Sir Hugh replied, “In a manner of speaking, madam, some might say she is my wife. You need not consider her any such thing, however.” Drawing Laurie forward, he added, “May I present Laura Halliot. She will be staying with us for a time.” To Laurie, he added, “As I told you before, Lady Marjory is my uncle’s widow and presently makes her home at Brackengill.”
“I am happy to make your acquaintance, my lady,” Laurie said with a curtsy.
“But I do not understand,” Lady Marjory protested, making her curtsy but fixing a bewildered gaze on Sir Hugh. “Did you say you are married?”
Laurie looked at Sir Hugh. With an impatient gesture, he said, “Mistress Halliot can explain the details to you later, madam. Suffice it to say that there was a ceremony but only one of political necessity.”
“But what ceremony?”
“Only a Scottish one. They call it a handfasting.”
“But I know about handfasting,” Lady Marjory said. “Brampton told me about it long ago. He said it is a form of marriage, one of the odder ways that Scots marry but a marriage nonetheless. Are you Scottish, Mistress Halliot?”
“Yes,” Laurie said. “My father is warden of the Scottish middle march.”
“Godamercy, but when did this extraordinary event take place?” Lady Marjory demanded. “I vow, sir, I was not aware that you had even formed an intention to marry. Indeed, I should have liked to attend your wedding, even to assist you in preparing for it.”
“There was no need for you to do either, madam,” Sir Hugh said. “It was not a true marriage, you see, only a rite performed to protect Mistress Halliot’s good name. I should explain that she is a hostage consigned to my care and protection until the person for whom she has pledged herself returns to face justice. Her father insisted on the ritual, and Scrope agreed to it before I could refuse. That’s all.”
“Still, it was a form of marriage, was it not?”
“It was. Nevertheless—”
“Then I do not think it is either wise of you or kind to make a game of her position, sir,” she said archly. “Hostage, indeed! I am persuaded that a handsome young man like you can have no need to drape a wife in chains to keep her. Moreover, you should use her proper title when you speak of her, even to me.”
Sir Hugh, gaping at her, appeared to be at a loss for words.
With an understanding smile, Lady Marjory said, “I see just how it is, my dear sir. Brampton was exactly the same.”
“Pray, madam, what
are
you talking about?”
“Why, for at least six months after our wedding, your uncle persisted in presenting me as Lady Marjory Hatherlea instead of Lady Marjory Graham.”
Laurie looked to Sir Hugh for an explanation.
He was still staring slack-jawed at Lady Marjory, but he collected his wits enough to say, “I’m afraid that you still do not understand, madam.”
“Oh, but I do, sir! I tell you, it was by turns both amusing and exasperating for me. Brampton generally corrected the surname when one drew his attention to the error, but he could never bring himself to call me plain Lady Graham.”
“But why should he?”
“Well, I should have been just as happy had no one known that my father was an earl, but Brampton took pleasure in puffing off that noble connection. So Lady Marjory I remained. But in your case, for dear Lady Graham’s sake, one hopes that you will quickly learn to employ her correct title.”
Sir Hugh’s mouth shut again, and his lips pressed together so tightly they looked white at the edges. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Noting these ominous signs, Laurie said gently, “Indeed, my lady, there is no need to call me so. The ritual to which Sir Hugh referred took place, just as he said, for no reason other than to protect me. You see, my father feared that Sir Hugh might exploit the authority he now wields over me, that he might—”
“Oh, but my dear, husbands always take such advantage of their wives!”
“That will do, madam,” Sir Hugh said sharply. “Pray, say no more about the matter now. We can discuss it later if you insist.”
Lady Marjory, though silenced, still looked doubtful and unhappy.
“Truly, my lady,” Laurie said, “I shall stay here no longer than I must. I assure you that I do not look upon him as my husband, and neither should you.”
Lady Marjory’s frown deepened. “But
a form
of marriage is still a marriage, is it not?” When neither Laurie nor Sir Hugh replied, she repeated, “Is it not?”
“One must suppose that, in some ways, it is,” Laurie admitted reluctantly.
Sir Hugh did not offer an opinion.
“Well, if it
was
a marriage, then it follows that you are Lady Graham,” Lady Marjory said with satisfaction. “Moreover, it now becomes most fortunate that Brampton insisted upon my remaining Lady Marjory. Otherwise, we should have two ladies Graham in this household. I think that is always confusing, do not you?”
