“Dinnae worry about her,” Hacon said, drawing Jennet’s attention his way. “Robert and all the men she aided when they were wounded will see that she suffers no harm—by word or deed.”
“Of course.” Jennet smiled faintly. “’Tis just that Eizabeth is so happy, I didnae wish to see that diminished.”
“Aye, ne’er saw a woman grab hold of a priest as swiftly as she did. We had barely dismounted in your village when she had hold of that holy mon. ’Twas as if she feared old Robert would change his mind.” He chuckled along with Jennet, then suddenly tensed, his gaze fixed upon the couple walking toward them.
Jennet followed his gaze. It had to be his parents. The tall man’s limp gave her one reason the son had gone to war and not the father. The closer they drew, the less she doubted that this was Hacon’s father and mother who approached. Hacon’s bearing and stature came from his father, but his fair hair was clearly a gift from his mother. Jennet’s nervousness increased when Hacon dismounted and embraced the woman, then the man, leaving her sitting on her pony with an active Murdoc squirming in the sling on her back. Even though she told herself not to be a fool, Jennet felt as if she stood out as clearly as a wart on the end of a nose.
“M’lord.” The woman smiled faintly, her blue eyes alight with laughter as she curtsied before her son. “Welcome home.”
“M’lord?” Hacon laughed and, clasping his mother’s hands, urged her to rise. “What jest is this?”
“No jest, my son.” The man clapped Hacon on the back. “News came but a few days ago. Word was sent here, for no one was certain where you were. I accepted the honors in your name. Duhbeilrig, and all its land are again in the hands of a Gillard—you. Aye, and with it comes the title of baron. Dahheilrig is now a barony. Our fortune is secured.”
“But surely the title would go to you, Father.”
“Nay. When I let ye ride out to fight for the Bruce in my stead, I sent word to our king. I told him that any rewards, any honors or titles or lands won by you, must go to you. It pleases me beyond saying that my wishes were heeded. With this leg”—he lightly slapped his hand against his stiff right thigh—“and near all strength gone from my sword arm, I cannae take the lead. Since I must press you to do all the hard and dangerous work in my stead, then ’tis right ye gain all the honors.” He smiled at Hacon. “I am proud of you.” When Hacon whooped with joy and embraced him, the man laughed.
“As we all are.” The woman kissed Hacon’s cheek as he exuberantly hugged her.
“At last, masters of our own lands again.” Hacon turned to those of his men who still lingered nearby. “Dubheilrig belongs to the Gillards again!” he announced, and grinned as they cheered.
When the noise eased, the woman touched Hacon’s arm to draw his attention to Jennet. “Is this a friend?”
“Ah, Jennet.” Hacon quickly turned to help her down from her pony, standing her between him and his curious parents. “Jennet, may I present to you my parents, Lady Serilda and Sir Lucais Gillard. Mother, Father, this is Jennet Graeme, daughter of Artair Graeme and Moira Armstrong. We, er, met at Berwick.”
Jennet curtsied, watching how Hacon’s mother’s eyes narrowed. It took all her effort to subdue a blush. Mistress Gillard knew that Jennet was no mere acquaintance but plunder taken in battle. Jennet felt the sting of shame and fought to push it aside. The elder Gillards were all that was courteous. Until they treated her otherwise, Jennet knew she should not assume that they condemned her out of hand.
“And the bairn?” Hacon’s mother glanced around Jennet to Murdoc. “Ye, er, met him as weel?”
“Ah, young Murdoc.” As Hacon released the child from his sling, he told his mother how Ranald had saved the child’s life. “The laddie appears to thrive no matter how hard the life.” Hacon settled the boy on his hip.
“Oh, your sister Katherine will be so proud of her son,” Serilda exclaimed, smiling broadly at Ranald and ruffling Murdoc’s thick curls.
“Where is my sister?” Hacon looked around, seeing that Ranald still stood with them.
Moving to slip her arm through Ranald’s, Serilda kissed her grandson’s cheek and shrugged. “Katherine feared to find that her son was one of those who would never see Dubheilrig again. She waits at home.” She smiled a little sadly at Ranald. “She fears to lose you as she lost your father. It took all her courage to let you leave and join Hacon.”
“I ken it.” He kissed his grandmother’s smooth cheek. “I will go now and soothe her fears.”
As soon as Ranald started away, Serilda looked at Hacon and Jennet. “’Tis time we too made our way home.”
Jennet took Murdoc from Hacon, allowing him to pick up the reins of their mounts. She walked a little behind him, his parents, and Dugald as well, who joined in the retelling of their adventures. Fight the feeling though she did, she began to feel lost, uncertain. She realized she should have given more thought as to how Hacon’s family would see her. To them she was only a mistress, a bed warmer collected on a raid. They were courteous, but she knew that courtesy was not the same as acceptance.
They entered a large stone house with a slate roof. There was a two-story great hall encircled by heavy wooden doors which led to more private rooms. A curving stone stairway led to a railed walkway halfway up the thick stone walls of the great hall. More sturdy doors lined it, revealing that there were more private rooms on the upper floor.
Despite Hacon’s talk of loss, Jennet could see that his family was still one of some wealth. There were fine tapestries on the walls, pewter jugs upon the tables, and large chairs mixed in with the more common benches. Each sign of wealth made her more painfully aware of her own poverty.
Hacon ushered her up the narrow stairs. As they made their way along the open hallway, Jennet glanced down into the great hall below. Lady Serilda was busily instructing her servants. It was clear that a celebratory feast was being planned.
Jennet frowned as Hacon opened a large, thick door banded with wide straps of iron. He nudged her inside the room and she inwardly sighed. His chambers had tapestries upon the walls, as well, thick sheepskin rugs upon the floors, and a huge, high bed, the headboard and posts elaborately carved. All more evidence that the Gillards had once been rich. Now that Hacon had regained all that they had lost, they were rich again.
Once settled with Hacon in his quarters, Jennet used the excuse of weariness and the need to tend Murdoc to remain there for a while. She watched Hacon wash, then hurry away to rejoin his family. Sighing, she sat down on the bed and watched Murdoc playing contentedly at her feet. Coming to Dubheilrig had been a mistake. She did not have the stomach to lodge in a man’s family home as his mistress. Even if Hacon offered to make her his wife, she doubted his family would approve. He could do a great deal better than the penniless, landless daughter of a thief and a rogue. Her problem now was how to get back to her kinsmen. She had a strong feeling that Hacon would not he very cooperative.
“A verra quiet, modest lass.”
Hacon looked at his mother across the vast table, startled from his thoughts by her remark. He had not been paying much attention to the talk swirling around him, despite the fact that it was a feast held to celebrate his return and success. Jennet—or, more exactly, the strange dark mood she had fallen into just before she had excused herself and retired to their chambers—filled his thoughts. It was clear from her words that his mother had misread that mood. A quick glance down the table at Ranald and Dugald told him they were curious to hear his reply. His sister Katherine watched him closely as well, but Hacon was not sure he trusted her interest in Jennet.
“I willnae say she isnae modest,” Hacon answered. “But Jennet was, weel, not at her best today.”
