Chapter 7

Hugh could see that the Joculator was still unsure of him but wondered what Jenny was thinking to bring such a look of guilt to her face. He had no time to think about it, though, before the Joculator turned and gestured to a horn player, who instantly produced a fanfare.

Scanning the crowd as the Joculator announced them, Hugh located the sheriff's party by the shire's banner flying above them.

The audience fell silent, their expectation nearly palpable. Hugh had seen such reactions before and the resulting uproar if the performers fell short of expectation. He doubted that would be the case tonight.

The clouds had parted, the half moon gleamed overhead, and torches bathed the central area in soft, orange-gold light.

Noting frowns on a number of faces in the audience when he strode forward first, Hugh bowed deeply to Jenny, careful to keep the plumed side of his face toward the sheriff, and gestured her forward.

Jenny came to him, moving with easy grace and smiling as she curtsied, first to him and then to the audience. She had also noted the sheriff's position, because she looked that way and nodded before she turned back to Hugh. Then she plucked the first notes of their tune and began to sing.

The first verse of the song described a gentle, innocent lassie and her love for Donsie Willie despite his many sins and lack of repentance.

Hugh replied with the second verse in the exaggerated accents and tone of an angry Border father outraged by his daughter's choice and determined to forbid the banns. As he sang, he heard delighted chuckles from the audience.

When Jenny sang the next verse, that of the worried mother, she, too, exaggerated her accent and feelings until, once again, she seemed to lose herself in the music. Back and forth they went, to the increasing delight of their audience.

By the end, when Hugh sang of his joy as a reformed Willie outsmarting the lass's determinedly doubting father, and the father's responses, shifting accents as he did, the audience clearly was finding it hard to suppress laughter long enough to hear the words.

Stepping back at last, he waited for the applause to die before plucking the first notes of the love song he had sung with Jenny at Lochmaben.

She quickly picked up the cue and began to sing the first verse.

Altogether, they sang four songs before the Joculator stepped forward again as the audience cheered wildly.

Tossing three clubs in the air, he quickly set them spinning in rapid rotation.

As cheers faded to expectant silence, Gillygacus hurried in with three even larger clubs of his own, tossing and spinning them just as high and almost as fast.

When the Joculator turned and glowered at him, the wee man stopped dead, clapped a hand to his head with his clubs crashing around him, snatched them up, and ran back the way he had come. As soon as the Joculator turned back, however, Gilly tiptoed out behind him, tossing the big clubs in the air and imitating the Joculator's every move again until the Joculator produced his first dagger.

Then, with a comical look of dismay, Gillygacus dropped his clubs and ran to hide behind Gawkus. When their turn came, they performed their skits and tricks with rapid repartee, much of it having to do with the sheriff, his minions, and the taxes they collected. The fools' wit was sharp, their quips amusing. The audience loved it, and such was their skill that the sheriff laughed as much as anyone did.

Hearing Jenny laugh, Hugh glanced at her and saw that she was as delighted as the audience was. "They are good, aren't they?" he said.

She nodded, shot him a thoughtful look, and then looked away again.

"We should talk," he said for her ears alone.

She nodded but did not look at him.

Hugh looked around. Everyone else seemed to be watching the fools, and he supposed that the other minstrels would watch each turn as critically as the audience did, if not more so.

"They won't need us again," he said. "Let us walk away from here and talk."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. But she let him lead the way to a fallen log far enough away so that no one would hear them talking.

"We can sit here if you like," he said.

"I think we should at least look as if we are watching the others," she said.

"Have you thought more about the wisdom of returning with me to Annan?"

"I have no need to think," she said. "I don't want to go back until I must."

"You have a duty to obey your guardian," he reminded her.

"But you are not he, sir, and I owe you no duty."

It had not occurred to Hugh that she would doubt his word that he acted in Dunwythie's stead. Nor, upon reflection, did he think she did. But if she were to claim that he had no authority, he had no way to prove otherwise.

