by Amanda Scott
“Ride, master,” Hob shouted. “They be breaking truce!”
Even before Quin heard the warning and saw the well-practiced battlefield maneuver with the horses, he had feared an attack. The signs had been undeniable, for the other party was heavily armed and had watched him and his people more closely than mere taunting would account for. More than once he had seen one man lean near another to talk without looking away from the Scots.
“Hold where you are, everyone,” he shouted before his men could spur their ponies. “They outnumber us, and I’ll not risk my Jenny or any of the other women by encouraging them to chase us or make battle. We’ll face them down.”
“They’d never dare harm me,” Jenny said stoutly. “I know that banner, sir. It is my cousin, Francis Musgrave. I cannot believe he would dare to break the truce.”
Moments later, the leader of the English party, closely followed by his men, rode up to Quin and declared loudly, “You are under arrest, Rabbie Redcloak, for theft and for murder. You are to come with us.”
Stunned by the unexpected identification, Quin fought to collect his. wits.
Jenny said angrily, “You are mad, Francis Musgrave. This is Sir Quinton Scott, Laird of Broadhaugh, close cousin to the Laird of Buccleuch, and my husband! You cannot arrest him. He is deputy warden of the Scottish middle and west marches, as you know right well!”
“He is under arrest nonetheless,” Musgrave said firmly, adding with a flinty look at Quin, “We outnumber you, Broadhaugh, two to one.”
Quin saw other riders coming over the rise and realized that Musgrave had planned his attack well. “I’ll go peacefully,” he said. “Jenny, ride to Buccleuch with Hob and our other men and tell him about this. Do not, under any circumstance, put yourself in danger, but do exactly what Buccleuch tells you to do. Now, go, lass.”
Tears glittered in her eyes, but she raised her chin. “Recall that I know you well, Francis Musgrave,” she said angrily. “Moreover, if I find out that Hugh had aught to do with this outrage, I’ll…”
“Do not blame Sir Hugh, cousin,” Musgrave said. “We learned only a short time ago that Broadhaugh is the notorious reiver, Rabbie Redcloak. I will do you the courtesy to pretend you did not know of his past. However, you should know that we mean to make a gift of him to your brother, and Hugh may not be so credulous. We mean you and the others no harm, though. You may depart in peace.”
“Peace!” she snapped. “What do you know of peace, to break a solemn truce like this? You should be ashamed of yourself. God will punish you, Francis, and by heaven, if I can help him send you all to perdition, I will!”
“That’s enough now, Jenny; go to Buccleuch,” Quin said calmly. Turning to Hob, he added, “Stay with her. I depend upon you to guard her well.”
“Aye, master,” Hob replied. “And, mind, we’ll have moonlight again.”
Chapter 20
“Now word is gane to the bauld keeper,
In Branksome Ha’, where that he lay…”
IGNORING TEARS THAT STREAMED down her cheeks, Janet watched as they constrained Quinton like a common felon with his arms tied behind him and his feet bound beneath his horse’s belly. He held himself erect throughout the humiliating process, and his dignity reminded her of her position as his wife. She did not raise a hand to dry her tears, but they continued to flow.
Beside her, Hob murmured, “We should go, mistress, whilst we can.”
“We will wait until they have ridden away,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice to match his. “They must see that we are outraged, Hob, and not think for a minute’s time that we fear them. We will sit quietly and watch, so as to make them constantly aware that we can serve as witnesses to this unlawful act.”
“By God, madam,” Gaudilands said behind her. “Were it not for you and the other women, we’d soon teach them a lesson. I can promise you that.”
“Then you would give them grounds to declare later that you caused the trouble instead of them,” Janet said without turning her head. “This way, they can never say that we initiated any of this. They are wholly in the wrong, and we shall be able to say so without fear of hearing any action of ours condemned in turn.”
The Scots sat silently after that until the English band had disappeared over the rise with their prisoner.
Hob said quietly, “Now, mistress?”
“Now,” Janet agreed.
Leaving half of their men to escort the other women, she rode ahead with Hob, Gaudilands, and Todrigg to Branxholme, where Buccleuch had remained to let his leg mend itself. Darkness fell some hours before the big gates swung open to admit them to the torchlit bailey.
