Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (11 page)

“Not even for Fiona Douglas?” she asked.

“Sakes, are you going to throw the lady Fiona in my face whenever I act against your wishes?” he demanded.

“No, sir,” she said. “I would not do that. But you did say that your father was negotiating your marriage to her. I just wondered why you had not yet set matters in train to install her at Raven’s Law.”

“Because that wasn’t real yet,” he said. Grimacing as if he knew the words would make no sense to her, he added, “That was my father’s notion, and Jamie’s, to bond our families more closely. ’Tis hard to see something as real when one has nowt to do with it.”

She nodded, easily able to agree with that sentiment. It was hard enough to believe she was married, let alone that she and Amalie had to live at the Hall until his return. But she’d had nothing to say about any of that business from the start, and apparently she could do nothing about his decision now.

For that matter, it sounded as if he had as little to say about things in general as she did. So it would do her no good to argue with him, not until she understood better how things customarily resolved themselves in this new home of hers.

Reminding herself that her primary intent was to be a good wife to him, she said, “I promise I won’t throw the unfortunate Fiona in your face again, sir. Indeed, I did not mean it as you thought. But I would like to know what my position here is to be. Do I discuss that with your lady mother, or can you tell me?”

“Sakes, just enjoy your visit, lass,” he said. “There can be nowt for you to do in a house as well run as this one. The servants look after everything, for my father trained them well, as his father did before him. My mother has only to depend on them. You’ll see that for yourself.”

Knowing that her own father thought much the same about the household at Elishaw, that he commanded all, she suspected the truth was that Lady Scott, like Lady Murray, controlled everything from the amount of flour in the bin to the scent of the rushes strewn each fortnight over the great-hall floor.

Even her father’s men-at-arms knew better than to run counter to Lady Murray’s wishes. Nevertheless, if one were to ask her ladyship who ran things at Elishaw, she would inform them that, to be sure, her lord husband commanded all.

Deciding she had no other choice but to make friends with Lady Scott, Meg sought her out as soon as Sir Walter and his men had departed for Raven’s Law.

“Prithee, madam, how may Amalie and I assist you whilst we’re here?”

Her hostess eyed her quizzically for a moment before she said, “Did my son suggest that I might desire your assistance?”

“No,” Meg said. “Sir Walter said I’d have naught to do here except enjoy myself, because your servants look after everything and everyone. He said that his father and grandfather trained them to do so.”

Lady Scott’s eyes, much the same golden-hazel as her son’s, began to twinkle. “Our Wat said that, did he?”

“He did, madam.”

“What do you think of such an assessment, Margaret?”

“It is what my brothers and my father would say about Elishaw, my lady. So I believe it indicates an establishment run so smoothly that its menfolk need never concern themselves with how it contrives to do so.”

“I see. How much did you have to do with managing Elishaw’s household?”

“Very little,” Meg admitted. “My mother manages it, but she believes in teaching her daughters how she does. She has taught us as her own mother taught her, by seeing that we learn to do anything we’d ask our servants to do for us.”

“Anything?”

“I don’t mean that we can do everything as well as they can, but we do know enough to judge if a servant is competent, and we can explain what the lack is if one is not doing a task correctly. However, every household has its way of doing things, so if it pleases you, I’d be grateful to learn anything you are willing to teach me.”

“Indeed,” Lady Scott said. She thought for a moment, then said, “I believe in candor, my dear, so I won’t pretend I’m pleased by what your father did—or what our Wat did, come to that. But none of it is your fault. Moreover, it is your duty now, and your right, to learn about Scott’s Hall. I can have no objection to showing you the place and introducing you to our people, so suppose we begin with that.”

“Thank you,” Meg said, much relieved. “I would like that.”

“What of your sister Amalie? Will she want to learn, too?”

“Our long day yesterday tired her, so she is still asleep, but I am sure she will help in any way she can,” Meg said, hoping she could persuade her unpredictable sister to behave herself. Amalie loathed everything to do with housekeeping.

