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Border Storm

Page 32

by Amanda Scott


  “Then she is a heroine, my lady,” Buccleuch said. “I will see that she is well tended, and that her body is safely escorted to Aylewood for proper burial.”

  “Thank you.”

  The words seemed sadly inadequate when Buccleuch’s timely arrival had undoubtedly saved their lives, but she could think of nothing more to say. Her emotions seemed to have frozen, and she hoped that they would remain so and not overcome her before such an audience. Fearing that movement or words would stir them to life, she dared not look at May’s body or at anyone else. She did not want to cry in front of so many men. Janet the Bold would not cry.

  She stared at the floor, holding herself in, waiting for the men to do whatever needed doing before they could leave. In an oddly distant way, she heard Buccleuch issuing orders, heard others respond to his commands, and heard the shuffle of feet and distant shouts from the yard. She was not aware of movement close to her, and so it was a shock when a large, warm hand grasped one shoulder.

  “You come with me now, lassie,” Sir Hugh said with unusual gentleness. “You need food and drink.”

  “I… I couldn’t.”

  With more firmness, he said, “You can and you will unless you want to ride before me all the way back to Brackengill.”

  Even that did not seem so terrible, except for one thing. “I must go to Aylewood. I must go home with May.”

  “No, lass. You’re in no shape to ride all the way to Aylewood tonight. I’ll take you there myself after you’ve rested. Buccleuch has already promised me safe passage to do that. Now, do you want beef or just some bread and ale? I’ll slice the beef myself, although it won’t be as good as what you last offered to me.”

  She recognized the comment as an attempt at humor, but she could not seem to make herself smile. When she dared let herself try to think, her treacherous mind showed her only the image of May’s soft body with a sword stuck in it.

  Hugh gave her shoulder a shake, startling her. “It is useless to dwell on it, Laura,” he said sternly. “She’s gone, and letting yourself drift into a world of dark clouds and mist will not bring her back. You will grieve for her. ’Tis right and proper that you do. She was your sister, and you loved each other. But this is not the moment for it, lass. We must get you home first.”

  Tears welled into her eyes, and she said the first words that came to mind. “You’re as bad as the rest! She gave her life to save yours, and all you can do is get angry because I fail to act the way you want me to.”

  In answer, he pulled her hard against him and wrapped his strong arms around her, and when he did, she gave way to her tears, no longer caring if every man with Buccleuch came inside to gape at her. She was conscious only of the man who held her.

  His hard embrace warmed and comforted her, as all the tension, fears, and grief of the past thirty hours unleashed themselves. He did not say a word, not so much as “there, there,” but he was with her, and she believed he understood what she was feeling. When the storm of weeping passed, he continued to hold her until she stirred to free herself.

  “Now you will eat,” he said matter-of-factly.

  She surprised herself by smiling.

  “That’s better,” he said.

  “I still don’t think I can eat,” she said, wiping a sleeve across her eyes.

  “Loder’s tables don’t run to finger bowls,” he said, “but one of these pitchers is bound to hold water. You can wash your face whilst I get us some food.”

  She looked hastily around men, certain that she would see any number of silent men staring at her.

  The hall was empty. Both Loder’s body and May’s were gone.

  “Where did everyone go?”

  “They are outside, dealing with prisoners and such. Here.” He handed her a wet towel. “Use this. You don’t want to show that face to them.”

  “Thank you.” She did as he bade her, then blew her nose. She still felt limp and wrung out, but the mists had receded, and she was able to think again.

  “I really should go with them to Aylewood,” she said.

  “No.”

  She sighed, knowing from his tone that she could say nothing that would change his mind. She knew, too, that if he forbade her going, not even Buccleuch would attempt to overrule him.

  When Hugh handed her bread and ale, she ate obediently, deciding that the quickest way to get to Aylewood in time to attend May’s funeral would be to rest and regain her strength. The bread was dry and tasteless, but she got it down, and by the time Buccleuch and Sir Quinton joined them, she felt much better.

  Twenty-five

  So Graeme is back to the wood o’ Tore,

  And he’s Mild the giant, as he killd the boar.

