“Where are we?” she demanded as she drew her horse alongside his. “I vow, Tip, if you are leading me in circles to keep me from finding them, at the first opportunity I will run you through with a sword myself.”
“I wouldna lead ye astray, mistress,” he said.
She heard injury in his voice, but she had not lived with a Border lord all her life only to accept what might be no more than a serviceable lie. “Why is the moon ahead of us then? It has stayed to our left until now.”
“We’ve turned a bit is all,” he said. “D’ye see them two hills yonder, the ones that look like a lass’s soft bubbies?”
Following his gesture, she saw the twin dark mounds ahead. “Aye, so?”
“We were headed straight toward the one on the right. That be Cauldcleuch Head. Two thousand foot, at least, it be. Same as Greatmoor Hill yonder on the left. We aim to go betwixt the two, through the pass. Then we’ll follow the burn there till it meets wi’ Hermitage Water.”
She nodded, knowing now where they were going. “When we can see the castle, it will become easier to see the track, will it not?”
“Aye, well, that depends on if ye want them at Hermitage to see us or no.”
Janet sighed. “I had no notion how many pitfalls I should encounter in this venture, Tip. You are right to be exasperated with me. I certainly do not want to have to explain myself to Buccleuch. Not before we find the others, at all events.”
“Now, that’s just what I were thinking myself,” he said. “Himself wouldna appreciate the need we ha’ to look out for the master.”
Detecting irony in his tone, she chose to ignore it. “Exactly so,” she said.
Reaching the top of the pass did not take as long as she had feared, and by crossing Hermitage Water as soon as they reached it, they managed to pass near the castle without having to pass within sight of its great walls. The shrubbery on the banks of the rushing burn shielded them, but Janet was grateful when the moon chose the few minutes of their passing to slip behind a cloud. By the time the cloud drifted on, they had reached the northwest bank of the Liddel.
With satisfaction she saw that she could easily have found the ford, but she made no objection when Tip slipped from his saddle to search for Sir Quinton’s mark. He found it quickly.
“They’ve made for Larriston and Saughtree,” he said. “’Tis just as I expected. They’ll be wantin’ to cross over the line betwixt Saughtree and Deadwater—on the Larriston Fells, ye ken, the far side o’ Foulmire Heights.”
“Why?”
“’Tis the easiest route into Tynedale, that’s why.”
“But won’t the English be watching the easiest route the most carefully?”
“Aye, they will, but Foulmire Heights be well named, mistress. I doubt they ken them as well as the master does. And, too, because he kens fine that they’ll be somewhere about, he’ll spy them easily and avoid their lookouts. We’ll do the same if ye’ll trust to my lead.”
“They will have mounted patrols, Tip.”
“Do I no ken that? Does not the master? Mistress, ye’ve ventured into a business best managed by them who’ve managed it these hundred years and more.”
“I warrant you are right,” Janet said with a sigh, resisting the impulse to point out that neither Tip nor his beloved master had been doing anything for a hundred years. “I cannot get it out of my head that they will need help tonight. How could I live with myself if I ignored that voice and something dreadful happened to them?”
“Aye, that’d be gey hard, that would,” Tip agreed.
“So you see, then.”
He did not speak for some moments. Then he said, “I see, mistress, but I dinna think that either of us will persuade the master of such a need.”
She sighed again. “What will he do, Tip—to you, I mean?”
“Best if we dinna think about that,” he muttered.
Guilt nearly sank her determination then, for it was as clear as if he had spoken the words aloud that he had resigned himself to a dire fate.
“I’ll not let him flog you,” she said fiercely.
“If ye can stop him, ye’re mightier than I think ye be,” Tip said.
Janet swallowed hard. “Should we go back, then? I do not want you hurt.”
Silence. Then Tip said, “Nay, then, we’ve come this far. We might as well go a bit farther and see what’s o’clock.” He gave spur to his pony.
Relieved, Janet followed, hoping hers would have sense enough to avoid stepping into a hole.
They passed through Larriston village without seeing so much as a dog or a cat. If any people remained in the cottages, they were keeping sensibly out of sight. Shortly afterward, Janet discerned the shadowy outline of Saughtree atop the next rise, but before they reached the village, Tip turned south. They rode uphill for a time after that, keeping to the darkest shadows and listening carefully as they rode.