It occurred to him that Sheriff Maxwell would accept his word. But having no desire to reveal himself to the man in troubadour's guise, he rejected that avenue. He did not need anyone's help to deal with one defenseless young female.

She was eyeing him as a puppy in expectation of supper might, so he said bluntly, "You would do better to obey his lordship's wishes. And not just for your own sake. Doubtless you are unaware that some jewelry disappeared when you did."

"Jewelry!" She looked at him indignantly. "When I did!"

"Aye," he said, studying her. "Several guests reported pieces missing."

"You think I took them?"

"I did not say that."

"You were thinking it!"

"Nay, I was not. But I'd not be amazed to learn that Dunwythie, Phaeline, or both suspect that your Peg may have taken them."

"Peg would never do such a thing," Jenny said. She frowned then as if she had had a second thought.

"You sound sure of her but do not look so," he said. "In troth, I do not suspect Peg, but I would like to know what gave you pause just now."

She hesitated, drew a breath, and then said with visible reluctance, " 'Twas only that she was ready to leave when I entered my bedchamber and had already laid out my night things. But that was because she wanted to walk with her brother. She'd had no chance to speak much with him earlier, she said. Peg has served me now for months, sir. By my troth, I do not believe she would steal from anyone."

"I think it unlikely, too," he admitted. "The minstrels fell under suspicion at once, of course. But apparently some things disappeared after they had left Annan."

"Well, Peg was with them, so she cannot have taken those jewels either."

"Your saying so may persuade me that she had nowt to do with it. But it is unlikely to satisfy Phaeline or a suspicious sheriff. Recall that as a member of the household, Peg enjoys first-head privileges and therefore would not be searched. If she is to persuade others of her innocence, you must be there to speak for her, lass."

"I will be then, but it cannot matter if I finish my adventure first," she said. "Peg came with me and will return with me. I won't let her suffer for her loyalty."

A short silence fell before he said gently, "You implied earlier today that you had something you wanted to confide to me. Will you tell me what it is, or have I proven myself undeserving of such a confidence?"

Jenny's breath caught in her throat. Having expected him to pursue his own course to the exclusion of all else, she had thought that he would continue to urge her return to Annan House. She had not expected him to invite her confidence.

It was hardly the first time he had surprised her. His singing that very night had amazed her. She had already learned that he had a pleasing voice, speaking or singing. But as he sang the men's parts of the song, he'd altered not only his accent but also his voice and appearance, to become the very characters telling the tale.

In two instances, she had recognized traits of men in the minstrel company. His portrayal of the stern, indignant father displayed much of the Joculator with a touch of Dunwythie thrown in. The result had been so amusing that at times she'd had trouble keeping a steady voice to sing her own verses.

He had inspired her, too, to put more feeling into the women's parts of the story than she might have otherwise. He had also helped her forget herself and the uneasiness she had felt at the prospect of singing to such a large, expectant audience.

And now his willingness to listen to her made it seem wrong not to tell him of her odd feelings, especially in view of the missing jewelry and his mentioning Peg's first-head privileges, which had reminded her of the knacker.

Recalling that he was kin to Archie the Grim settled it. Despite his determination to take her back to Annan House, she instinctively trusted Sir Hugh. It seemed only right to share her feelings, however vague, with him.

Wary of eavesdroppers, she glanced toward the shrubbery behind them. As far as torchlight and moonlight allowed her to see, the shrubbery there was particularly dense. No one else seemed to pay them heed, and his very presence calmed her, encouraging her to speak. Still, she kept silent.

At last, he said, "You will have to answer me one way or another, you know. Have I put myself beyond the pale?"

She did not want him to think she believed him un-trustworthy. And he had given her no cause to fear what he might say or do. Although he might easily have gone to the Joculator and told him he represented Dunwythie and had come to fetch his lordship's errant ward home, he had not issued even the mildest threat to do so.

