“She fares well enough,” Hugh said, knowing that Janet was trying to change the subject to one less likely to lead to strife but wishing that she had not mentioned Laura. He tried to repress images of Laura’s loveliness that instantly leapt to his mind’s eye; however, the shrewd look his sister gave him told him that he had not succeeded. Quickly turning away, he shouted for ale for his guests, then said to no one in particular, “What do you hear of May Halliot?”
Janet and Quinton exchanged a look before Quinton said, “Nothing to the purpose. You’ve doubtless heard that they found her maid’s body near the Liddel, but there was evidently no sign of May herself. From their silence, I’d say her own people have hidden her away somewhere.”
“Would they dare sacrifice their older daughter to save the younger?”
Quinton shrugged, but Janet said, “They say that Lady Halliot favors May, because May is her own daughter. She is Sir William’s second wife, you know.”
“Aye, Mistress Halliot said there is no love lost between her and her stepmother, but they both are his daughters. Has he no say in the matter?”
“I have heard it said that he lives under the cat’s paw and, moreover, that he believes his wife spirited the girl away to kinsmen of hers in England,” Janet said. “Lady Halliot’s mother was born in Northumberland, I believe.”
“The plain fact is that Sir William is not a man of action,” Quinton Scott said, accepting a mug of ale from one of Hugh’s men. “He prefers solitude to soldiering. Buccleuch says Jamie chose him to replace Buccleuch for that very reason. The King fancies that Halliot is a man of peace. Buccleuch told him that he was wrong about that, that Halliot just likes peace at home—and at any price—but Jamie was in no mood to listen.”
“The whole business is errant nonsense,” Gilbert Scott declared with a challenging look at Hugh. “The notion that May Halliot or any woman murdered one of Scrope’s land sergeants is laughable—as laughable as this siege of yours.”
Sir Quinton put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, saying with deceptive gentleness, “Put away your arrogance for a few hours, Gil, and drink your ale. You forget that we are presently enjoying Sir Hugh’s hospitality.”
Grinning at Hugh, he added, “Forgive him. His father is Hawkburne, who was one of the leaders identified with Buccleuch in the North Tynedale raid. Thus, he accompanied him to Berwick, but he has not found it as easy as Buccleuch has to arrange for pledges, so I offered to help Gil here arrange them. The lad has courage but sometimes lacks common sense. I have been encouraging him to restrain his warlike impulses.”
“By your good example, I suppose,” Hugh said with an edge to his voice.
“Aye, exactly,” Sir Quinton agreed. “How fares your sword arm?”
“Better than ever,” Hugh said firmly. “If you mean to linger a day or so, I’ll let you try your worst.”
Sir Quinton’s eyebrows shot upward. “I’d like that, for I’ve not had an opportunity to test my skill since our last match, but I can stay only till morning. I’ve arranged for Buccleuch’s pledges, so he should persuade Her Majesty to release him soon. Then he will doubtless summon me to Berwick to ride back with him, and I have matters to attend at Broadhaugh before I go away again.”
“In truth, Jamie ought to have sent him straight to London and not just to Berwick,” Hugh said provocatively.
Sir Quinton smiled. “Considering the outrageous nature of Scrope’s raid on Liddesdale, I think you English should consider yourselves fortunate that Buccleuch did nothing worse than hang a few North Tynedale raiders.”
“Aye,” Gil Scott agreed testily. “And that was a legal trod, what’s more.”
“Oh, aye, indeed,” Hugh said. “Buccleuch carried off thirty-six prisoners, I’ll remind you, whom he afterwards put to death. And that was only the first raid. Other expeditions have followed with unabated fury. Some even claim that raiders have burned innocent people in their cottages.”
“That was Scrope in Liddesdale, not Buccleuch in Tynedale,” Gil Scott snapped. “Buccleuch denies having committed slaughter, except of thieves taken red-handed, and Buccleuch does not lie. You cannot say the same of Scrope.”
“As to that, you young hothead,” Hugh retorted, “let me tell you—”
“Never mind that,” Janet interjected swiftly. “It would be hard to say which side is most to blame, Hugh. It is just as I always said it would be. One side incites the other, and the killing and destruction go on and on. Someone must stop it.”
