occasion that Bouchard meant “big mouth” in French. But he
nodded and handed Hugh the basket.
“If our commander refuses to hear ye sing, he may order ye chained and cast into our dungeon,” the leader of the boatmen warned.
Hugh shrugged. “He will not be such a fool.”
They put him in the bow of the boat and rowed back to the castle. Hugh saw Lucas dismally shaking his head before the gates
swung shut behind them.
He knew that Lucas would stay close and keep an eye out for trouble. What he would do if he spotted any, he did not know.
But Lucas was resourceful.
Putting other thoughts aside, Hugh concentrated on looking confident and relaxed. He was neither. It was not the first time
he had walked into the English lion’s mouth with no weapon other than a dirk shoved into one boot, but it was the first time
he had done so while the two countries were supposedly at peace.
He did not think the English would care one way or the other about a Scottish baroness pretending to be a gleemaiden. However,
if they discovered they had two noble landowners inside Lochmaben, both pretending to be what they were not, the English commander
would be well within his rights to declare them spies and hang them or—and much more likely—hold each of them for a large
ransom.
The hall was unnaturally quiet as Jenny walked toward the dais, where the castle commander and his officers sat in state.
She stopped by the lone stool below it, reminding herself that they had liked her performance the night before and that it
was all part of her adventure. Holding her head high, she strove to look serene.
Her tension had increased despite their obvious anticipation, or perhaps because of their silence. It had not grown so quiet
the previous night until she had been singing for several minutes. They seemed to expect more of her now.
At least she need not worry that anyone would recognize her, because she had never met any Englishmen. Therefore, she could
easily pretend she was no longer Baroness Easdale but just common Bonnie Jenny with a pleasing voice.
Taking her seat, she positioned her lute and began gently to pluck the notes of her first song. As usual, the sound soothed
her and stirred memories of home. She played it once all the way through before she began to sing.
The love song had five verses, and by the third, she had lost herself in the music, unaware of how quiet the hall was until
notes from a second lute joined hers. Sure that it must be one of the other minstrels, she hoped he would not miss a note.
Distracted only for that moment and quickly realizing that she could trust the other musician, she concentrated on the song.
A beat before she began the fourth verse, a man began to sing behind her, changing the lyrics to suit a lad singing to his
love instead of a lass to hers. His voice was rich and full, his skill with the lute exceptional, so although she kept plucking
the tune, she remained silent until the verse ended.
Then she stood and faced him to sing the last verse with him.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a long purple cape and a matching, white-plumed cap. Although his clothing was that
of a troubadour and the rakish plume obscured much of his face, something about the man seemed familiar.
He was not a minstrel with whom she had traveled, which suggested that he must live in the castle. Not until he swept the
plumed cap from his head and bowed to her at the end of the song did she recognize Sir Hugh Douglas. But she did so then with
such astonishment that she had all she could do to retain her composure.
Hugh knew the moment she recognized him. He had wondered how she would react and felt a stirring of admiration when she just
stiffened slightly.
She relaxed at once, smiling, and he knew the thunderous applause and foot stomping from their delighted audience helped her
keep her composure.
Doubtless, too, she had not yet realized that he had come for
nodded and handed Hugh the basket.
“If our commander refuses to hear ye sing, he may order ye chained and cast into our dungeon,” the leader of the boatmen warned.
Hugh shrugged. “He will not be such a fool.”
They put him in the bow of the boat and rowed back to the castle. Hugh saw Lucas dismally shaking his head before the gates
swung shut behind them.
He knew that Lucas would stay close and keep an eye out for trouble. What he would do if he spotted any, he did not know.
But Lucas was resourceful.
Putting other thoughts aside, Hugh concentrated on looking confident and relaxed. He was neither. It was not the first time
he had walked into the English lion’s mouth with no weapon other than a dirk shoved into one boot, but it was the first time
he had done so while the two countries were supposedly at peace.
He did not think the English would care one way or the other about a Scottish baroness pretending to be a gleemaiden. However,
if they discovered they had two noble landowners inside Lochmaben, both pretending to be what they were not, the English commander
would be well within his rights to declare them spies and hang them or—and much more likely—hold each of them for a large
ransom.
The hall was unnaturally quiet as Jenny walked toward the dais, where the castle commander and his officers sat in state.
She stopped by the lone stool below it, reminding herself that they had liked her performance the night before and that it
was all part of her adventure. Holding her head high, she strove to look serene.
Her tension had increased despite their obvious anticipation, or perhaps because of their silence. It had not grown so quiet
the previous night until she had been singing for several minutes. They seemed to expect more of her now.
At least she need not worry that anyone would recognize her, because she had never met any Englishmen. Therefore, she could
easily pretend she was no longer Baroness Easdale but just common Bonnie Jenny with a pleasing voice.
Taking her seat, she positioned her lute and began gently to pluck the notes of her first song. As usual, the sound soothed
her and stirred memories of home. She played it once all the way through before she began to sing.
The love song had five verses, and by the third, she had lost herself in the music, unaware of how quiet the hall was until
notes from a second lute joined hers. Sure that it must be one of the other minstrels, she hoped he would not miss a note.
Distracted only for that moment and quickly realizing that she could trust the other musician, she concentrated on the song.
A beat before she began the fourth verse, a man began to sing behind her, changing the lyrics to suit a lad singing to his
love instead of a lass to hers. His voice was rich and full, his skill with the lute exceptional, so although she kept plucking
the tune, she remained silent until the verse ended.
Then she stood and faced him to sing the last verse with him.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore a long purple cape and a matching, white-plumed cap. Although his clothing was that
of a troubadour and the rakish plume obscured much of his face, something about the man seemed familiar.
He was not a minstrel with whom she had traveled, which suggested that he must live in the castle. Not until he swept the
plumed cap from his head and bowed to her at the end of the song did she recognize Sir Hugh Douglas. But she did so then with
such astonishment that she had all she could do to retain her composure.
Hugh knew the moment she recognized him. He had wondered how she would react and felt a stirring of admiration when she just
stiffened slightly.
She relaxed at once, smiling, and he knew the thunderous applause and foot stomping from their delighted audience helped her
keep her composure.
Doubtless, too, she had not yet realized that he had come for
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