Such a course would have proven almost as embarrassing as the scandal that her uncle feared would have—and potentially as damaging to her reputation. Clearly, Sir Hugh was protecting her name as carefully as he protected Dunwythie's.

She tried to gather these rambling thoughts but could seem only to marvel at his patience. Certain it could not last much longer, she blurted the first words that came to her: "I fear I may have stumbled onto some sort of intrigue."

Even in the dim light, she saw his eyebrows slant upward and could scarcely blame him. When had she decided that her unease had substance?

He said mildly, "What manner of intrigue do you suspect, and who are the intriguers?" Blunt questions to which she had no solid answers.

With an inward sigh, she gathered her thoughts. Then she said, "I don't know why I said that about intrigue, sir. In troth, I can tell you only what happened and hope you can help me explain why it makes me feel as I do. First, I saw a man struck down in the road for no apparent reason."

"What man?"

"A knacker, Parland Dow." She described the event.

"I know Dow," he said. "Someone doubtless tried to rob him."

"They took naught, he said, but mayhap you are right. Next I overheard a spat between a man who had been away overnight and his wife. It was not the spat that struck me but his saying the King may be at Threave for the coronation celebration."

"Aye, that would strike anyone," he said with a smile.

"Aye," she agreed. "Primarily, though… I… had a gey strange dream."

She thought she heard his teeth grind together, but he said evenly enough, "What sort of a dream?"

The only reason she could recall the details she had pieced together was that they reminded her of the confrontation she and Peg had had with the two men-at-arms at Lochmaben. She did not want to describe that to him, so she said, "You know how it is with dreams. They fade quickly and one never remembers all the details."

"Try," he said.

"Cath and her man, Cuddy, were in it." Hastily, she added, "But I do not suspect them of anything, sir. Both of them vanished from the dream rather quickly, although the voice I heard continued to sound like Cuddy's."

"He vanished but his voice went on without him?"

"Nay, he… he turned into someone else," she said. "A… a man-at-arms at Lochmaben." Without looking at him, she added, "Peg and I had asked him the way to the garderobe."

To her surprise, Hugh smiled. "You should not be dreaming of Englishmen, lass. That is practically treason."

She shook her head, saying, "I don't think the voices sounded English. They just sounded like Borderers. I saw two men in my dream but not together. After that, it sounded as if one man were talking to himself in Cuddy's voice."

"What did he say?"

"He said, ‘We pay for what we want and ye'll do what I say.' Then, as if he were irritated with himself, or pretending to be someone else, he said, ‘So, I'm just to take ye along to Threave, am I?' You know," she said thoughtfully, "I have not said these things aloud before. They've all run together in my mind. But it was very much as if two men were talking, even with the voice sounding always the same."

"Are you sure the voice was Cuddy's?"

"I barely knew anyone in the company then," she reminded him. "I'd heard his voice only once. Sithee, he was the man in the spat with Cath. She thought he'd been seeing too much of a cousin she doesn't like because she thinks he's a bad influence on Cuddy. Sithee, I've seen such encounters amongst our people, and the voice in my dream had the sort of aggrieved tone a man gets at such a time. The tone might simply have reminded me of Cuddy."

"What did your dream character say after the bit about Threave?"

"He said Archie the Grim would ken nowt, nor Old Bleary."

"So he spoke of the King, too."

"Aye, and the other one— Sakes, but I'm sure now there must have been two men talking in that dream. Not that it matters, since it was a dream. At all events, the aggrieved one told the other to whisst, and I woke up. I remember wondering if it was all a dream. For a moment or two, it was as if one man were still speaking."

" 'Twas a strange thing, to be sure," he said. "But as it was a dream, lass, it may have sprung from no more than comments you'd heard before."

She thought he might be right. She did tend to let her imagination run free, and perhaps that was what she had done. Just being inside Lochmaben could easily have stirred her to imagine an enemy at work. At least Hugh had not rolled his eyes or explained at length that she was just being foolish, as Phaeline so often did.

