Hugh pressed his lips together, determined to remain civil.
“You are looking a trifle feverish now,” she declared. “Indeed, your cheeks are as red as if you had been sitting by a hot fire, or walking outside on a chilly day, but the fire has died to embers and the day is quite warm.”
“I am quite well, madam. Now, if you will excuse me…”
Escaping at last, Hugh went to the stable and ruthlessly turned Meggie’s Andrew and two grooms out of the tack room, where they were polishing some of the men’s plating. Still angry, he shot his commands at them in near snarls.
“Andrew and Will,” he said as the lads hurriedly put away their gear, “fetch me a table and a stool. I don’t care where you find them; just find them at once.”
“Be ye going to work on them papers out here?” Andrew asked, wide-eyed.
“I am, and warn the rest of the lads to let no one disturb me, or I swear…”
He fell silent, for Andrew had already fled to do his bidding.
When table and stool arrived, Hugh shut the door to the tack room and set to work, as certain as he could be that Lady Marjory would not seek him in the stables.
He worked diligently for an hour undisturbed and finished his preliminary list of potential jurors. That done, he began a report for Scrope detailing the means by which he intended to notify men named in the Scottish grievances that the law demanded their presence at Lochmaben. It was Scrope’s responsibility—and thus his—to see that they attended the meeting to answer the charges laid against them.
A sudden commotion outside the closed door drew his attention halfway through a sentence. Recognizing Andrew’s voice raised in objection and the deeper one responding sternly to it, he put down his quill and waited, knowing that he need not intervene.
The door opened, and Ned Rowan stepped in, his big body filling the doorway and what little space remained in the room. Andrew, only a shadowy form behind him, started to move away, but Rowan reached back and caught him by his baggy shirt.
“Don’t leave,” he said sternly. “I’ve been too busy to deal with ye yet, but we’re going to have a talk, the two of us. We’ll do it as soon as I’ve finished here.”
Turning back to Hugh, he added, “The lad was gone all day yesterday and didna show himself till nearly nine this morning. ’Tis my belief he’s been across the line again, but I’ll deal wi’ him. I come t’ tell ye that your cousin Musgrave just rode in. D’ye want him here or in the hall? They be setting up now for dinner.”
Surprised that so much time had passed, Hugh said nonetheless reluctantly, “I can scarcely send him off without feeding him. Has he brought many with him?”
“Five or six,” Rowan said, still keeping a firm grip on Andrew.
Hugh’s cousin Musgrave was no great favorite of his, but he could hardly talk to him in the tack room, and he would send no man away hungry at the dinner hour. “I’ll see him in the hall,” he said, adding, “Tell him that I’ll expect him and his men to dine here.”
“Aye, I’ll tell him,” Rowan replied, “and then I’ll deal with this young varmint. Doubtless, he’ll miss his dinner unless he wants to eat it standing up, but I’ll see that he doesna cross into Scotland again till he’s of age to go on a foray.”
Watching them go, Hugh felt little sympathy for Andrew. He knew the lad had probably gone to visit Janet at Broadhaugh, because he had done so before, and they had to put an end to the habit before Andrew ran into trouble. Most likely, the Scots would leave him alone unless they came to fear that he was spying on them, but neither Hugh nor Ned Rowan wanted to think about what could happen then.
Hugh gathered his documents and carried them inside, using the postern door and stowing them in his little chamber near the hall. He entered the hall at the same moment that Sir Francis Musgrave strode in at the far end, having used the main entrance and its stairway.
Hugh waited, letting Musgrave come to him.
Musgrave was a burly, bearded man nearly twenty-five years Hugh’s senior. As far as Hugh was concerned, his cousin was as responsible as anyone for the raid on Carlisle, since Musgrave was the one who had arrested the prisoner over whose cause all the fury erupted. He was also one of Scrope’s captains, however, and Edgelair, his seat on the fells between Redesdale and Tynedale, was nearly as important strategically as Brackengill or Bewcastle. Located to guard one of the most popular reivers’ routes into England, it served its purpose well.
As Musgrave drew nearer, wending his way among trestles and men, Hugh noted the leather satchel he carried and wondered what he wanted.