  AS THEY RODE AWAY from Loder’s tower, Buccleuch said to Laurie, “We’ll see that your sister goes gently home, lass. I’m thinking your father will be relieved to have certain questions laid to rest.”

  Laurie said quietly, “Had he questions, sir? He did not confide in me.”

  “I wrote him when I learned what happened at the wardens’ meeting,” Buccleuch said. “I was curious to know what had become of the daughter he had guaranteed to present there. I was perhaps a little forceful in my phrasing.”

  No one commented, but Laurie glanced at him and saw a twinkle. It made her wonder why anyone ever compared him to Thomas Scrope. Even fresh out of prison, Buccleuch’s power was undeniable. It charged the air around him in a way that made Scrope seem insignificant. The twinkle helped her understand why even his enemies treated him well.

  “What did my father reply?” she asked.

  “That he did not know where May was but suspected that she might have run away to her English kinsmen. He said they were her mother’s people, and I suspect that he believed Lady Halliot might have helped spirit the lass away.”

  “I suspected the same,” Laurie admitted.

  “Aye, well, you know the woman. Perhaps she is capable of such things, but we now know that Loder bribed the maidservant and mayhap one of the castle guards as well. Then he snatched the poor lass right out of her bed.”

  A silence fell, and they rode without speaking for a time before Hugh said, “I’ve heard a rumor, sir, that you pledged to impose peace in the Borders. Is it too much to hope that the rumor is true?”

  “You probably had that from Gil Scott of Hawkburne,” Buccleuch said with a grin. “His father approves, but Gil’s dead set against it. Thinks the area’s whole economy depends on raiding. But I think it’s time, and so I informed your queen.”

  “Doubtless, Her Majesty will be grateful,” Hugh said.

  Laurie detected no sarcasm in his tone, but she suspected that he did not believe Buccleuch would do as he said. “If you say that you will do it, you will, sir,” she said, “but will Queen Elizabeth not think that she forced you to it?”

  “She can think what she likes,” Buccleuch said. “That woman still wants me to go to London to answer for what she chooses to call my outrageous crimes, and I’ll have to go, I expect. Jamie will insist on it if she plagues him enough, so I mean to show her first that I can wield my power to her benefit and to that of all Britain.”

  “I’m willing to help by lifting my siege, since it’s clear that most of the damage was Loder’s and not the doing of Liddesdale men,” Hugh said. “But I should warn you, sir, Scrope will do all he can to undermine your efforts.”

  “That pestilential malt worm! I’ll shake his bones right out of his garments if he gets in my way. He is a disease that should be cut away.”

  “He ought to hang,” Laurie said flatly. “He is as much to blame as Loder for May’s death. He must have known that Loder had her.”

  “Aye, perhaps,” Buccleuch said, “but I’ll not demand his arrest, lass, for we cannot control who will succeed him. We’ll render him powerless instead.”

  “But how?”

  “Ah, well, I’ve a fair relationship with the other two English wardens now,” he replied, shooting a grin at Hugh. “With
Jamie’s help, I think we can persuade Elizabeth to urge that scrofulous want-wit to turn most of his authority over to his deputies and to the other wardens.”

  “Scrope would never agree,” Hugh said.

  “I think we can persuade him,” Buccleuch said, twinkling.

  It was nearly dark by the time Hugh and Laurie returned to Brackengill, and when it loomed before her, much as it had the first time she saw it, Laurie realized how much she had come to love the castle. Every stick and stone of it seemed to welcome her. She even looked forward to seeing Lady Marjory.

  Hugh left her in the inner bailey, murmuring that he would see to the horses. His face was drawn and his jaw clenched. She thought he looked tired.

  She went inside alone to find the great hall unoccupied. Small fires crackled cheerfully in both fireplaces.

  Wondering where Lady Marjory was, Laurie went in search of her, running her to earth in her bedchamber, dozing with a tambour frame in hand.