She said, "There's more, though. I met a juggler and a musician, Jem and Gib, in the woods just a while ago. Gib thought I was Cath and called out to ask if they should try their new skills tonight or wait for larger crowds."

"There is not much in that," Hugh said.

"Nay, but as Jem greeted me, Gib went on to warn him that they must do nowt to imperil the performance at Threave. Then he said the sheriff might come tonight to watch, and Jem told him to whisst. But Gib just complained that Cath had vanished, which made me think of her vanishing from my dream and brought it all back. I did not know then about the missing jewels. But even so…" She paused. "Do you see?"

"I see how you have been thinking, but I cannot see how a dream you had at Lochmaben has aught to do with minstrels hoping to perform exceptionally well at Threave. 'Tis likely they don't want to spoil that performance by practicing all their tricks or skits in front of folks likely to spread word of all they do. Sithee, if that happened, it would lessen their impact on the grand occasion."

"I suppose so," she said. "I know there is naught of substance in any of it, but I still think something is not right. It may be the way they said things or a certain look they had, or just…" She shrugged, frustrated. "I don't know!"

"Then we will continue to ponder," he said. When she looked closely to see if he meant that, he added, "What made you decide to confide in me?"

The image of her father presented itself in her mind and made her smile reminiscently. "I like to talk such things out," she said. "My father said it was the surest way he knew to learn whether to trust one's instincts or not."

" 'Tis a good plan, I should think. But—"

"Do you trust your instincts, sir?"

"Aye, sure, sometimes," he said. "Not always."

"Well, I am much the same. But I do think I ought to trust this one, even if I do not quite understand it. It feels gey strong, like a warning."

"Then we must see what more we can learn," he said. "Meantime, your people at Annan House want you home. They have not been unkind to you, have they?"

"Nay," she said. "But they would order my life, and…" Trying to think of a tactful way to explain how she felt about Phaeline and Reid—who were his siblings, after all—she spread her hands instead.

"You know you must go back," he said. "In these uncertain times, you should be glad to have a man to help you run your estates and protect you."

She looked straight at him then, no longer caring about his sensibilities. "Would you trust Reid to protect me? Would you allow him to run your estates?"

"That is different," he said. "I am quite capable of running my own estates and protecting myself."

"Aye, well, so am I," she said.

"Nonsense, a woman cannot do either as well as a man can."

"So you believe Reid would do better?"

He hesitated, grimacing.

"Just so," she said. "I had begun to wonder if you knew your brother at all."

"He will learn," he said.

"Then you, not I, should be the one to teach him. I do not want him learning on my estates by guess and by consequence. I shall suggest, sir, that he apply to you for lessons before he tries taking the reins at Easdale."

He smiled. "That would teach me, would it not?"

"Aye, it would," she said, unable to resist smiling back. Then she added seriously, "I am sorry to be the one to tell you, but your brother is feckless, sir."

"Even so, you have formally betrothed yourself to him and must return."

"You say naught that you've not said already, and naught to persuade me," she said. "The others are finishing up now, I think," she said, turning away.

He caught her by an arm. "Hold there, lass. You would be wiser not to walk away from me until we have finished talking."

"But we have finished. You are kin to Archie Douglas, are you not?"

"You know I am."

"Well, you agreed to try to learn more about this odd warning sense I feel, and with Threave popping into everything—"

"Sakes, if they worried about the sheriff, the whole business is more likely to lead to the missing jewels," he said. "That is the only crime we know about."

"But the missing jewels have naught to do with Lochmaben!" she said. "My dream could not have—"

"Lass," he said patiently, "your dream is doubtless just a dream, or mayhap you had noticed things you did not understand whilst traveling with the minstrels, and your dream was how your imagination tried to make sense of them."

"But, if that is so, why would anyone in it declare that Archie the Grim and the King wouldn't ken aught of whatever it is until afterward," she demanded.

"Afterward? I don't believe you said that before."

