Seduced by a Rogue (37 page)

“You take too much authority on yourself, dearling. Prithee, do not grow too accustomed to it, lest you suffer jealousy of
your wee brother when he comes.”

Mairi saw Sadie’s lips tighten. The maidservant got up abruptly from her stool and set upon it the cloth of threads she had
been sorting.

“Forgive me, madam,” she said to Phaeline. “I must visit the garderobe.”

“Bless us, I hope that lass is not ailing,” Phaeline said as Sadie crossed the room. “If I should take sickness from her…
”

Mairi, noting that Sadie was still within hearing, said nothing.

Phaeline also expressed surprise that Mairi had allowed “that Robert Maxwell” to saddle her with one of his minions, “possibly
his own offspring if we but knew the truth.” Mairi had said nothing to that, either, preferring peace to war.

Gib preferred to be outside, and she did not blame him. Jopson liked the lad and willingly put him to work, telling Mairi
after a day that the wee chap was gey reliable and quick of mind, which she knew was high praise from the steward.

She soon saw that she had fallen into her old ways of yielding rather than expressing her feelings, all in the name of keeping
peace, much as her father had done. The knowledge annoyed her. It also made clear the difference between the present and how
she had felt at Trailinghail, where she had spoken as she thought.

In truth, she had liked herself better when she was with Rob.

On Monday, three days before their planned departure to spend Easter with Jenny and Sir Hugh at Thornhill, when Mairi and
Phaeline sat down for supper with Sadie in attendance, Phaeline said after a deep sigh, “I fear we cannot go to Thornhill,
after all, my dear. Such a long way! And
then
to Dumfries for Easter service. ’Tis
such
a disappointment! But I have been feeling so weak of late…”

She paused, clearly expecting sympathy and agreement.

Anger leaped in Mairi, and as it did, she knew it was not only because she would miss seeing Jenny and Sir Hugh but also because
she hoped to see Rob. Guilt steadied her. She said, “Jenny and Hugh will be even more disappointed, madam.”

She said nothing else and remained civil through the rest of the meal.

When they left the dais and reached the stairway, however, Mairi excused herself, meaning to go down and walk off her anger
outside.

As she turned away from Phaeline, who went on up the stairs, Sadie said, “Forgive me, mistress. May I have a word?”

Believing that Sadie spoke to her own mistress, Mairi did not turn until the maidservant touched her elbow and said, “If it
please your ladyship?”

“Forgive me, Sadie. I thought you spoke to the lady
Phaeline.
She
is your mistress, after all.”

“Nay, then, she is not, and I dinna call her so,” Sadie said. “I call her madam, same as ye do. And
ye
be the mistress here, m’lady.”

“Nay, by my troth, not yet,” Mairi said. “Sithee, if the lady Phae—”

“Nay, mistress,” Sadie interjected, adding swiftly, “I dinna mean to be pert, but madam just
says
she be wi’ child. Her courses came as usual three days ago.”

Mairi gaped at Sadie then, as fury threatened to undo her.

At Trailinghail, Lady Kelso was preparing to return to Dumfries to celebrate Easter Sunday in her favorite kirk, that of St.
Michael’s near the great bridge.

Alex had insisted that Rob join them in Dumfries, and Rob had agreed so quickly that he knew—after the way he and Alex had
parted—that he must have astonished his brother. Rob was to escort her ladyship, with two score of his own men, since her
ladyship’s sense of her worth demanded that she travel in style.

Also, Alex had taken back with him the escort her ladyship had provided for herself under the pretense of going to Glasgow.

Rob had no idea whether Sir Hugh Douglas would bring his family to celebrate Easter at St. Michael’s. But it was the finest
kirk in Nithsdale, so nearly everyone who lived near enough did celebrate there. At all events, he could hope.

Mairi waited until Tuesday morning to confront Phaeline. Having warned Sadie in the meantime to make herself scarce, and finding
Phaeline in the solar alone, Mairi did not equivocate.

“I have learned that you are
not
with child, madam, and have not recently been so. Nay, do not speak,” she added when Phaeline bristled in apparent indignation.
“I have much to say, and I am not interested in hearing spurious denials.”

“That you
dare
to speak so to me—”

“’Tis most unlike me, to be sure, but to have worked such a deception on my father is inexcusable, and I shall not excuse
it,” Mairi said as caustically as she had ever spoken to Rob Maxwell. Thought of him encouraged her to go right on:

“Good sakes, madam, I do not know whether to be sorry or grateful that Father did not learn of your wicked deception,” she
said. “But what is done is done. Now, however, as there can be no doubt of who is rightful owner here, you
will
listen to me. You are entitled to live in this house, and so you shall. But I am going to Thornhill for Easter. You may go
with me or not, as you will.”