  “Oh, thank heaven, my child,” Lady Marjory exclaimed, casting aside the embroidery. “I have not known what to think. Where, oh, where have you been all this time? That Geordie told me someone told him that you were with Sir Hugh, but I knew that could not be so.”

  “But I have been, madam. We have been captives.”

  “Captives!” Lady Marjory clutched her breast.

  “Yes, a henchman of Thomas Scrope’s captured us whilst we were returning from Scotland to Brackengill.”

  “May God have mercy on all our souls! Scotland! Captured! But all this time? Surely, someone should have sent word to Brackengill, demanding a ransom or whatever it is that they do under such circumstances.”

  Laurie bit her lower lip, realizing that Lady Marjory had not known where she was for two full days. “It is a long story,” she said at last. “I went in search of Hugh, you see, and—”

  “Sir Hugh, my dear, even with me,” Lady Marjory interjected.

  “I went looking for him, and when I found him, he decided to bring me back to Brackengill himself. We had only just reached the English side of the line, though, when we were set upon and taken prisoner.”

  Lady Marjory clutched her bosom again. “Mercy!” she exclaimed. “And you believe that was the doing of Thomas Scrope? But that cannot be, for he is loyal to the Queen and serves as her warden here, which makes him nearly as powerful as the Queen, himself, so why would he capture one of his own loyal henchmen?”

  “It was not Scrope who captured us, madam. It was Martin Loder.”

  “Martin Loder! But is that not the man your sister killed?” The look on Lady Marjory’s face altered slightly. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “I cannot blame you for doubting my sanity, madam, for ’tis surely a wild tale, but I assure you, Loder is alive. That is,” she amended, “he was alive before Hugh killed… that is, before Loder died.”

  She went on to explain matters as well as she could. When she had finished, she could not be sure that Lady Marjory understood it all, but her ladyship clearly had grasped at least one important detail.

  Clapping her hands together with childish delight, she exclaimed, “Then if Martin Loder confessed to the raids, not to mention if he was alive all that time and not murdered, and if your sister has been found, no one will continue to insist any longer that you are Sir Hugh’s hostage and not his proper wife. How very much more comfortable that will be for all of us!”

  “Yes… yes, I expect it will,” Laurie said, wondering why the light seemed to have gone out of the day. “I need no longer be his hostage.”

  “Yes, dear, that is what I just said, and it is such a relief, is it not? But you look chilled. Shall I send someone to fetch you some hot-spiced ale or claret, or perhaps some nourishing soup? Or are you hungry enough to drink some soup? But, of course, you must be hungry if you have not eaten in all this time,” she went on, paying no heed to Laurie’s silence. “And Sir Hugh will be ravenous. Gentlemen are always starving after a good set-to with an enemy. What have I been thinking just to be sitting here like a block?”

  Leaping to her feet, she shook out her skirts, adding, “I shall soon stir them to action in the kitchen, I promise you. Not that Meggie and her Nan won’t have kept something warm from the household supper, for I warrant they have, because I told them to do so yesterday when I thought you had merely stayed out late, riding with Meggie’s Andrew.

  “I will just go along and tell them that everything must be prepared to Sir Hugh’s most exacting taste,” she went on. “I know that they will be glad to learn that he is at home again. When I have spoken to them, I shall come to your room to be sure you have all you require to dress for supper. You will be wanting to change out of those dreadful clothes, and whilst I am sure that Rose girl you hired to attend you means well enough, I am not by any means certain that…”

  Laurie let the flow of words pass over her until Lady Marjory had run out of things to say and had hurried off to the kitchen. Then, alone at last, she stood for a long moment, contemplating the unwelcome fact that her days as a hostage were over. She could now leave Brackengill forever. She was still handfasted to Hugh, of course, but since the handfasting had been no more than a way of making it acceptable for her to stand hostage for May, no one would expect her to remain with him for the full year and a day, and thanks to Providence, she was still a maiden. If she agreed to endure an examination, he would not even have to pay the tocher. He could just take her home to Aylewood, and he had already promised to do that.

  Her feet felt heavy as she made her way to her bedchamber. She would change out of her filthy clothes and ask Rose to begin packing her things.

