Tamed by a Laird (21 page)

“Do you know this play?” he demanded.

“Nay.” She turned to Gilly. “What is the play about?”

“Och, ’tis a silly thing about a troubadour who courts all the ladies he meets, then marries one who likes him, only to rue
the day he wedded her. There be many characters but only four players. Gerda and Cath will play the ladies’ roles, and Hugo
will play Gerda’s father and other parts I expect, as well as the Troubadour.”

“Mercy, but it sounds complicated,” Jenny said, glancing again at Hugh.

Gilly shrugged. “ ’Tis nobbut prick’s worth o’ foolishness,” he said. “But folks always laugh most heartily. We’re going to
do ‘The Puppet’ one night, too, Gawkus and I, most likely on Friday. Ye’ll like that fine, I’m thinking.”

“I’m sure I will,” she said. “You two always make me laugh.”

Hugh was more conscious of Jenny beside him than he’d have wanted to admit. As he glanced around the table and at others in
the clearing, he saw several men eyeing her and felt a strong temptation to tell them all to look elsewhere.

One in particular scarcely took his gaze off her.

The man stiffened as if he felt Hugh’s steady gaze. Meeting it, he flushed and looked away. One down, Hugh thought, then laughed
at his own foolishness.

To be sure, it was his duty to protect her, but this… He scanned the others again, wondering if the lass was right to suspect
trouble brewing. The likelihood was that she had made more of an innocent conversation than she should, seeking an excuse
not to go home. He would indulge her another day or so, but then…

As his thoughts drifted thus idly, he continued to look for men watching her too closely, until his gaze collided with the
Joculator’s.

The man seemed to be studying him, and Hugh thought about the play. He did not like the idea of taking on so singular a role.
Playing troubadour in a company of real minstrels was strain enough. To play the double role of a troubadour playing a troubadour
would border hazardously on the absurd.

The Joculator summoned the players together directly after the meal and began to describe the play to them. It seemed that
Hugo was to have no choice.

Jenny watched for a time as the group at the table discussed the play. But fat Gerda’s simpering smiles grew tedious. So,
when she saw some of the children aping the fools’ behavior, she went to watch them instead.

Some of the little ones tumbled and flipped as skillfully as Gilly did, and for a while their antics amused her. But the afternoon
crept slowly, and she itched to practice throwing her dirk. That she had hit her target in only half of her attempts while
Hugh watched was disappointing. She had wanted to impress him. Somehow, it had mattered more for her to do well while he watched
her than when Gilly had.

Finding Peg busy with her mending and Gilly practicing with Gawkus—and having no desire to sit and chat with the other women—she
was tempted to return to the hilltop alone. Glancing toward the table, she met Hugh’s gaze. When he frowned as if he knew
exactly what she was thinking, she decided to practice her lute instead.

Fetching it, she sat on a rock where she could see the children playing and began to play the comic song she had sung with
Hugh the night before.

The memory of that performance made her smile. His ability to turn himself into another character without changing anything
but his expression, accent, and tone of voice had both astonished and amused her.

Motion at the table diverted her as the players moved to the end of the clearing, where they began to walk through their parts.
The Joculator stood a little to one side, watching them. Recalling his promise to let her try her skill on the hurdy-gurdy,
she returned her lute to its casing and went to him.

“I warrant ye’ll be ready for me to let ye try the
vielle
,” he said, smiling.

“Aye, sir, for ye did say we might play it if I stayed with ye long enough.”

“So I did. Would ye like to walk with me to my tent? I’ll fetch it out and we can sit on the rocks there and try it out.”

She agreed and was not surprised when he took the path she had taken that morning. As she had suspected, his tent stood not
far from where she and Gilly had thrown their dirks. It was lucky, she thought, that they had faced the other way.

She realized then that Gilly had probably known where the tent was but decided to say nothing about her new skill unless her
companion mentioned it. From what she had seen of him, she would not be surprised if he knew all about it.

Heat flooded her cheeks when she remembered that he had seen Hugh kissing her. She was grateful that he said nothing about
it as they walked, but she could not help wondering what he had thought about that kiss.

After all, she had sworn to him that she had not encouraged the troubadour. She had said she did not want to encourage any
man. And those had been the parts of what she had told him that she had thought were at least true. But no one witnessing
that kiss would think she had been reluctant or was just being kind.

Reaching the green tent, set again near a bubbling rill, she waited while the Joculator dove inside and emerged with the five-foot-long
vielle.

It had a body shaped something like a lute, with a very long neck into which the keys were set, and three strings, two of
which ran over its bridge. It also had a small wheel. One person turned the wheel while the other pulled the keys.

He suggested a tune and Jenny agreed. She also agreed that she would pull the keys as he turned the wheel. She had forgotten
how slowly one played the
vielle
. After the lively tunes she and Hugh had played, it seemed especially slow.

When they paused to rest, she expected him to comment on her playing, but he said, “You and Hugo make a fine couple.” When
she looked at him, struggling to think how to reply, he added, “… for singing, lass. Your voices blend well together.”

