Sighing with exasperation, Jennet was torn between amusement and annoyance, as Hacon carefully spread out a blanket on the ground and helped seat her comfortably on it. She had been placed at a safe distance from the tower house and the workmen, beneath a wind-contorted pine so that she was shaded from the sun. Which, she thought, was barely shining. As her pregnancy grew more advanced, Hacon’s coddling of her grew worse. She had now lived through four months of his occasionally excessive pampering. If she were not so pleased by what it said about his feelings for her, she could easily have found it beyond tolerating.
Sitting down beside her, Hacon briefly smoothed his hand over her well-rounded stomach. “Are ye certain ye are only seven months along?” He inwardly grimaced, knowing he asked her such questions far too often.
“As certain as any woman can be. I think ’tis nearer to eight, for May now draws to a close. Hacon, my last woman’s time was shortly before ye arrived in Boroughbridge. Ye certainly proved ye were alive,” she drawled as she patted her stomach.
He smiled. “Aye, I did that weel.” He grew serious again. “’Tis just that, weel, ye appear large enough now.”
“And I will grow larger.” She had to laugh at his brief look of horrified concern. “Hacon, I believe I may look too large to you only because I was so small ere I got with child.”
“I have to help ye rise from the bed.”
“Ye dinnae trulyhaveto help me. I could do it myself but, aye, it grows more difficult. Ye worry too much.”
And that, she mused, warmed her deep inside, although it also annoyed her at times. Each day she grew more confident that he cared for her, cared deeply. The fetters of fear and doubt that held her declarations of love locked inside of her grew less binding day by day. While she still wanted to hear some words of love from him, it grew to be a less important requirement for her to speak her own heart. Often she found herself envisioning how and when she would tell him of her love for him.
“Aye, mayhaps I do worry too much,” he murmured, and took her hand in his. “Our fine new tower house should be finished before the bairn is here. We will have our own place to live. That will get us away from Katherine’s moods.”
“She isnae so bad. She even apologized for being so sharp those days before and after our wedding. Actually, ’twas the day after my father left, so ’twas nearly a month after our wedding. His departure pleased her so that it put her in a generous humor. She fears he will corrupt young Ranald. She is just unhappy and afraid, Hacon.”
“Which can be tiring to live with. Now, ye may wish to begin deciding who should serve us.”
She nodded. “If ye agree, I should like Elizabeth as our nurse for this child. Her appointment to that place wouldnae displace anyone.”
“A fine choice, especially when one thinks of her healing skills.” He scowled and stood up, staring down into the village at the foot of the hill on which they sat. “Something is happening,” he muttered, his hand going to his sword. “Stay there,” he ordered when Jennet began to try to stand up.
“Hacon, if trouble approaches, ’twould be best if I am on my feet.”
Muttering a curse as he reluctantly saw the sense of that, he took her by the hand and helped her up, then returned his full attention to the village. Something had caused a sudden flurry of activity and was drawing people from their work and homes. A force of armored men appeared on the road, riding toward the village; the red lion upon gold emblem, which decorated the banners they carried, marked them as the Bruce’s men. But those banners also carried the markings of Sir Gilbert Hay, the Lord High Constable of Scotland. With their banners, full armor, and surcoats, the force entering Dubheilrig suddenly looked less than friendly. There was no need for the king to send such a well-armed force of nearly two dozen soldiers simply to call the men of Dubheilrig to arms again.
“Mayhaps ye should stay here whilst I go down and find out why our king sends a small army to my home.”
“Nay, I will come too. These are the Bruce’s men. It cannae be dangerous.”
Even as he took her hand to lead her down the path, he murmured, “I shouldnae believe so, yet why send armed men? Why not just send a messenger?”
A chill went up Jennet’s spine, and she tightened her grip on Hacon’s hand. There were many reasons why the Bruce might send an armed force, and none of them were good. As they descended the hill into the village, she tried to strengthen her failing courage by remembering how loyal Hacon had been, faithfully answering every call to arms. Unfortunately, she could also all too easily recall the threat Balreaves still presented.
As they walked to where the Bruce’s men had reined in and dismounted near the public well, Jennet saw how tense Hacon’s own men were. They too sensed trouble. Women and children began to gather, cautiously remaining a few yards separate from the men, looking worried and frightened. She prayed there would be no fighting, no bloodshed.
“What is this about?” Hacon asked the man to the fore of the five men who had halted their horses before him.
“Ye are Sir Hacon Gillard, Baron of Dubheilrig?”
“Aye. Why does the king send armed men onto my lands?”
As he signaled to the men with him, he replied, “’ Twas felt they would be needed to bring a traitor to justice.”
The four men callously pushed Jennet out of the way as they grabbed Hacon, holding his arms behind his back and relieving him of his weapons before he recovered enough to ask, “Am I charged with treason against our king?” He could not believe it.
“Aye, and ’twould be best if ye would advise your people to surrender their arms and cause no trouble.”
Jennet was pulled from her shock enough to see that Hacon’s men were bristling, their hands on their swords. A few had already drawn them. Standing where she had been pushed aside by the Bruce’s men, she wondered if she should do something, then wondered what shecoulddo. She caught sight of Lucais and Serilda hurrying toward them from the manor and prayed they could help.
“Hold, men!” Hacon bellowed. “Take no stand. Ye cannae pull swords on the king’s own men.”
“Ye are no traitor!” Dugald cried, stepping forward, only to be blocked by one of the Bruce’s men.
“Aye,” cried Jennet, “this has to be some grave error.” She also tried to move closer to Hacon, but was roughly shoved back.