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she brushed them away, but her throat ached, too, and she could not brush the ache away with a gesture.

  Surely, she told herself, her depression was just an emotional reaction to all that had happened in the past two days and was perfectly normal. It stemmed from finding May safe, then seeing her fall dead, and learning that Martin Loder was still alive. It grew from looking death in the face and then making it through the ordeal unscathed after seeing others die, and from hearing Buccleuch so casually declare that he had decided to impose peace in the Borders at last.

  It had nothing to do with the thought of leaving Brackengill—and Hugh.

  Tears trickled down her cheeks, and this time she did not brush them away. She had reached her bedchamber and, pushing open the door, found it dark and blessedly empty. Closing the door behind her, she went to the window and looked out toward Bewcastle Waste.

  Stars twinkled overhead and reflected faintly in the sparkling, foamy water of two nearby burns, but otherwise she could see little besides the dark, curving line of the distant fells. Cool air touched her cheeks, and to keep other thoughts at bay, she tried to visualize the hills at her favorite time of day, when the sun was low, shooting golden rays straight at the fells, turning them and the Cheviots beyond them to burnished gold.

  Though she resisted, her thoughts refused to comply with her wishes. She seemed able to think only that she was free to go home, and knowing that, she felt as if she had been suddenly trapped into leaving Brackengill. Hugh would be glad to be rid of her, though. Doubtless, he would want to dance with the joy of it. The trickle of tears grew to a flood when she found it easy to imagine him dancing.

  “What’s wrong with me?” she muttered to the ambient air. Realizing that Rose would come in at any moment, she struggled to control her emotions, to think of anything but the fact that she was now free to leave. Taking a deep breath, she scolded herself. Then, finding cold water in the ewer on the washstand, she splashed some on her face. She was being a fool.

  The plain fact was that she did not want to leave, and this time it would do no good simply to wait and see what would happen. What would happen was that Hugh would take her back to Aylewood, to her family. If she wanted to stay, she would have to tell him herself and face the consequences. Just hoping that he would be sad to see her go, or that he would
ask her to stay, would get her nowhere.

  Accordingly, she dried her face with the towel, found flint and tinder to light a small fire and candles, then hurried to the clothes press to decide what to wear. When Rose arrived, if she noted signs of her mistress’s tears, she did not speak of them, moving quickly instead to obey Laurie’s commands.

  An order to the kitchens brought hot water for the tub, and while they waited, Rose brushed the tangles and doubtless a few other oddments from Laurie’s hair.

  “It looks better, mistress, but it sadly wants a washing,” the maidservant said quietly when she had finished.

  “Not now,” Laurie said. “It would take too long to dry. Just pin it up under a lace cap, Rose, whilst I bathe. You can dress it more carefully afterward.”

  Bathing quickly, she dressed quickly, too, but when she was ready, she hesitated, turning back at the door to say quietly, “Thank you, Rose.”

  Rose smiled. “Ye look gey beautiful, mistress. That blue gown becomes ye. None could guess that ye’d been a prisoner in a dungeon these past days.”

  Laurie thanked her again and told herself that the compliment should make her feel more confident. It failed dismally, however, and the weight of her steps made it seem as if she wore shoes made of lead.

  She did not want to face Hugh, yet she wanted to know if he felt as she did. The fact was, however, that she feared he did not. It would be easier, in that case, simply to disappear from Brackengill without seeing him. A fleeting image stirred of Hugh on horseback, galloping after her, determined to bring her back. Gratifying though the image was, she knew she could not count on it. Even if he wanted her, he was as likely to respect her decision and say nothing to talk her out of it. If she wanted to know the truth, she would have to confront him again and ask him to speak his feelings aloud. But she had confronted him before, and she had confronted Martin Loder. Why, then, did this seem so difficult?

  Just the thought of it chilled her blood. Much as she wished she were Laurie the Bold, she knew now that she never would be. Laurie the Timid—no, that wasn’t right either. She had done some brave things. She had even done some good things, although she had not thought of them as brave or good at the time. They had just been things that needed doing. That was all.

 

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