Three hours later, when Lady Scott said that she was sure Meg would want to rest and refresh herself before the midday meal, Meg recognized the dismissal for what it was and did not protest.

She was not tired and would willingly have continued her explorations. But her hostess had clearly had enough of it, and Meg could scarcely blame her.

They had begun her tour in the vaulted kitchen on the lower level of the main tower, where Lady Scott introduced her to the cook and lingered to discuss the next few days’ menus with him. An oven arrangement quite different from the one at Elishaw fascinated Meg, and she would have liked to ask a few questions about it, but her ladyship soon hurried her on, saying, “We must not tarry if I am to show you everything. We can discuss such things another time, as more questions occur to you.”

Meg learned that the central tower boasted four stories above the kitchen, the greater part of which was below ground, with the great hall occupying most of the next level. Each floor contained one large chamber and two or three smaller ones off the main stairway. There were also service stairs in the corner opposite the main stairs. Above the great hall were three floors dedicated to family and guest chambers. The first one included a great chamber with a small inner chamber behind it where Buccleuch and his lady slept. Another small room across the landing was Buccleuch’s private chamber for matters pertaining to his estates.

When Lady Scott rapped twice and opened the door to show Meg, she said, “I ken fine that he has ridden into the Forest, but it is always wise to rap first before opening this door. One enters, of course, only to see that all is tidy.”

Peering inside and noting the large table with the back-stool behind it and shelves of documents and other paraphernalia, Meg easily imagined Sir Walter facing Buccleuch there and felt a stirring of sympathy.

Scolding herself for the unnecessary flight of fancy, she hurried after her hostess to the next level, where the chamber lay that she shared with Sir Walter.

“Our Jenny’s chamber is there across the landing,” Lady Scott said. “In the old days, Wat’s present room was the nursery. Then, as our lads grew and became more boisterous, we moved them upstairs and arranged small rooms for each one. So Jenny was the only one on this level except for her nurse and my tiring woman.”

“Do I call her Jenny, my lady? Or has she another name she would prefer.”

“She is Lady Randolph Kerr now, but I am sure she will want you to call her Jenny. Everyone does,” Lady Scott said, smiling. “Her true name is Janet, of course, after me, and I venture to guess that she will descend upon us within a day or two. It won’t take longer than that for news of your marriage to reach Ferniehurst.”

“I’m sure you will all be glad to see her,” Meg said.

“Ferniehurst is not so far from here that we cannot see her frequently,” her ladyship said. “She is increasing now, so her husband asks that she take greater care, but Jenny is as at home on her pony as any Border lass, and impatient withal. She’ll come flying to see you as soon as she hears, whether Rand forbids it or not.”

Meg smiled at the thought of Sir Walter with such a headstrong sister. But she thought he was right to believe she would like Jenny.

After a brisk tour of the other two towers, laid out in a similar way but clearly the domain of servants and men-at-arms, Lady Scott gave her opinion that Meg would want to rest. Meg, perforce, returned to the main tower with her, thanked her warmly, and went to find Amalie.

At the first turn of the stairway, however, she nearly tripped over Wee Sym Elliot, who sat on the curved step with his hands clasped around his knees.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“Waiting for ye, o’ course. Ye’ve been an age and all, so Pawky and me been getting bored. What were ye traipsing all over the place wi’ her ladyship for?”

“She was showing me where things are,” Meg said, adding, “Not that it is any business of yours, my lad. Who is Pawky, and why are you waiting for me?”

“’Cause I promised Master Wat I’d serve ye is why. I could ha’ showed ye aught ye wanted to see. Ye needna ha’ troubled the mistress.”

“Propriety required that I ask her,” Meg said gently. “It is my duty to ask and hers to show me about. But why are you to serve me? And how will you do so?”

“As to the how, I dinna ken. That be for ye to say, I trow. But as to the why, your da’ said we must, and we swore. So Master Wat said that since it be my duty to look after ye, I’d best begin straightaway. I’d liefer ha’ gone wi’ him, sithee, to find them what ha’ been raiding the Forest and teach them a good lesson. Nobbut what I’m saying I won’t do what ye ask o’ me, for I will.”

