The Devil of Jedburgh (17 page)

“Other mothers?” Greer stopped short, her mouth frozen half open.

“That’s why I was looking for you, to ask if you can recommend anyone.”

“I don’t—no, me lady, I have no one, there is no one—”

She caught Greer’s hands in hers to still the stuttered response. “You don’t know of anyone?”

“None that will come, me lady.”

“Why ever not?” She dropped Greer’s hands and continued walking.

“Have you not heard the stories of the laird, me lady?” Greer’s voice was hushed, her face a ghostly pale. “Have they not spread that far north of the shire? That explains much, why you came, why you were willing to sacrifice yourself.”

“The Beast of Roxburgh is feared the length and breadth of Scotland,” Breghan assured her. “It never occurred to me that Kerr tenants were as influenced by the rumours as the rest of us. Any story accumulates fabricated rubble as it rolls along, the truth always lies closest to the source.”

When Greer looked at her blankly, Breghan elucidated, “In the short time I’ve known the laird, I’ve come to doubt many of those stories have any substance.”

“Oh, they’re all true, me lady.” Greer stopped walking again.

As they’d reached the edge of the orchard anyway, Breghan plucked a blossom from a nearby bough and sank to the ground. “They say he’s buried six wives, Greer.”

Greer dropped beside her, flat on her bottom, pulling up her knees to wrap her arms around her legs. “That was the old laird, me lady, and ’twas four wives, not six.”

“There’s your evidence of a tale gathering moss.”

“Each one died in childbirth along with their bairn.” Her eyes were huge as she looked at Breghan.

“Arran—the laird—survived,” Breghan pointed out.
’Tis said he killed his mother.
A wave of sadness passed through her from head to toe as she realised she’d just heard the source of that particular rumour. She held the blossom beneath her nose and breathed in deeply, willing the scent to infuse sweetness into her sudden gloom.

“Even the devil needs an heir,” Greer whispered hoarsely. “The laird’s survival strikes another cursed bargain with new dues to be paid.”

Breghan lost all patience. “You can’t truly believe such superstitious nonsense or you wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here because the laird threatened to kick us off the farm if I refused and then where would we go?”

“He can’t do that.” Even as she spoke, Breghan thought he was perfectly capable of doing just that. Arran wouldn’t gall at stamping his will where and when he chose. That she was the stimulus for his threats only made it worse. “Rents are negotiated and can’t be cancelled willy-nilly.”

“My da’s getting on and cannot work the fields as hard as he used to.” Greer turned her eyes down. “We’ve enough grain for our table and the laird pays us in coin for what little is left over.”

Breghan knew the rents were usually paid in grain to be used by the castle or sold to surrounding towns. When the harvest was good, the farmers could sell any excess to their laird for extra coin. “He takes nothing for the rents at all?”

“We’re dependant on his charity.”

Breghan wasn’t surprised to find generosity and threats went hand in hand when it came to Arran. She’d seen for herself the way he lavished noble intent so long as it didn’t directly conflict his own purpose.

She was, however, dumbfounded by Greer’s logic. “You accept the laird’s charity, yet still believe the worst of him? If times are so bad, you should jump at the chance to earn a wage and not wait to be threatened into it.”

A shudder went through Greer’s slender shoulders. “We do what we must to eat and live, me lady, but we’ll no willingly offer service to the devil’s servant.”

Arran was no saint, but even he didn’t deserve such a severe comparison. Would she be so quick to judge the measures he resorted to if she’d had to live with such avid fear on her doorstep day in and day out?

She had to ask, even though she already knew the answer. “I suppose the laird threatened Annie too?”

Greer nodded. “Three of Annie’s brother’s serve as Kerr men-at-arms. The laird said they could go back to farming for all he cared…for as long as they still had a farm.”

Damn Arran. Damn all men. Why did they always choose brutish force above all else? Anger itched beneath her skin and she jumped up, brimming with restless energy. She was halfway to the stables when she remembered Angel wasn’t there. She kept on walking, past the stables, beneath the portcullis and on toward the wall of trees she now knew was the start of Jed Forest.