The ponies’ hooves made little sound on the grass-covered ground, but Janet knew that sound carried far in the night and that the two of them had to be making more noise than one. Still, she was increasingly grateful for Tip’s company. She would not have wanted to be alone in the wavering dark shadows.
Sounds of a bubbling burn reached her ears, and she was glad to hear it. They were approaching the pass, the most likely place for watchers, but surely the noise of the burn would cover any sound she and Tip or their ponies made.
She barely saw movement when Tip put one hand in the air, but she had been watching and drew rein at once. They were in deep shadow on a shrub-clad hillside.
Tip slid from his saddle, tied his reins to a handy branch, and moved silently back to her.
Leaning down, she murmured, “What is it? What do you hear?”
“Naught,” he replied. “But we’d be fools to ride farther without first making certain the way ahead be clear. We’ll no follow the track, any road, but keep well to the right of it. There be another way—along that hillside yonder—and I dinna think the English ken that the wee track exists. A deer would ha’ trouble seeing it, the master says, and he kens it fine.”
“Will you leave me here, then, whilst you look?”
“Ye can come along if ye like, but ye’d be safer here. Tis dark and ’tis off the usual track and not easily stumbled on by them wha’ dinna ken it fine.”
What he was thinking, she knew, was that he would fare better without her. He was more accustomed than she was to moving quietly when an enemy was at hand. She was rapidly coming to a new assessment of her prowess, and she did not much like it. Suppressing an unexpected shiver of fear at being left, she said, “Go then, Tip. I’ll stay with the horses. What do I do if I see someone?”
“Ye’ll no stay wi’ the ponies,” he said. “We’ll draw them well into the brush, and ye’ll keep low under cover a wee distance awa’. That road, if someone should stumble over them, they willna find ye as weel.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, but his words shot another shiver up Janet’s spine. Her courage had fled, and she was not certain that she would recover it. Moments later, she was alone in the dark. The mist had thickened, casting a veil across the moon. Its pale glow still shimmered through, barely illuminating objects on the ground, but she could not see as well as she had earlier.
Telling herself that she was safer in the dimmer light did not help, for she could no longer see Tip. She had lost sight of him almost immediately, and she could discern no stirring of shrubbery or other movement or sound that betrayed his whereabouts. He might as well have been a ghost that had vanished. If he were captured or had already been captured, she would not know until he failed to return.
Just the thought gave her new shivers. What would she do? She could not be certain that Quinton would return the way he had gone. He was as likely to make for the Kershopefoot crossing. Indeed, that was the very reason that her anxieties had stirred, because she feared that Hugh would capture him again and hang him before anyone even knew that Hugh had taken him.
Gritting her teeth, she told herself to stop being such a fool. Her instincts had told her to follow, and she had. She would be at hand when she was needed. She knew it—or so she assured herself.
Minutes dragged into longer minutes, till it seemed as if hours had passed. Common sense told her it had not been as long as that, that time simply had slowed to a crawl. She must not let impatience stir her to do anything foolish. Still, each minute dragged until twenty of them seemed like a year.
Listening, all she could hear was the nearby burn bubbling and sloshing over rocks and boulders as it tumbled downhill to join the Tyne at Kielbeck. What was happening there, she did not know, nor could she. If only, she thought, she could turn off her thinking, could just sleep with her eyes open, so that she would see any danger that came but would not imagine any that would not come.
Movement in nearby brush startled her. She nearly scrambled up to see what it was, then told herself firmly that it was naught but one of the horses moving. Logic told her, however, that the horses were too far away. She might hear a whicker if one were so forgetful of its training as to make that much noise, but she would not hear it if it simply moved a little. The noise came again.
Janet flattened herself to the ground, willing the bushes around her to cover her completely.
“They’ve been this way, rot their devilish hides, and not long ago, neither.”
Stifling a gasp at the sound of the man’s voice only paces away, she flattened more and tried to inch her way under the nearest bush.
At that very moment, a large foot came down upon her calf, and she failed to stifle a cry of pain.
“Well, well, well, what have we got here?”
