Chapter Two
Within a few minutes of announcing his arrival to the men manning the gates of Braelaw, Jackston felt like he was a returning emperor.
Dropping Rora off at the gates, his attention was still riveted to her even as she scurried away, disappearing around the side of the manse and into the kitchen yard. But he was soon distracted by Robert Menzies himself, who came forth from the manse with his arms open wide as if to embrace a long-lost son.
But that was just the beginning. Jackston found himself embraced and praised, fawned over by Robert and a few members of his household, including an older woman introduced to him as Robert’s spinster sister.
But, oh… did the woman have an eye for Jackston! He smiled weakly at her and she winked boldly at him, batting her eyes and generally making a spectacle of herself. Jackston would have laughed had he not been so dismayed. And rather frightened. So he tried to ignore the woman with the smooth, red cheeks and no eyebrows as Robert pulled him towards the manse, announcing to everyone around them that Lizelle’s Jackston had finally returned.
Lizelle’s Jackston!
There was that phrase again, but the welcome at Braelaw was far more of a welcome than Jackston had even received at his own home. Still, there hadn’t been an old spinster desperately attempting to flirt with him. So, he kept his eyes off the woman, instead focusing on Robert and the fact that the man was truly trying to give him a warm welcome. He appreciated it. He appreciated it more when Robert pulled him into the hall of the manse and plied him with expensive wine and sweets.
Even with the wine in him, he still wasn’t apt to respond to the spinster, who had planted herself beside him and even rubbed her foot against his leg under the table. Jackston thought it was all rather bold, crazily so, and he ignored the woman soundly as Robert stood on the other side of the table and praised Jackston for his prowess in battle and for honoring them all with his great reputation.
Jackston soaked up the accolades, feeling rather full of himself, but he eventually grew weary of the spinster who was now trying to put her hand on his thigh, still under the table and away from her brother’s view. When she actually pinched his leg, he “accidentally” spilled a half-cup of that beautiful red wine onto the woman’s robes, which had the desired effect. Bolting up from the table as Jackston apologized for his clumsiness, the spinster fled the chamber to change her clothing and Jackston had a reprieve.
Or did he…?
As the spinster quit the hall in a fluster, Lizelle entered from the opposite end. Her entrance, Jackston was sure, was meant for maximum impact because she entered the chamber in a beautiful pink gown, surrounded by two women who held the ends of the gown up so it wouldn’t drag on the dirty floor. With a bouquet of buttercups in her hand, wild flowers that bloomed this time of year, she held them to her face, smelling them, so that only her eyes were visible.
Somewhere behind Lizelle, Jackston could hear a lyre. God’s Bones, someone is playing music for her entrance! he thought. He almost burst out laughing at the sheer showmanship of it, finding it very hard not to even smile as Lizelle entered the hall with her women and her own musician. He put a hand over his mouth, in fact, pretending to wipe any crumbs or remnants of wine away, but the truth was that he found the pomp ridiculous. In hindsight, that should have been a foretaste of things to come.
He should have considered himself warned.
As Lizelle drew near the table, Jackston took a close look at her as she lowered the bouquet from her nose; she was still lovely but somewhere in the years, her face had elongated and her teeth had grown in, becoming slightly protruding. Her eyes were still the same pure shade of blue and her blonde hair was very long, to her knees, and unbound to display her maiden status. When her gaze met Jackston’s, she smiled with her unnaturally big teeth.
“Ye have finally come,” she sighed happily, her gaze dragging up and down his body. “I have dreamt of this day, Jackston. For many a year, I’ve dreamt of ye and prayed ye would return tae me whole and sound. Ye’ve grown intae a comely lad with big muscles and a powerful look about ye. I dinna believe ye would return tae me so handsome.”
Jackston knew, instinctively, that she was looking for a similar reply. He cleared his throat softly. “And ye’re still lovely, Lizelle,” he said, watching her beam. “Have… have ye been well?”
Lizelle nodded eagerly. “I have,” she said. “Oh, Jackston, it is so good tae see ye again. I thought about ye every day that ye were gone. Did ye think of me, at least sometimes?”