Leaving their horses with lackeys, Janet hurried into the hall with Hob and the two gentlemen following. She found Buccleuch alone, sitting at his ease in a cushioned armchair with his leg propped on a bench set lengthwise before him. A goblet of wine rested companionably on a small table at his elbow.
He frowned at her hasty entrance, but made no move to stand. “What’s amiss, lass?” he demanded. “And why the devil have you brought Todrigg and Gaudilands with you? Where’s Quin?”
“They’ve seized him, sir. They’ve broken the truce, and I am ashamed to say that those who took him are Musgraves, members of my mother’s family and hitherto men for whom I held both respect and affection.”
His startled reaction sent the goblet at his elbow flying, but he paid no heed to the resulting clatter or mess. “The devil you say!” he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright now. “They’ve broken the truce?”
“Aye, Wat,” Gaudilands said angrily. “We’d scarce left the ground when Francis Musgrave and about a hundred others swooped down upon us.”
Todrigg said, “They arrested him as Rabbie Redcloak.”
“Damnation,” Buccleuch exclaimed, adding as an obvious afterthought, “I beg your pardon, lass.”
“Quinton said to ride straight to you, sir,” she said. “What can we do?”
“We will protest, of course, for they have broken the law. You are certain that none of you crossed to their side of the line?”
Gaudilands snapped, “Of course no one did! Christ, Wat, we were about to cross the Liddel near Whithaugh. We could scarcely have wandered the opposite way, across the Kershope into England, without noticing.”
“I’ll send a protest to that blasted Scrope at once.”
Todrigg said, “Ye’d best send it to Sir Hugh Graham at Brackengill. Them what took Quin did say they mean to make Sir Hugh a gift of him.”
Buccleuch frowned thoughtfully at Janet. “Did they, indeed?”
“Yes,” she said, “they did. They also said that Hugh did not know of their intent. In point of fact, they said that they had just learned that Quinton is Rabbie Redcloak. Someone must have told them—someone who attended Truce Day.”
Buccleuch nodded. “I see what you are thinking, lass, and I own, I ought to have considered that possibility sooner. Who on our side might have had reason today to feel anger or resentment toward Quin?”
“Those devilish Crosier brothers,” Gaudilands said instantly.
“Aye, Arch and Ill Wild Will,” Todrigg agreed.
The two men, speaking in turn, described the events of the day. Before they had finished, servants brought wine and ale, and afterward Buccleuch invited them to linger and take a late supper with him.
“For that matter,” he added, “you may as well stay the night, all of you. I cannot send Quin’s lady back to Broadhaugh without an armed escort, and my lads will accomplish that with greater safety in the morning.” Turning to Janet, he added, “Margaret has taken the bairns and gone to Ferniehurst to visit with her kinsmen, lass, but you can stay the night in your old room. Just send for one of the maidservants to stay with you.”
“Thank you, sir; I will gladly accept your kind offer,” Janet said. “Pray, will you send someone at once to Brackengill? I do not think Hugh would dare hang Quinton when so many know exactly what occurred. Indeed, I believe that Hugh
will be shocked to learn what Francis Musgrave dared to do in his name. Still…” She let her words trail to silence and sent him a beseeching look.
“I take leave to doubt Hugh’s shock,” Buccleuch said grimly. “However, if he dares to lay a hand on Quin, he’ll answer to me. That I promise you before God.”
His tone chilled her, but she could not find it in herself to defend Hugh—not while Quinton remained at risk.
“Todrigg,” Buccleuch went on, “you’ll take my message to Brackengill as soon as you have supped. Christ, but I resent this outrage, for it touches my honor. ’Tis an insult to Scotland and a defiance of my authority as warden. I shall complain fiercely about this breach of the truce and demand Quin’s immediate release.”
“Good,” Todrigg said grimly.
“Take a score of my men to augment your own—ten from here and ten from Hermitage, for you’ll pass it on your way. And be prepared to go on to Carlisle,” he added thoughtfully. “Under the circumstances, Sir Hugh may think it wiser to let Scrope deal with the matter this time.”
