Border Storm

by Amanda Scott

  “Are you riding back to Brackengill tonight?” Musgrave said as soon as he was near enough to make himself heard.

  Hugh had not given his schedule much thought since telling Laura that he would not return before morning. At that time, however, he had expected that he would have to endure protracted dealings with Scrope, but their meeting had taken little time at all. It was early yet, no more than half past nine or ten.

  “Aye, we will,” he said. “We can be there near about midnight. Why?”

  “I brought only a small party of men with me,” Musgrave said. “I arrived this afternoon, only to learn that his lordship was away. When he returned, I stayed to celebrate with him, because I had too few men with me to risk riding back after dark. Still, I’d as lief be on my way if we can ride with you and perchance spend the remainder of the night at Brackengill.”

  “Suit yourself, cousin,” Hugh said. “You’re welcome enough. I thank you for taking the lad’s part in there.”

  “I’d my own reasons for that,” Musgrave said with a chuckle. Turning his head, he shouted, “Tell the men to fetch out the horses! We’ll be leaving at once.”

  He turned back to Hugh then and said, “You’ve been wroth wi’ me these months past, saying I never should ha’ arrested Quinton Scott against the truce. Oh, aye, I’ll admit it, though I have not afore now. I did just break the truce, but ’twas a Scot dropped a word in my ear, saying he were Rabbie Redcloak.”

  “Even if he had been,” Hugh said, “the truce on such days serves us all. When we break it, we not only give the Scots cause to distrust us on future Truce Days but we have no one to blame but ourselves when they break a truce.”

  “Aye, well, it’s done, and there’s an end to it,” Musgrave said heartily. “We’ll not speak of it again. I’ve heard yet another rumor, however.”

  “Indeed, sir, and what might that be?” Hugh said, knowing what was coming.

  “Scrope tells me ye’ve got married, that’s what. I said it were nowt o’ the sort, but ye’ll tell me plain, Hugh. Ha’ ye been fool enough t’ marry a Scot?”

  Hugh hesitated, faced with a dilemma. Observing that the man with whom he had left his horse was holding out the reins to him, he took them and mounted. At the same time, he saw that Musgrave’s men were already coming with his horse and their own. Realizing that his cousin must have sent word to have them make ready before Hugh had left the hall, he wondered what else the man had in mind.

  Hugh knew that telling Musgrave that he and Laurie were married would end any hope his cousin might still harbor of marrying one of his ugly daughters to him. Nevertheless, he did not want to make more of his relationship with Laura than he should, lest she or her father come to hear of it. He did not need new problems.

  Accordingly, he said bluntly, “We are handfasted, sir; that is all. Her father insisted on it to protect her reputation. She is a hostage, as you must know, pledged for her sister who may have committed murder and has disappeared.”

  Musgrave mounted his own horse and drew it in alongside Hugh’s as he said, “Oh, aye, Scrope told me as much, but the ceremony was legal, was it not?”

  “Yes, such as it was,” Hugh said. “So long as we do not produce a child, however, we can end it when we choose, anytime short of a year and a day.”

  “But Scrope says ye’ll ha’ to pay an amount equal to the lass’s dowry if ye touch her afore then and do not marry her. He’s offered a wager, lad, that ye’ll take the lass rather than pay the tocher. I’ve no doubt ’twould be a mort o’ money.”

  “Scrope would offer a wager on which of two raindrops will first reach the ground,” Hugh said. “There is another solution, however. I will not touch her.”

  “Ye might manage that if she were one o’ my lasses,” Musgrave said. “They be a mite plain, but Scrope says she’s a little beauty.”

  “I suppose she’s passable,” Hugh said, aware that his body was stirring in protest of this understatement, and trying to ignore the discomfort.

  “Aye, well, I’ll see for myself now, won’t I?” Musgrave said.

  Laurie remained unaware of the men’s return until morning. When Nancy came at her usual time, she discovered that Sir Hugh not only had recovered Andrew but had brought his cousin Musgrave home with him, as well. Dressing hurriedly, she went down to Meggie, finding her going about her work with a light step and a wide smile.

  Hugging her, Laurie said, “I’m so glad, Meggie! Where is he?”

