English, Elizabeth (11 page)

Jemmy
joined her again before they entered Dunforth, a pretty little village nestled
into the enfolding arms of the hills. Clattering over the wooden bridge and
past the miller's wheel, Alyson found herself in what could have been the twin
of the place where her childhood was spent.

The
rhythmic clanging of the blacksmith's hammer was carried on a breeze fragrant
with the scent of baking bread. Neat thatched cottages surrounded the village
green, where a group of children played the same counting games Alyson had
played as a child. They stopped as she and Jemmy rode past, staring curiously.

"God's
greetings to ye, m'lord, m'lady," a stout man said as they dismounted
before the finest house in the village, a two-storied structure of wood and
stone.

"And
to you, Master Johnson," Jemmy answered. "Maude, may I present Master
Johnson, headman of Dunforth."

Alyson
inclined her head as the older man bowed.

"It's
been a long time..." Jemmy said, glancing about the green with a smile.

"Aye,
and that it has," Johnson answered cheerfully. "Ye've grown a bit
from the lad who used to chase my prize bull! M'lady," he added, turning to
Alyson. "Your husband was a rare one as a boy—no fear in him at all! Said
he'd read how the men in Spain would fight the bulls and took the fancy to try
it for himself. Such a notion! As if anyone would be so foolish!" Johnson
laughed.

"And
yet they do," Jemmy answered, a momentary shadow passing across his face.
"I've seen it for myself."

"Well,
we won't have such outlandish goings-on hereabouts," Johnson said stoutly.

"No,
indeed," Jemmy said. "And my father quite agreed with you on that
score."

"Och,
lad, did he whip ye?" Johnson asked. "Well, 'tis no more than I'd do
for me own, and ye seem none the worse for it. Tis a pity the same can't be
said o' old Angus," he added with a wink to Alyson. "That bull never
was the same, I vow! He dinna ken what ye were up to— he'd never read of yon
Spanish laddies and their ways! 'Tis a wonder we didn't take your dead body
from his pen," he finished, wiping his brow with an exaggerated grimace of
horror. "The fright o' my life, ye gave me, but there, it's all over and
done with long ago."

"Come
inside and meet Mistress Johnson again—she's all in a dither," he said
confidentially to Alyson as they walked across the yard. "Been in a rare
frenzy o' cleanin' and scrubbin' and what not these past days..."

The
house smelled deliciously of fresh bread and roasting meat. Alyson was careful
to keep herself from showing any of the pleasure she felt as they sat down to
the meal.

There
was roast capon and lamb and fresh-baked bread, with sweet butter and all the
heather honey Alyson could ask for, washed down with mugs of warm, rich ale.
She ate with such good appetite that Mistress Johnson's anxiety about her table
was allayed. As the atmosphere grew easier, Alyson listened with interest to
the talk of the women seated near her.

They
spoke of comforting, familiar things, of broody hens and wayward children and
the way that linen should be bleached. Though Alyson did not venture to speak,
she was much on Mistress Johnson's side as that lady argued in favor of tansy
as the most effective deterrent of moths, agreeing fully that while lavender
might be more pleasing to the senses, it simply would not do the job.

So
caught up was she in the discussion that she had almost forgotten about Jemmy,
until she chanced to look across the table. Johnson had unloosed his girdle and
was sitting at his ease, holding forth on the wisdom of putting sheep in the
low pasture, while another man, much older, shook his head and dourly predicted
foot rot as the least of the evils to be expected from such a daring plan. They
both appealed to Jemmy, who had been turned from them, staring out the window,
and he started from his thoughts. His face was pale, and beads of perspiration
stood upon his brow, though the room was pleasantly cool.

"What?
Oh, the sheep," he said distractedly. "Why not try a few and see how
they get on?"

"Aye,"
Johnson said, shooting him a keen glance. "We will."

Jemmy
stood abruptly. "Excuse me," he said, and walked out of the room.

