that night, woke him at dawn with a rough, wet lap across his nose, and after
they had broken their fast, rode contentedly inside his leather jack the rest of the way home to Trailinghail.
“But
why
must we leave Dunwythie Hall?” Fiona demanded that same fine morning. “And why go now in such haste?”
“Hush, Fee,” Mairi said. “Your mam feels unwell again.”
“If that is so, it is even more reason
not
to be mounting our horses and hurrying back to Annan House. Forbye, I don’t
want
to go home.”
Sternly, clearly having overheard her, Phaeline said, “Your father made the decision because of threats that dreadful Maxwell
person made. ’Tis clear we will be
much
safer at Annan House until the Maxwells come to their senses. So, unless you would incur my gravest displeasure, Fiona, you
will obey without further protest.”
“Aye, madam,” Fiona said with a sigh.
Mairi knew that, although her father had decided to leave Dunwythie Hall, her stepmother had likely prompted that decision,
for so it often was. Phaeline always preferred Annan House, because she thought the area there more civilized.
Mairi also knew that Fiona’s imposed silence would end as soon as they were well on their way. Indeed, the Hall had scarcely
disappeared behind them when the younger girl hissed as they rode side by side, “I’ll wager
you
are no more eager to return home than I am.”
“I ken fine why you do not want to go, Fee,” Mairi said. “But you cannot think that I have the same reason.”
Fiona hunched a shoulder. “No one ever cares what I want. But Father will heed neither of us at home, especially as he means
to visit the other lairds and warn them about the Maxwells’ newest threat. One wonders what we’ll have to occupy us there,
other than our usual duties and needlework. Aye, and Lent began yesterday and tomorrow is Sunday. So we’ll be all morning
in kirk and until Mam grows tired of the sacrifice, we’ll have no meat to eat!”
Mairi said, “At least we know more about the estates now than we did before Father took us to the Hall. Also, our people will
have planted the fields below Annan House during our absence. So we can learn even more about such things at home.”
“You know I don’t care a blink for such stuff. All I want is to meet eligible young men, Mairi. And you should want that,
too, or you’ll have no one to think about
except
Robert Maxwell. What will you do then, eh?”
Slowing her mount to lessen the risk that Phaeline or Dunwythie might hear them, Mairi said, “I don’t deny that I found the
man intriguing, Fee, but I cannot even tell you
why
I did. Perhaps it is only that he seems so strong and sure of himself when I so often feel rather helpless in the uncertainty
of my future.”
“Sakes, what makes you think he is strong or confident when he failed so miserably to persuade our father to agree with him?”
“The strength I felt came from within him,” Mairi said. “I do not think he counts success or failure in one such an attempt.
It seemed to me more as if he were doing his brother’s bidding, never really expecting to prevail.”
“But—”
“Have mercy,” Mairi pleaded. “This is foolishness, because it cannot matter
what
I think he feels inside, or why or how I sense it. His arrogant posturing when he said his odious brother could seize our
estates went beyond what I think of as civil behavior. It infuriated Father, too, although he did keep his temper.”
“Aye, and Father likely infuriated Robert Maxwell, too.
That
is why it all disturbed you, Mairi. You
always
hate disagreement. I think that whenever you see conflict, you feel as if you ought to be able to smooth it over,” Fiona
added sapiently. “When you cannot,
you
feel guilty.”
“Mercy, you make me sound as if I think of naught save myself,” Mairi protested. She was afraid, though, that much of what
her sister said was true. Disagreements did upset her. But
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