At a loss for how the lad could serve her, Meg said, “I’ll have to think of things you can do for me, Sym. I have never had the great privilege of a personal servant before. I do think, though, that you should stand when you speak with me.”

“Aye, sure, I ken that fine,” he said, reddening as he got awkwardly to his feet, at the same time trying unsuccessfully to conceal the small orange and white kitten he had been holding in the space between his body and his knees. It mewed in protest until he cupped it to his thin chest. “This be Pawky, me lady. D’ye like cats?”

Smiling, Meg put out a finger to pet the kitten’s soft head. “She’s lovely, but she looks gey young to be taken from her mam.”

“Aye, she is a bit,” Sym agreed. “But the cook said the kits were getting to be a nuisance and he were going to drown the lot. But Pawky climbed up me leg, so . . .”

“So you rescued her,” Meg said with another smile. “Can she lap water?”

“Aye, and she’ll eat near anything I give her.”

“Then I think you must be taking good care of her,” Meg said. “I am going to see my sister now, but I’ll talk with you more later.”

“I’ll just come along in case ye ha’ need o’ me,” he said.

Realizing that Walter had probably hoped serving her would keep the boy out of more mischief, she made no objection. But when she reached the door to Amalie’s room, she told him to wait for her on the landing.

To her astonishment, her sister was still sound asleep in the small chamber she had been allotted on the floor above Meg’s, but Meg did not hesitate to wake her. “What a slugabed!” she exclaimed, giving Amalie’s shoulder a shake.

She woke groggily. “What time is it?”

“It will be time for the midday meal soon. Are you truly so tired?”

“We were up with the dawn yesterday and rode twenty miles after your wedding feast,” Amalie said. “I slept like the dead.”

“Well, it is time to get up now,” Meg said. “I have been all over Scott’s Hall. I must say it is a fine establishment.”

“As fine as Elishaw?”

Meg smiled. “You will soon see for yourself. We are to stay here until Sir Walter’s peel tower can be made more habitable for us.”

“Mercy, is it not habitable?”

“It is full of men-at-arms, I think, and he was not expecting female guests. He wants to furbish it up for us, and we can scarcely blame him. Marrying me was not his idea, after all.”

Amalie shrugged. “At least you are married, Meg, and if this establishment is so fine, and Sir Walter will inherit it, you have small reason to complain.”

“I am not complaining,” Meg said. “I am trying to roust my lazy sister out of her bed, so we can dress to dine with Lady Scott.”

“Must we? I don’t think she likes us much.”

“Why should she? Do at least try to put yourself in her place, my dear.”

“Her place seems fine to me,” Amalie said. “She has a fine house, a wealthy husband who is friends with Douglas, the most powerful lord in Scotland, and she has just acquired a good-daughter who will be a great asset to their family.”

Meg raised her eyebrows. “Praising me will gain you naught if you refuse to see that her ladyship has cause for disappointment. But come, get up now. I have a personal servant just outside the door that I can send to fetch Avis to help you. But I am not stirring a step until you are out of that bed.”

“You have a personal servant? Shall I have one, too?”

“You would not want him, my dear,” Meg said with a teasing smile. “It is Wee Sym, the lad Father wanted to hang. Sym says he swore then to serve me and means to do so. Now, up with you!”

“Oh, very well, since you won’t leave me in peace. But if Sym is an example of what Scott’s Hall offers us, I don’t think much of the place or its mistress.”

Chapter 8

Her een they war gray, and her color was wan, But her nature was generous, gentle, and free . . .

U
nfortunately, Amalie’s attitude did not alter as the days passed.

Meg found her moodiness troubling but typical and thus difficult to deflect. At first, when Meg quizzed her, Amalie said only that Lady Scott did not like her, and that she could find nothing of interest to do at Scott’s Hall.