When
he had gone Master Johnson looked at Alyson and she smiled with a shrug,
wondering if Jemmy had suddenly taken ill. The headman tried first one subject,
then another, but the easy mood was shattered. At last the entire table sat in
silence.

Master
Johnson stood. "Will ye come to the green, my lady?" he asked.
"The children would sing and dance for ye if ye like."

"Yes,
thank you," Alyson said quickly, following him outside. Jemmy stood at the
edge of the green, one hand resting against a sturdy oak. When Alyson reached
him she saw the color had returned to his cheeks, though his expression was
dark and shut as he stared out over the hills.

"Are
you ill?" Alyson asked.

"No."

"Oh,
good," she said nervously, wondering what had caused this sudden change in
temper. "The children are going to sing now."

"Go
along. I'll be there presently."

Alyson
left him and took the seat Master Johnson offered. Once the singing and dancing
began, she dismissed Jemmy's mood with an inward shrug and settled back to
enjoy the entertainment. The children were so dear, and one little boy reminded
her of Robin. He had golden curls and a sweet mouth, and he sang the songs that
she had taught to Robin in a high, pure voice that was very like her brother's.

As
the next song began a woman standing at her elbow spoke in a low, rapid voice,
meant for her ear alone.

"M'lady,"
the woman said with a nervous smile, bobbing her head respectfully. "If I
could hae a moment of yer time—I dinna mean to keep ye long."

"Of
course," Alyson answered graciously.

"It's
about Tavis—that's my husband. Oh, lady, could ye but talk to yer lord and ask
him to show mercy?"

"Mercy?"
Alyson repeated. "What has your husband done, Mistress?"

"It
wasna Tavis' fault, lady, not really. 'Tis only that he dotes so on our Bobbie.
He's our only child, ye see, since his brother was killed in the fighting two
years ago. Bobbie's a good boy, m'lady, and meant no harm at all. He only
wanted to see the horse—he loves the animals, ye ken, and wouldna hurt it for
all the world. But Sir Calder dinna see it so—"

She
stopped to catch her breath. "Slowly," Alyson said. "Take your
time. I'm listening."

"Bobbie
shouldna have touched the horse. I ken that. But still, there was no cause for
Sir Calder to beat him as he did. He's just a bairn. And when Tavis—that's my
husband—saw them, he just lost his head. Before God, he never meant to hurt the
knight and he didn't, lady, he but clouted him across the face. 'Twas only to
make him stop, ye ken. And now—now my Bobbie's still abed and they don't know
if he'll be right again—and his father to be hanged for it! I don't know where
we'll turn, before God I don't know, and I was hopin', of your mercy, ye might
ask your lord—"

"There
he is now," Alyson said, putting a hand on the woman's arm as Jemmy took a
seat on Master Johnson's other side. "It might be better if you asked him
yourself."

"Oh,
no, lady, I daren't. But he'll listen to ye," the woman answered, wiping
her eyes and trying to smile. "Ye've been wed so short a time—and ye so
fair," she added wistfully. "For sure he'll heed ye if ye ask."

She
looked over Alyson's shoulder and quickly pulled her shawl close around her
face. "God bless ye," she added hastily before melting back into the
crowd.

"My
lady," Johnson said, half rising from his seat and glaring in the
direction the woman had taken. "Has she been troublin' ye?"

"No,
no, not at all," Alyson said quickly. "She but told me of her
husband."

"Aye."
He sat down again and breathed out a gusty sigh. "A bad business, that.
Tavis is a good shepherd and a fine man—'twill be a shame to lose him."

"Do
you expect to lose him?" Alyson asked.

"He
struck a knight," Johnson said shortly. " 'Tis a hangin' offense,
m'lady, no matter what the cause. If ye
could
have a word with your
lord—but come, let us not dwell on such unchancy matters—look, now, wee Ewan is
to sing a song."