  “In the scullery, scrubbing pots,” Meggie said, still grinning. “Ned Rowan told him he’s no to show his face in the yard again till he says he may.”

  “You must be glad to have him near,” Laurie said.

  “Aye, for all he’s scowlin’ over them pots.”

  “What can I do to help? Nancy told me that Sir Hugh’s cousin returned with him late last night.”

  “Aye, but the master’s up and about already, and Sir Francis be still abed. Likely, her ladyship will be down afore that man is. He’s been here afore, and I ken him well. If he stirs afore noon, I’ll be surprised. Still, his men and the others will want feeding, and we’ve fresh apples in the cellar for their dinner. Ye can fetch some if ye like, but then ye’d best go up and break your fast, mistress. Else we’ll ha’ her ladyship down here, looking for ye.”

  Laurie obeyed and took her seat at the high table beside Lady Marjory with a sense of accomplishment. Looking around the hall, she felt a thrill of real pleasure and was able to chat amiably with her ladyship for the duration of the meal and much of the morning. She rather hoped that Sir Hugh would return so that she could judge his reaction to the fresh rushes, for in his haste over Andrew, he had not noticed them the night before. He did not return to the hall, however, and she could think of no good reason to send for him, since his guest still had not got out of bed.

  Her ladyship announced soon after eleven that she would go up to confer with Griselda. “For with such a fine gentleman joining us for dinner, my dear Laura, one wants to look one’s best. Did Sir Hugh chance to mention whether Sir Francis is married?”

  “No, madam, but since you yourself mentioned that he has three daughters, I must suppose that he is.”

  “Oh, but my dearest one, I’ve got two daughters and no husband,” Lady Marjory pointed out. “It is possible that poor Sir Francis lost his wife in childbed or to some dreaded disease and is trying to raise his daughters by himself.”

  “Perhaps you should ask him.”

  Lady Marjory looked doubtful but bustled away, and Laurie went to the kitchen again to see if she could help Meggie prepare the noonday meal.

  Meggie allowed her to count trenchers and to stir the barley soup on the swey. But Laurie had been there less than half an hour when Meggie said in much the same tone that she might have used in talking to one of her children, “Go and make yourself dainty now, mistress.”

  “I’ve done very little.”

  “Ye’ve company to dine wi’ ye, so ye must go. I’ve fed the babe, and my lads can help with the serving. Moreover, Ned Rowan will send some of his men to help, as well, if I’ve need o’ them. The food will get to the tables.”

  On the service stairway, Laurie met Sir Hugh’s man, Thaddeus, coming down. He smiled at her and said, “I’m to tell the master that Sir Francis intends to dine with him. He’ll no be gey surprised, I can tell ye that.”

  “Nor will Meggie,” Laurie told him, smiling back.

  In her own bedchamber, she took stock of her appearance. She had done nothing to soil the gown that Nancy had helped her put on earlier, so there was no reason to change it. It was the pale yellow one of Janet’s that she fancied, and she knew that it became her.

  She smoothed her hair from her face but left it unveiled. The one time she had tied a coif over it, Lady Marjory had protested that married ladies might wear French veils, but they did not wear common coifs. Having no French veil, Laurie had opted to leave her hair uncovered, which was the way she preferred it anyway.

&nbs
p; She went back downstairs to find bustle in the hall, as men finished setting up the trestles and Andrew and Peter brought out baskets of trenchers to set upon them. She could still smell the delightful scent of the rosemary and other herbs mixed with the new rushes. She hoped Sir Hugh had noticed the change.

  Even as she thought about him, he strode into the hall.

  “Andrew,” he said, his deep voice carrying easily the length of the chamber, “run tell your mam there will be other guests to dine. There is a party coming over the hill to the east, and the men on the wall say they carry Lord Eure’s banner.”

  His gaze met Laurie’s, and she felt her heartbeat quicken.

  He smiled and said, “Forgive me, lass, but I must go up and let Thaddeus work his miracles. I’ve been helping Geordie and his lads repair a stall that one of the horses kicked to bits in the night, and I’m not fit for female company.”