“Then let Buccleuch do so, or your precious Rabbie Redcloak,” Hugh snapped, looking pointedly at Sir Quinton. “Buccleuch may not have led all the raids. In fact, he cannot have done so since he has been Her Majesty’s guest at Berwick, but his share in them, added to the original outrage against Carlisle, have made the English indictment against him a heavy one. Scrope will not forget it. Indeed, the man can think of little else. And even if Buccleuch has been rendered idle, I’ll wager that Redcloak has been damned busy.”
“That’s not true,” Gil Scott declared angrily. “Buccleuch gave orders, devilish unfair orders, I think, and even—”
“Silence, you young cockerel,” Quinton said.
He chuckled, but something in the look he gave Gil silenced the younger man at last. Giving Hugh a look as direct as the one Hugh had given him, Quinton said, “Rabbie Redcloak has not led any of the recent raids against the English.”
“I should believe that, should I?” Hugh said. “You and your wretched Buccleuch refuse to admit even that such a reiver exists. Why should I believe anything else you say about him?”
“Because I say you may,” Sir Quinton said. “Do you have food here, man? My lady is hungry, and although you may think she is growing rather stout and should practice economy in her dining, I should tell you that it is no such thing.”
Hugh had already turned to look for someone he could send for food, but a note in Quinton’s voice made him turn back. “What the devil are you talking about?” When Quinton grinned at him, he looked at Janet to find that she was smiling, too. “What?” As the answer dawned on him, he forgot his enmity toward Quinton and thought only of his sister and her evident delight. “You look quite smug,” he said, his tone gentling. “So Janet the Bold is to become a mother, is she?”
“Aye, she is,” Janet said happily.
“She wanted to tell you herself, in person,” Quinton said. “And since I was bound to respond to your request for help, I agreed to bring her. I want her to return first thing in the morning, however, and I dare not entrust her safety to only a small party of my men—not with English soldiers encamped on our side of the line.”
Recognizing return provocation, Hugh smiled at Janet again. “Is that why you did not accompany him to Lochmaben?”
“Aye, I wanted to go, but he would have none of it.” She smiled lovingly at her husband. “He treats me like a bairn.”
Gil Scott said warningly, “Not like a Bairn, madam, surely!”
Quinton’s gaze did not flicker. He continued to return his wife’s look as he said easily, “Gil, you talk too much. Leave be, or I’ll send you to Berwick to see what you can do to ease Buccleuch’s temper whilst he awaits word from Elizabeth.”
Quinton said, “He expects word to come soon, then?”
“Oh, aye, he is ever optimistic, and to be fair, he is rarely wrong about things that affect him so personally. It will doubtless annoy you to learn that I returned from Berwick some nights ago, but I dared not come to you until I had seen Hermitage made ready to receive him.”
“I believe you wasted your time there,” Hugh said. “Elizabeth is as unlikely to forgive him as Scrope is.”
“Don’t count on that,” Quinton said. “The fame of his exploits evidently has been noised about all over England, and his Berwick jailors treat him more like a distinguished guest than a captive brought to answer for his offenses against the government. They say he has made a very favorable impression on the Queen, for although she insisted that he should yield himself her prisoner, once he did, she was satisfied. She has treated him with marked kindness.”
“He has pledged to bring peace to the Borders if she will release him,” Gil Scott said with visible disgust.
“And Elizabeth knows that he can do it,” Quinton said. “Moreover, since I did not hide my disbelief in his ability to work his charm on her, it will not surprise me if he fails to warn me of his return and simply shows up one day to astonish me. Indeed, I think I should send Gil here to Berwick if only to give us fair warning.”
Gil looked as if he intended to protest, but before he could do so, Ned Rowan approached Hugh, looking uncharacteristically wary.
“What is it?” Hugh demanded.
“Begging your pardon, master, but we’ve received word from Haggbeck that someone stole four kine from your herd there overnight.”
“Four?”
“Aye, they raided by stealth this time, sir, not in numbers.” He looked down at his feet, then up again. Glancing at Hugh’s guests, he said, “Perhaps I might ha’ a word wi’ ye alone, master.”
“There is no point in that,” Hugh said, irritated. “Sir Quinton has been telling me that there are no Scottish reivers in this area.”
“Well as to that, there be at least one, and we ha’ captured him,” Rowan said. “He walked up to the gate, leading a cow that bears your mark.”
