Border Storm

by Amanda Scott

  Hitherto, her ladyship’s notion of supervising a household apparently had comprised little more than dropping a hint to her steward. Since Sir Hugh’s steward had paid no heed whatsoever to the household at Brackengill since Janet Graham had taken charge of it, Lady Marjory’s hints fell on Laurie’s ears or Meggie’s.

  “The rushes in this hall seem only to deteriorate,” she said one morning some ten days after Laurie’s arrival. “They were malodorous when I arrived and have now reached such a state that I doubt if anything can help them.”

  “Doubtless, they should be replaced, madam,” Laurie replied.

  “Yes, but who is to do it, my dear? Griselda will not, and from what I see of that Meggie, she has all she can do to put food on the tables each day.”

  “Perhaps if you were to mention it to Sir Hugh when he returns this evening from Bewcastle…”

  “Now, my dear,” Lady Marjory said, “I have told you before, gentlemen do not want to be burdened with such things.”

  “Well, now there are two of us, madam,” Laurie said with a smile. “Let me see what I can do.”

  “Very well, my dear. I believe I shall just go up and confer with Griselda.”

  Feeling a sudden, welcome sense of purpose, Laurie went downstairs to the kitchen to seek Meggie’s advice.

  She liked Meggie. English or not, the woman reminded her of Lucy Elliot and Lucy’s friends. She was comfortable, direct, and undemanding. Meggie did not look down her nose at one the way Blanche did, and Meggie smiled just as warmly at Laurie as she did at her own children.

  Laurie had met them all. Nancy seemed like a miniature Meggie, Andrew reminded her strongly of Sym Elliot, and solemn Peter spent much of his time looking after merry little John, who was two. The baby, Susan, being no more than a few months old, slept away much of each day in a basket near the kitchen fire.

  Laurie found Meggie shelling peas. A haunch of mutton roasted slowly over the kitchen fire, its aroma filling the large chamber. Voices and splashing sounds nearby suggested that two or three of her children were busy in the scullery.

  “The rushes in the hall need replacing, Meggie,” Laurie said when the two had exchanged greetings. “Who ought to attend to that for us? Do you know?”

  “Nay, mistress, I’ve no time t’ think about rushes. The master ordered ’em changed for the summer in June, but he’s said naught about ’em since.”

  “They are in a wretched state,” Laurie said. “The men let their dogs run free in there and the bones they toss them—and other, worse stuff—have got mixed in. Someone told me that Mistress Janet did not allow dogs in during mealtimes.”

  “Aye, she wouldna like it,” Meggie said, frowning. “But Sir Hugh takes no notice o’ such things.”

  “Men don’t,” Laurie said. “I know that you have no time to attend to it, but perhaps you can advise me what to do. I just need some lads to rake out the old rushes and strew new ones.”

  Turning her head toward the scullery, Meggie shouted, “Nan, Peter—where’s our Andrew?”

  “I’ll find ’im for ye, Mam,” Peter volunteered, darting out and around to the door that led to the yard, ignoring the shriek of protest that followed him from the scullery.

  Appearing in the scullery doorway, Nancy muttered darkly, “Now, we’ll likely lose him, too, for the day. And me wi’ these pots and wee John t’ watch.”

  “He’ll come back,” Meggie said placidly.

  And Peter soon darted back in again to announce, “Our Andrew’s gone off somewheres, mayhap to Bewcastle wi’ Sir Hugh. But I brung ye Geordie, Mam.”

  “I dinna think Andrew went wi’ Sir Hugh, mistress,” the man at Peter’s heels said as he entered, pulling off his cap and bobbing his head in Laurie’s direction. “More likely, he went over Haggbeck way. He said they’d still be marking beasts there. I thought they’d finished, m’self, but the lad likes helpin’ ’em, any road.”

  Laurie explained about the rushes, and Geordie agreed at once to have a couple of lads rake out the old ones that very afternoon.

  When he left, Peter moved to follow him, but Meggie intercepted him and sent him back to the scullery. “When the pots are scrubbed, you can take Wee John outside to play for a time,” she said when he protested.

  Surprised by how easily she had resolved the matter of rushes, Laurie wondered why it had posed such difficulty for Lady Marjory.

  “Has not her ladyship mentioned those rushes before now?” she asked.

