“I know Corbies Nest,” she said. “Some say it is haunted.”
“He willna mind a ghost, ye ken, but he’ll be gey wroth wi’ us if he sees us.”
“He will,” Laurie said, feeling a chill shoot up her spine at the thought.
They saw no other rider as they skirted the trees, but she knew that anyone watching the forest would be doing so from one of the surrounding hilltops. With luck, no watcher would question her or Andrew unless he saw them ride into the woods, and she did not mean to do that.
She scanned the hillsides until she saw what she was seeking. “Yonder,” she said. “We’ll ride toward that flock of sheep. If the shepherd is who I think he is, he may have news for me.”
She knew that Sym saw them long before they were near enough to speak to him, but if he recognized her he gave no sign. The two dogs also watched, clearly wondering if she and Andrew posed a threat to their woolly charges.
“Good day to you, Sym,” Laurie said when at last they were near enough for him to hear her. “How do you fare?”
“Well enow,” Sym said, casting a suspicious glance at Andrew. “Who’s he?”
“This is Andrew,” Laurie said. “He is a friend of mine.”
“Aye, sure, and welcome to ye,” Sym said, still eyeing Andrew warily.
“I’ve come for news of Aylewood,” Laurie said. “What can you tell me?”
“Nobbut that Bridget be dead and Mistress May ha’ no come back yet,” Sym said. “Me dad’s wi’ Hob the Mouse this day. Likely, Hob can tell ye more.”
“I ken Hob the Mouse,” Andrew said, his tone indicating surprise that Sym also knew him. “He’s gey big, like a giant.”
“Aye, he is,” Sym said, relaxing.
“Where are they, then?” Laurie said. “Hob and your father.”
“Hob’s.”
“But that’s quite near here! Is it safe for them? We know about the siege,” she added when he looked surprised.
Sym sneered. “Them English. They watch over the wee trails outside the forest. They think no one treads elsewhere.”
Glancing at Andrew, Laurie said, “They have been clever enough to keep people from going about their usual business, have they not?”
“Oh, aye,” Sym said.
Andrew’s eyes had narrowed at Sym’s opinion of the English, and Laurie realized that she faced a slight dilemma. She could hardly ride right to Hob the Mouse’s cottage with Andrew beside her, but she could not leave him with Sym, either. Even if Andrew would agree to such a plan, the two small warriors would be at each other’s throats before she was out of sight.
“Yonder, they come,” Sym said, shooting a sidelong, speculative look at Andrew as he spoke. “Down the wee dale.”
Swiftly scanning the area he indicated, she saw the two figures—one unnaturally tall and broad, the other standing no higher than the first man’s armpit and more slightly built. She made a hasty decision.
“Andrew, you come with me but no farther than the bottom of this slope. I want to talk to those men, but they will not like your being English and overhearing what they say. You can watch me, though, so that you will know I mean to keep my word to you. Will that satisfy you?”
“Aye, it will,” he replied, looking curiously at the approaching pair.
A few moments later, Laurie was talking eagerly with Davy Elliot and Hob. Neither could tell her more about May than Andrew or Sym had.
“Doubtless the feckless lass ha’ taken leg-bail and be bidin’ safe wi’ Lady Halliot’s English kinsmen,” Davy said glumly. “What they’ll do to ye when Mistress May doesna show for the next wardens’ meetin’ I canna bear t’ think on.”
Not wanting to think about that herself, Laurie said lightly, “If May has truly disappeared, you will just have to gather Rabbie’s Bairns and rescue me.”
“Nay, we dare not,” Hob said. “Himself ha’ given orders that the Bairns are no to stir till he’s managed t’ smooth Elizabeth’s ruffled feathers.”
Since “Himself’ could refer only to Buccleuch, Laurie was surprised. “Then why have the Bairns organized so many raids?”
Davy said, “Faith, lass, the Bairns ha’ done no raiding since Buccleuch led the raid on North Tynedale—which were a perfectly legal trod. We chased reivers right to their own den, and Himself hanged a few o’ them.”
“Are you sure, Davy?”
“Aye. Did they no clap Buccleuch up in Berwick, and did Sir Hugh Graham no fix himself at Corbies Nest? A man ha’ to feed his family, but I trow, we’ve lain so doucely of late that we’ve no tasted beef in the forest for nigh onto a fortnight. Mind now, did I ken where I could lay hand to a herd close by wi’out stirring a ruckus, I’d whisk it home afore the cat could lick its ear.”