She’d actually expected better of Arran and that alone raised her fury until the hairs prickled at her nape. He’d taken her into his bed, held her in his arms all night, and she was fool enough to think that changed a thing.

He’d selected a wife the way other men selected a breeding mare and thought to treat said wife with even less regard. Once he’d discovered Breghan might rear at the bit too often for his liking, he’d swapped marriage for a handfasting without consulting either the bride or her father.

When she passed through the first line of firs and birches, Breghan ensured she stayed parallel to the road so she wouldn’t lose her way. The foliage hid her from sight and the act of kicking through layers of dead leaves sapped some of her hemmed-in frustration.

How in heaven’s name had she erased the image of Arran standing in front of Magellan’s cottage with a lit torch in his hand and fierce determination etched on his jaw? Of course he’d use threats to subdue innocent folks and bend them to his will.

It took hours of walking before Breghan arrived at the root cause of her anger. Despite everything, she still harboured a secret sorrow for the young boy stalked by whisperings that he’d murdered his own mother. She was losing herself, making excuses for Arran’s boorish nature and pitying a man who had none.

The sun had already begun to set, the late October breeze chilled and pushing her back to the warmth of Ferniehirst’s great hall. She stopped just inside the entrance and her gaze swept from one end to the other.

She saw Greer’s animated face as the girl leaned forward in private conversation with Duncan. Some men had gathered on the stools placed around the hearth, drinking their ale and bantering while waiting for the meal to be served. Scattered around the hall were small tables covered with linen cloth and painted clay jugs that overflowed with the flowers she’d had Annie pick.

Suddenly everything beautiful seemed as temporary as those apple blossoms that turned too quickly to be of use.

As temporary as herself.

She should be yearning for the day she was finally free to leave Ferniehirst, not rearranging the furniture.

Chapter Eleven

The morning air was thick, wrapping around her like a cold, damp blanket. Above, the sky was bruised with clouds that darkened by the minute. The last day of September had come and gone and taken the bloom of summer with it. Breghan shivered beneath her cloak, cursing her sunny optimism for not wearing the fur-lined velvet instead. “Yesterday, it was summer!”

Duncan, riding at her left, turned his face heavenward. “The day will warm up—”

“But not before we’re thoroughly drenched,” Broderick finished in a grinding tone.

Breghan knew it wasn’t the possibility of a drenching that made him grumpy. She’d informed the men it was past time she introduced herself to the Kerr tenants and Broderick had been mumbling about “paying bloomin’ calls” and “firkin’ niceties” ever since.

She’d been in no mood to politely pretend she hadn’t heard. “You can thank your high and mighty laird when he finally decides to come home.”

“Should I add that you’re missing him and he must make all haste when I send my next report?” he returned dryly.

Breghan had flipped her chin high and looked forward, reminded of why she usually conversed with Duncan on these rides and left Broderick to his brooding. He was a huge bear of a man with hair blacker than midnight that covered most of his face and what she could see of his legs beneath his kilt. She’d never actually seen or spoken to a bear, but she imagined the experience could only be more congenial.

That Arran had thought she might be
comforted
by Broderick’s presence was just another notch against her darling handfasted husband.

Her own mood was fast deteriorating as they trotted up to the first crofter cottage, the walls mostly invisible beneath the choke of rambling vines.

“The Capers live here,” Duncan said. “William Caper has three sons, the older two work the farm with him. Jack, their youngest, took himself off to Edinburgh a year back. Said he was off to seek his fortune.” Duncan chuckled softly. “They rent the largest tract of land.”

Under normal circumstances, she’d look forward to meeting the families. Now she only had to recall the look on Annie’s face this morning to dread the dour task ahead. When the messenger had ridden into the bailey, bringing news that Moray and his rebellion had fled Dumfries and crossed deep into England, Annie had gone slack. “The laird is coming home…” she’d uttered, too shocked to even notice the molten fat from the candles they’d been making dripping all over her arm.

Breghan had considered sending both Annie and Greer home. Even if she could guarantee Arran wouldn’t follow through on his threats, however, the girls themselves were far too frightened of antagonizing the beast. There was also the simple fact that getting the Kerr womenfolk back to working was beneficial for all; the unnatural situation that had developed shouldn’t be allowed to continue.

