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Aulay hesitated, but then sank back in his seat with a sigh. Four horsewomen of the Apocalypse or not, he had responsibilities to attend.
Chapter 8
"Oh aye, Aulay was a lighthearted and charming devil ere the wound he took to the face," Acair Buchanan assured Jetta. "Went all solemn and quiet afterward though. I blame that whor--lass," he corrected himself quickly and rushed on, "that lass he was betrothed to. Tossed him over like bad ale once he was scarred, she did."
Jetta nodded solemnly. "Mavis told me about Adaira."
"Aye, Adaira," Uncle Acair said with disgust and then shook his head and added, "she always seemed like such a nice wee lass. But once he was scarred . . ." Acair's mouth tightened.
"Do you know what became of her?" Jetta asked with curiosity. Mavis hadn't said. "Did she ever marry?"
"Aye." His mouth twisted angrily. "The wedding was barely canceled when we got word she'd run off to marry some heir to a marquis or something. She ended up in France o' all places if ye can imagine. Probably suits her. The French all think they're better than everyone else anyway, and so did Adaira. But then, her mother was French, so I suppose she came by it natural-like."
Jetta's eyebrows drew together as she considered what he'd said. His words had twigged something in her memory. Obviously, she'd heard this story before from Mavis, at least parts of it. Or she may have heard it all ere her head injury, she thought and waited briefly for the twig to surface fully enough for her to grab at it, but that small twigging was all she got.
Sighing, she let go of it and asked Acair the questions she hadn't thought to ask Mavis. "Then how did my husband and I become betrothed? Did my parents not arrange a betrothal for me at birth, or shortly afterward, as is the custom? I mean, I could not have been betrothed to him from birth if he was already betrothed to Adaira. Did my own betrothed die as a child, leaving me available to be betrothed to Aulay?"
"Oh . . . er . . ." Uncle Acair glanced around as if for aid, but he and Mavis were the only ones there besides Jetta. All of his men were outside, guarding the cabin in shifts with half standing guard while the other half slept in a small tent they'd set up next to the stables. Uncle Acair himself had taken the second bedroom in the lodge, and Mavis had slept on a pallet in Jetta's room. She had offered the old woman the other half of the bed, not seeing any need for her to sleep on pallets on the cold hard floor, but the maid had refused, insisting she was used to it and wouldn't sleep well in the "soft, hot" bed.
"What's got yer attention there, Mavis?" Uncle Acair asked suddenly, apparently distracted from her question.
Jetta followed his gaze to the maid, growing curious herself when she noted the still and alert stance the woman had taken at the window.
"I thought I heard laughing," Mavis murmured, not taking her eyes off the scene beyond the open window shutters.
Uncle Acair shared a wry smile with Jetta. "Aye, well, the men do laugh on occasion."
"Nay, no' the men. I thought I heard women's laughter," Mavis said quietly, obviously still listening. "Oh! 'Tis m'lady Saidh!"
Jetta's eyes widened with sudden alarm and she glanced down at the plaid she wore over her shift. She'd woken up before Mavis this morn and had pleated and donned it herself ere slipping from the room and coming below. Her lack of practice at the task showed. The plaid was crooked, the pleats less than uniform with one large, then the next small, and the next somewhat askew. The whole thing probably looked a sacklike mess on her, but she hadn't minded when it had just been her, Mavis and Uncle Acair here. However, now her husband's sister had arrived . . .
"Oh dear," Jetta murmured, thinking she would embarrass her husband looking so shabby. "I should--"
"Sit, lass," Acair said firmly, when she started to rise, ready to flee to her room. "Saidh was never one to fuss o'er fashion. Ye'll look just fine to her."
"Oh look! Lady Murine and Lady Edith are with her too!" Mavis said with mounting excitement.
"Niels's and Dougall's wives?" Jetta asked with alarm, recognizing the names from tales Aulay had told her. While he'd obeyed Rory's orders and spoken precious little about their life together, he had told her stories about his childhood and life before her, telling her about his brothers and even about how two of them had met their mates, Edith and Murine.
"They're family, lass," Acair said firmly, placing a hand over hers in a way that might be meant to offer support, but also ensured she couldn't flee. "Murine and Edith'll no' fuss o'er what ye're wearing either."
"And that friend o' theirs, Lady Jo Sinclair is with them too," Mavis added with glee. "And oh look! Dougall, Niels, Greer, and the Sinclair are all with them as well." Pausing, she glanced toward the cooking area and said, "Thank goodness I made those pasties. But I'd best double the rabbit stew I was making for lunch."
Moaning, Jetta closed her eyes as the woman bustled back to the stove. She was contemplating what she feared was her coming humiliation when their guests entered, but then Acair released her hand and said, "All right then, lass. Go on with ye."
