Seduced by a Rogue (11 page)

“Good morning, Jopson, and to you, too, Gerrard,” Mairi said as the two men made their bows to her. “I know that his lordship
has been concerned about possible trouble arising hereabouts. He must have spoken to you about it.”

“Ye need ha’ nae worries about such, me lady,” Jopson said with an air of bluff reassurance, exchanging a quick glance with
the guard captain. “‘Tis nowt to concern ye or Lady Dunwythie.”

“I am confident that you two have all in hand to protect us,” Mairi said, undaunted. “As you may know, though, his lordship
has been teaching me things I may need to know in the event that he should suffer an untimely death.”

“I did hear that, aye,” Jopson said. “We ken fine how it would be then, me lady. But that sad event has no happened yet.”

“And, God willing, it will not for many years. However, I want to learn all I can, because the more I know, the wiser I will
be if it
should
happen.”

“Aye, aye, but all in good time, me lady.”

Drawing herself up, Mairi said quietly, “I want to know just how we will protect Annan House and our people here, Jopson,
if trouble should break out.”

“Aye, sure,” the steward said hastily. “But ’tis nowt. Ye’d just tell me to see to everything, and I would speak to Gerrard
here. He would set it all in train.”

The captain of the guard, younger and larger than the steward, nodded and said earnestly, “To be sure, m’lady. We ken fine
what to do. I’d double the guard and set men to watch on nearby hills where we ha’ signal fires set and ready to light at
the first sign o’ trouble.”

“Already set?” she said, surprised. “I know that people here use fires to signal English attacks when they occur. But I did
not think that anyone built such fires unless attack was imminent. As we have been at peace for so long…”

“Bless ye, no, mistress,” the captain said when she paused, elevating her in status with that form of address. “We ha’ fires
ready always and keep them covered as best we can, in winter and spring especially. We could light such a fire here, and the
warning would spread up the dale quicker than a man could ride his fastest horse. See you, me lady, time be gey important.
So we try always to keep ready.”

Jopson added, “We’d likewise ha’ warning afore any such attack, aye, and plenty o’ time to prepare against it.”

“’Tis true,” Gerrard agreed. “Annan House be well placed to see what comes. And there be signal fires ready to light the length
and breadth o’ Annandale. Yonder ridge o’ hills to the west, as separates us from Nithsdale, would come alight wi’ flames
did threat come from Dumfries and yon carnaptious sheriff.”

“We take good care o’ the wall, too, m’lady,” Jopson said. “And we’d ha’ reinforcements from the town and from neighboring
estates gey quick. Ye ladies would all be as safe as wee mice in a mill, I promise ye.”

“Thank you,” Mairi said. “Now, if you would just answer a few questions I have about the plantings here, Jopson, I would be
grateful.”

To his credit, the steward expressed his willingness so sincerely that she almost believed him. And he answered her questions
with admirable patience.

When she had run out of things to ask, she went in search of Fiona and found her sitting with Phaeline in the solar. Each
of them had a tambour frame before her and was setting stitches in what were to be new cushion covers.

“Prithee, sit with us, Mairi,” Fiona said when they had exchanged greetings. “Mam says I must keep to this stitchery until
we dine. Do you not have stitching that you could do?”

“I do,” Mairi said. But just saying the words struck a chord of rebellion. The last thing she wanted to do was to sit with
her tambour frame, stitching and talking of nothing. The day before, she had so nearly enjoyed a walk outside the wall, and
she ached for such freedom now.

Managing a rueful smile, she added, “I will do as you wish after we dine, Fee. But I do have some tasks I must see to first.
I just wondered where you had gone. As you are busy, I’ll leave you for now and attend to my duties.”

Before it could occur to either Fiona or Phaeline to ask what duties she had that were so demanding, Mairi fled upstairs.

In the chamber she shared with Fiona, she donned a pair of stout boots and a cloak to protect her from the chill that still
lingered in the air even on the sunniest days, and tucked her hair up into a cap under her veil. Then, slipping an empty cloth
pouch under the metal-linked girdle she wore around her hips over a faded old kirtle, she hurried back downstairs. Taking
a manchet from the basket of a gillie hurrying to set the high table, she grabbed a hunk of cheese from another gillie’s platter.