  With a rueful grimace, Meggie said, “Truth be, mistress, I dinna pay her much mind. Her ladyship never says just what she wants, and like as not, she doesna want nothing at all—only to natter on about this or that.”

  “I see,” Laurie said, not altogether certain that she did.

  “Aye, well, it’s enough to make a woman daft,” Meggie assured her. “She’ll ask if I dinna think summat needs more salt in it or tell me her woman’d be glad to find a chore for our Nan if she’s ever lookin’ for summat to do. Nan doesna ha’ to seek her chores. We’ve both more than we can manage.”

  Laurie felt a twinge of guilt, and it was not the first one she had felt since arriving at Brackengill. Having watched Meggie and Nancy scurry about, trying to do chores that required at least four women to do them properly, she had begun soon after her arrival to experience the same uneasiness that she had felt at first when visiting Lucy and Davy Elliot’s cottage. It had not taken many such visits before she had demanded that Lucy let her help with chores. Nor did she hesitate now to make a similar suggestion, albeit not quite so bluntly.

  “Meggie,” she said, “it is absurd for you and Nancy to try to do everything without more help. Now that Lady Marjory and I are here, surely some of the other women who used to work here would come back.”

  “Aye, perhaps, did the master ask them to,” Meggie said. “Perhaps ye could ask him, mistress.”

  “Lady Marjory said we should not,” Laurie told her. “She said that he does not like to be plagued about such things, but he is bound to realize sooner or later that Brackengill needs more maidservants. In the meantime, I can help you.”

  “Sir Hugh wouldna like that,” Meggie said flatly.

  “He need not even know,” Laurie replied. “Please, Meggie, I have no needlework to occupy me, and even if I did, I’m not much good at it. But I can tend a fire, and I can scrub pots and sweep, and shake curtains, and help with laundry.”

  “Ye never did them things at Aylewood, mistress. Ye needna try telling me ye did.”

  Laurie grinned. “That’s true. I did as little as possible. I don’t get on with my stepmother, so I evaded the duties she set me whenever I could get away with it.”

  Meggie’s eyes danced. She said, “Nae doubt, and I warrant my bairns would like t’ ken how ye managed that.”

  “My stepmother would say that I ran away from them,” Laurie said.

  Meggie’s humorous look faded. “I dinna hold wi’ running awa’ from chores,” she said. “Ye’ll no be teaching my lot such ways, Mistress Laura.”

  “Certainly not,” Laurie said. “You’d demand my head on a platter.”

  “I would, that,” Meggie agreed with a direct look. “Can ye turn a spit?”

  “I can,” Laurie said, stepping to the hearth to show her that she could.

  “Ye’re a strange one, right enough,” Meggie said, watching her. “I’ll say this for ye, though. Ye’ll be a sight more helpful than her ladyship, for all that she came here to run the household.”

  “This household is not what she is used to,” Laurie said gently.

  “Aye, ’tis true, that,” Meggie agreed. “Well, then, ye can do as ye please, mistress, but dinna say I didna warn ye. The master willna like it.”

  “The master will never even notice,” Laurie said confidently. “He barely notices that I am living here.”

  Hugh had not expected to give much notice to his hostage. Having introduced her to Lady Marjory and explained that she could not leave the castle, he ha
d believed that his dealings with her were, for the most part, at an end.

  That had not proved to be the case, however. Not only did Lady Marjory seem incapable of comprehending that Laura Halliot was a hostage and not really his lawful wife but Hugh found himself unable to ignore Mistress Halliot’s presence at Brackengill.

  He had only to approach the great hall to know if she was inside or not. Some instinct gave warning of her presence and lifted his spirits, too. He told himself that it was merely that she provided a buffer between him and his aunt’s incessant, intrusive conversation, but he knew it was more than that. He liked to look at her. He waited for her smile, and when it came, it warmed him to his toes.

  Finding that his gaze came to rest on her with increasing frequency, he mentally chided himself, only to find his loins stirring in protest at the thought that he should pay her less heed. He realized that Halliot had been wiser than he knew in insisting on the handfasting—and on the tocher, as well.

