. "I just lingered a wee while to enjoy the woodland peace."

"The woods can be dangerous at night," he said, still stern. "There are wolves hereabouts, and wild boars."

"I doubt such creatures venture so near any town as large as Dumfries."

"Wild creatures are not the only dangers, my… lass," he said. "You would do better to stay near your woman or one of the others."

"Or you?"

"Aye, sure, but we do not want to cause talk. You were right about that."

"Then you should not take me to task as you just have," she said. "I will agree that I ought not to walk alone in the woods. But, as we are talking, I do have a question that I want you to answer honestly."

He frowned, saying curtly, "I am not in the habit of being dishonest."

"No?" She smiled. "You have always been a troubadour then. Or, nay, that cannot be, for you have persuaded Phaeline that despite a mischievous childhood, you are now most stern and proper and thus—"

"Enough," he said, but she detected amusement in his tone. "You know what I meant, my la—"

"Me name be Jenny," she said, seeing Bryan and Peg coming toward them. "Everyone here calls me so. 'Twould be easier an ye remember to do likewise."

His gaze followed hers as he said quietly, "You can trust me, Jenny, whatever guise I may wear."

"Would ye keep a confidence then?"

He hesitated.

"Nae more then, not now," she said, because the others were upon them.

He gave her a look that, if not quite the one that had once sent prickles up her spine, still made itself felt to her bones. It was as if he tried to read her thoughts.

She decided then that she would not try to explain her odd feeling to him or to anyone else until she could make some sense of it herself.

Hugh watched Jenny walk away with Peg, knowing she had been right to rebuke him. He had resisted calling her by her nickname but knew he'd be wise to think of her as Jenny or count the cost if he misspoke at the wrong time.

However, thinking of her as Jenny seemed to make his task even more—

"I ken the truth, sir," the lad Bryan said softly beside him.

Hugh, still watching Jenny, had forgotten Bryan and glanced hastily around for possible eavesdroppers. Several people moved about the campsite, but none was near enough to overhear them if they kept their voices low.

Having taken care that afternoon to talk with all and sundry, Hugh was swiftly coming to know who was who, and from all he had heard, Bryan was harmless. Nevertheless, Hugh's experience had taught him to assume nothing about chance-met folk, and the lad's knowing the truth might mean anything.

Accordingly, he murmured, "The truth about what?"

"About ye and… and Lady Easdale," Bryan said, lowering his voice so that Hugh had to strain his ears to hear him. "Nae baroness ought to be here wi' the likes of us, sir, but our Peg did say ye've come to take the two o' them home again."

"I trust ye've said nowt to anyone else about this."

"Nay, sir, and I wouldna say nowt. But they did ought to go back even though Peg will likely lose her place for encouraging her ladyship."

"I doubt she encouraged her," Hugh said dryly. "Her ladyship has a mind of her own. I doubt, too, that Lord Dunwythie will hold Peg's loyalty to her mistress against her. But if she should lose her place, tell her to apply at Thornhill. Her loyalty to Lady Easdale does her no harm in my eyes."

"I thank ye, sir," Bryan said. "I took the liberty o' speaking to ye only so ye'd ken that ye've a friend here. If there be aught I can do to help ye, I will."

Hugh nodded, but again, experience warned him to wonder what the lad's motives might be and how much he ought to count on such an offer.

It had long since occurred to him that taking Lady Easdale—Jenny—away by force or anything resembling force would prove difficult if not impossible.

Whatever he did, he felt sure that the minstrels would side with their Bonnie Jenny if she continued to resist his efforts. Therefore, he decided, it would behoove him to discover a way of persuading her without making them choose sides.

"Bryan says I should make m'self useful tonight to the women what do the mending, mistress," Peg said in a tone low enough that Jenny did not reprove her for the formality. "I think I should, though I want to watch the fools when they practice. It always makes me laugh to see wee Gilly outsmart that great Gawkus."

Jenny smiled. She, too, liked Gilly and Gawkus. The two seemed to have been keeping a protective eye on her, and on Peg, as well.

Sir Hugh's man—for the stranger in their midst, with his own horses and leading a sumpter pony, must be Sir Hugh's man—seemed to be keeping at least one eye on them. She had seen Peg riding one of his horses during the afternoon while he led it and the other one, with the sumpter trailing behind them.

"Have you arranged our sleeping places?" Jenny asked Peg now.

"Aye, yonder," she said, pointing. "There be a big clearing beyond it, where Bryan did tell me we're to meet after we sup, so the minstrels can practice all they'll do in the market square tomorrow. Mayhap the sheriff will come to see if they be worth the gelt he's paying for them, Bryan said, so they want to perform well."

They walked toward their sleeping place as they talked, making it easy for Jenny to hide her reaction to this second mention of the sheriff in so short a time. If Sir Hugh identified himself as Laird of Thornhill and asked the sheriff to help him take quiet custody of Lord Dunwythie's rebellious ward, she feared he would agree.

