“That could be the reason,” Jamie whispered. “If Andrew is as powerful as he says he is.”
“I don’t think Jamie really wants to marry Andrew,” Mary told the twins. “You needn’t frown at me, Jamie. I don’t think you even like him very much.”
“Papa likes him,” Agnes said. She gave her father another glare before adding, “I wager it’s because Andrew has promised to live here so Jamie can continue to slave for—”
“Now, Agnes, please don’t start that again,” Jamie begged.
“Why you think it’s sinful of me to want to keep Jamie here after her marriage is beyond me,” the baron muttered.
“Everything seems to be beyond you,” Mary murmured.
“Watch what you say, young lady,” he returned. “I’ll not allow you to speak so disrespectful like in front of me.”
“I know the true reason,” Alice said, “and I’m going to tell Jamie. Andrew paid Papa your dowry, sister, and he—”
“What say you?” Jamie shouted. She nearly leapt out of her chair. “Alice, you’re mistaken. Knights do not give a dowry. Papa, you didn’t take any coins from Andrew, did you?”
Baron Jamison didn’t answer his daughter. He seemed quite taken by the task of swirling his ale in his cup.
His silence was damning.
“Oh, God,” Mary whispered. “Alice, do you realize what you’re suggesting? If what you’re telling us is true, then our father has all but sold Jamie to Baron Andrew.”
“Now, Mary, don’t be getting Jamie riled up,” their papa advised.
“I didn’t say he sold Jamie to Andrew,” Alice said.
“You did so,” Mary countered.
“I saw Andrew give Papa a cloth bag full of gold coins.”
Jamie’s head was pounding. She was determined to get to the bottom of this coin exchange, no matter how long it took or how much her head hurt. Sold indeed! The very idea made her stomach turn. “Papa, you didn’t really take coins for me, did you?” she asked. She couldn’t keep the fear out of her tone.
“No, of course not, my angel.”
“Papa? Do you know you call us your angels only when you’ve done something shameful?” Agnes wailed. “God’s truth, I’m beginning to hate that endearment.”
“I saw Andrew give Papa the coins, I tell you,” Alice shouted.
“I’m just wondering how you could have known what was inside the cloth bag,” Mary argued. “Do you have the sight, do you suppose?”
“He dropped the bag,” Alice snapped. “Some of the coins fell out.”
“It was just a little loan,” their father bellowed to get their attention. “Now hush this talk about selling my baby.”
Jamie’s shoulders slumped with relief. “There, you see, Alice? It was just a loan Andrew was giving Papa. You had me worrying for naught. Can we return to our original problem now?”
“Papa’s back to looking guilty again,” Mary advised.
“Of course Papa looks guilty,” Jamie said. “You needn’t rub salt in his wound. I’m sure he’s sorry enough as it is.”
Baron Jamison smiled at his daughter for defending him. “That’s my good little angel,” he praised. “Now, then, Jamie, I want you to stay hidden when the Scotsmen arrive. No sense tempting them with what they can’t be having.”
The baron didn’t realize his blunder until Alice seized on his remark. “Scotsmen, Papa? You speak of more than one. Do you mean to tell us this demon named Kincaid is bringing others with him?”
“He’s probably just bringing his family to witness the marriage,” Agnes suggested to her twin.
“Is that the full of it?” Jamie asked her father. She tried to concentrate on the problem at hand, but her thoughts kept returning to the gold coins. Why would her father accept a loan from Andrew?
The baron took his time answering.
“Papa, I have the feeling there’s more you’d like to tell us,” Jamie coaxed.
“Good God, you mean there’s more?” Mary bellowed.
“Papa, what else are you keeping from us?” Alice shouted.
“Spit it out, Papa,” Agnes demanded.
Jamie motioned for silence again. The urge to grab hold of her father’s gray tunic and shake him into speaking nearly overwhelmed her. She could feel her temper boiling. “May I read this missive from our king?” she asked.
“We really should have learned how to read and scribble when Jamie’s mama began her instructions.” Agnes remarked with a weary sigh.