  As a result, Hugh had turned his thoughts more determinedly than ever toward his duties outside the castle walls, returning only to dine or sup, and to sleep. He soon found himself welcoming any duty or invitation that would take him away from Brackengill for even a few hours. Thus, he had accepted the invitation to dine at Bewcastle that day with Sir Edward Nixon and his lady, even though Sir Edward had warned him that he would be entertaining Lord Scrope at his table, too.

  When Hugh presented himself to Sir Edward, Scrope stood beside his host.

  “How goes it with your lovely hostage?” Scrope asked with uncharacteristic cheerfulness as they shook hands.

  “Well enough,” Hugh answered evenly.

  Others were present, including Lord Eure, and Hugh glanced around, exchanging nods, before he realized that Scrope was waiting for him to say more. “Did you expect me to have trouble with her, my lord?”

  “Not a bit,” Scrope replied with a grin. “I just wondered how you are enjoying married life.”

  Hearing Eure gasp and Sir Edward stifle a cough, Hugh avoided their gazes, saying, “You are mistaken if you think that was a true wedding, your lordship. I agreed to the ritual only because the lass’s father insisted. I’ll have no cause to pay tocher at the end of the year and a day. Indeed, I doubt that I shall be burdened with her even half that long. Her sister will turn up soon.”

  “’Tis you who mistake the matter,” Scrope said, his good humor unimpaired. “Whilst we may not allow such marriages here in England, between an English man and woman, we do recognize all forms of Scottish marriage for Scotsmen, and the damned Scots believe that one took place at Lochmaben. I doubt that you will gain support on either side of the line by trying to pretend that you are not married to the wench. She is legally your wife, Hugh. Make the most of it.”

  “Would you have me take her about the countryside as my lady, paying bride visits?” Hugh demanded.

  “If it suits you to do so, certainly,” Scrope said. “Pray, do not forget, however, that you have guaranteed to produce her in her sister’s stead at the next wardens’ meeting. If the jury decides then that May Halliot is unlikely ever to return, then ’tis Lady Graham who must pay for her crime.”

  “Only if that same jury manages to find her guilty,” Hugh said curtly.

  “Oh, I’ll wager anything you like that we can provide them with sufficient evidence,” Scrope said. Looking sly, he added, “I should perhaps tell you that I took the liberty of informing her majesty and the Privy Council that you have married a hostage who may well hang for murder. Without your uncle Brampton at hand to whisper in her ear, I doubt that Her Majesty will express much sympathy for you. What do you think?”

  “How dare you—!” Hugh began.

  Sir Edward gripped his shoulder hard and said hastily, “Forgive me, gentlemen, but we have other important matters to discuss this afternoon.”

  Hugh glowered at Scrope but said grimly, “What matters?”

  “That Liddesdale lot of Buccleuch’s have raided north Tynedale again,” Sir Edward said. “Six of our men died, and folks say they saw a red cloak leading the reivers. They want something done, but Eure insists that he has resigned as warden. Therefore, I suggest that we must decide what the devil we can do about it.”

  “I’ll tell you the first thing we should do,” Scrope said. “We should write to Sir William Halliot of Aylewood and demand that he arrest Buccleuch.”

  When the company greeted these words with stunned silence, he went on with a self-righteous air, “Word reached Her Majesty soon after that last raid, and she has renewed her demands to James that he deal with Buccleuch. This time, he had better do so promptly, or I cannot answer for Elizabeth’s fury. James must order Buccleuch’s arrest and turn him over to English authorities.”

  Visibly unimpressed, Lord Eure said, “Are you saying that we should tell the people of the middle march that they must await the Scottish King’s decision?”

  “I said naught of the sort,” Scrope said testily. “Sir Hugh, here, will attend to the Liddesdale men and Rabbie Redcloak straightaway. If your men or the men of Tynedale want to accompany him, they are at liberty to do so.”

  Choosing his words carefully so as not to offend Eure, Hugh said, “I’d want to know who the men are before agreeing to lead them, my lord. In my experience, reckless raiding only leads to more violence. Neither side prevails for long.”

  Scrope shrugged. “I’ll leave the details to you, Hugh. That’s what deputy wardens are for, is it not? Just get the job done, and teach those Scotch ruffians to keep to themselves in the future.”

  “I wish you well in that endeavor,” Lord Eure said with a bitter smile.

