Border Storm (17 page)

When Blanche had refused to attend the proceedings, Laurie had been able to persuade her father to let her accompany him only because he had expected Janet to accompany her husband and thought Janet would enjoy her company. Not until the two parties joined did they learn that Lady Scott had been taken by sickness of late, and her husband had decreed that she should stay at home.

By then it was too late to send Laurie back to Aylewood without sending a considerable escort with her. Since Sir William wanted to make as grand an impression of power on the field as he could, he kept her with him.

Laurie observed that her father seemed nervous and decided that he had cause for concern. With two cavalcades of armed men facing each other across a field alive with interested spectators, the scene resembled battle lines drawn up on either side of a holiday fair.

Gaily colored tents dotted the field, and people wandered about, seeming to pay no heed to the heavily armed riders converging on them from two directions.

Laurie felt increasing excitement tempered only by her deep concern for her sister. No one had laid eyes on May since her disappearance, nor had they heard a word from her. She had vanished like a puff of smoke before the wind, and Bridget had vanished with her.

Sir William had questioned every man and woman at Aylewood, and every single one had insisted that he or she knew nothing about May’s disappearance.

Knowing that May had escaped the castle’s confines once before, Laurie nonetheless found it hard to believe that she had done so again, even with Bridget’s assistance. She had spoken to Bangtail Willie again, but the only new thing she learned from him was that Nebless Sam, who had guarded the postern through the night, had gone off to visit kinsmen in Liddesdale and had not yet returned.

Recalling that Willie had also once told her that Nebless Sam had an avid interest in Bridget, Laurie wondered if Sam might have helped them. Willie said that the man had sworn to him that no one had passed through the postern gate all night, but she knew that May and Bridget had not flown from the ramparts.

Turning away from her father and Sir Quinton, Laurie observed movement on the far hillside. “There are more of them there now,” she said.

Sir William nodded. “That will be Scrope,” he said.

“Aye,” Sir Quinton said. “’Tis his banner flying beside Hugh Graham’s.”

“We will go to meet them, then,” Sir William said.

Sir Quinton cleared his throat, then said quietly, “I’ll not be telling you how to manage your business, sir, but ’tis ever Buccleuch’s way to await the exchange of assurances. ’Tis safer so, he says.”

“Aye, perhaps.”

“One avoids fatal misunderstandings, Buccleuch says, by following strict procedure. If you will recall, an unfortunate riot occurred at Redeswire some years ago, and many died, due to confusion over the assurances.”

“I’ll be happy if this lot simply observes the truce,” Sir William said bleakly. “I had hoped that I might be dealing with Hugh Graham. I’ve met the man, and you said he served honorably and well when you dealt with him.”

“Aye, he did.” Sir Quinton’s eyebrows arched. “I wish I might say the others had been as fair-minded. I might just add, though, that Hugh Graham is not always to be trusted either, sir. You’d do well to guard your back whilst we’re here.”

“I will.” Sir William looked narrowly at him. “Do not forget that you must serve in my place when they present the bill of complaint against my daughter.”

Sir Quinton nodded, and Laurie looked away again, unable to face her father’s wretched unhappiness over May’s disappearance. He clearly believed that she had run away or killed herself rather than face her accusers and trust him to see her safe from them. His disappointment in her was nearly palpable.

He had not questioned Laurie at any length about her sister’s disappearance, and for that she was deeply grateful.

Even Blanche had not questioned her beyond asking rather vaguely if she had any idea what had become of May. Laurie had feared that Blanche would recall the night that she had found her missing from her bedchamber, but by the time Sir Hugh Graham presented Scrope’s grievance to Sir William, Blanche apparently had forgotten the incident.

For all that she tried to insist that someone had sneaked into the castle and stolen her elder daughter away in the night, it was clear enough to everyone that Blanche, like her husband, believed that May had run away. Laurie believed she was the only one who suspected that Blanche herself might have had a hand in May’s departure.

The sight of four riders and one of the banners separating from the cavalcade across the way and galloping toward them diverted her from her thoughts just then. She watched their rapid approach with increasing tension.

