“Aye, well, you’ve the right to doubt, and in truth, since I’ve not yet seen you in full light, mayhap I did promise too lightly. We were speaking of the devil before, however. We ought to finish one subject before we begin another.”
He seemed so calm, so certain that they were safe and that he could protect her, that his confidence was contagious. She felt herself relax.
Curiously, she said, “Are you saying that you do think Hugh will believe we have both been carried off by the devil?”
He chuckled again. “Nay, lassie, much as I’d like to believe it. Your brother is not a simpleton. He might waste a moment or two scratching his head, but once he learns that you are gone and that I have escaped, he will put the facts together and most likely arrive at the correct conclusion. All we have gained by my little trick is time, but time is ever a friendly ally. With luck we’ll be across the line before he knows we’re gone, which is more than I’d have expected.”
“But what if he declares a hot trod? He has only to call out his men, tie a bit of burning turf to a lance, and ride across the border after us.”
“Aye, he might do that. For twenty-four hours he has the right to declare himself in hot pursuit of any escaped felon, even to cross the line and demand that the first citizen of Scotland he claps eyes on should go for the march warden, report that he’s in pursuit, and demand his help. But I do not think that he will do that, or that it would avail him much if he did.”
“Why not?”
“Well, you see, he would first have to determine which march we entered.”
“But is not the Laird of Buccleuch acting warden for both the western and middle marches? I am certain that Hugh said he was.”
“Aye, and keeper of Liddesdale, as well; but the law is the law, and Sir Hugh cannot insist on searching two marches for us. Any road, Buccleuch is likely to tell him to go to the devil.”
“He cannot do that! By law he must honor a legitimate request.”
“Not if he claims that he does not know Rabbie Redcloak and doubts that he would find anyone in his marches or in all of Liddesdale who would admit to knowing any knave as scurrilous as your brother is like to describe me.”
Seated sideways as she was, Janet was able to look into his face, and her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough so that she could make out his general features and shape, but she could not read his expression. She could still detect the ever-present note of amusement in his voice, however.
“I do not know how you can so easily mock the law,” she said. “Do you not fear hanging?”
“Bless you, lass, every man fears death, for we are but a moment away from it at any time. However, those who spend their living hours thinking of naught else waste their lives. I enjoy mine, and never more so than when I am risking death.”
“Men,” she muttered.
“Aye, we’re a sorry lot,” he agreed.
“I do wish you would stop mocking everything I say.”
“Then you must say something sensible,” he said. “Do you really believe that all men are alike?”
“Not in every way,” she said, “but in many ways. They like their comforts and expect women to provide them. They are brutal and cruel when it suits them to be and care not for what havoc their behavior wreaks in the lives of others. I have yet to meet one who is not selfish and stubborn and—”
“Enough,” he said, laughing again. “I know I asked the question, but it seems to me that you have met a sorry lot of men. The ones I know are merry, even when they struggle to find food for their tables. They look after one another—aye, and after their families and friends, too. If they do expect their women to provide them with those comforts you mention, they generally appreciate them when they get them. Comfort of any sort is rare in their lives.”
“Most of the men I know are either members of the gentry or their henchmen,” she said. “When I think about them with their families, though, and not just talking amongst themselves, perhaps they are not so bad.”
“You must have maidservants at Brackengill,” he said. “Do your brother and his men treat them all badly?”
“No, for in the general way of things I do not allow them to. Of course, if Hugh loses his temper, there is not a great deal I can do to protect his target. Still, he does like a comfortable home, and over the years I have brought him to agree that our servants exert themselves more to make him comfortable if he treats them with some degree of courtesy. He takes pride in what he has achieved at Brackengill, and he knows that the comfort with which he has surrounded himself contributes a great deal to the impression that Brackengill makes on visitors.”
“What else has he achieved then? I saw that he’s got a strong stone wall, but the lodging he afforded to me was not what I would call splendid.”