Only when I was tryin’ to fend off a woman who wanted more from me than I was willin’ to give, he thought. “Aye,” he replied steadily. “I did.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Lizelle swooped on him, wrapping both of her arms around his left arm, her hands sliding into his big calloused one. “I am so pleased tae hear that,” she said. Then, she was pulling on him. “Come with me. We must become reacquainted with each other now. I want tae hear about yer adventures fightin’ in France.”
Jackston had no choice but to follow her as she dragged him from the hall and down a short corridor. There were stairs there, mural stairs that folded back on themselves as they led to the floor above, and he followed her as she pulled him up. He couldn’t help but notice her women were following, older ladies in severe wimples, and that damnable lyre player was bringing up the rear.
Strains from gut strings followed him up the stairs. It would have been comical had he not been so annoyed by it. But Lizelle smiled hugely at him, her hands wrapped all around his left arm as she dragged her victim to a small chamber on the second floor that was strewn with all manner of things for a lady’s entertainment – a larger harp was propped against the wall and near the window was an easel with a framed stretch of vellum. A palette of paints lay on a table next to it.
Once in the chamber, Lizelle directed Jackston to a chair and politely asked him to sit. He did, watching Lizelle and her women as they scampered around the room, bumping into each other as they went to light fires and pour wine. Lizelle shoved a cup of wine into his hand, a very lovely painted cup, and then she sat down next to him and promptly collected a piece of sewing.
“Now,” she said, collecting her needle. “Ye will tell me about yer adventures in France. I want to hear everythin’.”
Frankly, Jackston was still a little flabbergasted by it all; with the ridiculous harp player in the corner of the room, strumming on his strings, a fire in the hearth, and Lizelle settling down with her sewing, she was creating quite a domestic scene. Jackston knew it was intentional; she wanted him to see what his life with her would be like – harp players, efficient servants, wine, and an obedient wife. She wanted him to see how wonderful it would be. Aye, the move was quite calculated. But at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run screaming from the chamber.
Honor, he kept telling himself. Think of yer parents’ honor!
“Well,” he began, “I havena been in France all this time. When I left after last ye saw me, I want tae Dunster Castle in Devon. Me cousins live there. ’Twas there I trained as a knight and learned the ways of the Sassenach warrior.”
Lizelle was stitching intently but still listening to him with great interest. “Were ye knighted, then?”
“Aye.”
She smiled that broad, toothy smile. “What a prideful thing!” she exclaimed. “I dunna know another knight, not in all of the north!”
He shrugged. “There are many fine warriors in the north,” he said. “I am not the only one.”
She put her hand on his arm; she had pretty hands. “But I dunna know another who has distinguished himself in battle as ye have,” she insisted. “We heard tale of the battles in France against the French king. A merchant travelin’ north tae Aberdeen stopped one night and told us all about Edward’s armies and how they were victorious, and how a Forbes knight in charge of archers helped turn the tides of the battle at Crécy. Jackston Forbes, he said!”
Jackston cleared his throat in a modest gesture. “It was the command I was given,” he said. “I did what I had tae do.”
Lizelle was so proud that she was nearly bursting with it. “Ye’ve become a great man, Jackie,” she said. “It has made me very happy. I’ve told everyone how ye vowed tae marry me upon yer return. It has been the most prideful thing of me life.”
Jackston looked at her, seeing her beaming face and knowing that he wasn’t feeling the same way she was. He’d spent the past several years growing up and becoming a man; she’d spent the last several years at Braelaw dreaming of his return. He was her world, or at least a very large component of it. He could see it by simply looking at her. Guilt and distaste began to sweep him.
What have I gotten meself intae?
“What have ye done since I have been away?” he asked because he utterly wanted off the subject of marriage. “Have ye kept busy? And how is yer father? I’ve not had much chance tae speak with him.”
Lizelle returned to her sewing. “Me da and yer da have kept company frequently,” she said. “They play board games and they hunt regularly together. ’Twill be wonderful for them both when their children have married. We will be a great happy family.”
She wasn’t willing to move away from the subject of marriage, at least not yet. Jackston was starting to feel manipulated, so he tried another tactic.
“Do ye mean tae tell me that ye havena entertained not one suitor since I’ve been gone?” he asked, trying to sound as if he was jesting but he was afraid he was coming across as sounding desperate. “Surely young men have come tae call for ye, Lizelle. Ye’re a pretty woman with wealth. That would attract many a man.”