Stowing the food in her pouch as she hastily crossed the hall—lest Phaeline or Fiona emerge unexpectedly from the solar—she
hurried downstairs and out into the courtyard. Only then did she realize that her stepmother would surely insist that she
ought, for propriety’s sake, to take a maidservant along.

“Faugh,” she muttered, using her father’s favorite expletive. “I’d wager Jenny does not take a maidservant when she visits
her
fields. No more shall I.”

At the gate, if the guard looked surprised to see her, alone or otherwise, he made no objection when she told him to open
up. And no one else tried to stop her.

Outside the gate, feeling a heady sense of release, she inhaled deeply of the crisp, salty air. A chilly wind blew, so she
set off briskly down the hill toward the nearest field, noting as she did that the relatively calm waters of the Firth indicated
that the incoming tide had ended its fierce morning surge and begun to turn. Tides always rushed into the Firth with roiling
enthusiasm and ebbed more lethargically.

Two small boats were passing on the river below, clearly making for Annan harbor. Approaching the mouth of the river was another,
larger craft, mayhap a small galley, perhaps bringing someone from the western part of the dale, or farther west, to do business
in the harbor or in town.

The new crop already looked like rows of short grass, for barley grew fast. Men had been hoeing weeds and loosening dirt to
discourage their rapid return.

Mairi went only a little farther before she realized somewhat to her dismay that the men were preparing to go up for their
midday meal.

Having sought only to escape, she had given no thought to what excuse she might offer, should anyone ask why she had left
the house. She knew she had little reason now to stay outside the gate and none that would satisfy her stepmother.

And Phaeline would certainly demand to know where she had gone.

The sensible thing to do, which she would have insisted they do had Fiona been with her, was to go back and dine with her
stepmother and sister in the hall.

Fiona had been right about one thing. There would be no meat.

Recalling the bread and cheese in the pouch under her cloak, Mairi smiled, reminded herself that she had resolved to find
ways to ease the tedium, and walked on down toward the woods between the fields and the river. Phaeline would scold, but Mairi
had decided to enjoy her brief freedom come what might.

She and Fiona had often walked along the riverbank together in springtime, and the weather had been fine for days. So, were
it not for Phaeline’s concern for their safety outside the walls, they would have walked there nearly every day.

Instead, except for airing their bedding on the grassy hillside, and the day before when Fiona had rebelled enough to sneak
out with their maid, Phaeline had kept them cooped up inside the gateway if not inside the house.

When Lord Dunwythie got back, he would likely say the threat no longer existed, or at least had eased, and they would enjoy
more freedom.

Meantime, Mairi meant to enjoy her stolen hour.

She would walk no farther than the edge of the woods, though. From the top of the wall, the guardsmen would still see her
there. And as long as she remained within sight of the guards, she was sure she would be safe.

Accordingly, she strolled to the edge of the woods and along their perimeter for a time before turning back. Then, reluctant
to return yet to the house, she sought a warm, sunny place to enjoy her bread and cheese.

The workmen had paid no heed to her, and she soon saw the last one vanish over the brow of the hill. A sunny boulder ahead
beckoned to her, and as she approached it, she heard a muffled shout of, “Weigh ’nuff!”

Pausing, she realized the river had quieted, telling her the tide was indeed on the turn. The lapping, wind-churned water,
even muted as it was by the woodland, was not silent, though. She heard sounds of wood against wood and knew that a boat,
doubtless the wee galley, had entered the river.

But “weigh enough”? Was that not the command to stop rowing?

Curious, and trusting the woods to conceal her, she stepped into them and followed what appeared to be a deer trail heading
toward the water’s edge.

Planted as a break against strong winds from the Firth, the densely growing trees and the shrubbery beneath them were well
leafed. Mairi picked her way carefully, glad that her cloak was dark green and thus unlikely to draw anyone’s attention as
she moved through the trees.