"I only remembered as I was saying it, but I'm sure that is what he said."

"I suppose it is possible that a nearby conversation may have intruded on your dream," he said thoughtfully. "Where were you sleeping?"

"In the corner of the courtyard near the keep entryway. When I woke, I did see men walking about but no one was near enough for me to have heard them speak." She brought the scene to mind again. "The entryway had that stone archway over it, and it was dark inside. I expect someone might have stood talking there. Anyone doing that would likely be English, though."

"And idle speculation is useless," he said.

"But if somehow they might threaten Archie the Grim, you do have a duty to learn more, do you not? You do serve him. Reid said that you did."

"I won my knighthood from him and owe him fealty, but I no longer serve him in the field. Were Scotland to be attacked, it would be otherwise, of course."

"If he is to be attacked, surely that counts as well."

"Aye, sure, it does," he agreed. "But whatever your odd feelings may mean, you have no evidence, and I have committed my service to Dunwythie. I can see you safely home and still ride to Threave in time to warn Archie of possible trouble. That is all it will take, I promise you, to foil any mischief—if mischief even exists."

"My dear sir, I have made it plain that I will not go unless you are willing to snatch me away by force. You would do well to reconcile yourself to that fact. If warning him is all that is necessary, I'd advise you to ride to Threave at once."

He was silent, giving her hope that he was considering her advice.

"Mayhap I should," he said. But to her consternation, the emotion that surged through her was disappointment, not elation.

Ruthlessly concealing it, she said, "An excellent notion, sir. Doubtless you will want to be away early tomorrow morning."

"Doubtless I will," he agreed. "I shall consider it. Now, as it appears that tonight's practice has ended, I'll escort you back to the encampment."

"We have been talking together too long as it is," she countered. "I would be wiser to walk back with Peg. I see her now," she added firmly. "Goodnight, sir."

Again she turned, and again he stopped her. "Peg is walking with her brother and Lucas. No one will think it odd that you walk with me after we have sung love songs to each other. Moreover, the path is uneven. Take my arm, lass."

He had been holding it out to her, and once again, he had succeeded in making her feel small and as if she were behaving in an unseemly manner. He did not say so, but the feeling persisted even after she accepted his arm.

"I did not mean to be rude," she said at last.

"Nay, lass, I'm sure you did not," he said.

His tone was consoling, even sympathetic, so she could not imagine why it stirred only a desire to smack him.

She resisted it but only by pressing her lips firmly together.

Hugh felt her hand tighten on his arm and thought he knew what she was thinking. She was a woman who revealed her thoughts in every expression, every line of her body, and in the slightest tone of her voice. He had annoyed her.

The knowledge made him smile, and he was glad she could not see it. She was staring straight ahead, and although her chin was a little higher than usual, the difference in their heights made it unlikely that she could see his expression without turning her head to look up at him.

The smooth, firm line of her jaw and his certainty that she had her lips pressed tightly together stirred a childish desire to make her smile, even if it took tickling to do it. He stifled the thought, but it soon returned in a teasing speculation about which parts of her curvaceous body might be the most ticklish.

Moonbeams piercing the canopy lit the narrow pathway well enough for him to see even without the ambient glow from the torches behind them in the clearing. They would stay lit until the townsfolk had all gone, after which, someone had told him, the lads watching them would douse them and bring them back to camp.

He did not mean to leave her in Dumfries with the minstrels. Even if he could trust both Peg and Bryan, they could not provide sufficient protection for her. If something was amiss within the company, plot or no plot, she might not be safe.

She remained silent, and he wanted to hear her voice again. He had enjoyed singing with her, especially the comic song. As she sang her replies, her eyes had twinkled, her rosy cheeks had glowed, and he had had trouble concentrating on which one of the four male characters was singing each of his verses.