“Nonsense,” Agnes scoffed. “No gentle lady needs such instruction. What we really should have done was learn how to speak that God-awful Gaelic language like Jamie,” she announced. “You know I mean no offense, Jamie,” she hastened to add when she caught her sister’s frown. “’Tis the truth I wish I’d learned it with you. Beak did offer to teach all of us,” she ended.
“It gave our stable master pleasure to teach me,” Jamie said. “And Mama was amused. She was bedridden for such a long while before she died.”
“Do you mean to tell me this monster from the Highlands cannot speak our language?” Agnes whimpered before bursting into tears.
Jamie might have been able to control her anger if Agnes hadn’t started weeping. “What difference will it make, Agnes?” she blurted out. “The man’s going to kill his bride, not talk to her.”
“So you believe the rumor is true?” Mary gasped.
“No,” Jamie answered, immediately contrite. “I was just jesting.” She closed her eyes, said a quick prayer for patience, then turned to Agnes. “It was most unkind of me to get you upset, sister, and I do apologize.”
“I would certainly hope so,” Agnes cried.
“Papa, let Jamie look at this missive.” Mary suddenly demanded.
“No,” the baron blurted out. He immediately softened his tone, lest his angels become suspicious of his true motives. “You needn’t bother, Jamie. ’Tis simple to tell. There be two Scots coming week next, and two brides going home with them.”
Needless to say, the baron’s daughters didn’t take this added news well. The twins started howling with as much indignation as sleeping babies who’d been pinched awake.
“I’m going to run away,” Mary shouted.
“It would seem to me,” Jamie began in a voice meant to penetrate the noise, “that we must immediately form a plan to dissuade your suitors.”
Agnes stopped bellowing in mid-scream. “Plan? What are you thinking?”
“I have thought of a deceitful plan and I’m almost afraid to mention it, but your welfare is at issue and so I’ll tell you that if I were the one doing the selecting, I’d certainly stay away from any contender who was . . . afflicted in some way.”
A slow grin transformed Mary’s face. She was always the quickest to catch Jamie’s thoughts, especially when they were of a devious nature. “Or so ugly as to be painful to look upon,” she said with a nod. Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “Agnes, you and Alice may be afflicted. I’m going to be fat and ugly.”
“Afflicted?” Alice asked, clearly puzzled. “Do you understand what she means, Agnes?”
Agnes started to laugh. Her nose was red from rubbing and her cheeks were raw from her tears, yet when she smiled, she looked very pretty. “A dread disease, I do believe. We must eat berries, sister. The rash will only last a few hours, so we must time this well.”
“Now I see,” Alice said. “We’ll make the dull-witted Scots think we always have terrible lumps on our faces.”
“I shall drool,” Agnes announced with a haughty nod, “and scratch until they think I’m infested with vile creatures.”
The four sisters laughed over that picture. Papa took heart. He smiled at his angels. “There. Do you see, now? I told you it would work out.” He hadn’t said any such thing, of course, but that fact didn’t bother him at all. “I shall go and have my morning lie-down while you continue with your plans.” Baron Jamison couldn’t leave the hall fast enough.
“These Sco
ts might not care what you look like,” Jamie advised, worrying now that she might have given her sisters false hope.
“We can only pray they’re shallow,” Mary returned.
“Is deceiving them a sin?” Alice asked.
“Of course,” Mary answered.
“We’d best not confess to Father Charles,” Agnes whispered. “He’ll give us another month of penance. Besides, we’re deceiving Scots, if you’ll remember. God will certainly understand.”
Jamie left her sisters and went to talk to the stable master. Beak, as he was affectionately called by his friends because of his large hawklike nose, was an elderly man who had long ago become Jamie’s confidant. She trusted him completely. He never carried her thoughts to others. He was wise in his years, too. He’d taught her all the skills he thought she’d need. In truth, she was more of a son than daughter to him.
They disagreed only when it came to the topic of Baron Jamison. The stable master had made it quite clear that he didn’t hold with the way the baron treated his youngest daughter. Since Jamie was content, she couldn’t understand why Beak would feel this way. As they could not agree, they carefully avoided the issue of her father’s character.
