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Bernard had decided that no one would miss him if he were late for the servants’ dinner, so he decided to try out the village tavern. Accordingly, he went to fetch his horse, Jason. Upon arriving at the stables, he heard the sound of a woman’s helpless laughter and the giggling of at least two children. Curious, he went into the stable courtyard to see Janice lying on the floor being tickled mercilessly by two of the servants’ children. The two young girls, who looked to be about seven years old, were crouching beside her, taking no notice at all of her fine evening dress, which was becoming more and more crumpled by the second.
“My dress!” Janice cried, through tears of laughter. “You are going to ruin it!”
“A penny each an’ we will stop!” cried the darker of the two, a little imp with mischievous blue eyes.
“Aye!” the other one, a little girl with curly red hair, chipped in, nodding as she held her hands up, ready to inflict more torture.
“I surrender!” Janice cried, then lay back, limp, on the floor, while the two little girls danced around her, laughing triumphantly.
Bernard was enchanted. Here was a woman who practically ran a huge estate on her own, who could likely have any man she wanted, who was intelligent and beautiful, rolling around on the floor with two children.
He burst out laughing, startling the children into silence. When they looked up, their eyes were wide with fright and fear. Not only had the noise sounded like a deep drumbeat, but they had never seen such a big man in their lives. They stared at him for a moment before Janice scrambled to her feet and took each of their hands.
“Who is that?” the little dark-haired girl asked fearfully. The other one said nothing but swallowed nervously.
“This is Master Taggart,” Janice replied, smiling soothingly. “He is very tall, is he not?”
“How did he become sae tall?” asked the redhead, looking at him in open amazement.
“He ate all his food and never left anything on his plate,” Janice replied, then she looked up at him and smiled. “Master Taggart, please say hello to two of my very best friends. This”—she pointed to the dark-haired girl—“is Ailsa. This is Flora.” She indicated the little redhead. “These two help me when I need a bouquet. They go and pick flowers for me, and they help me choose my perfume when I am going to a ceilidh. They work very hard, do you not, ladies?”
“Aye,” they said in unison, still not taking their eyes off Bernard.
“What a wonderful job,” Bernard observed, kneeling down in front of them. The girls were still hesitant, but when he smiled at him, they giggled shyly. “ I have to go now, but I will see you both later, I am sure.”
He picked up one of each of their hands and kissed their knuckles, then stood up, bowed, and went to fetch his horse, leaving the two little girls to stare after him in awe.
They watched as he rode his black stallion out of the stables, smiling and waving as he went past. Janice watched him longingly. The notion of going with him was very appealing since she was facing the prospect of an evening of enduring the embarrassing antics of her brothers. She could only imagine the depths of stupidity they would plunge to when they had an audience.
She looked down at her dress and smiled ruefully. It was crumpled and dusty, and Janice did not exactly smell of roses!
“Can we get ye more perfume, mistress?” Flora asked, trying not to giggle.
“Maybe if I give you sixpence each, you can be my lady’s maids and find me a new dress?” Janice suggested.
Her offer was met with much enthusiasm.
“How many dresses have ye got, mistress?” Ailsa asked.
“Hundreds!” Janice replied as they ran up to her bedchamber, giggling.
* * *
The tavern in Howdenbrae was called the White Bull, and it consisted of nothing more than a large shed with a thatched roof that looked as though it might need repair soon. Inside, however, there was a warm wood fire, a counter where drinks were served, and a number of rough wooden tables and chairs.
Some of the local workmen were already drinking, even though it was only late afternoon, but Bernard reminded himself that he was one of them, despite the fact that he had spent much of his life in a more elevated company. As he looked at the weathered faces of the workmen, he felt warm contentment. These were his people.
The notion of eating an evening meal and drinking anything but ale with it was utterly foreign to these people. Whisky was expensive and out of the reach of ordinary working people, and most had never tasted wine in their lives.
Bernard walked up to the bar and smiled at the plump, middle-aged woman who was working there. She was washing and drying a clay goblet, and she looked surprised but pleased to see the tall stranger walking into her establishment.
“What can I get ye, stranger?” she asked politely.
“A pint of your best ale, please,” he replied, smiling. “I have heard it is the best in the district.”
She poured a cup out for him from a pitcher, and he sipped it cautiously. He had received many a sour pint of beer in countryside taverns, but this one had the full, nutty flavor that he loved, and he said so.
“Mmm…wonderful!” he said happily, smacking his lips.