“Despite the siege?”
Davy sneered. “Bless ye, lassie, we couldna drive a herd into the woods wi’out taking a wee precaution or two, but we’d easily drive a few beasts near enow t’ butcher. And, butchered, we’d carry it in wi’out them English bein’ the wiser.”
“As it happens, a herd lies not far from here,” Laurie said with a grin.
“Does it now?”
“Aye, near Haggbeck. It belongs to Sir Hugh. He marked me beasts not three weeks ago, but they are well guarded, Davy.”
“Sir Hugh’s own beef?”
“Aye,” she said, “but you must not steal them all, for he’s been kind to me. Take only what you need to feed folks in the forest, and then…” She paused with an impish look. “Davy, I’ve got a bit of paper. Can you carve me a quill?”
“Aye, sure, and Hob’s got a brace o’ pigeons in yon sack. Why?”
“I want to write a note to Sir Hugh.”
“To him! Are ye daft?”
“Not at all, I am merely being polite. If you cross the line to steal his beef, I think you should leave one outside his fortress for him and his men,” Laurie said as she removed the paper Sir Hugh had given her from her bodice. “I want you to put my note with it.”
His open-mouthed expression told her he thought she was mad, but he did not argue. When he had provided her with a sharp quill and Hob had produced some pigeon’s blood for ink, she wrote as swiftly as the primitive implements allowed.
On the way back to Brackengill, Laurie did not say anything to Andrew about the plan she had made with Hob and Davy. She had come to trust the boy during their daily rides and was certain that he would not willingly betray her, but she knew that only innocence would protect him if anyone came to suspect that he had had a part in it. In any event, Andrew spent the greater portion of their return journey alternately asking questions about Scotland and expressing his opinion of their folly in crossing the line.
When he noted that clouds were gathering overhead and that they would be lucky to get home before it began raining, she said only, “I warrant it may spit a little, but those clouds hold no great storm.”
Still enjoying her pleasure in the little surprise she had planned for Sir Hugh, she answered Andrew’s questions patiently and responded to his muttering about folly with silence or by tactfully changing the subject.
“Ye’re plumb daft, that’s what it is,” he said at last. “First ye cross the line like it were naught, and now ye sit smiling when there’s gey little t’ smile about.”
The temptation to tell him that the besieged men intended to steal Sir Hugh’s cattle was nearly overwhelming, but she held her peace. “Doubtless you are right,” was all she said in reply.
“Aye, sure, o’ course I’m right,” Andrew retorted indignantly. “’Tis a good thing them villains didna try to keep ye there. I’d my pistol, and all, but I dinna mind tellin’ ye, I didna like the notion o’ shootin’ Hob the Mouse when he’s been a good friend to Mistress Janet. Like as no, she’d ha’ been wroth wi’ me.”
“Indeed, she would,” Laurie said. “You must not think of doing such a thing. Instead, I want you to teach me how to shoot that pistol of yours. You can begin giving me lessons tomorrow when we ride out again.”
“Aye, sure, if it doesna rain,” he agreed sourly without looking at her. A moment later, he muttered, “But we’ll no go to Scotland again, though.”
“No,” she said, thinking that he did not seem very eager to show her how to shoot his pistol and wondering if he really knew how it worked.
Their conversation after that was desultory until they reached Brackengill, where, despite the length of time they had been gone, no one questioned their absence. The men had grown accustomed to her daily outings, and Geordie merely seemed glad to see Andrew.
“Dinna put your pony awa’, laddie,” he said, waving a lackey over to take Laurie’s horse. “I’ve a message for them at Haggbeck, and if ye run tell your mam, ye can take it and ha’ your supper wi’ the men there. Ye’ll like that, I’m thinking’.”
“Aye, I will,” Andrew said enthusiastically.
Watching his chest puff with the importance of his mission, Laurie felt doubly glad that she had not confided in him, and glad, too, that he would return before nightfall. She did not think the men of Tarras Wood could plan and execute even a small raid so quickly, but she would have worried to think that Andrew might be present when they did. Violence could break out quickly, and she would not like knowing that she had unwittingly placed the boy in danger.
The rain held off, and she spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Lady Marjory, who had enjoyed visitors during the day and commiserated at length with Laurie for having missed them.
“It was Lady Nixon from Bewcastle, my dear, and I know she would have enjoyed making your acquaintance. She heard about you from Francis Musgrave, who is still quite put out that Sir Hugh has entered into marriage with you.”