Visibly giving himself a shake, Sir Hugh found his voice at last and said sternly to Laurie, “This household will refer to you as Mistress Halliot. That is how I wish it to be, and so that is how it
will
be.”
Lady Marjory raised her hands in protest. “But, my dear Sir Hugh—”
“Madam,” he interjected angrily, “unless you wish to incur my strongest displeasure, you will not refer to her again as Lady Graham.”
“But I do not understand, my dear sir! Indeed, I have no wish to displease you. Quite the contrary, I wish only to make your life comfortable, but I think ’tis you and your lady who do not understand. For how can it be—?”
“God’s wounds, woman,” Hugh roared, “hold your tongue and do as I say!”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Marjory said, bowing her head submissively.
Watching her, Laurie had a sudden, irrelevant thought that it was a pity Blanche could not see her, for Lady Marjory’s deference was far more believable than Blanche’s would ever be. Glancing back at the portrait over the fireplace near the main entrance, she wondered if Graham men purposely married meek women.
Lady Marjory recovered gracefully, saying, “We should not keep dear Mistress Halliot standing after her long journey, should we, sir?”
Sir Hugh did not deign to reply, and Laurie saw that it still was only with strong effort that he controlled his temper.
His gaze met hers briefly and moved away again.
Unabashed by his silence, Lady Marjory said kindly, “If you will permit me, my dear Mistress Halliot, I will show you upstairs now, and—”
Breaking off with a comical look, she turned back to Sir Hugh. “One must suppose under such circumstances, sir, that you do not want her to sleep in your bedchamber. Therefore, pray tell me where she is to sleep.”
When he hesitated, she said, “If you
do
wish her to share your chamber, you have only to say so. You are master here, and your wish is—”
“I will not sleep with him,” Laurie said hastily. “He—”
“Enough, mistress,” Sir Hugh said with an audible sigh. “I will try to explain matters more clearly to her ladyship whilst you refresh yourself.” Turning his head toward the door through which Lady Marjory had entered, he shouted, “Nancy!”
Light, rapid footsteps preceded the entrance of a child of ten or eleven, who bore a strong resemblance to Meggie’s Andrew. She wore an apron over a plain gray dress and a simple white cap tied under her chin. Long sable curls fanned nearly to her waist, and she carried an unlit torch. Skidding to a halt before them, she bobbed a one-handed curtsy and said, “Aye, master?”
“Take this lady upstairs to Mistress Janet’s bedchamber. She will sleep there for the present.”
“Aye, Sir Hugh. This way, m’lady, an it please ye. I’m Nancy.”
“And I am Mistress Halliot,” Laurie said, correcting her gently.
Wide-eyed, the child said, “But me mam said ye’ve married wi’ Sir Hugh. She said I should say m’lady. The men in the yard be saying the same, and our Andrew did say—”
“Nancy,”
Sir Hugh snarled.
Flushing, the child bobbed another curtsy and said anxiously, “Aye, sir?”
“Stop chattering and take Mistress Halliot upstairs. And do as she bids you!”
“Aye, sir. This way, mistress.” She bent to light her torch from the nearby fire, then glanced back as if to be sure that Laurie followed her.
Laurie had taken but one step when Lady Marjory said, “I shall be along shortly to help get you settled, my dear. In my experience, new places are always confusing. I believe that you will be glad of my help.”
“Thank you, madam,” Laurie said, not knowing what else to say and feeling bemused at the memory of the frail, kindly lady standing up to Sir Hugh. Avoiding his gimlet gaze, she hurried after Nancy without saying another word.
The service stairway, like the one from the main entrance to the hall, spiraled upward in a clockwise direction, as most such stairways did. Laurie knew the direction of the spiral meant Brackengill men had historically been right-handed, for it gave such men the wider part of the stairwell to accommodate the sweep of their swords when defending against an enemy attacking from below.
Ferniehurst in Scotland was the only castle she had seen with a stair that twisted to the left. The stairways there all did, because Kerr men were left-handed. Indeed, in the Borders, “ker-handed” meant left-handed.
Nancy pushed open a door on the second landing to reveal a gloomy chamber of shadows. With an apologetic smile, the little girl darted in, and from the threshold Laurie watched as she tried to open shutters on a window wider than Laurie’s own at Aylewood, without putting down the burning torch.
Smiling for the first time since her arrival, she went to help.
“They be gey stuck, m’lady,” Nancy said, stepping out of the way and looking critically around the room.