She flushed, her cheeks turning pink. “Of course not,” she insisted. “I am betrothed. Why would I entertain suitors?”
“Not one?”
“Not one!”
So much for that avenue. Jackston noticed the cup of wine still in his hand and he downed the entire thing in three big swallows. His empty cup was a magnet to one of the female servants, who rushed forward with more wine, something he gladly accepted. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
“Tell me more about what ye have done whilst I was gone,” he said glumly, downing another big swallow of wine.
Lizelle was still sewing primly. “Life at Braelaw has been uneventful,” she said. “We had some bad winters not long ago and me da lost some of his herd, but yer da was kind enough tae help him. Our families have been very close since ye’ve been away. And what about ye? Did ye find any other women pretty whilst ye were away from me?”
The woman only sang two notes – marriage and the closeness of their families. He couldn’t seem to deter her from either. As the wine began to fill his veins, Jackston was becoming increasingly unhappy. The more he looked at Lizelle and what she represented – a home with many possessions, ladies-in-waiting, a lyre player following her from room to room to set music to her procession, the more that wasn’t what he wanted in life. He intended to return south to Dunster Castle. He wanted to continue on as a knight, serving with his family to the south, making a name for himself as a warrior and as a man, and what Lizelle represented… well, he just didn’t want any part of it or any part of her. It really wasn’t her fault – he’d just outgrown her.
He wanted his own life, his way.
He must have delayed too much on answering her question because she stopped sewing and looked up at him with a clearly distressed expression. Quickly, he spoke.
“The world is full of pretty women,” he said. “Did I find any like ye? Nay, I dinna. Ye’re unique tae Braelaw, a lass I remember from me childhood.”
It was as pleasing an answer as he could come up with but she was clearly flattered by it. Her smile returned and she lowered her eyes modestly to her sewing once more.
“I’m glad,” she said. “I dunna know what I would do if ye found company with another. But let us not speak of it; ye’re home and now… now, what shall we do?”
He knew exactly what she meant. God’s Bones, there was no question in his mind. Could he tell her that he’d reconsidered their marriage? Could he tell her that he’d made a vow as a child and he’d had no idea of what he was committing to? Certainly, he could tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t understand.
With her question, the lass was looking for information on when he intended they should be wed. There was no way he could marry her but, for the sake of his parents, he had to let her down easy. He had to make it seem as if, perchance, he was the unattractive marital prospect. If this betrothal had any chance of being broken, then it would have to come from her so he could, in his father’s words, keep his honor. But… what to say?
What to say?
Thankfully, he was interrupted when a figure hustled in through the solar door, a small figure in a broadcloth skirt and a kerchief on her head. Jackston recognized Rora immediately and his heart leapt at the sight. God, he was happy to see her, but struggled not to react in any way. In fact, he had to force himself to look away, fearful that his joy to see her would be written all over his face. Then, he wouldn’t have to tell Lizelle anything because she would know what was in his heart. That little servant girl with the enormous eyes had his attention.
The forbidden little lass.
Quickly, he turned away, rising from his chair and moving over to the window where he could take a breath of fresh air. He leaned against the sill, turning his head slightly so he could watch Rora as she went straight to Lizelle with the tray she was carrying, a tray of edibles for the lady and her guest.
But Jackston noticed something interesting at that point; Lizelle was very sharp with Rora. Sharp of movement, of command, right from the onset. Treating the servant as if she were no better than dirt. Rora set the tray down on a delicate painted table next to her mistress, but Lizelle sharply ordered the girl to move it away, to the bigger table in the room. Rora obediently did that and Lizelle set her sewing aside, standing up to go to the tray and see what was upon it.
That’s when the trouble really started. Jackston wasn’t really sure what was meant to be on the tray, but whatever had been brought didn’t please the mistress. Lizelle commanded Rora to take the tray away and bring back a correctly-laden tray, a brusque order that Rora quietly obeyed.