Breathing out her relief, Jetta stood abruptly, and then grabbed at the table when a wave of dizziness rolled over her.
Uncle Acair stood at once and scooped her up into his arms. "Ye're still not fully recovered, are ye, lass?"
"I just stood up too quickly," she assured him faintly.
"Hmm," he grunted. "I'll take ye to yer room. But fair warning," Acair added as he headed for the stairs. "The lassies'll most like head straight up to see ye once they're inside. So we're just delaying the inevitable."
"So long as their husbands do not follow," Jetta murmured, wrapping her arms around Uncle Acair's shoulders and then offering him a crooked smile.
"What are ye thinking, lass?" he asked curiously as he carried her up the stairs.
"That looking at you I see how my husband will look in twenty years. You are remarkably similar in looks to Aulay. As is Rory."
"Aye." He grinned. "'Tis the Buchanan blood. It runs strong. All male Buchanans look similar."
"And does Saidh too?" she asked curiously, glancing back over his shoulder toward the door below.
"Nay, thank the good Lord," he said dryly. "Buchanan features do no' sit well on a female's face as our poor sister Maighread proved. I love her dearly, but a more unattractive woman I've never seen. Her own betrothed took one look at her face and refused to have her. Said it would be like waking up to me in his bed every morn."
Jetta's eyes widened in dismay at this news. "What happened to Maighread?"
"Oh, she took the veil when her betrothed insulted her so. Said she'd rather be a nun than deal with unfeeling bastard men. Which was a crying shame if ye ask me. She may ha'e looked like another Buchanan lad, but she took after our mother to be sure. She was sweet-natured and nurturing. She would have made a good wife and mother." Acair sighed at the memory and then added more cheerfully, "Fortunately, our Saidh turned out the opposite. She inherited her mother's long black hair and good looks, but her father, my brother's, personality. She's pretty as a picture she is. Just acts like one o' the boys instead o' looking like them."
"Oh," Jetta said weakly, not sure what else to say. The picture Acair had put in her head was of a prettier version of Aulay with black hair and bosoms, stomping around with a sword in hand.
"Here we are," Uncle Acair announced cheerfully as he carried her into her bedchamber. He'd barely stepped inside when they heard the lodge door opening below and the sound of laughter and chatter burst into the small building. Smiling wryly, Acair set her on her feet beside the bed and added, "And there they are. I'm guessing ye have about two minutes ere the lassies come bursting in here to see ye, so--" Pausing, he tilted his head and listened at the sudden rush of feet on the stairs. It sounded like a stampede.
"Make that less than a minute," he said dryly, and moved quickly aside just as several women rushed into the room, tugging a beaming Mavis along with them.
Well, tugging and hugging. It looked to Jetta as if they si
mply swept the woman up on entry and passed her around, each hugging and greeting her as they bustled her up to the bedchamber. Now the greetings died and the room fell silent as four women paused to take her in.
Jetta peered back, probably looking much like a frightened doe, and then her gaze sought out Mavis. Noting the affection with which the maid was taking it all in, Jetta made herself relax. These were members of her family. Well, three of the four newcomers were. The fourth was a friend, but she presumed a friend to her too, else why would the woman travel all this way?
Pasting a welcoming smile to her face, Jetta straightened and surveyed the women. Two blondes, a redhead, and one with long pure black hair, much like her own, Jetta realized and smiled faintly at the thought. It was exactly how her husband had described his sister. "Long black hair like yers, but hers tends toward being straight, while yers has nice waves to it."
"Saidh," she said, smiling at the woman with long black hair, and then turning to the redhead, she said, "Edith," and finally, she turned her gaze to the two blondes and said solemnly, "and Murine and Jo."
"Ye ken who we are?" Edith asked with surprise.
Jetta bit her lip and wrinkled her nose, but then sighed.
"Nay," she admitted. "I mean, if you are asking do I recall you, I fear not," she said apologetically. "But my sweet Aulay has told me a lot about each of you so I knew Saidh has black hair, while yours is red," she added to Edith, and then turned to the last two women to say, "he said Murine and Jo both had blond hair, so I know you are Murine and Lady Sinclair, but am not sure which of you ladies is Murine and which is Lady Sinclair."
"Oh," Edith murmured, a soft smile curving her lips as she turned to the others and said, "She called him her sweet Aulay."
"Aye." One of the blondes sighed. "Is that not wonderful?"
Jetta flushed, a bit embarrassed, and then glanced to Saidh as Aulay's sister moved toward her. When the woman took her arms in hand and peered at her solemnly, though, her expression became uncertain.
"Does his scar no' bother ye?" Saidh asked bluntly.