  Lord Eure arrived before Sir Hugh or his overnight guest showed himself, and Lady Marjory entered the hall on his heels. Ned Rowan, having accompanied Lord Eure inside, presented him to her ladyship.

  Lady Marjory made her curtsy. “It is a great pleasure and privilege to meet another of Her Majesty’s march wardens, my lord.” As she straightened, she gestured gracefully toward Laurie, adding, “I do not believe that you are yet acquainted with Lady Graham.”

  “No, madam,” his lordship said, making his leg.

  Laurie, rendered briefly speechless by her ladyship’s casual reference to her, collected her wits sufficiently to say, “It is a pleasure, my lord.”

  His smile encompassed them both, but it was to Laurie that he said, “Her ladyship mistakes my position, I’m afraid. I am no longer Her Majesty’s warden. I sent my resignation to the Privy Council immediately after Buccleuch’s release from Blackness and his raid on Tynedale. I received word this morning that they have appointed a man to take my place.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Lady Marjory said, “and who is the lucky gentleman?”

  Eure chuckled. “Lucky? I don’t count him so, my lady, but perhaps he will see the matter otherwise. We will learn that soon enough, though, for the gentleman in question is none other than your own Sir Hugh Graham.”

  Laurie heard an exclamation and turned to behold Sir Hugh standing at the threshold. He did not look particularly pleased by the news.

  “There you are, Hugh,” Eure said, striding to shake his hand. “I’ve brought the letter with me. It appears that Her Majesty, having learned that you not only gave your sister in marriage to an influential Scotsman but have married the daughter of another, believes you are unusually suited to serve as her warden of the middle marches, despite having been born and bred in the Borders. She says that if men with connections like yours cannot bring peace, no one can. What say you, sir?”

  “I say that I shall never understand Her Majesty,” Sir Hugh said sourly.

  Eighteen

  One kiss o your comely mouth,

  I’m sure wad comfort me.

  THE DISCUSSION AT THE high table turned to the duties of a march warden and such difficulties as he might expect to encounter in the middle marches. Lady Marjory contributed her mite whenever she found an opening, but Laurie was content to listen. Despite Sir Hugh’s obvious reluctance, she agreed with Lady Marjory in believing that he would make an excellent warden.

  The gentlemen continued to talk after the trestle tables were cleared from the hall. When Lady Marjory excused herself to take her customary nap, Laurie returned to the kitchen, knowing there would be much work to do there before the time arrived to serve the next meal.

  Despite Meggie’s protests, it was not long before she tied a large apron over her gown and joined Nancy and Andrew in the scullery, helping them scrub the myriad pots and platters. When Meggie informed her sternly from the doorway that it was not suitable work for a gentlewoman, Laurie laughed.

  Handing Nancy another platter to scrub, she said over her shoulder, “Would you let me cook, Meggie?”

  “D’ye ken how t’ do aught but turn the spit?”

  “I know very little about cooking for so large a household.”

  “Well, then, what use could ye be till I could teach ye?”

  “But that’s just what I mean,” Laurie said as she took a pot from Andrew and looked about to see where it should go. “At present, you must let me help you the best way I know.”

  “But the master—”

  “I do not want to hear about the master,” Laurie said. “I tell you, he would not care, nor need he ever know. Now, where in heaven’s name do I hang this pot?”

  “I’ll hang it over the fire to dry first, so it willna rust,” Meggie said, taking it from her and turning. “There be another hanging on the swey, waiting to go up on its hook, if ye’d like t’ come and tak’ it off for me.”

  Laurie followed her into the kitchen, picking up a towel to protect her hand from the hot iron pot. In order to hang it from the pothook, she pulled a stool over and climbed onto it. As she reached up with both hands to hang the pot from the hook, she heard Meggie give a sharp cry of dismay.

  Looking over one shoulder to see what had startled the woman, Laurie gasped at the sight of Sir Hugh standing in the doorway, frowning. She missed the hook with the pot handle, and the hot pot swayed in her grasp, burning her forearm and startling her so that she lost her balance.

  As the stool went out from under her, a strong arm caught her and a big hand knocked the pot out of her hand. The heavy iron vessel hit the floor with a crash.