Jamie waited until Beak had sent Emmett out of the stable on an errand, then told him the full story. Beak rubbed his jaw again and again during the telling, a sure indication he was giving the matter his full attention.
“This is really all my fault,” Jamie confessed.
“How do you figure that?” Beak asked.
“I should have seen to the collection of taxes,” Jamie explained. “Now my dear sisters will have to pay the price for my laziness.”
“Laziness, my arse,” Beak muttered. “The only chores you ain’t responsible for are the taxes and the keeping of the watch, my girl. You’re half dead from the work you do. God forgive me for ever teaching you anything. If I hadn’t shown you how to ride like the best of them and how to hunt like the best of them, you’d not be acting like the best of them. You’re a fair lady, Jamie, but you’ve taken on the chores of a knight. ’Tis I who am to blame.”
Jamie wasn’t at all fooled by his forlorn expression. She laughed right in his face. “Many a time you’ve boasted of my abilities, Beak. You’re proud of me and that’s that.”
“I am proud of you,” Beak said with a grunt. “Still, I’ll not be listening to you blame yourself for your father’s sins.”
“Now, Beak . . .”
“You say you ain’t included in this wife-bidding?” Beak asked. “Don’t you think that’s a mite odd?”
“I do think it’s odd, but our king must have his reasons. It isn’t my place to question his decisions.”
“Did you happen to look at this missive, Jamie? Did you read it?”
“No, Papa didn’t want me to bother with it,” Jamie answered. “Beak, what are you thinking? You’ve got that mean look in your eyes all of a sudden.”
“I’m thinking your papa’s up to something,” Beak admitted. “Something shameful. I’ve known your papa a mite longer than you have, girl. Remember who trailed after your mama when she wed the baron. I was wise to your father’s ways afore you could walk. Now I’m telling you your papa’s up to something.”
“Papa accepted me as his own,” Jamie said. “Mama always told me it didn’t matter spit to him that he wasn’t my blood father. Please don’t forget that kindness, Beak. Papa’s a good man.”
“Aye, he treated you fair by calling you daughter, but that don’t change the facts none.”
At that moment the groom, Emmett, came strolling back into the stables. Jamie, knowing the groom’s habit of listening in on others’ conversations, immediately switched to Gaelic so their talk would continue to be private. “Your loyalty is suspect,” she whispered, shaking her head.
“Spit! I’m loyal to you. No one else gives a holler about your future. Now, quit looking so disgruntled and tell this old man when my fellow Scotsmen will be arriving.”
Jamie knew Beak was deliberately edging the conversation away from her father and was thankful. “One week’s time, Beak. I must stay hidden away like a prisoner while they’re here. Papa thinks it would be for the better if they don’t see me, though I don’t understand why. It’s going to be difficult, too, what with my duties to be seen to each day. Who will do the hunting for our supper? How long do you think they’ll be staying, Beak? Most likely a week, don’t you suppose? I’ll have to salt more pork if—”
“I hope they stay a month,” Beak interrupted. “You’ll get a needed rest,” he predicted. “Jamie, I’ve said it afore and I’ll be saying it again. You’re digging yourself into an early grave, working from sunup to sunset. I worry about you, lass. I can still remember the young days, afore your mama took ill, God rest her soul. You were no bigger than a gnat, but a hell-raiser all the same. Remember that time I had to climb up the outside of the tower to fetch you down? You screamed my name over and over, you did. And me afeared of heights so shamefully I puked up my supper as soon as I got you down? You’d tied a flimsy rope betwixt the two towers, thinking you could walk across real nimble like.”
Jamie smiled over the memory. “I remember you swatted my backside. I couldn’t sit down for two days.”
“But you denied to your papa that I struck you, didn’t you, Jamie, guessing I’d get into trouble?”
“You would have gotten into trouble,” Jamie announced.
Beak laughed. “So you got yourself another good swat from your mama. She wouldn’t have punished you none if she’d known I’d already seen to your discipline.”