Gathering her wits, Jenny thanked him but squirmed again at the fib she had told him about Hugo’s supposed interest in her.
Having misled him to think Hugo had offered her marriage but that she preferred men of a more delicate manner, she felt her
cheeks burn anew at memory of Hugh’s anything-but-delicate kiss. Then she wondered if the Joculator might be looking for just
such a blushing response. Even if he was, she decided, if he wanted to talk more about Hugo, he would have to say so, and
she devoutly hoped he would not.

She was a poor liar at best, having had little practice in what she was rapidly coming to think was an art form. She would
not make matters worse by telling more lies—or by telling him the truth. Instead, she concentrated on the music and on trying
to avoid any topic that might lead him to ask questions about Hugh.

As it was, he cut their practice time short. And although she had enjoyed it, she could not imagine that her skill on the
vielle
was such that he would invite her to play it for their Dumfries audience.

He said only, “Thank you, lass. That was a pleasant interlude and brought some pleasant memories. I have a gittern as well,
though, that you might prefer.”

Taking leave of him, she returned to the clearing to find preparations for supper in hand. Hugh, standing with Lucas Horne,
saw her and strode to meet her. To her relief, his expression revealed only curiosity.

“What did the Joculator want? You have been gone for nearly an hour.”

She shook her head at him but kept her voice low enough so that only he would hear. “ ’Twas not the Joculator who told you
so this time. Truly, sir, I am not a dafty or a bairn. If you are going to suggest that I ought not to have walked back here
by myself, you would do better to save your breath to cool your porridge.”

He smiled. “Porridge? We’ll be lucky tonight to get cold beef. In case you’ve not noticed yet, they have lighted no cook fires.
So it will be cold fare only, I fear.”

“I know it will, because Peg said they won’t risk leaving hot coals here in the woods. I warrant it would take a miracle to
set them afire though, as damp as everything is with patches of melting snow still on the ground.”

“A good habit is a
habit
only if one maintains it regardless of the weather,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me what you have been doing all this time?”

“I was learning to play the Joculator’s
vielle
,” she said.

“I have never played one. Is it difficult?”

“One always feels awkward when one is new to an instrument, and the
vielle
does not accommodate itself to lively tunes,” she said as they strolled toward the others. “In any event, I’d prefer the
lute or a gittern. Should we practice what we’re going to sing tonight? I expect we’ll have time before we eat.”

He said, “We’ll sing the songs we sang last night, and I’ll tell a tale I’ve told many times before. So we’d do better to
rest whilst we can and then decide by the audience’s reaction what else we should do. Gawkus said he and Gilly always add
bits on the hop, so folks never know what to expect from them.”

“I thought we might be singing more songs with such a large audience.”

“The Joculator wants us to add a new thing or two each night, rather than show everything straightaway. His object is to persuade
as many as possible from each audience to attend our next evening’s performance.”

She noted the pronoun but ignored it as bait to which she would be foolish to rise. He might expect to leave the minstrels
before the end of the week, but she hoped to remain with them at least long enough to learn just what was going on.

“When will you be doing the play?” she asked.

“We begin tomorrow night, but he suggested that we do just a short version first, mayhap the first act. It shows the troubadour
wooing his many ladies whilst the woman he eventually marries plots to snare him. It has more physical humor than lines to
learn, so it is simple enough, and I won’t have to remember everything the first night. I’m no player, though, so be warned,
lass. I want to be away from here before we have to act out the whole play.”

“Faith, sir, it cannot be so hard if they think you can do it. And surely you won’t leave them without a troubadour for their
final performance here. That would be most unkind when they have been so generous to you, and to me. Moreover, you and Gerda
make a most charming couple.”

“We’ll have less of that, if you please,” he said with a grimace. “If that woman keeps simpering, and ogling me from under
her lashes, I’m likely to upend a pot of water over her head.”

“Suggest that to the Joculator,” she said. “He prefers comic things to romantic ones, I think. I wonder if he has ever been
married. He said the
vielle
belonged to his son, but he has never mentioned a wife to me.”

“I didn’t know he had a son,” Hugh said. “But I’ll suggest the pot of water. I’d rather douse Gerda than marry her, even in
pretense. I’m sure she’s a kind lass, but I think she has much more experience with men than I’ve had with the lasses.”

Remembering that the Joculator had said at least one of the gleewomen invited liberties, she nearly told Hugh as much but
decided against it.

The cold supper was soon ready, so they joined the others for a hasty meal, and then packed up the things they would need
for their performance. The company took two cartloads to the market square and had things set up there before dark.

As soon as they had people enough to count as an audience, the jesters began their antics while Cuddy and two other musicians
played, and Gerda and Cath sang.

By the time the main performance began, the market square was packed. People perched in trees and on roofs of the buildings
that lined the square. Others had brought stools, and still others made places for themselves wherever they could.

The performance was much the same as the previous night’s practice, with Jenny singing her first song alone as she had at
Lochmaben. Hugh joined in on the second one, and the applause afterward encouraged them to sing two more, including the comic
one they had done the night before.