Tamed by a Laird (15 page)

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.