“Fetch him to me,” Hugh ordered. “Perhaps Sir Quinton can identify him.”
When Rowan returned, he brought a boy about the age of Meggie’s Andrew.
Hugh’s eyebrows shot upward. “This is the reiver you captured?”
“They didna capture me,” the lad said scornfully. “I brung ye a message.”
“Another message?” Hugh said. With a wry grimace, he said to Quinton and Janet, “They’ve sent several. In one, they said I was like the puffs of a haggis, hot only at first. They bade me stay here as long as the weather would give me leave.”
“Very cordial,” Quinton said. “I believe I have met your messenger before. How are you, Sym Elliot?”
Tugging his forelock, Sym replied warily, “I be well enow, sir.”
“Let’s hear your message,” Hugh commanded.
To his surprise, instead of repeating an oral message as the reivers’ messenger had done before, the boy reached under his ragged shirt, pulled out a folded bit of parchment, and offered it to him. “Ye’re to read it,” he said.
Glancing at the others, Hugh saw that they were as surprised as he was. He unfolded the parchment and read the crudely scrawled note, feeling first a rush of anger at its impudence, then momentary bewilderment. What common reiver could write such a thing?
“Are you going to show us the note?” Janet demanded. “What does it say?”
Silently, he handed it to her, and scanning it swiftly, she stifled a laugh and handed it to Sir Quinton, who read it and laughed much more heartily.
“Such impudence,” Janet said. “How did they dare?”
“There is something damned odd about that note,” Quinton said.
“There is, indeed,” Hugh agreed, retrieving it and stuffing it under his jack. “But I’ll deal with it. Take the boy away now, Ned. I’ll talk with him later.”
“Hugh, no,” Janet protested. “He’s only a bairn. Let him go!”
“He was in possession of stolen property, Janet. It is my right to question him. Even Quin will agree. Now, if you want to eat, I’ll have my lads bring food.”
She did not argue, and if the boy, Sym, looked frightened as Rowan led him away, Hugh decided it was no more than he deserved.
He had recognized both the parchment and the hand that wrote the note, and he was having all he could do to keep from shouting for his horse. He did not know how she had managed it, but he would find out, and when he did, she would quickly recognize the error she had made in taunting him.
The moment he was alone, he took out the note and read it again. The message was no more humorous to him the second time than the first:
Twenty-twoGreetings, Sir Hugh Graham! Fearing that you were short of provisions, we thought you might be hungering for good English beef.
Then first she called the stable groom,
He was her waiting man…
L
AURIE SPENT THE EVENING
letting Lady Marjory teach her how to play Tables, using Sir Hugh’s game board. Since Lady Marjory’s skill at the game was limited, the effort was no great success, but it did pass the time until her ladyship announced that she would go to bed. Parting with her outside her bedchamber, Laurie went back downstairs to the little chamber near the hall where Sir Hugh had first kissed her. She had learned since then that he kept a number of interesting things there.
Keeping an ear cocked for noise from the hall where men had already begun to bed down for the night, and using a single candle for light, she rummaged quietly through chests and coffers until she found a leather strap with several small wooden bottles of powder attached to it. There was a pistol, too, but she did not take that. Not only was it of a more modern style than Andrew’s, but it had a long stock and would be difficult to conceal. Taking the powder seemed a small crime, and she did not think anyone would miss it. A pistol was another matter. At least, she now knew where he kept such things, which might prove useful in future.
She slept with the powder bottles tucked safely under her quilt, and the next morning, before she went downstairs to break her fast, she attached the strap to her belt, arranging it so that it and the little bottles lay concealed beneath her skirts. After eating, she found Andrew ready and waiting in the bailey with their ponies.
“The bluidy Scots took them fiendish kine,” he told her. “Small Neck’s gone to Haggbeck, taking more men to guard the rest, so I’m your man-at-arms again.”
She was sure that he had not told Geordie as much, but Geordie was nowhere in sight, and since it would not suit her plans to have one of the older men along, she said nothing until they were safely outside the castle wall. Then she asked only if Andrew had brought his pistol.
“Aye, I did, and the wee bullets, too. Did ye find powder?”
“I did. We can ride to the thicket near Granny Fenicke’s cottage. No one will pay heed to any noise we make there.”