“Aye, Buccleuch, I’ll see to it all,” Todrigg said, nodding. “An God wills it, we’ll ha’ Quin safe home again by tomorrow sunset.”
“I’d like to stay here until we know that he is safe,” Janet said evenly to Buccleuch, hoping that her firm, matter-of-fact tone would persuade him despite Margaret’s absence.
He shook his head. “That would not be suitable, lass. Although my leg is mending, I am in no case to look after you, and most of the womenfolk have taken advantage of my lady’s absence to visit their own families. If you do not want to remain alone at Broadhaugh, I’ll have my lads take you to Margaret at Ferniehurst, but in any event, you must leave here at first light. I’ll command Hob the Mouse to look after you till Quin returns. None will plague you with Hob at your side.”
She bit her lip but did not attempt to argue with him, knowing that it would be useless. It was enough for the moment that he did not send her home at once. While they supped, the three men discussed all that might lie ahead, and she listened with interest. She was not surprised, however, when Buccleuch dismissed her as soon as lackeys began to clear away the platters from the table.
“You go along now,” he said absently. “We’ve important matters to discuss.”
Hiding her resentment, she obeyed him, realizing only when she reached her old bedchamber how tired she was. By the time she had shouted for water, and a maidservant had found an old smock of Margaret’s for her to wear to bed, she could hardly keep her eyes open. Sending the maid away, she promised to bolt the door. Doing so, she climbed into bed, fell asleep at once, and did not stir till the same maidservant pounded on the door late the next morning.
“My lady, Himself said to tell ye to get dressed and go down to break your fast, for Hob and them will leave within the hour,” the maid shouted. “D’ye hear?”
“I hear,” Janet muttered, wishing she could tell the woman to go away and leave her alone. The maid pounded again, at which she shouted, “I’m coming!”
“Aye, good,” the maid shouted back. “I ha’ hot water for ye!”
Admitting her, Janet quickly splashed water on her face and got dressed. Rejecting further assistance, she dragged a comb through her hair and confined it in the net she wore when she rode. Then, smoothing her wrinkled skirts as well as she could, she hurried down to the hall.
The table was laden with food again, and Buccleuch was eating. He glanced up at her entrance and said without preamble, “Todrigg’s messenger arrived only minutes ago. He was well nigh asleep in his saddle, and I’ve sent him off to bed.”
“I did not expect any news yet,” she said, knowing it could not be good if the man had ridden through the night at what must have been reckless speed to bring it.
“They’ve taken Quin to Carlisle,” Buccleuch said grimly. “Your brother sent me a damned officious message, but I have decided to ignore it.”
“What said he, sir?”
“He insists that he knows naught of the arrest of Sir Quinton Scott,” Buccleuch said. “However, he admits having received word that his cousin Musgrave did capture a notorious reiver engaged in a raid on Bewcastle.”
“What? Bewcastle?”
“Aye, Bewcastle. Musgrave’s men had to chase the reiver, he said, and when the villain crossed over into Scotland and tried to raise the country against them, they were forced—in self-defense, your brother says—to take him into custody and deliver him to Carlisle.”
“Is it possible that Hugh does not know the truth?”
Buccleuch looked at her, his derision clear.
“No, that is not possible,” Janet admitted with a sigh. “Francis Musgrave would never lie to Hugh about such a matter—or anything else. He wouldn’t dare.”
“That is what I think, too,” Buccleuch said. “Todrigg sent his lad to me to report all that he had learned and to tell me that he has ridden on to Carlisle. Pray to God that that villain Scrope possesses more sense than Musgrave or your dolthead brother. Now eat. Hob and the others are ready to leave for Broadhaugh or Ferniehurst. They wait only for you to decide which it is to be.”
“Broadhaugh an it please you, sir. I should be at home.”
“Aye, that’s what I thought, too, lass. I am sending Gaudilands home, as well. He will provide part of your escort, and since his tower house is but a few miles from Broadhaugh, he will be close at hand if you need him for anything.”
“Thank you,” Janet said. “You will keep me apprised of the situation as it develops, will you not?”
