Men frequently do, you know. Have you ever seen Old Jardine?”
Fiona frowned. “I never saw any Jardine before today.”
“He came here once to raise some sort of grievance when I was about twelve. I remember that he had a bulbous red nose, tiny
eyes, and he was fat. He was angry, though, which may account for the redness but not for his piggy eyes or vast girth.”
“Mercy, I would not allow any husband of mine to grow fat,” Fiona declared. “Why was Old Jardine angry?”
“I don’t know,” Mairi said. “I could see that he was as soon as they announced him, but Father sent me away. Whatever it was,
I expect Jardine got short shrift.”
With a sudden mischievous glint, Fiona said, “Think you that Robert Maxwell will take supper with us this evening?”
Mairi rolled her eyes. “He has already departed, Fee, likely for Applegarth. Sithee, it has begun to rain, and he would never
make Dumfries before dark.”
Inside Spedlins Tower, the Jardine stronghold at Applegarth, Rob changed to warm, dry clothing and found his younger host
awaiting him in the great hall.
“Come in and take a whisky to warm you,” Will said. As he poured from jug to mug, he shot Rob a look from under his eyebrows.
“Did Dunwythie submit?”
“Nay, but I did not expect it,” Rob said, gratefully accepting the whisky and taking a sip as he moved to stand by the fire.
The ride back in increasingly heavy rain had chilled him to the bone. But the fire and the whisky warmed him.
Will’s father, known generally as Old Jardine, entered soon afterward. As he shook Rob’s hand, the old man said, “I’d wager
ye got nowt from Dunwythie.”
“You’d be right, sir,” Rob replied evenly.
His host grinned. “Ye’ll get nowt from me, either, for all that we be friends.”
“I know that,” Rob said. He knew, too, that although the Jardines were currently Maxwell allies, they were apt to change shirts
with any passing breeze. Regarding taxes, at least, Old Jardine was at one with the men of Annandale.
Pacifically, the old man said, “I’ve nae particular quarrel wi’ Dunwythie at present. Sithee, he’s a peaceable chap most days.”
“Peace is good, sir,” Rob said. “We would be wise to encourage more of it. The last thing we want is for war to erupt hereabouts.”
“’Tis true,” Jardine said. “With Dunwythie’s connections to the Lord o’ Galloway and Douglas o’ Thornhill, anyone who stirs
trouble in Annandale risks bringing the whole lot o’ them down on us. I’ve nae wish to stir up any Douglas.”
“No one has such a wish,” Rob said. Trailinghail lay in Galloway, and he knew that men had good reason for calling its lord
“Archie the Grim.”
“Aye, well, the Jardines have strong connections, too,” Will said.
“We Maxwells amongst them,” Rob said amiably. “But you cannot want to quarrel with the Dunwythies. Sakes, you’d make friends
with at least one of them.”
“Which o’ them would that be, lad?” Old Jardine said, shooting his son a narrow-eyed look.
Will shrugged. “Just a wench, Da. Nae one of import, although I’ll admit she’d be a tasty morsel. Ye’ll be leaving us come
morning, Rob, won’t ye?”
Rob agreed that he would and took the opportunity to change the subject to one less likely to stir debate. He was glad to
bid them both goodnight right after supper, although he was not looking forward to returning to Dumfries.
He had gathered the information Alex wanted about Annandale landholders. But he knew the sheriff had hoped—even expected—that
he would somehow manage to persuade Dunwythie and the others to submit to his authority.
Rob still doubted that anything short of an army could accomplish that goal. The Maxwells could certainly raise one if necessary.
But so could others, including Archie the Grim. And Archie would surely side with his kinsman.
Heaven alone knew what the result of such a clash as that might be.
Chapter 3
W
Fiona frowned. “I never saw any Jardine before today.”
“He came here once to raise some sort of grievance when I was about twelve. I remember that he had a bulbous red nose, tiny
eyes, and he was fat. He was angry, though, which may account for the redness but not for his piggy eyes or vast girth.”
“Mercy, I would not allow any husband of mine to grow fat,” Fiona declared. “Why was Old Jardine angry?”
“I don’t know,” Mairi said. “I could see that he was as soon as they announced him, but Father sent me away. Whatever it was,
I expect Jardine got short shrift.”
With a sudden mischievous glint, Fiona said, “Think you that Robert Maxwell will take supper with us this evening?”
Mairi rolled her eyes. “He has already departed, Fee, likely for Applegarth. Sithee, it has begun to rain, and he would never
make Dumfries before dark.”
Inside Spedlins Tower, the Jardine stronghold at Applegarth, Rob changed to warm, dry clothing and found his younger host
awaiting him in the great hall.
“Come in and take a whisky to warm you,” Will said. As he poured from jug to mug, he shot Rob a look from under his eyebrows.
“Did Dunwythie submit?”
“Nay, but I did not expect it,” Rob said, gratefully accepting the whisky and taking a sip as he moved to stand by the fire.
The ride back in increasingly heavy rain had chilled him to the bone. But the fire and the whisky warmed him.
Will’s father, known generally as Old Jardine, entered soon afterward. As he shook Rob’s hand, the old man said, “I’d wager
ye got nowt from Dunwythie.”
“You’d be right, sir,” Rob replied evenly.
His host grinned. “Ye’ll get nowt from me, either, for all that we be friends.”
“I know that,” Rob said. He knew, too, that although the Jardines were currently Maxwell allies, they were apt to change shirts
with any passing breeze. Regarding taxes, at least, Old Jardine was at one with the men of Annandale.
Pacifically, the old man said, “I’ve nae particular quarrel wi’ Dunwythie at present. Sithee, he’s a peaceable chap most days.”
“Peace is good, sir,” Rob said. “We would be wise to encourage more of it. The last thing we want is for war to erupt hereabouts.”
“’Tis true,” Jardine said. “With Dunwythie’s connections to the Lord o’ Galloway and Douglas o’ Thornhill, anyone who stirs
trouble in Annandale risks bringing the whole lot o’ them down on us. I’ve nae wish to stir up any Douglas.”
“No one has such a wish,” Rob said. Trailinghail lay in Galloway, and he knew that men had good reason for calling its lord
“Archie the Grim.”
“Aye, well, the Jardines have strong connections, too,” Will said.
“We Maxwells amongst them,” Rob said amiably. “But you cannot want to quarrel with the Dunwythies. Sakes, you’d make friends
with at least one of them.”
“Which o’ them would that be, lad?” Old Jardine said, shooting his son a narrow-eyed look.
Will shrugged. “Just a wench, Da. Nae one of import, although I’ll admit she’d be a tasty morsel. Ye’ll be leaving us come
morning, Rob, won’t ye?”
Rob agreed that he would and took the opportunity to change the subject to one less likely to stir debate. He was glad to
bid them both goodnight right after supper, although he was not looking forward to returning to Dumfries.
He had gathered the information Alex wanted about Annandale landholders. But he knew the sheriff had hoped—even expected—that
he would somehow manage to persuade Dunwythie and the others to submit to his authority.
Rob still doubted that anything short of an army could accomplish that goal. The Maxwells could certainly raise one if necessary.
But so could others, including Archie the Grim. And Archie would surely side with his kinsman.
Heaven alone knew what the result of such a clash as that might be.
Chapter 3
W
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