“My shutter at home sticks, too,” Laurie said, giving the shutters a sharp thump with her fist. “’Tis the nature of shutters, I believe, particularly after it rains.”
“It’s no rained for weeks,” Nancy said as she put the torch in a bracket provided for the purpose near the door. “But neither ha’ the master ordered the ones opened and I see now that ye’ve nobbut a wee stub of a candle in yon dish. What wi’ all the other work me mam and me ha’ to do, and no one sleepin’ here, we’ve no got round to cleaning this chamber yet a while. We thought ye’d sleep wi’ Sir Hugh. When he shouted, I were just meanin’ to go to his chamber wi’ that torch, in case ye needed me. They said in the yard that ye didna bring a woman wi’ ye.”
“Godamercy, are you and your mother the only maidservants in the castle?”
“Aye,” Nancy said. “Her ladyship brung a woman with her, but she only does for Lady Marjory. She willna lift a finger otherwise.”
“Mercy,” Laurie exclaimed, opening the shutters at last and taking a deep breath of fresh evening air. It was dark out now. “But why no more?” she asked. “Sir Hugh seems wealthy enough to afford any number of servants.”
“Aye, but after Mistress Janet went, no woman would come here. Their men all said a household wi’out a mistress were no suited for ’em.”
“Then you and your mam came because of Lady Marjory?”
“Nay, then,” Nancy said as she moved to smooth the coverlet and plump pillows on the curtained bed. “Her ladyship ha’ been here but a wee while,” she added. “Me mam brought us here months ago, when the master sent Ned Rowan to look after our farm. Our da died, chasing reivers.” Nibbling her lower lip, she cast Laurie an oblique, rueful look.
Matter-of-factly, Laurie said, “Scottish reivers, I expect.”
“Aye,” Nancy said, looking down at her hands.
“’Tis ever the way,” Laurie said quietly. “Women and children sit at home, wondering if the men will return again, no matter what side of the line they are on.”
“Aye, that’s what Mistress Janet did say,” Nancy said with a nod. Then, with a sigh, she added, “Sir Hugh said our mam needs a new husband. But she didna want to take Ned Rowan.”
“I can understand that, too,” Laurie said with feeling.
“Sir Hugh were vexed at first when Mam refused Ned Rowan,” Nancy said. “But then he said that if Mam would cook for ’im, at least we’d be safe here. Our Andrew, though, all he can think about is shooting reivers, just like our da.”
“Is Andrew your only brother?”
“Nay, then, I’m cursed wi’ three o’ them,” Nancy said as she stepped away from the bed and bent to wipe cobwebs off a stool with a handful of her skirt. “Our new bairn is a girl like me, though—only smaller, o’ course.”
“So your mother looks after five children and does the cooking and cleaning for the castle, as well.”
“Aye, but I help her. Wee Susan’s nobbut a babe yet.” She glanced at the cold, bare hearth. “Shall I fetch ye some wood, my—?” Looking self-conscious, she broke off. “Can I call ye ‘mistress’ then, or must it always be Mistress Halliot?”
“‘Mistress’ is enough, or perhaps you could call me ‘Mistress Laura,’ as our servants at home do,” Laurie said. “I’d like that.”
“Aye, sure. Shall I leave ye this torch, then?”
“Yes, please, unless you need it to light your way. As for wood, if you will tell a manservant to bring some up—and a tinderbox—I can light a fire after supper. Or perhaps the manservant might return then and light one for me.”
“Likely, Mistress Janet left a tinderbox somewhere hereabouts,” Nancy said. “Mam will tell our Andrew to bring up your wood.” She did not question Laurie’s suggestion that she could make her own fire.
That omission told Laurie much more about the household. Just the thought of one of the family at Aylewood building his or her fire would scandalize their servants. Laurie had learned to do so only because Lucy Elliot had been willing to teach her such things when she visited the cottage in Tarras Wood.
“Tell Andrew to bring a broom, too,” Laurie said. “And some candles.”
Nodding, Nancy gave the stool a last, hasty rub and hurried away.
A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, and finding herself alone for the first time since leaving Aylewood, Laurie walked over to look outside. There was no moon yet. She could make out dense shapes in the darkness, but little else.
The breeze was fresh and bore a slight chill. She would be glad of a fire.
Soon she heard the clatter of the boy’s boots on the stairs, and a moment later he appeared on the threshold with a leather sling of wood hanging so heavily from his right hand that it dragged down his whole right side. He held a besom broom tucked under that arm and the satchel from her saddle in his left hand.