  Picking Laurie up in both arms, Sir Hugh said curtly, “Wet a towel with cold water, Meggie.” Then, with a foot, he hooked the bench by the table where Nancy had chopped vegetables. Pulling it out, he sat on it, cradling Laurie in his arms.

  “Hold out your arm,” he ordered. “What the devil’s keeping you, Meggie?”

  “Here, master,” Meggie said quietly, handing him a wet towel.

  With his arms still around her, he ripped Laurie’s sleeve, baring her reddened arm. Then he took the towel from Meggie and clapped it against the burn.

  Laurie nearly protested his cavalier treatment of Janet’s gown, but no man had ever held her so, and not being certain what he would do next, she kept silent. The cold water felt good against the burn.

  She noted that Meggie was silent, too, and that the children in the scullery were as quiet as two mice.

  When Sir Hugh took the towel away, Meggie said, “Will ye want herbs or such to put on it, master?”

  “Nay, there is no blister. It will heal quickly. What the devil are you doing in here, mistress?” he demanded of Laurie.

  A little frisson of fear shot up her spine when her gaze met his, and she remembered the many comments that she had heard about his temper in the time she had been at Brackengill. Wishing she didn’t have damp blotches all down the front of her gown and that she could stand on her own two feet to face him, she said only, “I was helping Meggie.”

  “Dry your hands and come with me,” he said grimly as he stood, still holding her, and then set her on her feet.

  Fixing her gaze on the middle of his broad chest, she said, “What are you going to do?”

  “Never mind that. Just do as I tell you.”

  Encountering a sympathetic look from Meggie, Laurie obeyed reluctantly. As she followed him up the spiral stone steps toward the hall, she told herself more than once that he could not eat her. Still, her stomach churned, and her hands felt damp even after she had rubbed them on her skirt.

  Instead of going all the way into the hall, Sir Hugh entered a small chamber near it, waiting by the door until she had followed him in, then shutting it.

  The room seemed small, too small to contain the two of them. It seemed to lack air, too, for Laurie could not seem to breathe. She could still feel where his hands had touched her, and she could feel the burn on her forearm throbbing.

  Trying to compose herself, she avoided his gaze and looked about the room instead. It boasted a plastered ceiling and wa
lls, oak wainscoting, and an arched fireplace that occupied nearly the entire wall opposite the door. Its furnishings comprised only a carved wooden chest against the wall to the left of the hearth and a writing table and chair against the wall on the right. Candles burned in a pair of sconces over the table. The only other light came from the small crackling fire.

  Sir Hugh turned his back to the fire, clasped his hands behind him, and scowled at her. “From the look of you, you weren’t just hanging pots. You were washing them as well. Why the devil were you working in the scullery?”

  “Someone has to do it,” Laurie said calmly.

  “Not you!” A single stride closed the distance between them, and his hands gripped her upper arms tightly. “There are servants to do such things,” he said, giving her a little shake. “I did not bring you here to be a servant, nor will I allow you to be used so. Meggie is going to hear what I think about this, I can tell you.”

  “That’s not fair,” Laurie said, looking up into his eyes. “I offered to help, sir. She did not ask.”

  He gave her another shake, and then with a groan he pulled her close and lowered his head, claiming her lips with his own.

  Shocked, Laurie did not move. His lips were warm and moist against hers, but his body and arms felt hard and unyielding. She felt a part of him stir against her abdomen, and then she was conscious only of his lips and hands, and feelings they were awakening throughout her body.

  Without a thought for consequence, she responded, kissing him back.

  One of his hands moved to touch the bare skin of her breast above the edge of her bodice, and she heard him groan again. He sounded as if he were in pain, but he did not stop what he was doing. His tongue touched the opening of her lips, and his fingers dipped beneath the edge of her bodice. She felt a finger touch the nipple of one breast, and a burning far different from that on her arm swept through her. She gasped, and his tongue penetrated her mouth. No one had ever kissed her so, but she did not mind in the least. She pressed harder against him.

  His fingers touched the lacing on her bodice, searching for the ties. Then they stopped moving. He put his hands at her waist and raised his head, glancing up at the ceiling as if he sought help from a higher source.