Thanks to Arran and the paranoid fear he left in his wake, she was stuck with the impossible job of quelling the quaking waters. Watching the maids creeping in the shadows and jumping at the mention of his name wasn’t an option she could tolerate.

Breghan slid from the saddle and dropped to her feet before Duncan could come to her aid. She gave him Angel’s reins and flung over her shoulder to the grim-faced Broderick, “Never fear, I doubt you’ll be invited inside.”

The first three families she visited with were pleasant enough, until the laird was mentioned. Then they clammed up and nodded mutely at everything she said. Extolling Arran’s virtues, on the other hand, was an exercise in humour and Breghan’s mood lifted a little more with each visit.

She was laughing as she recounted to Duncan, “I can’t believe I just told Annie’s mother that the man I’d grown up fearing was a true knight and a gentleman beneath the armour.”

Duncan gave her a puzzled smile. Broderick snorted from the other side.

Breghan had purposely kept the reason behind these visits to herself, but she was too amused to not gaily add, “His responsibility to the crown, I said, is outweighed only by his loving care for those under his protection. Oh, my, you should have seen her face when I insisted I’d received only tender consideration from our very first encounter, that he’d claimed my heart immediately.”

Taking her far too seriously, Duncan said, “That’s not exactly accurate, although it’s good to hear you and Arran have reconciled your differences.”

“That’s not what this is about, you bleeding buffoon,” Broderick grunted. He shook his head at Breghan. “Arran will be no pleased to find you interfering in his affairs.”

“Interfering?” Breghan said, her expression as innocent as a lamb. “I’m merely paying duty calls on our tenants. Gracious, I know you think us banal, but the conversation tends toward intimacies when women gather. I won’t bore you with the details in future.”

“This is Allison Crawley’s place,” Duncan said as a misshapen cottage came into view behind a cluster of tall shrubs. He pointed a finger at the side of his temple and made a gesture that implied she was messed in the head. “She’s harmless enough, has two daughters and a son who works the farm. The old man Crawley caught a lung infection three years back and never made it.”

The door opened before she could knock. A young girl dressed in a raw cotton tunic took one look at her and yelped, “Ma, ’tis the mistress, the laird’s mistress has come a-calling.”

A pair of hands shot out and yanked her out of sight. “God’s Breath, Meggie, stop that racket. Whatever will she think?”

Breghan was swallowing back a smile when the girl’s older sister appeared. “Forgive our Meggie, ma’am, her manners are usually better.”

Breghan let her smile out. The girl was extraordinarily beautiful, her flawless skin tipped the colour of peaches across her cheekbones and hair emblazoned with the reds and golds of fire falling over her shoulders. “I hope I’m not intruding. I only wanted to introduce myself and make it known that I’m available if there are ever any problems.”

Breghan was welcomed inside to share a mug of hot ale around the small fire blazing in the middle of the room.

“This is my Janet,” said their mother, Allison, who didn’t look the least bit mad. Even with her grey hair and deeply lined skin, it was clear from whom Janet had inherited her startling beauty. “And this is the wee one, Meggie.”

They spoke for a long while, and everything appeared perfectly normal, until Breghan suggested, “Perhaps Janet would consider taking up a position in the castle?” Not the kitchens, she decided, the girl had too much grace and beauty.

Allison gasped and made a cross upon her heart. “No disrespect, ma’am, but never, never on my life.”

Her reaction was so fervent, Breghan almost left it there. Something about the way Janet’s mouth tightened, however, made her think of regret and resignation and she leaned closer to the mother.

“I understand your concerns, I’ve had each one of them myself at some or other point. Much of what is bandied about is simply unfounded.” A gut instinct told her not to embellish on the truth. “I was so fearful of Arran Kerr, I ran away the day we were to wed. Yet here I am, neither forced nor unwilling.”

“You will rue the day you came to Ferniehirst,” Allison warned. “Your immortal soul is in danger.”

Breghan glanced at Janet, but the girl was staring steadfastly into the flames. “Ferniehirst is just a castle built of stone and mortar. The laird is just a man who serves the crown and his people. I’ve heard and seen nothing to confirm a single rumour.”