Tamed by a Laird (2 page)

THE SECRET CLAN: HIGHLAND BRIDE

THE SECRET CLAN: HIDDEN HEIRESS

THE SECRET CLAN: ABDUCTED HEIRESS

BORDER FIRE

BORDER STORM

BORDER BRIDE

HIGHLAND FLING

HIGHLAND SECRETS

HIGHLAND TREASURE

HIGHLAND SPIRITS

THE BAWDY BRIDE

DANGEROUS ILLUSIONS

DANGEROUS ANGELS

DANGEROUS GAMES

DANGEROUS LADY

THE ROSE AT TWILIGHT

To Donal Sean,

who provided the bones of this trilogy,

in the hope that he will be pleased with the result, and

To Bonnie Jenny,

who is not—and could not be—tamed by anyone

F
or the reader’s convenience, the author offers the following aids to pronunciation and comprehension:

“Himself” = in this instance, Sir Archibald Douglas, Lord of Galloway

Caerlaverock = Car LAV rock

Castle Mains = (now Castledyke on an Ordinance Survey map) the primary seat of the Lords of Galloway from their earliest times.
See “Mains” below.

Dumfriesshire = (west to east) Nithsdale, Annandale, and Eskdale

Easdale = EASE dale, Jenny’s estate

First-head privilege = with no delay, like family, a right granted trusted visitors

Forbye = besides

Kirkcudbright = Kirk COO bree

Mains = the primary seat of a lord (from “demesne”), as in Castle Mains

Nithsdale = NEETHS dale

Snickering = a demand made without proper warrant

Snickets and ginnels = Yorkshire terms for narrow passageways between fences or buildings, used mostly by locals to avoid
crowded streets (called “gates”)

Tocher = Scottish term for dowry

Galloway, Scotland, December 1367

M
instrels had been playing music in the minstrel gallery from the time the first guests of the new laird had entered the ancient
castle hall to take dinner with him. Since then, a juggler had juggled, dancers had danced, and now a harpist was plucking
merry tunes from his wee harp.

As the harpist performed in a cleared space below the dais, men swiftly set up trestles behind him and laid stout planks across
them, an indication that the best of the entertainment was about to begin.

The harpist took his bows, and a man and woman stepped to the edge of the clearing. As he plucked out a tune on his lute,
she began to sing:

From the East the Ass has come,

Beautiful in truth and strong as a gale,

So leap to the boards now, Sir Ass,

And bray for us your tale!

Drumming of tabors from the minstrel gallery and applause from the guests accompanied a long-limbed fool in a belled and ass-eared
cap, whiteface, and the colorful patchwork garb called motley that all fools wore, as he turned flips and tumbled his way
to the stout trestle stage. He leapt wildly onto it, only to sprawl in a heap on its boards. When laughter erupted, he looked
around in confusion, then slowly raised himself to a handstand and flipped to his feet. Narrowing his eyes, he shifted his
gaze to the high table and began to recite in a sing-song voice:

There once was a wee bit buffoon,

Who dwelt in a gey grand hall…

What followed was at first clever, even humorous. But it soon developed into a strange farce about a ruthless invader with
an army of foreigners determined to subjugate a defiant land and its freedom-loving people. As the speaker neared the end
of his tale, he made a sweeping gesture from the audience to the dais, saying,

Such is that wee bit buffoon,

That laird in his gey grand hall.

That he hath declared the king’s peace on the land,

A Grim peace for one and all!

The crowded hall remained silent when his recitation ended, leaving only the sound of the tinkling bells on the fool’s ass-eared
cap as he made his bow.

The tinkling continued through the silence as he straightened. He looked bewildered, absurdly so, thanks to exaggerated features
on the chalky whiteface that he, like most of his sort, wore. Apparently, he had expected applause if not laughter.

Instead, eyes throughout the hall shifted focus from his white face to the dark-faced, dark-haired man in the central chair
at the high table.

“By God,” his lordship growled. “What I’ve heard be true, then. Though you call yourself a wit and a poet, fool, you have
composed only claptrap mocking my character and his grace’s royal command that I impose peace on Galloway. Having prated that
claptrap to the delight of mine enemies, you now dare to prattle it to me. Worse, you do nowt to make me laugh. Send him on
his way, lads!”

Three men-at-arms stepped forward to carry out the order.

“My lord, ha’ mercy!” the fool cried. “ ’Twas all done in jest, and it be blowing a blizzard outside. Sakes, but I do claim
hospitality!”

“Faugh, that be a Highland notion and none of mine,” his lordship snarled. “Afore ye speak ill of men with the power of pit
and gallows, you should learn to cloak your words in at least a thin coat of wit. I
am
showing you mercy. We’ll see if God thinks you deserve more from Him. Get him out of my sight, lads!”

Two of the three men-at-arms grabbed the fool, one by each arm. They hustled him the length of the hall, down a step, and
across a landing of the stairway spiraling in the thickness of the wall. Pulling open the great door, they forced him outside,
where thickly blowing snow covered the outer stairs and the courtyard.

As they marched him diagonally across the yard to the main gate, his feet crunched on gravel beneath that snowy blanket.

The third man-at-arms motioned to the gatekeeper, and the gate swung slowly open, scraping ruts in the snow as it did. The
fool’s escort dragged him outside to a wooden walkway that he vaguely recalled led ahead to a river wharf and east toward
a nearby town. Just outside the gateway, they gave him a heave.