Phaeline eyed her angrily, but Mairi looked right back, just as angry.

“Sadie will be very sorry to have betrayed me so,” Phaeline said with a sigh.

They left for Thornhill just after dawn Thursday morning.

Mairi had not visited there before, and her first view of the house was a fine one, for it stood on rising ground above the
river Nith. She felt at home the moment she entered and saw her cousin Jenny, Baroness Easdale, rushing to meet her.

Jenny’s golden-brown hair, parted in the middle, showed beneath her caul in two soft, narrow wings. She wore a plain but most
becoming moss-green kirtle with a girdle of square silver links, elegantly engraved, around her hips. She greeted them all,
laughing with delight and hugging Mairi hard.

“I was so sorry to learn of Uncle’s death,” Jenny said then, turning a more solemn face to Phaeline. “You must miss him sorely,
madam, all of you.”

They had not yet told her about Fiona but did so as soon as the ladies were settled together in Jenny’s pleasant solar where
a cheerful fire burned on the hearth. They had sent Sadie—now happily serving Mairi, Phaeline’s new maidservant, and Jenny’s
Peg upstairs to deal with baggage and prepare their bedchambers.

So the three of them could talk freely.

“Eloped!” Jenny exclaimed when they told her. “How dreadful! And with Will Jardine of all men! Sakes, I well recall what Uncle
thought of
that
family.”

“Aye,” Phaeline said. “He was furious beyond measure with our Fiona. But the unfortunate truth is that Mairi, too, bears some
of the blame for his tragic death.”

“Surely not, madam,” Jenny said. “One cannot doubt that Fiona’s running off with Will infuriated him. But Mairi had naught
to do with that.”

Phaeline grimaced, saying, “Her disappearance did affect him, my dear. He was outraged that she had been so long with an unmarried
man—and a
Maxwell
at that. Sithee, he believed Maxwell and Jardine acted in concert. ’Twas a disgrace! His fury at having
two
such scandals looming over us was what sent him off.”

Frowning, Jenny turned to Mairi. “We did know that someone had abducted you, because Hugh helped search for you. But we heard
naught of a conspiracy.”

Calmly, Mairi said, “It is untrue that Robert Maxwell and Will Jardine were in league together, Jenny. I will tell you all
about it, I expect. But not just now.”

With another glance at Phaeline, Jenny nodded and smiled. “I am willing to wait, for I want to show you the house and our
wee son. Hugh will be in soon to take supper with us, so shall we see the house now? Or would you prefer to rest for a while,
madam,” she added. “Hugh told me you are with child again.”

Phaeline hesitated, so Mairi said, “That is no longer so, I’m afraid.”

“Then I am sorry for that, too, madam—a double tragedy,” Jenny said. To Mairi, she said, “So you are now a baroness in your
own right, too, are you?”

“Aye, but I feel like the same old Mairi,” she said.

Jenny chuckled. “I did, too, when my father died. But one swiftly comes into one’s responsibilities, as you will soon see
if you have not already done so.”

Phaeline accompanied them as they wandered over the house, and Sir Hugh—a tall gentleman, stern of face but with a twinkle
in his eyes for his wife—joined them in the solar before suppertime. Therefore, it was not until Mairi retired to the chamber
allotted to her use that Jenny joined her for a comfortable talk.

“Tell me,” Jenny said without ceremony. “Was Phaeline faking it?”

“Being with child, do you mean?”

Jenny nodded.

“Good sakes, has she done it before?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Jenny said. “But my Peg did suspect as much and told me so not long before I married Hugh. Sithee,
Peg used to help Sadie with laundering our things when we were all living at Annan House.”

“Sadie told
me
because Phaeline used her supposed pregnancy to say she could not manage the journey here for Easter, after all. When I learned
the truth, I told her I was coming with or without her but she could do as she pleased.”

Jenny’s merry chuckle rippled forth. “Good for you,” she said. “I’ll wager Sadie is happy about her change of situation, too.
Phaeline has a sad tendency to slap her servants when they displease her, Peg said. But, now, tell me all about your abduction.
Was it horrid? You seem little the worse for the experience.”

Mairi told her more than she had told Phaeline, although she did not tell Jenny everything. Nevertheless, it was a relief
to tell someone who did not display greater shock with each thing she did say. Even the fact that Rob had left Gibby and the
kitten with her did not faze Jenny except to make her laugh again.

“Did you bring them both with you?” she asked.

“Nay, just the lad,” Mairi said.

Despite Jenny’s apparent acceptance of all that Mairi did tell her, knowing that less information had shocked Phaeline to
the bone had already persuaded Mairi that the abduction had destroyed her reputation throughout Annandale—at least, as far
as her stepmother was concerned.