“You saved me from sure death that time,” Jamie admitted.
“I’ve saved you more than once and that’s the truth of it.”
“It was a long time ago,” Jamie reminded him, her smile gentle. “I’m all grown up now. I’ve many responsibilities. Even Andrew understands the way of it, Beak. Why can’t you?”
He wasn’t about to touch that hot poker. Beak knew he’d hurt her feelings if he told her what he really thought about her Andrew. Although he’d only had the misfortune of meeting Baron Fancy Figure Andrew once, it had been quite enough for him to judge the man’s spineless character. Andrew’s mind was as tight as his britches. All he had time to think about was himself. God’s truth, every time Beak thought about his precious Jamie saddled with such a weakling, his stomach turned sour.
“You’re needing a strong man, lass. Aside from me, of course, I don’t rightly know if you’ve ever met up with any real men. And you’ve still got a wee streak of wildness inside you. You’re wanting to be free, whether you realize it or not.”
“You’re exaggerating, Beak. I’m not wild, not anymore.”
“Think I haven’t seen you standing on your mare’s back while she races through the south meadow, Jamie? I’m sorry I ever taught you that trick. You dare the devil every once in a while, don’t you?”
“Beak, you’ve been watching me?”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you.”
Jamie let out a soft sigh, then turned the topic back to the Scotsmen. Beak let her have her way. He hoped that by listening to her talk out her worries, he was in some small measure easing her burden.
When she took her leave to return to her tasks, Beak’s mind was reeling with new possibilities.
Baron Jamison was weaving a deception, all right; Beak would have staked his life on it. Well, he wasn’t going to let his lord get away with it.
Beak determined to become Jamie’s savior. First, however, he’d have to measure these Scots. If one turned out to be a true God-fearing, woman-caring man, then Beak vowed he’d find a way to take the lord aside and tell him Baron Jamison didn’t have three daughters; he had four.
Aye, Beak would try to save Jamie from her sorry fate.
God willing, he’d set her free.
The priest, Murdock, has just told us that Alec Kincaid will be coming home with an English bride. There are scowls aplenty, but they aren’t because our
laird has remarried. Nay, the anger is because his bride is English. Alec simply obeys the order of his king, others say in his defense. Still others wonder aloud how their laird can stomach the task.
God, I hope he falls in love with her. ’Tis too much to ask my Maker now, for Alec is as set against the English as the rest of us.
Still . . . it would make the kill so much sweeter.
Chapter Two
Alec Kincaid was in a hurry to get home. He’d honored King Edgar’s request and stayed in London for nearly a month’s time, studying the ways of the English court system and learning all he could about England’s unpredictable king. In truth, Alec had little liking for the duty. He found the English barons a pretentious lot, their ladies dull-witted and painfully weak-spirited, and their leader, Henry, a little too soft in most of his decisions. Alec always gave a man his due, however, and therefore grudgingly admitted there had been a time or two when he’d been downright impressed with King Henry’s spurts of brutality. He had given swift punishment to those foolish barons who’d been proved guilty of treason.
Although Alec hadn’t complained about the duty, he was still thankful it was done. As laird over his own large clan of followers, he felt his many responsibilities pressing down on him. His domain in the rugged Highlands was probably in chaos now, what with the Campbells and the MacDonalds at it again, and God only knew what other problems he’d find waiting on his doorstep.
Now there was a further delay. Damn if he didn’t have to stop along the way to get married.
Alec considered his marriage to the unknown Englishwoman a minor inconvenience, nothing more. He would wed the woman to please King Edgar. She would do the same by order from King Henry, of course, for that was the way of things in these advanced days, since the two leaders had formed a tenuous bond with each other.
Henry had specifically requested that Alec Kincaid be one of the lairds ordered to take an English bride. Both Alec and Edgar knew why Henry had made that special request. It was an undisputed fact that the Kincaid, though one of the youngest lairds in all of Scotland, was a power to be reckoned with. He was chieftain over approximately eight hundred fierce warriors by last year’s count, but that number would be doubled if he called up his trusted allies.