He could not remember any woman affecting him so since Ella and the bairn had died. But she was nothing like Ella. Indeed, he feared she was as stubborn as he was, and Ella had not had a stubborn bone in her sweet body. She had been all pliable submission, bowing to his every whim and decree. She had never disputed with him but had, in fact, made him feel every inch the lord and master of his home.

Jenny, on the other hand, stirred only the primitive desire in him to master her.

But he was a mild-mannered man. It was strange to think how many times of late he had had to remind himself of that fact, and Jenny seemed to make a mockery of those reminders. From the outset of his journey, he had wanted to shake sense into her, to make her mind him, to force her obedience to Dunwythie's authority.

But, so far, she had defeated him at every turn without even raising her voice.

Bad enough that she stirred him to contemplate behavior he thought well outside the scope of his character. Worse for one who knew he was an able leader of men was the fact that his powers of persuasion, long held to be one of his greatest strengths, seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the stubborn lass.

She listened to him. At least, she appeared to listen. But no matter what he said to her, she continued to insist that she preferred to stay with the minstrels.

Such a life could not be comfortable for her; yet she made no complaint. Indeed, she seemed sincerely to be enjoying herself. As to the nonsense about running her own estates and protecting herself, he blamed her father. Clearly, the late laird had been a man of little sense, or he would have married again to provide her with a mother to teach her how to go on in life, and to give him a proper heir.

They were approaching the sleeping area, and he saw Peg waiting for Jenny. As he glanced down at his silent companion, his earlier thoughts echoed through his mind. He could imagine her derision had she been able to hear them.

All very well for him to talk about her father and his own easy certainty that the late Lord Easdale ought to have remarried. But what about him? Despite the urging of his sister and others, including Dunwythie, he had not given remarriage a thought. After all, he reassured himself, he did have a male heir.

He glanced at the lass again, knowing how she would respond to that. Indeed, she had responded to it, and he had to admit that she had made an excellent point. He had done naught to teach Reid his responsibilities as heir to Thornhill, and yet he had assured her that Reid would quickly learn to run Easdale.

She looked up and met his gaze, raising her eyebrows. "Is aught amiss, sir?"

"Only that I owe you an apology, lass, if one can apologize for arrogance."

Her eyes twinkled then. "Arrogance, sir? How so?"

"Having acquaintance with your intelligence, minx, I am disinclined to explain what I am sure needs no explanation. However, I promise you that Reid will learn something about estate management before he takes the reins at Easdale."

"Faith, sir, the parson cried our banns in Annan Kirk this morning. Our wedding will take place just over a fortnight from now, yet you still assume Reid will take the reins. How do you imagine you can teach him anything about a place you have never seen, let alone do so in so short a time?"

"I cannot, of course. But I can recommend that he seek guidance from his lady wife, and that I certainly will do."

The light faded from her eyes, and her soft lips pressed together again. A moment later, she licked them and said flatly, "You do not know your brother at all, sir, if you think he would ever accept advice from a mere woman."

"I do not think you ‘mere' at all, lass."

"Well, Reid does. He has often said so. So, pray, do not try to help me. I do not need your help. I am Easdale of Easdale, and so I will remain, Reid or no Reid. If you mean to teach your insufferable brother anything, see if you can teach him that."

Hugh struggled for a moment against a base inclination to shake her soundly and order her to heed him. Even as he did, though, he knew she was right again.

Her rank was equal to his, and had anyone suggested that he let someone else run things at Thornhill, he would have reacted more fiercely than she had. Even so, a woman was less able to enforce her commands than a man was, and was thus less able to run a large estate. She would do better with a good man at her side.

She continued to look at him, studying him, as they drew nearer to Peg.

At last, Jenny said, "You don't mean to ride to Threave tomorrow, do you?"

"I don't," he said shortly. "Goodnight to you, lass. Sleep well."

With a nod to Peg, he turned on his heel and strode away into the woods. As he did, he heard a sound that he suspected was a most unladylike snort.

His irritation evaporated, and although there was none but the moon to see it, Hugh grinned.