“I know you enjoy learning how things go on here,” she said with a grimace on their third day at Scott’s Hall. “I don’t care a rap about such stuff, and Lady Scott does not need my help with anything—or yours, come to that. In troth, she cares more about finding a minstrel to outsing the one the Countess of Douglas sent to amuse her lord at Hermitage than she does about paying heed to us.”

Meg could not deny that their hostess showed no interest in providing for their entertainment. But neither would her ladyship expect to provide entertainment for her own offspring if they were to visit. And she had behaved kindly toward both Meg and Amalie, willingly answering any question they put to her. She simply expected them to entertain themselves.

On that thought, Meg said bracingly, “What we both want is exercise. I’d like to explore Ettrick Forest, if only to see more of it than we can see from here. Why do I not see if I can arrange an outing for us to do so?”

Although Amalie showed little interest in such an outing, Meg refused to be daunted. She went right out to the yard to see about horses and—remembering what Sir Walter had said about raiders—some sort of armed escort to accompany them.

Encountering Buccleuch as he emerged from the stable and taking courage from his cheery greeting, she said, “My sister and I would like to see more of this glen, my lord. Would it be possible for us to take ponies and . . . ?”

She paused because he was already shaking his head, albeit with a smile.

“That would not be a good idea, lass,” he said. “Until we can find the men who have cut our trees and poached game from the Forest, and be certain they can pose no danger, you had better remain inside the wall.”

“I had hoped that with a pair of armed men to escort us . . .”

He shook his head again. “We’ll see how things are in a day or two. In the meantime, doubtless you have stitchery or some such thing to occupy your time.”

Well aware of what Amalie would say to that, Meg said nonetheless politely, “We brought none with us, sir, but perhaps Lady Scott will have something of the ilk that we can do for her.”

“I am sure she will,” he said.

Questioned shortly thereafter, Lady Scott provided pillow covers on which she had already sketched flowery patterns, together with a collection of colorful silk threads. “I shall be very glad to have help with these,” she said, explaining that she intended to replace all the worn covers on cushions there in the great chamber.

Meg and Amalie thanked her, but although Meg enjoyed embroidering, and was glad to help, she yearned for more interesting activities.

As for Amalie, for every stitch she took, she spent ten minutes staring at her work without moving. “You can do much finer work than this,” Meg said when she got a chance to look at it. “I should think that you would prefer to have your best work on display here. What our mother would say—”

“I was thinking of something else,” Amalie said, looking aimlessly at her stitches. “I’ll fix it later, Meggie. I’m tired now. I think I’ll go up and take a nap.”

Meg bit back further criticism, knowing of no way to get Amalie to talk about what ailed her except by exerting patience.

Thus, two days later, on Wednesday, when Jenny, Lady Randolph Kerr, arrived in a flurry of bundles and sumpter baskets that looked as if they held enough to supply a long visit, Meg greeted her with unfeigned delight.

Amalie was polite but still seemed to be in a world of her own.

Jenny was fairer than Sir Walter but had his infectious smile and feline grace along with her father’s dark-brown eyes and cheerful nature. She also had her mother’s rosy complexion and the twinkle that had so startled Meg the first time she had discerned it in Lady Scott’s eyes. In Jenny, the twinkle was ubiquitous.

She’d brought presents for everyone, even Amalie, because Ferniehurst had received the news of her presence at the Hall with the news of Walter’s marriage.

“I’m delighted to have sisters at last,” Jenny told them both with a brilliant smile. “Had it been left to Wat, I doubt he’d ever have married. He’d always have been wondering why the lass wanted him.”

“But surely he was eligible enough to marry anyone,” Meg said, so captured by Jenny’s candor that she spoke her own thoughts for once without thinking.

“He was worthy of anyone, however highborn,” Lady Scott said evenly.