Alyson
nodded and smiled, but she did not hear a word of Ewan's song. Her thoughts
were on the fate of Tavis and his family. Of course the shepherd had defended
his son— what more just, more natural? And all the boy had done was to touch
the knight's horse!

But
the knight had the power to correct the boy in any manner he chose—even if he'd
killed him there would be no serious penalty. He might pay something to the
family—or then again, he might not, depending on the will of his overlord. But
once a commoner dared lift his hand to a knight, his fate was sealed.

She
glanced at Jemmy, wondering what he would do. Ever since they had finished
supper he'd been in a foul mood, which boded ill for Tavis and his family.
Nobles, in Alyson's experience, were far too apt to take their temper out upon
their subjects. If the shepherd had struck one of Darnley's knights, he would
be swinging from the nearest tree by nightfall.

Wee
Ewan finished his song and bowed to scattered applause. Master Johnson stood
and stretched.

"Well,
then, that's that," he said. "And now to other matters."

Jemmy
stood as well. "Yes. Let's get to it. My lady," he added, turning to
Alyson. "I'll stay the night here and ride back tomorrow or the next day.
Sir Donal will see you home."

"Wait,
my lord," she said. "I'd like a word with you first."

"What
is it, lady?" Jemmy asked impatiently. "I've much to do this
afternoon."

"I
wanted to ask you something," Alyson said, glancing about at the crowded
green. "Alone."

Jemmy
walked with her to the oak tree on the edge of the common. "Well?" he
demanded. "What is it?"

This
was a bad beginning, Alyson thought. Yet it must be done now or not at all.

"It's
about a man named Tavis," she began. "A villager."

"What
about him?"

"Apparently
he struck one of your father's knights."

"And?"
Jemmy asked, lifting one dark brow. "What has that to do with you?"

I
have to get this right, Alyson thought. How does Maude manage it so everyone
scrambles to do her bidding?

"I
want you to spare his life," she ordered firmly.

"Oh,
I see," Jemmy said, his eyes glinting with a dangerous amusement. "So
you've decided the matter, have you? Well, that's a relief! Here I thought I'd
be spending the afternoon holding court, sorting through the villagers'
stories, weighing all the facts—but now there's no need for that. Lady Maude
has already rendered judgment!"

"I
did hear the story," Alyson snapped.

He
leaned back against the tree and studied her through narrowed eyes. "Do
you think I believe for one moment that you care what happens to a shepherd of
Dunforth village? Come, Maude, I'm not a fool. This has nothing to do with him
and we both know it. You want to call the tune and watch me dance, but it isn't
going to happen. Now go home and let me tend to my affairs."

"This
has everything to do with Tavis," she said tightly. "I promised his
wife that I would ask—"

"But
you didn't, did you? You haven't asked me anything. You simply told me what you
wanted done."

"You
are being very childish, my lord," Alyson said, fists clenched at her
sides. "The way in which I asked you is not the issue here."

"Oh,
but it is. It is very much the issue. And do you know
why
it is the
issue?"

"No,
my lord, I do not know. Nor do I care."

He
grasped her wrist and pulled her close. "Because I have
said
it is.
Just as
1
will say what becomes of the shepherd."

Alyson's
mind raced as she tried to find a way to save the situation. How had she
mishandled this so badly? But maybe it wasn't too late to still help Tavis. If
she asked Jemmy sweetly, humbly...

His
eyes held no amusement now. They were bright and hot, shooting sparks of anger.
The soft words Alyson had been about to speak were swallowed in an answering
flash of rage. How dare he try to frighten her? Especially when he was so
completely in the wrong!

"Oh,
I understand! All right, then, what was it you
wanted
me to say? Oh,
please, my gentle lord, I beg you to give justice? Why
should
I beg for
that? Why should any of them beg for what is their right? It is your duty to
give them justice!"

"There's
no question of begging," he said shortly.

"Oh,
isn't there? That's not what Tavis' wife thought. And Master Johnson. Both of
them asked me to speak to you—"

"They
seem to have made an unfortunate choice."