It was neither Musgrave’s connection to the Carlisle raid nor his power that made Hugh wary, however, but the fact that for several years, his cousin had been pressing him to marry one of his daughters. Musgrave possessed three of them and, like any father, desired them all to marry well. Hugh had not met even one of them, but since rumor had it that they were three of the homeliest females in Christendom, he had little wish to do so. He had even less desire to marry one.
His uncle Brampton had attempted once to arrange a marriage for Hugh with a reputedly beautiful Percy of Alnwick. Although the mighty Percys were willing enough to negotiate, Hugh had turned that down, too. Having done so, he certainly would not marry a homely Musgrave. Still, he wanted no trouble with Francis.
Musgrave walked up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Good den to ye, Hugh!” he exclaimed heartily. “’Tis glad I am to see ye looking so stout, lad.”
“Thank you, sir,” Hugh said, shaking hands with him. “You look well, too.”
“Faith, but I’m nowt compared to a man like yourself. Ye should be setting up your nursery and begetting yourself a litter o’ fine sons in your image!”
“What brings you to Brackengill, cousin?” Hugh asked evenly as he led the way to the high table and signed to a passing lad to bring them ale.
“Aye, well, I’ve come from Carlisle,” the older man said, taking a seat on the long bench to the right of Hugh’s chair. “Scrope no sooner returned from Tynedale than new grievances arrived from Aylewood. And, since he had one or two more himself that he wants delivered to Aylewood, I offered to carry them here t’ ye.”
“Indeed, sir,” Hugh began, when an interruption occurred.
“My dear Sir Hugh, why did you not send to inform me that company had arrived?” Lady Marjory exclaimed, hurrying into the hall. “Indeed, you naughty man, you quite failed to inform me that anyone was coming. I just hope we have enough food!” Directing an arch smile at Musgrave, she waited expectantly.
As both men stood up again, Hugh said politely, “May I present my cousin, Sir Francis Musgrave, madam. Sir, Lady Marjory is my uncle Brampton’s widow.”
“My pleasure, my lady, and likewise my condolences,” Musgrave said, making his bow to her. “I had no notion that Brampton had died or that Brackengill had acquired such a handsome hostess.”
Fluttering her lashes and bobbing her wig, Lady Marjory thanked him, took her seat at Hugh’s left, and gracefully gestured for the gentlemen to sit again.
“What pleasant good fortune brings you to us today, Sir Francis?” she added.
“As to that, my lady,” Musgrave began with a twinkle in his eyes, “I have a cause to which, mayhap, you will be kind enough to lend your support.”
Knowing that Musgrave was not talking about Scrope or grievances, Hugh said hastily, “He brought me some documents, madam. I’m curious, though, sir. Why did Scrope not send a courier to Aylewood to deliver our added grievances? As warden, he can provide safe conduct for one, after all.”
“Aye, and he sent a safe conduct along, too,” Musgrave said, turning back to him with a smile. “His lordship wants you to deliver these grievances personally.”
“I’m honored,” Hugh said dryly. “To what purpose?”
“Well, you
should
be honored,” Musgrave said with a chuckle. “Scrope said he’d like to do it himself just to see the look on Aylewood’s face when he gets it.”
Lady Marjory glanced quizzically from one man to the other, but although she appeared deeply interested, she did not comment.
“What sort of grievance would so greatly interest Aylewood?” Hugh asked.
“’Tis one that Scrope himself has written against Aylewood’s middle daughter, charging the lass with illicit seduction and murder, as well,” Musgrave said solemnly. “Scrope says she murdered his chief land sergeant.”
Astonished, Hugh said, “Martin Loder’s dead?”
“Aye, I’m surprised ye hadn’t heard. Surely, ye must ha’ noted his absence when we tried to take Buccleuch in Tynedale.”
“Everything was in disarray then,” Hugh reminded him. “I might have noticed if one of my own captains had gone missing, but I paid heed to no one else.”
Lady Marjory said, “Pray, Sir Francis, are you saying that a gently raised young woman murdered one of Lord Scrope’s soldiers? Surely, that cannot be.”
“Nonetheless, I vow that it is so, madam,” Musgrave said, “although I cannot speak for the gentleness of her upbringing. She’s a Scot, after all. Moreover, Scrope says the lass pushed Loder into the Liddel and the current swept him away, so I’ll wager that she caught him unaware.”
“Ah, now, that is possible,” Lady Marjory said, nodding.