She soon found a place where, by leaning and ducking slightly, she could see between two stout trunks to the water, which
reached about fifteen feet higher on the slope now than it did at low tide. Moving closer to the two trees, taking good care
to move slowly and quietly enough to avoid drawing notice, she crept up behind the one with the wider trunk and peeked around
it.

A small eight-oared galley had beached on the strip of muddy hillside that showed below the high-water mark in all but spring
tides. She heard a man shout, “Tether us to yon scrub, lads, or the first good wave’ll sweep us off betimes!”

Tempted to tell them they were beaching on private land and ought to row upriver to Annan harbor, she decided against it.
But, knowing she must go back and warn the guards about such visitors, she wondered if she could get a clearer view of them
first. She had not seen any identifying banner or counted the men.

As she eased carefully back and away from the tree, she abruptly came face to face with Robert Maxwell.

He looked as stunned as she was, but he recovered more swiftly. Quick as light, he caught her up in his arms and carried her
through the woods to the galley.

The next thing she knew she was aboard it, wrapped in her own cloak, with a horrid cloth tied tight across her mouth, furious,
outraged, and helpless.

The other men, although wide-eyed, lifted not one finger to aid her.

Her captor cast a musty blanket of some sort over her, and minutes later, the men had launched the boat and were rowing hard
for Solway Firth.

I
’m sorry for this, lass,” Rob muttered to his captive as he straightened the blanket that covered her and shouted for his
crew to launch the galley and get them away as fast as possible.

The tide was already on the turn, so their timing had been well-nigh perfect. They had traveled most of the way on the swift
incoming tide from the Irish Sea, gaining another boost from a brisk southwest wind. Conditions had been ideal for traveling
east but risky, too. Such speed—as much as eight to ten miles per hour on a flooding tide into the ever-narrowing Firth—could
also prove treacherous.

At Kirkcudbright Bay, tides were nearly normal, each cycle taking a little over six hours. But the farther into the Firth
the flood tides pushed, the swifter they moved. From low to high tide at Annan could take just under four hours on a spring
tide, while its ebb could take as long as nine and a half hours.

Traveling outward on the ebb was always slower and would be more so with wind from the southwest, but almost any wind could
prove useful in sparing his oarsmen and would aid them when time came to enter Kirkcudbright Bay.

He had meant only to learn the lay of the land at Annan House. First he had intended just to see how well guarded the place
was from a river approach. He would then have anchored in Annan harbor and explored more from there.

Depending on what he learned, he would either have returned to Galloway to reconsider his plans or stayed in the area until
opportunity arose—or he had created one—to put his plan into action. Instead, the lass had stepped into his path, and he had
seized the moment—and her ladyship as well.

He waited only until they were out of sight from Annan House, before stooping to free her. The big square sail was up, blowing
full above them as he loosened her gag. Removing it, he expected a flood of reproaches, even tears.

But after an initial, unmistakable flash of fury, she remained stonily silent.

Deciding she must be too terrified to speak, he began to untie the rope he had wrapped around her over her cloak.

Quietly, he said, “You’ve nowt to fear, my lady. I mean you no harm.”

She said nothing, merely shifting to let him deal with the rope more easily.

When he had finished, he said gently, “Take my hand, lass. I’ll steady you whilst you stand. Then you may take a seat on that
wee bench by the stem locker.”

She let him help her stand but warily, and again he could sense her anger. Being a man who vented his anger whenever it stirred,
Rob looked on her continued silence as proof that he had terrified her. That would not do.

“By my troth, Lady Mairi,
no
one will harm you,” he said. “Your predicament is a matter of politics only—of necessity, in fact—to avoid much bloodshed.”

“Indeed, sir?” she said tartly. “One hesitates to question such noble intent, but does your helmsman
mean
to smash us all on those rocks straight ahead?”

“Nay, they are but tacking against the wind,” he said, relieved to learn that it was not him she feared. “Often, to move forward,”
he added pointedly, “one
must
take what seems a strange course. As you will see, though, we are about to turn.”