“Oh, Mother,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “If you think Wat was ever going to marry Fiona Douglas, you aren’t being your sensible self. Fiona thinks she and her kindred are better than all the angels of God and does not mind who knows it. He’d soon have found a way to wriggle out of that match, no matter who—”

“Jenny, love, do think of what you are saying! Fiona is first cousin to the Douglas! For our Wat to have married her would have been the making of him, and you have no business to be saying—”

She broke off, apparently noting, as Meg had, her daughter’s raised eyebrows. “Mercy,” Janet Scott said, looking contritely at Meg. “Just listen to me scolding her for a thoughtless tongue whilst mine is far more so. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, my dear. By my troth, I meant no offense to you.”

So much had Jenny’s warmheartedness affected Meg that she had no difficulty smiling as she said, “Only a dafty could take offense when one can easily see that you were thinking only of your son, my lady. I am sure that so grand a marriage would have benefited him far more than his marrying me ever could.”

“Mayhap it would,” Jenny said. “But if Jamie Douglas means to help Wat, he will do so for Wat’s own sake and for no other reason.”

Meg said, “Even so, my lady, we both know that important connections become even more so with time.” That was, after all, a lesson she had learned many times over at Elishaw. “But I promise you, madam,” she said to Lady Scott, “whatever comes, I mean to be the best wife to him that I can be.”

To her surprise and infinite relief, after a steady, searching look, Janet Scott returned her smile with one warmer than she had shown before. “Do you know, my dear, I believe you mean that,” she said. “Walter may be luckier than he knows.”

“Of course he is,” Jenny said. “He has always been the lucky one. You have only to ask Andy or John who always wins at their gaming or when they try to test his skill with a sword or other weapon. But enough about Wat,” she added with a merry laugh. “You should be telling me how wondrous well I look. Rand took me to task for deciding to ride here straightaway. In fact, I’d have come sooner, only we had gone to Hawick to see his old nurse, hoping she might recommend someone for us. We only had your news yesterday when we returned home.”

“You do look well, dearling,” her mother said. “But you should learn to obey your husband. It is unseemly to flout his wishes so.”

“I do not flout them, madam,” Jenny said demurely. “I persuaded him that by enjoying such exercise I will produce a stronger son for him. I’m sure it is a son, too,” she added, grinning. “I am amazingly well, and my lady good-mother tells me she also suffered little with her confinements. And she produced four stout sons. They are all left-handed, of course, as mine will also be, because all Kerr men are so. But my son will be as strong and as great a warrior as all the others, you’ll see.”

Lady Scott agreed with a laugh that Jenny had been the most difficult of her children right from the start, and the conversation continued in what Meg felt to be a delightfully entertaining way. Jenny made her feel more welcome at Scott’s Hall than she had thought would be possible in so short a time.

Amalie remained quiet, but Meg assumed she was only tired again, or bored.

When Buccleuch joined them for supper, Jenny greeted him with the same delight she had shown everyone else, and he responded by catching her up in a hug so exuberant as to make Meg wonder if he could possibly be as fearsome as she had heard. So far, he had displayed only the polished manners of a charming courtier.

The rest of the day passed swiftly in Jenny’s company, and only when Meg found herself yawning did she realize that she had not seen Amalie for some time. She had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole day, although she had responded politely to Jenny’s pelter of questions and expressed sincere thanks for the bright wool shawl Jenny had brought to welcome her. But then Amalie had faded from the conversation until Meg had stopped paying her any heed.

Feeling guilty and recalling that her sister was far from her usual self, still complaining of feeling tired and wanting only to sleep, Meg excused herself to the others. Certain that Jenny’s parents would welcome a chance to have her to themselves for a while, Meg went to look for Amalie.

She did not realize she had a shadow until a sound behind her made her jump.

“Sym!” she exclaimed, realizing she ought to have expected him, although he followed her so quietly that she tended to forget his presence. “What are you doing, coming up behind me like that? You frightened me witless.”

“I didna mean to give ye a fright, mistress, only to keep me eye on ye. Ye slipped out once the other day, and I thought I’d lost ye till I saw ye wi’ Himself. How am I to serve ye if I dinna ken where ye be? ’Tis me duty, and all.”