Stumbling, slipping, he crashed onto the walk, where they left him.

He heard the gate swing shut, but the snow swirled so heavily around him that he could not see the castle wall or the edges
of the walkway.

He could see nothing, anywhere, but thickly swirling snow.

Fear crept in then and grabbed him by the throat.

S
eventeen-year-old Janet, Baroness Easdale of that Ilk— but Jenny Easdale to her friends and family—tried to ignore the hamlike
hand on her right thigh belonging to the man to whom, hours earlier, she had pledged her troth. To that end, she intently
studied the five jugglers performing in the space before the dais in Annan House’s great hall, trying to decide which might
be her maidservant’s older brother.

Since Jenny’s betrothed was drunk and she had no information about Peg’s brother other than that he was a juggler in the company
of minstrels and players entertaining the guests at her betrothal feast, her efforts so far had proven futile.

All five jugglers wore the short cote-hardies and vari-colored hose favored by minstrels of many sorts and not one had a mop
of red curls like Peg’s. Jenny could find little to choose between them.

Reid Douglas squeezed her thigh, making it harder to ignore him.

Two fools in whiteface—one tall, one as short as a child and bearded—chased each other, creating havoc among the jugglers,
who nonetheless deftly kept their colored balls in the air.

“Give me a kiss,” Reid muttered much too close to Jenny’s right ear, slurring his words. “ ’Tis my right now, lass, and I’ve
had none o’ ye yet.”

She glanced at him, fighting to hide her revulsion and disdain. He was four years older than she was and handsome, she supposed,
with his strong-looking body, softly curling brown hair, and chiseled Douglas features. And doubtless all men got drunk occasionally.
But she had not chosen Reid and did not want him.

However, Lord Dunwythie and his lady wife, Phaeline, had made it plain that Jenny’s opinion did not matter in the selection
of her husband. Dunwythie, her uncle by marriage, was also her guardian. Had her father still been alive…

“Come now, Jenny, kiss me,” Reid said more forcefully, leaning so near that she feared he might topple over and knock her
right off her back-stool. His breath stank of ale and the spicy foods he had eaten.

She stiffened, bracing herself.

“What’s this?” he demanded, frowning. “Now ye’re too good for me, are ye? Faith, but I’ll welcome the schooling of ye after
we’ve wed.”

Meeting his gaze, she put her hand atop the one on her thigh, wrapped her fingers around his middle one, and bent it sharply
upward. “Pray, sir,” she said politely as he winced and snatched his hand away, “have the goodness to wait until after the
wedding to make yourself so free of my person. I like it not.”

“By my faith, ye’ll pay for such behavior then,” he snapped, putting his face too close to hers again. “Just a month, Jenny
lass, three Sundays for the banns, then six days more, and I become Baron Easdale of Easdale. Think well on that.”

“You are mistaken,” she said. “Although others may address you then as ‘my lord,’ I will remain Easdale of Easdale. My father
explained long ago that once I became Baroness Easdale in my own right, my husband would take but a pretender’s styling until
he and I produced an heir to the barony. You will
not
become Easdale of Easdale unless I will it so. And I’ve seen naught in you to suggest that that is likely.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said. “But a betrothed man has rights, too, and ye’ll soon be finding out what they are, I promise
ye.”

“Here now, lad,” Lord Dunwythie said from Reid’s other side as he put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and visibly exerted
pressure there.

Dunwythie was a quarter of a century older than Reid was, with dark hair beginning to show gray. His forbears had been seneschals
of Annandale in the days of the Bruce overlords, so his lordship commanded great respect in any company.

“Lower your voice, Reid,” he said sternly. “Ye’ve had too much to drink, lad, which can surprise nae one, but—”

“A man’s entitled to drink to his own betrothal, is he not?” Reid interjected, shrugging his shoulder free and shifting his
heavy frown toward Dunwythie.

“Aye, sure,” the older man replied. “But he should not treat his intended wife unkindly. Nor should his actions distract his
guests from the entertainment—which, I’d remind ye, I have provided at great expense.”

Realizing that their discussion had drawn the attention of the powerfully built, dark-haired man on Dunwythie’s right, and
unexpectedly meeting that gentleman’s enigmatic gaze, Jenny raised her chin and returned her attention to the jugglers.

Sir Hugh Douglas had sharp ears. Despite a desultory conversation with his host that now and again required dutiful attention,
his younger brother Reid’s gruff muttering to his betrothed had drawn Hugh’s notice before drawing Dunwythie’s.

Hugh was observant enough to note a spark in Janet Easdale’s eyes that he easily identified as anger. Having seen Reid snatch
his hand out from under the table, he guessed that the lad had taken an unwanted liberty.

Reid was inebriated, but it looked as if her ladyship could manage him. Hugh had noticed little else about her other than
a pair of speaking eyes and deep dimples that appeared now on either side of her mouth as she hastily looked away. In any
event, Reid’s behavior was of small concern to him.

He liked the lad well enough, although he had seen little of him for years. Reid had been their sister Phaeline’s favorite
brother from his birth, some seven years before her marriage. He was ten when their mother died, and Phaeline had insisted
then that he would do better to move in with her at Annan House than to remain with their father at Thornhill, the family’s
estate in nearby Nithsdale.