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Authors: Helen Susan Swift
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the company was entertaining. I was not that sort of girl. 'You said that you were here because of a woman?'
'That is also correct.' There was rueful humour in Hugh's voice. 'There was a woman who was desperate to ensnare me, and I was equally desperate not to be ensnared.'
'Ensnared?' I asked.
'In the trap of marriage,' my bold Hugh said. 'She was after my lands of course, rather than my not-so-handsome person.'
'Oh of course,' I said, warming to this very modest man. 'And are you not so handsome? I cannot see in the dark.'
'And that is a very good thing,' he said. 'For if you could see me you would immediately now why Meg Turner would not be in the least attracted. I have a face like the wrong end of a bull.'
I laughed out loud. 'I have never heard a man say such things about himself,' I said 'although I have heard many women make such statements – behind the man's back.'
'And quite correctly too, I imagine,' Hugh said.
I began to imagine his face, picturing the hind quarters of a bull and placing it on the shoulders of the man who sat opposite and in such close proximity to me. It was such a ludicrous picture that despite our precarious position, I had to stifle my laughter.
'Are you all right, My Lady Jeannie?'
'I was trying not to laugh,' I told him.
'Keep your laughter,' he said. 'You will need it when we get out of this place and you see what an ugly monster you have shared a dungeon with. It will be a story you can share with your children. All ten of them.'
'I have no children,' I said.
'Not yet,' he told me and relapsed into silence.
'You were telling me about Meg Turner,' I reminded, 'the woman who wished your hand in marriage despite your unfortunate face.'
'That's the one. I refused her kind offer of shackles much like these of Wild Will and she was very quiet for a space, and then she suggested that we meet once more to discuss things. I asked her what there was to discuss and she said she may be able to persuade me.'
'And then?' I tried to hurry the story along, for Hugh seemed prone to linger at the most interesting places.
I could feel his smile even in that dismal place. 'I believed her. Call me stupid or call me simple but I rode along to the old chapel at Laverlaw, where the ghosts are said to flit and the moon pokes white from the blasted oaks…'
'Oh very poetic,' I said. 'You should write that into a ballad.'
'I may do just that,' Hugh told me. 'I have always fancied myself as a balladeer!'
'You met the fair Meg at Laverlaw,' I reminded.
'She was not fair,' he said at once. 'She is dark; very dark; black of hair and black of heart. Remind me never again to walk out with a black haired woman for they have natures to mirror their hair.'
'Oh,' I said. 'I will do that.' I did not tell him that my hair could not be darker. It was the colour of coal and so long that when combed out I could sit on it.
'I rode up to Laverlaw with my heart so innocent that I wondered if I was mistaken,' Hugh said. 'I thought of her wondrous smile and other things about her…'
'I do not need to ask what other things you were thinking about,' I said, once more stifling my laughter.
'No, indeed not. Women will also think about herds of cattle and fertile lands and the merging of properties together.' Hugh was a man of surprises. 'So I was nearly prepared to be nice to her, especially when I saw her standing inside the chapel in a long white dress and with a circlet of flowers in her hair. She was like the Queen of the May.'
'How lovely,' I said. 'And she was equally innocent despite her black hair.'
'That's what I thought!' Hugh said cheerfully. So I dismounted and ran forward, hopeful for… Well just hopeful.'
'I can imagine,' I said.
'Well imagine this,' Hugh said. 'I came forward prepared to be friendly and then two or three or a dozen other women of the Turner family came out of the dark, threw a blanket over my head and trussed me tight as a goose at Christmas. I heard them laughing and within
'That is also correct.' There was rueful humour in Hugh's voice. 'There was a woman who was desperate to ensnare me, and I was equally desperate not to be ensnared.'
'Ensnared?' I asked.
'In the trap of marriage,' my bold Hugh said. 'She was after my lands of course, rather than my not-so-handsome person.'
'Oh of course,' I said, warming to this very modest man. 'And are you not so handsome? I cannot see in the dark.'
'And that is a very good thing,' he said. 'For if you could see me you would immediately now why Meg Turner would not be in the least attracted. I have a face like the wrong end of a bull.'
I laughed out loud. 'I have never heard a man say such things about himself,' I said 'although I have heard many women make such statements – behind the man's back.'
'And quite correctly too, I imagine,' Hugh said.
I began to imagine his face, picturing the hind quarters of a bull and placing it on the shoulders of the man who sat opposite and in such close proximity to me. It was such a ludicrous picture that despite our precarious position, I had to stifle my laughter.
'Are you all right, My Lady Jeannie?'
'I was trying not to laugh,' I told him.
'Keep your laughter,' he said. 'You will need it when we get out of this place and you see what an ugly monster you have shared a dungeon with. It will be a story you can share with your children. All ten of them.'
'I have no children,' I said.
'Not yet,' he told me and relapsed into silence.
'You were telling me about Meg Turner,' I reminded, 'the woman who wished your hand in marriage despite your unfortunate face.'
'That's the one. I refused her kind offer of shackles much like these of Wild Will and she was very quiet for a space, and then she suggested that we meet once more to discuss things. I asked her what there was to discuss and she said she may be able to persuade me.'
'And then?' I tried to hurry the story along, for Hugh seemed prone to linger at the most interesting places.
I could feel his smile even in that dismal place. 'I believed her. Call me stupid or call me simple but I rode along to the old chapel at Laverlaw, where the ghosts are said to flit and the moon pokes white from the blasted oaks…'
'Oh very poetic,' I said. 'You should write that into a ballad.'
'I may do just that,' Hugh told me. 'I have always fancied myself as a balladeer!'
'You met the fair Meg at Laverlaw,' I reminded.
'She was not fair,' he said at once. 'She is dark; very dark; black of hair and black of heart. Remind me never again to walk out with a black haired woman for they have natures to mirror their hair.'
'Oh,' I said. 'I will do that.' I did not tell him that my hair could not be darker. It was the colour of coal and so long that when combed out I could sit on it.
'I rode up to Laverlaw with my heart so innocent that I wondered if I was mistaken,' Hugh said. 'I thought of her wondrous smile and other things about her…'
'I do not need to ask what other things you were thinking about,' I said, once more stifling my laughter.
'No, indeed not. Women will also think about herds of cattle and fertile lands and the merging of properties together.' Hugh was a man of surprises. 'So I was nearly prepared to be nice to her, especially when I saw her standing inside the chapel in a long white dress and with a circlet of flowers in her hair. She was like the Queen of the May.'
'How lovely,' I said. 'And she was equally innocent despite her black hair.'
'That's what I thought!' Hugh said cheerfully. So I dismounted and ran forward, hopeful for… Well just hopeful.'
'I can imagine,' I said.
'Well imagine this,' Hugh said. 'I came forward prepared to be friendly and then two or three or a dozen other women of the Turner family came out of the dark, threw a blanket over my head and trussed me tight as a goose at Christmas. I heard them laughing and within
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