She suppressed a chuckle, not certain enough yet of his wry humor to believe that he meant her to share it. “Hugh has spent years making Brackengill a home of which he can be proud,” she said. “I do not know if you ever saw it as it was before, but when he inherited, the castle was no more than a pele tower surrounded by a wooden stockade. He inherited when he was twelve, but our uncle served as his guardian, and it was not until Hugh turned eighteen that Uncle allowed him to make any choices of his own. Once he could do so, however, he set about turning Brackengill into what it is today.”
“Not without help, I’ll wager.”
“If you mean help from me, you cannot know much about nine-year-old girls. If I helped then, it was only by providing poorly embroidered cushions for the stone window seats. I have learned to help more since then, of course, for I organized the kitchens and have done much of the needlework. The arras cloth in the hall came from Belgium, of course, but—”
“I have not seen that,” he said dryly. “Is it particularly good?”
“Oh, yes, magnificent,” she said. “Don’t think you can raid Brackengill to steal it, however. I doubt it would look as well on the walls of a reiver’s cottage.”
He chuckled again but did not deny that he had been contemplating such a thing. Hugging to herself what felt like a small victory, she wished that she could think she had sorted him out in her mind, but she could not. One moment he spoke with the broad accent of the Scottish Border, the next he sounded much as Hugh did. She decided that he had spent time with educated men and that, in her presence, he tried to ape their manner.
The gusting wind settled to a stiff breeze, and above its murmuring, Janet soon heard the gurgle of a nearby burn. Moments later she could make out the white froth of its rapids as they roiled over boulders and stones in its path.
She said, “I suppose you know exactly where we are.”
“I’ve a fair notion,” he said. “Every bit of water flowing west hereabouts flows into the Esk, you see, so once we find a place to cross this burn, we should be only a few miles from the dike. We’ll cross the Esk just east of Netherby, where I know a ford. If your brother follows, he’ll reach the line well east of that point. Doubtless you’re sleepy,” he added. “Why do you not rest for a time?”
“Have you tired of my conversation so quickly?”
“I have not, but there are any number of hamlets hereabouts, and now that the wind has fallen to a whisper, I think we should keep silent, lest someone hear us and come out to see who we are.”
The warning was enough to silence her. They were still in Graham territory, and although any Grahams she encountered south of the line would be friendly to her, they would be likely to tell Hugh they had seen her. She did not intend to accept the reiver’s invitation to nap, however, tempting though it was.
While they had talked, it had been possible to ignore their closeness to each other. Riding in silence made that more difficult. Her body touched his in too many places, and the motion of the horse constantly jostled them together. Moreover, of necessity his arms were around her, and his left one kept brushing her breast as he manipulated the reins. He did not carry a whip, so his right hand, behind her, was generally unoccupied, and she assumed that he rested it on his thigh as he rode. When he guided the pony to the edge of the burn and into the water a few moments later, he steadied her with that hand as if he feared she would fall.
On the other side, he held her while the pony lurched up the steep bank, and when they reached the flat, she felt almost sorry when he took his hand away.
Again the silence made her unnaturally aware of his nearness. She knew that she ought to be outraged that he was taking her away from the only home and family she had ever known, but she was grateful not to have to face Hugh and could think of little else beyond the reiver. She could hear him breathing, could feel the slightest movement of his left arm, and each of those movements stirred other sensations, deeper ones that made her feel wicked.
Just thinking of such wickedness conjured up a looming vision of Hugh, and the little shiver that followed momentarily expelled the wanton thoughts. Then the reiver shifted on the saddle. His right hand steadied her again, and feeling that hand on her arm sent new sensations tingling from one nerve ending to another, straight to the center of her body. The feelings wanned her and stirred thoughts that she knew she ought to pray to God for the strength to resist.
“Lean back against me, lassie,” he murmured. “I willna bite.”
His voice was seductively low-pitched. It seemed to vibrate through her, and she was too sleepy to muster more resistance. Her body felt like warm wax in his arms, as if it were molding itself against his. She obeyed his command without a thought of protesting.