“I will,” he promised. “You can depend on that.”
She doubted that he would do any such thing, and later that day, when Gaudilands and his men left her at Broadhaugh with none but Hob the Mouse or her maid, Ardith, to confide in, she felt abandoned and more resentful than ever. Had she been a man, she told herself, Buccleuch would not have dismissed her so easily.
Two days later, however, she learned that she had misjudged him. She was speaking with a dairymaid in the buttery when a lackey ran in to tell her that Buccleuch had sent a messenger. Hurrying to greet the man, she recognized him at once from Branxholme.
“What news have you?” she demanded.
“It isna good, my lady,” the man said warily.
“I shan’t snap your head off,” she said, “but do not keep me on tenterhooks. Tell me at once.”
“The Laird o’ Todrigg came to Branxholme this morning,” he said. “Himself said t’ tell ye that Scrope—‘that scoundrel, Scrope,’ is what he said.”
“Aye, I know what he thinks of his lordship,” Janet said. “Todrigg did not have Sir Quinton with him, then. What else did Buccleuch say?”
Rolling his eyes upward and contorting his face, the man exerted himself to recall his master’s exact words. At last, just as Janet was ready to scream, he said carefully, “Himself said he would first exhaust the resources of civilization so that none can complain that he’s as barbaric as them thievin’ English. Therefore, he said, he’ll be sending a formal letter to Lord Scrope, declaring that Sir Quinton ha’ been unlawfully captured and detained in direct violation of Border law. Himself be feelin’ right quarrelsome, my lady,” he added in his natural voice.
“I’ll warrant he is,” Janet said. “Does he think that Lord Scrope will heed a second demand when he ignored the first?”
“Nay, then, he did call Scrope a devilish fool, near as great an apehead as what Sir Hugh Graham is. Beggin’ your pardon,” he added hastily.
“You need not do so,” Janet said. “I agree that Sir Hugh behaved badly, and the Musgraves behaved worse. I am ashamed of my own kinsmen, and that is the plain fact of the matter.”
Three fretful days passed before she heard more, and it was all she could do to contain her soul in patience. Then it was Margaret who came to her, braving a light shower of rain and accompanied by a score of Buccleuch’s men.
“Don’t look so shaken, my dear,” she said when, despite the rain,
Janet ran into the bailey to receive her. “I bring bad news, but it could be much worse.”
“They have not hanged him then,” Janet said, trying to sound confident and sounding only wary. She barely noticed the raindrops.
“No, of course they have not,” Margaret said, accepting the help of one of her escorts to dismount. “’Twould be enough to start a war, with Buccleuch as furious as he is. He received a message from Scrope, though, and it has put him into a worse temper than ever. I returned from Ferniehurst to find him packing to leave for Hermitage. He left at once, despite the weather and his bad leg, and he asked me to bring you word myself, because he knew you would want to know.”
“What did Scrope say?”
“The villain chooses to pretend that Quin is no one but Rabbie Redcloak,” Margaret said indignantly. “He wrote that Rabbie was such a notorious offender that he dared not release him without authority from Elizabeth herself.”
“Godamercy!”
“Aye, Buccleuch is in a towering rage,” Margaret said, gently grasping Janet’s arm and urging her back inside. “He says it is as if they had captured him, for Quin is his deputy, and thus it is by way of being the same thing. He would like to raise all of Liddesdale and Teviotdale and bring Carlisle Castle down around Scrope’s ears, but until his leg mends he can do little more than swear.”
“I hope he does not do it more injury, riding to Hermitage,” Janet said.
“Well, whether he does or not, I could not stop him,” Margaret replied. “He had clearly been fretting at Branxholme, feeling too far away from things. I would not have left him, but he commanded it, saying one of us would murder the other if I stayed.” Grinning, she said, “Order us food, my dear, and I will tell you all I know. I do not mean to linger, but perhaps your people could see to providing mine with something warm to drink and a bite to eat.”
“Forgive me, madam, I forget my duties,” Janet exclaimed with embarrassment, looking around for a lackey.
Hob the Mouse, never far from her side, nodded reassuringly and turned away to deal with the matter.