“Aye, and Scrope means to hang her for it.” Turning back to Hugh, Musgrave added, “He said to tell ye to remind Aylewood that since he cannot sit in judgment of her case, he must have his deputy with him at Lochmaben.”
Lady Marjory’s eyes opened wide. “But what occurs at Lochmaben, sir?”
Leaving Musgrave to explain the wardens’ meeting to her, Hugh felt grateful for the first time for his aunt’s presence. He was grateful, too, that Scrope had decided to represent England at the Lochmaben meeting.
Hugh did not want to have to sentence any young gentlewoman to hang.
Thy foes are determined,
relentless, and nigh.
Aylewood Towers
“T
HE DAY WAS PALE
gray and overcast, the sun hidden behind a thin layer of flat-bottomed clouds. Seeking freedom and fresh air, Laurie had just walked down from the hall into the inner bailey when activity on the ramparts’ warned of visitors approaching. Curious, she moved to a vantage point from which she could watch the main entrance.
The gates swung wide, and a party of four men rode in. They wore chain mail and swords, but as a show of peace, they carried their helmets under their arms instead of wearing them. One carried a white banner bearing a device that she did not recognize.
Bangtail Willie came up beside her, muttering, “It be Sir Hugh Graham, deputy warden of England’s western marches, mistress.”
“How do you know?”
“I were on the wall and heard his man shout as much afore they opened the gates,” Willie said. “Said he’s here at Scroop’s command to see Sir William.”
Laurie had stopped listening, her attention fixed on the large man riding directly behind the one with the banner. She recognized his bronzed curls instantly. An icy thrill shot up her spine when his gaze collided with hers.
For nearly a fortnight, she had exerted herself to stay on good terms with her stepmother. Thus, for once, she had dressed in a manner befitting her station. She wore a becoming pale yellow silk gown, banded vertically down the front center and around the hem with gold-embroidered black velvet braid. Believing that she could bear no possible resemblance to the young woman who had taken shelter in the tree, she returned his piercing gaze without faltering and tried to ignore an unnatural tingling in her midsection. He had not seen her in the tree, she reassured herself, and even if he had, he could not possibly recognize her now.
He continued to watch her while he dismounted and held out the reins of his mount for one of his men to take. When he began to stride toward her, she realized that by standing like a post, she was behaving in a way that would surely earn her stepmother’s censure, but she could not seem to move.
Only when one of her father’s men-at-arms stepped forward to intercept the tall, red-haired man did she snap herself out of whatever spell had overcome her. Gesturing to the man-at-arms to stay where he was, she curtsied without breaking eye contact and said, “We bid you welcome to Aylewood, sir.”
While continuing to hold her gaze, he bowed, sweeping his helmet beneath him. Then, straightening, he said, “I am Hugh Graham of Brackengill, mistress. Are you, perchance, Sir William’s daughter?”
“I have that honor, sir,” Laurie said, thinking that he looked much larger up close. His shoulders were the broadest she had ever seen. “You will find my father in the hall, I believe. These men will take you to him,” she added, indicating two of Sir William’s men-at-arms who had moved nearer.
Sir Hugh Graham nodded, but he was frowning slightly. “Forgive my uncivil curiosity, mistress, but are you May Halliot?”
“May is my younger sister,” she said, wondering how he knew May’s name and wondering even more why the knowledge that she was not May should erase the frown from his ruggedly handsome face. He had the lightest eyes she had ever seen. They were light gray, like the sky, with slightly darker rings around the irises. His voice was deep and melodic. The sound of it seemed to vibrate through her.
Tucking his helmet more securely under his left arm, he offered his right one to her invitingly. “Surely it is too chilly here in the yard for you, mistress. Pray, allow me to escort you inside.”
“Thank you,” she said, amazed that her voice sounded steady when her heart seemed to be thumping wildly in her chest. Catching up her skirts with one hand, she placed the other lightly on his forearm and let him escort her toward the steps. One of her father’s men hastened ahead of them, and Sir Hugh’s men fell in behind.
Feeling unnaturally small in the midst of such a group, she wondered what her father would think of her entrance in their company, but that thought was fleeting at best.
The arm beneath her ungloved hand felt hard and muscular, the material covering it roughly textured. As they went up the stairs, it was as if she had a solid block of wood to hold, so steadily did he support her. His large presence beside her seemed overwhelmingly nerve tingling one moment, reassuring the next.