He knew the instant she slept, because her weight settled against him. She was not heavy, and her body seemed to fit against his as if it had been created for the purpose. He wondered what had possessed him to make off with her as he had. Surely, it had been the most reckless thing he had done in a life filled with reckless deeds. He would never hear the end of it. Buccleuch would see to that if no one else did. Just the thought of his cousin’s inevitable wrath stirred a prickling sensation along his spine. Surely even the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect.
She shifted—snuggling, seeking comfort—and when he moved his right hand and arm automatically to support her, he found his fingertips resting against the curve of her hip. A wave of her scent touched his nostrils, and his cousin’s fierce image vanished in a trice as bodily instincts and reflexes banished thought of anything but Janet Graham. The scent of her, and the warmth emanating from her slender, curving body beneath the thick cloaks stirred other parts of him to life. The temptation to allow his fantasies a free rein was nearly irresistible.
A purring sound drifted to his ears, and for a moment, he thought the sound issued from the lass. When it continued steadily, rhythmically, he realized it came from the little cat she still held in the shelter of her arms beneath her two cloaks.
The sound reminded him of his folly. Bad enough that he had taken the wench, but he had taken the damned cat as well. Should anyone require proof that Mistress Janet Graham had unhinged him, the cat would provide it. He decided that when it came time to describe his escape, he would omit the cat. The legend of Rabbie Redcloak encompassed a host of audacious escapades, daring deeds, and admirable accomplishments—a number of which were even true—but he did not think the legend would benefit by adding his abduction of Jemmy Whiskers.
The lass did not stir until he began to descend the Esk’s bank at the seldom-used crossing near Netherby. By then her head lay against his shoulder, and his right arm supported her body. Sleepily, she tilted her head back to look up at him.
“Where are we?” she murmured.
“Near the dike, about to cross the Esk. We’ll make for Jess Armstrong’s place. He’s a broken man, but he keeps his mouth shut and I warrant he’ll put us up for the day without making any fuss about it.”
“For the day?”
“Aye, it’s safer to lurk a bit, I think, since we’ll have to make our way east and your brother will likely be searching for us soon. I want to put out a few ears to listen for news before I risk your bonny neck by riding farther.”
“Where will we go?”
“To my place, I think, until I can decide what to do with you. There are Grahams on this side of the line, of course.”
“Aye, but they are not friends of mine,” she said.
He clicked his tongue. “Now, fighting within families is something I don’t hold with,” he said virtuously.
Sweetly she said, “Tell me again about this cousin of yours.”
He chuckled. “Bless you, lass, we dinna fratch. Well, not as you mean, at all events. He will be wroth with me. I carina deny that, but ’tis only because I’ve put up your brother’s back. It’s his being a deputy warden, and all, that will put Wat in a stir. He has scruples, does Wat. He seldom shows them, but he does have them. Here now, hold on tight. This is probably the worst ford for twenty miles, and the water flows high and moves fast now that the thaw has begun.”
She eyed the swiftly moving river warily. “Is it safe?”
“Oh, aye, my lad will make it. ’Ware the cat, though, because we might all get a wee bit damp, and that water’s bound to be cold.”
That proved to be an understatement, but Jemmy stayed dry; and not long after they reached the opposite bank, they came to a cottage and the reiver reined in.
Without dismounting, he shouted, “Jess!”
The door opened so quickly that Janet was sure the cottager had not been sleeping. Indeed, he seemed almost to have been awaiting their arrival. He hurried out, saying, “Dinna get down fra’ the pony, Rab. Ye’ll no be stayin’.”
“Now, Jess,” the reiver said calmly, “the lass is tired, and so am I. You may not have heard the news, but I ha’ been imprisoned these three—”
“Och, do I no ken that? Still, Rab, ye’re no t’ stay here. Himself said ye’re t’ ride for Hermitage as fast as your pony’s legs’ll tak’ ye. He’ll meet ye there.”
“Damnation,” the reiver said. “We’re for it now, lass, right enough.”
“With fairest words and reason strong, Strove courteously in vain.”
“I
’M RIGHT SORRY ABOUT
this,” the reiver said.