“Not now,” she said. “I want to be private with my sister, so you can await me at my chamber door. We’ll see if I can think what to do with you when I return.”

With a heavy sigh for one so young, he turned back down the stairs.

Reaching Amalie’s door, Meg rapped softly, and when there was no answer, she gently lifted the latch. Freed, the heavy door swung open far enough to let her hear the wracking sobs within.

Entering quickly and shutting the door again, she strode to the bed to find Amalie curled on the counterpane with her face to the wall, shaking with sobs.

“Oh, my dearest one,” Meg said, climbing up beside her and gripping her shoulder. “What is it? What has happened?”

Louder sobs greeted her, making her wish Amalie were the sort one could throw cold water on to shock her out of her megrims. But her sister could cry for hours if she felt wronged or hurt. Briskness or scolding would accomplish nothing, but Meg knew Amalie would usually respond to carefully measured sympathy.

“Come now,” she said gently. “Sit up and tell me. I’ve neglected you for hours, I know, and I owe you so much for coming here to bear me company. If you are homesick, you need only tell me and I’ll arrange for you to return at once.”

“Oh, no,” Amalie wailed. “I don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to be here, either. It’s horrid, Meggie. Nobody likes me, and I don’t like any of them.”

Abruptly then, she did sit up but only to fling herself into Meg’s arms. “Oh, Meggie, I’m so dreadfully miserable!”

“But why?” Meg asked, holding her and patting her but struggling to imagine what could have brought on such a storm. “Surely, my talking with Jenny and her parents did not upset you so. You are not as self-centered as that, my dear.”

“No, of course not,” Amalie said, choking on another sob. “Jenny is nice, but she’s . . . she’s so
happy.”
Another burst of tears followed, mystifying Meg.

“Why should she not be happy?” she asked reasonably. “She is expecting her first child, she loves her husband, and she is apparently able to do as she pleases.”

“Exactly!” Amalie’s gasping sobs nearly swallowed the single word, but Meg understood it well enough.

“See here, Amalie,” she said, only to take a breath and try harder to keep her tone gentle rather than curt. “I don’t understand you at all. If you are not happy here, and you do not want to go home, what
do
you want?”

“Oh, Meggie, I just want to die!”

Meg had heard her fifteen-year-old sister make many such exaggerated declarations, but her tone of voice this time sent a chill up her spine.

Drawing another steadying breath, she put both hands on Amalie’s shoulders and held her far enough away to look her in the face. “You must not say that to me,” she said. “It frightens me and makes me think my best course would be to ask the laird to take you back to Elishaw himself. I am sure he would, and mayhap once you can talk with our mother—”

“No!” Amalie’s visible panic was painful to see. “I
can’t
go home!”

“Godamercy, what have you done, then? It is no use now to say you cannot tell me, for you must. If you do not, I shall know you have become truly ill, and I will go straight to Buccleuch and ask what I should do.”

“Oh, Meggie, you mustn’t. Please. I . . . I just can’t.”

“You will,” Meg said. When no further protest was forthcoming, she steadied her resolve, pushed Amalie back farther, and turned to get off the bed.

“I’ll tell you!” Amalie said. “But you must promise not to despise me.”

“Nothing you could do or say would make me despise you,” Meg said sincerely. “You are my sister, Amalie, and I love you. Naught can change that.”

Amalie drew a rasping breath, but then another period of silence ensued.

Meg said nothing.

At last, with another ragged sob, Amalie said, “I’m ruined, Meggie.”

“What do you mean?”

“You must know what I mean. I’m . . . I’m no longer a maiden. I can never go home, and I’ll never marry, so I’ll never have a home of my own or . . . or children. That’s why it hurt so much to see Jenny just bubbling over with her happiness.”

Meg had been staring at her in shock, for once in her life at a loss for words.

Then anger stirred and grew to fury. Her fists clenched so hard that by the time the explanation paused, her nails were pricking her palms.

For a moment, she was afraid to speak, too well aware that Amalie would assume that Meg’s anger must be aimed at her.