Jackston found himself curious about the way Lizelle spoke to Rora because he remembered Rora’s intimation that Lizelle beat her. From the way Lizelle was treating the lass, he was coming to see that it was something he could easily believe. In fact, Lizelle was becoming increasingly hostile with Rora and, as Jackston watched, suddenly reached out and grabbed the girl’s arm as if to shake her. But that action caused Rora to dump the tray on Lizelle’s pink dress, and Lizelle screeched as she brought up a hand and slapped Rora across the face with an open palm. She then shoved the girl down to her knees and demanded she pick up the food, all the while lamenting her dirty dress. Jackston came away from the wall.
“Here, now,” he said, frowning at Lizelle. “Why did ye do that?”
Lizelle was furious. “The clumsy fool!” she cried. “Look what she did to me gown! It is ruined!”
Jackston could see the stains on the front of the pink brocade. “It seems tae me that ye caused that yerself,” he said. “I saw ye grab the lass by the arm, Lizelle. What happened was not her fault.”
Lizelle’s eyes widened at him, utterly shocked that he should side with the servant. Down on the floor, still picking up the food that had fallen, Rora suddenly lifted her head.
“Nay, m’laird,” she insisted, sounding terrified. “It ’twas me own fault. I am very sorry tae have ruined everythin’. I am very clumsy!”
She sounded so bloody scared. Anger flared in Jackston’s chest. Before he could reply, one of Lizelle’s women reached down and yanked Rora to her feet, practically tossing her from the room as the second woman picked up the tray and tossed it out of the door after her. Jackston could hear the tray clattering, the food, no doubt, spraying on Rora. He stood there, open-mouthed, as Lizelle’s women slammed the chamber door and then rushed to Lizelle to see the damage to her dress.
Jackston had to step away; he was furious with what he’d just witnessed but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. He suspected, from Rora’s reaction, that it wouldn’t go particularly well in her favor if he took her side. It was just a feeling he had. It seemed that Lizelle was very hostile towards her pretty young servant and that had been evident from the moment Rora had entered the chamber. As Lizelle practically wept to the women who were trying to brush the stains off her skirt, Jackston leaned back against the wall.
“Is that how ye treat yer servants, Lizelle?” he asked evenly. “Truly? Do ye actually take a hand tae them in front of others?”
Lizelle looked at him, mortified. “She… she is a stupid girl,” she stammered. “For her to spill on me….”
“Ye shook her by the arm. Ye caused her tae spill. I saw it.”
Now, Lizelle was turning red in the face. “If she had obeyed me orders from the first, I wouldna had tae punish her,” she said, struggling to justify her actions. “She was tae bring bread and cheese and pickled mushrooms. She dinna bring the cheese I requested.”
“Did ye ask her why?”
“It doesna matter why!”
“Did ye ask her why?”
Lizelle was clearly flustered. “She said there was none in the kitchens, but I know that not tae be true!”
“How do ye know? Do ye spend much time in the kitchens that ye would know that?”
Utterly rattled, Lizelle gathered her skirts and pushed her women out of the way. “I must change me clothes,” she said. Then, she started to weep angrily. “I wanted this tae be so nice. We havena seen each other in years and I so wanted this tae be perfect. I am sorry it wasna. If ye’ll give me a little time, I’ll change me dress and come right back. Mayhap we can… try again?”
Jackston didn’t want to try again. He’d seen a flash of Lizelle’s true self in her behavior with Rora and he could see that she was still the petty, spoiled girl he’d left those years ago. Behavior he’d once thought entertaining he now thought appalling. In fairness, it could have been because he felt an odd sense of protection over Rora and Lizelle’s brutality had him more agitated than he should have been. In truth, he really didn’t know why. All he knew was that he had to get clear of the woman and think about what he really wanted to do.
Did he want to take the time to discourage her from the marriage? Or did he simply want to tell her he had no intention of keeping his vow and let the situation take its natural course. Whatever the case, he was glad to be free of her for the moment.
“Go,” he waved a hand at her, turning back to the windowsill and the sea breezes beyond.
“Ye willna leave?”
He hesitated. “I willna leave.”
He spoke the words begrudgingly but that was enough for Lizelle. Satisfied, she scurried off with her women, leaving Jackston alone in her solar with the lyre player still strumming in the corner. He glanced at the musician, who was seemingly lost in his own world, and knew he needed to get out of there. A place like this – a woman’s solar – was no place for him.
Swiftly, he quit the chamber and made his way out of the manse.