It occurred to her then that perhaps it had been no more than Gib's mention of the sheriff's likely presence that had stirred her uneasiness before.

"Some do say t' sheriff may attend this practice tonight," Lucas said as he deftly sorted Hugh's things. "Happen ye should grow a beard like."

"Before the sheriff arrives?"

"Nah then, nae one can grow a beard in an hour. I'm just saying—"

"I ken fine what you're saying. Now hush and let me think. I'll wear the purple cape again and the soft black cap, but I want its plume attached so it will conceal more of one side of my face. It matters not which side."

"Ye've met t' man afore, I'm thinkin'."

"Aye, several times," Hugh admitted. "Not for two or three years, though. One of his minions has collected the Thornhill taxes since my father died."

Lucas dismissed the years and the sheriff's minions with a gesture. "T' minute ye start to sing and the man sees your face, he'll ken fine who ye be."

"I doubt it," Hugh said. "Men see what they expect to see. Maxwell cannot know yet that Lady Easdale left Annan House, so he'll not recognize her in Bonnie Jenny. Nor will he expect to see the Laird of Thornhill in troubadour's clothing."

Lucas shook his head. "Yon troubadour's garb be gey close to what a nobleman wears, m'lord. That purple cloak of yours be pure silk."

"Have faith, Lucas," Hugh said. "I have a plan."

When Jenny joined the others in the clearing after a hasty supper, she was astonished at the number of people who had come. Clearly, news of their arrival had preceded them, because it looked as if most of Dumfries, if not folks from miles around the town, had come to watch them practice.

That was surprising enough. What was more so was the chanting that began midway through the dancers' performance. For a time, she did not catch the words.

When she did, she did not know where to look.

"Bonnie Jenny, Bonnie Jenny," they chanted. "We want Bonnie Jenny."

Repeatedly, their voices gaining strength and volume, they chanted.

Wishing that she could disappear into the ground, she turned abruptly away, only to find Sir Hugh right behind her, smiling.

It was the first time she had seen him smile, and she felt its warmth. She also noted, to her surprise, an element of sympathy in it.

The chanting continued.

Sir Hugh's gaze shifted to a point to her left, behind her.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"The Sheriff of Dumfries has arrived, I believe."

"Aye," she said, eyeing him warily now. "People said he might come."

"Also, the Joculator is trying to get your attention. He looks pleased, lass."

It was also the first time he had called her "lass" without first nearly calling her "my lady." But the sheriff's arrival had not stopped the chanting.

Swallowing, looking straight ahead—at the middle of Sir Hugh's chest—and fighting to retain her composure, she said, "I… I'm not sure I can face that."

"Aye, sure, you can," he said. "Just imagine the whole lot of them, sheriff and all, stark naked and standing on their heads."

Her vivid imagination promptly produced such a picture, and a choke of laughter escaped her. Squeezing her eyes shut only made it worse. As most of the chanting voices were male, in her mind's eye, she saw a forest of waving bandy-legs and male appendages.

"Come along," Sir Hugh said, chuckling. "I'll walk with you. I've had an idea for a song that I think might be amusing."

She went willingly, finding comfort in his presence. She was not shy, because her father had been painfully so and she had often had to serve as his spokesman when he had not felt up to speaking for himself. But never before had she had to face an audience filled with such high expectations of her.

Singing at Castle Moss and at Lochmaben had been much like singing at home. Although individuals in an audience might criticize, most sought only a good time. At home, others had also contributed their talents on such occasions, so one had simply done one's best and stepped aside for the next performer.

As they made their way toward the Joculator, who stood near the audience, Sir Hugh asked her if she knew a song called "Donsie Willie." She nodded, pleased with his choice. Describing a Border romance between an innocent girl and a lad with a reputation for mischief, the song had some twenty verses with distinctive characters all telling their bits of the tale, and was particularly fun to sing.

"If I were to sing the men's verses and you the women's," he said, "I think we'd have something special that we could do whenever we sing together."

"Do you mean to stay for some time then?"

"I did not say that," he said, darting another glance at the sheriff. "Sithee, all these people want you to sing. I just thought it would be easier if we began together."

She nodded as if she understood. But he had said "whenever" they sang together, so she decided he must have reconciled himself to staying in Dumfries for at least a day or two longer.

As they neared the circle cleared for the entertainers, she saw that jugglers had followed the dancers. Although the chanting for her had eased a little, it continued to provide a low, rhythmic background for the performers.

"Ye'll go next, Jenny," the Joculator said.

"She's a bit skittish, sir," Hugh said, putting a light, reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I thought perhaps a comic song that we both know might ease the way."

"Aye, sure," the Joculator said, visibly noting the hand on Jenny's shoulder and giving Hugh a speculative look.

Jenny saw both and felt a stab of guilt, recalling the fib she had told him about Sir Hugh wanting her. Nibbling her lower lip, she avoided Hugh's gaze but did not reject his touch.