She chuckled, adding, “Sir Francis believed he would one day arrange a match between Sir Hugh and one of his daughters, you see. Lady Nixon told me that everyone for miles—even their parson—was taking wagers on whether Sir Francis would succeed. I could have set them right, had I but known. Hugh has always had an eye for a pretty lass, so by what they tell me, Sir Francis’s daughters would
not
suit him.” She went on to explain that she had tried to persuade her guest to remain for supper but that Lady Nixon, fearing a downpour, had declined.
Laurie listened with half an ear, her thoughts more often with Davy, Hob, and the others than with Lady Marjory. Nonetheless, she found the thought of Sir Hugh married to one of Musgrave’s daughters or anyone else rather distasteful.
The clouds opened up just before sundown, and a light but steady rain fell for an hour or two—just enough to settle the dust, the men said.
Early the next morning, Laurie went in search of Andrew, hoping to persuade him to teach her to shoot his pistol. When she learned that the boy had not returned from Haggbeck but had apparently spent the night there, her first thought was that something had happened to him.
Geordie dispelled that fear quickly when she voiced her worry to him. “Like as not, the lad used that wee drizzle as his excuse to stay wi’ the men,” he said.
Laurie knew that answer was the most likely one, but her fear did not ease until Andrew returned later in the day.
“Aye, I wanted to stay,” he told her, “but I’d no ha’ done it did I ken four o’ them kine would wander off in the night. They had me lookin’ for ’em all day!”
“Did you find them?” she asked, knowing the answer.
He shook his head. “Them silly beasts vanished as if they’d been cursed. I canna tak’ ye out the day, neither. Geordie says I must muck out the stable.”
“Indeed, you must not shirk your duties on my account,” Laurie said. “You can show me how to shoot tomorrow instead.”
The boy grimaced. “As to that, mistress, I should tell ye that I ha’ five bullets for me pistol but no powder. Mayhap, if I tell Geordie ye’re wishful to learn—”
“Let me see what I can find first,” Laurie said, striving to sound matter-of-fact. She could not imagine that Geordie would look kindly on a female—let alone a hostage—learning to shoot a gun. “If I find no powder, perhaps you can just show me how the mechanism is supposed to work when one does have powder.”
Looking more cheerful, Andrew hurried off to attend to his chores. His mistress watched him go, feeling rather smug at the thought that Sir Hugh and the English were not as smart as they thought they were.
At the end of the first fortnight, Hugh had sent another courier to Broadhaugh, reminding Sir Quinton of his promise to help lay the Tarras Wood reivers by the heels. The reply had come from his sister, Janet, however, expressing the hope that he was well and telling him that her husband had been called to Edinburgh and then on to Berwick but would doubtless write to Hugh on his return.
Instead, and to Hugh’s surprise, Sir Quinton arrived in person, leading an entourage consisting of a score of his men and including his wife and a cousin whom he introduced as Gilbert Scott of Hawkburne.
Hugh’s delight in their unexpected arrival surprised him even more than it did his guests.
Sir Quinton’s eyes twinkled as the two shook hands. “I hope you don’t expect me to express regret that your siege does not prosper,” he said.
“It might prosper better did I receive the aid I’m due from you or Halliot,” Hugh said.
He was annoyed, but only slightly. His relationship with Sir Quinton Scott had grown complicated with that gentleman’s marriage to Janet. Moreover, his dealings with Quinton both at the wardens’ table and on fighting ground had colored his natural enmity with strong respect for the Scotsman’s humor and sense of fair play. Try though he had, Hugh found it difficult to dislike the man.
“We believe the men taking shelter in Tarras Wood are innocent of the raids you accuse them of perpetrating,” Quinton said blandly.
“Then why did they flee their homes?”
“Doubtless because experience warned them that you would not believe in their innocence.”
“I do not,” Hugh said flatly. “Will you honor your obligation to me?”
Sir Quinton nodded, but at the same moment Gilbert Scott demanded, “Why should we help you capture good Scotsmen?”
“Perhaps because Border law requires it,” Hugh said evenly. He had seen Quinton’s nod and put more faith in that than in the younger man’s brash attitude. Turning to greet his sister, he said on a lighter note, “You look fit, lass.”
Janet ignored his outstretched hand and gave him a hug instead. “I am fit,” she said. “How fares your hostage, Hugh? Quinton tells me she is quite lovely.”