“The English rogues may hear, and drie
The weight o’ their braid swords to feel.”
T
HOUGH JANET WISHED SHE
could disappear into the earth, she sat up and brushed off her hands, then nearly held one out for the man to help her up before she recalled her disguise. Remembering, she got slowly to her feet, fearing that if she got up too quickly he might knock her down again.
“Ye frighted me, sir,” she said, trying to make her voice sound low and common, and succeeding only in making it sound gruff.
“What the devil are ye doin’ here, lad? I might as easily have spit ye through as stepped on ye.”
“I thank ye for doing nowt o’ the sort,” she said. Though it was her nature to stand straight and look directly at people, she kept her eyes lowered and let her shoulders slump, knowing that it would make her look smaller and less threatening.
“What ha’ ye found there, Gibby?”
A second man approached, and the one called Gibby said, “Just a lad out on the prowl, Lem. Tell me, lad, ha’ ye seen any raiders the night?”
“Nay, sir,” Janet said. “I’m shamed to tell ye something spooked my pony when I were riding half asleep. Might ha’ been raiders, though I think ’twas naught but a night bird’s call.”
The newcomer came nearer, leading two ponies by their reins, and Janet watched him warily from the corner of one eye, sizing him up. She did not think Gibby would notice her interest in his companion. The light was not strong enough for him to perceive that she was not still looking at the ground.
The one called Lem looked taller and much thinner than Gibby, for Gibby’s shadowy figure seemed almost square. There was not enough light to see their faces clearly, but Lem sported a pointy beard and Gibby looked clean-shaven, albeit a trifle scruffy.
A rustle in nearby shrubbery made both men jump, but when no other sound rose above the bubbling of the burn, they returned their attention to Janet.
She wondered where Tip had gone and hoped that he would not make his presence known if he came back while the two were still with her. He was unarmed, just as she was, but for her dagger, and he would be of little help to her.
“Where d’ye hail from, lad?” It was the second man, Lem, who asked.
“Brackengill,” she said instantly. “What of ye? Be ye land sergeant’s men?”
“Aye, from Bewcastle,” Lem said. “Brackengill, eh? Who’s your master?”
“Sir Hugh Graham,” she said, as if surprised that he would ask. “D’ye no ken the man?”
Gibby said, “I saw him once. He’s a big man, Sir Hugh is, wi’ a fearsome temper to match his size.”
“Aye,” Janet agreed. The two clearly were not Grahams then. She had thought they could not be, but with a clan so large, and with members living on both sides of the line, she did not know them all.
“Let’s ha’ a closer look at ye, lad,” Lem said, and before Janet realized his intent, he snatched the knitted cap from her head. “Christ’s foot,” he exclaimed when her long, silvery-blond hair spilled free, “he’s a wench!”
Grabbing for the cap, she cried, “Give that back!”
“Oh, aye, sure,” Lem said, laughing and twitching the cap up out of her reach. “What the devil is a wee lass like yourself doing out in the night like this?”
“I…I came to meet someone,” she said, hoping that he would leave her be if he believed that another man was coming. “He’s as large as Sir Hugh,” she added.
“Is he now? I warrant he’ll share his good fortune though, or will he not?”
“No!” She tried to run, but Gibby caught her arm.
His grip was tight, but he said, “We should let her go, Lem. The sergeant willna like it an we dawdle wi’ her.”
“He won’t mind if we take him the wee lass as a gift,” Lem said.
“How dare you!” Janet exclaimed. “I’ll have you know that I am—”
About to identify herself as sister to Sir Hugh Graham, she bit off the words. The likelihood of Hugh’s hearing about the incident was too great if she proclaimed their relationship, and that would do her no good. Moreover, it occurred to her that they might take her straight to him in hopes of a reward, and that was the last thing she wanted. Hugh would not hesitate to hold her for ransom if he thought it would embarrass Sir Quinton or Buccleuch. Indeed, he would relish the chance.
“Well, lass, who are ye then?” Lem’s tone was matter-of-fact, even kindly, but when she did not answer, he said, “I thought as much. If ye’ll no tell us your name, we must assume that ye dinna hail from Brackengill as ye claim but are one wi’ them thievin’ Scots. Who did ye ride with?”