  “Perhaps your pretty little hostage can help,” Scrope said, grinning again.

  Hugh did not bother to respond, and Sir Edward suggested that they all take places at the table to partake of the midday meal.

  Scrope left as soon as he and his party had dined, but Hugh lingered to talk with Lord Eure and Sir Edward. It was Eure who told him that the six Graham headsmen whom Scrope had sent to answer to the Privy Council for the raid on Carlisle were on their way home again.

  “Scrope received a message from London, relaying the news. He swears he will still find a way to hang them, but I think your lads are safe for a time, Hugh. As for going after Liddesdale again, you must do as you think best. I’ve little to offer by way of help, and you noted that Scrope did not offer to raise an army against them again, but perhaps you will think of something that will work.”

  “Perhaps,” Hugh agreed. He had not thought of anything by the time the men separated and prepared to depart to their homes, however.

  The news that the Privy Council had released the Graham men cheered Hugh, but he was not so cheerful when he thought about dealing with Liddesdale and Rabbie Redcloak again. He had suspected for some time that Redcloak was actually his brother-in-law, Sir Quinton Scott of Broadhaugh, because nothing had been heard from Rabbie since Quinton’s marriage to Janet. If Rabbie had begun to stir again, though, something would have to be done about him.

  Later that afternoon, Laurie stood at the hall threshold, gazing at the newly lain rushes with pleasure. She had found new ones drying in the long garret, and discovered, as well, that Janet Graham had hung bundles of fragrant herbs to dry with them. The herbs mixed with the fresh rushes filled the hall with their fragrance.

  Lady Marjory, fresh from her afternoon nap, descended the stairs behind her, saying cheerfully, “’Tis an odd place to stand, my dear. What are you doing?”

  “Just smell them, my lady,” Laurie said. “’Tis rosemary and some other herbs that I do not know as well. They smell delightful, do they not?”

  “Indeed, and it is time and more that someone replaced the rushes in here,” Lady Marjory said. “I have said so any number of times, for I knew that our dear Sir Hugh would prefer it so, but I thought that Meggie woman would never get round to it. Perhaps I have wronged her, though. I know that she is busy.”

  �
��Indeed, she is,” Laurie said, deciding not to tell her that she had arranged for the change. “Will you excuse me for a time before supper, madam? I have some things that I must do before we eat.”

  “Oh, indeed, my dear, do as you please. This is your home now, after all, and you should arrange everything just as you like. If you need advice, do not hesitate to ask me. I quite enjoy being useful, you know.”

  “Thank you,” Laurie said. “I think you will be quite comfortable if you sit here now, but do not let them remove the guards from the fires. There is a draft every time someone enters from below, and these rushes are as dry as tinder. Oh, and remind them all that the dogs must not come in whilst we eat.”

  Lady Marjory nodded vaguely, whereupon Laurie hurried off to the kitchen to find Meggie shaking sugar over crumbled bread in a big wooden bowl.

  “Ye’ll no be supping till six the night, unless Sir Hugh returns afore then from Bewcastle,” Meggie said when she saw Laurie.

  “That is unlikely, I think,” Laurie said. “What are you making?”

  “’Tis nobbut bread and milk, cooked the way Sir Hugh likes it,” Meggie said. “He’s a liking for sweets now and again. I’ll do some mutton collops from that leg we roasted for the midday meal. My Andrew’s not back yet, but I’ve put Peter and one of the other lads to plucking chickens for tomorrow, and Nan’s in the scullery, shelling more peas.”

  “Do the collops only if Sir Hugh returns for supper,” Laurie said. “Lady Marjory and I and the men can make do with cold, sliced mutton and peas. We can put out a cheese for those who want more.”

  “Aye, mistress,” Meggie said, pouring milk over the sugared bread crumbs. Leaving it to stand, she began to count the old bread loaves they would use for trenchers, while Laurie hefted a kettle of hot water to the swey over the fire.

  She helped with whatever Meggie would allow, thoroughly enjoying herself until Meggie said with a wry smile, “Ye’ve got grease from the spit on your gown, mistress. If ye’re aiming t’ change it afore supper, ye’d best do it soon. We’ve put it back an hour, as it is, waiting for the master to return. ’Tis a wonder her ladyship hasna been down here, demanding to ken when we’ll sup.”