Sir William and Sir Quinton remained where they were, flanked now by the captain of the guard at Aylewood and a huge man of Sir Quinton’s who was known—absurdly, Laurie thought, considering his size—as Hob the Mouse.

She noticed that, below, the people in the field had seen the riders and were watching them. Although the brightly colored banners continued to wave in the breeze, she could see her tension reflected in the stiff way people stood, and she felt it emanating from the men who made up the rest of the Scottish party.

The hoofbeats of the riders’ horses sounded clearly now. One rider led the others, and Laurie’s interest heightened when she recognized him. Sir Hugh Graham rode very well, as if he were part of his horse.

When the riders drew near, Sir Hugh raised a hand, signaling the others to stop. They slowed their ponies to a walk, then drew rein.

Sir Hugh rode forward a few paces, saying clearly, “Greetings, Halliot. We come in the name of Thomas Lord Scrope to seek assurance that you and your people have come to this place for the sole purpose of seeking justice and agree to keep the peace until sunrise tomorrow. Do we have your promise, sir?”

“Aye, you have it,” Sir William said.

Laurie, watching them, knew that it was vital that both sides agree to the truce, because that would enable everyone to reach home in safety before it expired. Suddenly encountering a direct look from Sir Hugh, she felt heat rush to her cheeks and to the core of her body. She could not tell what he was thinking.

He looked grim, and his eyes were as gray as hard steel, but he had looked that way while demanding the assurance. Perhaps he did not approve of women attending Truce Days. Many men did not approve, particularly since they knew that violence could break out at any moment.

She wanted to look away but found it impossible to do so. He broke the contact at last, turning his pony hard and riding away at a gallop, not seeming to care whether his men followed or not.

“Wait till they have passed the halfway point, then follow them, Quin,” Sir William said. “You should go with our lads, since Scrope sent his deputy to me.”

“Aye,” Sir Quinton said. “He’ll not embrace you afterward, though, sir. Do not expect it.”

“I won’t.”

Sir Quinton grinned boyishly, and Laurie felt her tension ease. “When I acted for Buccleuch, Graham insisted on meeting in the middle of Kershopefoot Burn,” he said. “Said he didn’t want to look as if he’d entered Scotland as a supplicant. Scrope can’t do that here, though. He will be content to meet where you will.”

Sir William nodded. He was still watching the riders. “Go now, Quin.”

Hob the Mouse, the captain from Aylewood, and one other man rode with him, and they repeated the ritual across the way.

Within moments of their meeting with Scrope, the other warden held up his hand and Sir William did likewise, signaling for the benefit of everyone watching their mutual agreement to the terms of the truce. Then, shouting at his men to keep the peace or answer to him and King James, Sir William gave the sign to ride forward. The entire Scottish party rode en masse to meet the English.

Hugh wondered what had possessed Sir William to allow Mistress Halliot to attend the day’s proceedings. Was the man mad? Apparently Quinton Scott had forbidden Janet to attend, so Sir William could have no good reason. And where had he concealed his younger daughter, the one who was to answer to a charge of murder? Surely he had not consigned her to wait with the men he had brought to answer complaints laid against them.

Ruthlessly, Hugh forced himself to focus on the day’s business. He still knew little about Sir William Halliot of Aylewood, but he did not trust the Scots on general principle. He knew that Scrope wanted no trouble, and he knew, too, that if any started, it had better begin with the Scots.

If it began with the English, Scrope was likely to blame the Grahams for it whether they were guilty or not. Hugh knew he could speak for his men, but he could not speak for all Grahams. No one spoke for all Grahams.

Scrope and Halliot greeted each other with nods, trumpets sounded the beginning of the meeting, and the two sides quickly mingled. The wardens’ table was ready, and the clerk—a man from Canonbie agreed to by both sides—awaited them there. He took charge of the grievances, quickly sorting them with the most recent ones on top as the wardens and their deputies took places at the table and prepared to begin the business of the day.

Hugh noted that Mistress Halliot remained nearby, apparently guarded by the huge man who generally rode beside Quinton Scott. Hugh remembered the man’s name only because it was the most inappropriate to-name he had ever heard. Doubtless somewhere in the past there had been reason to call him Hob the Mouse, but no mouse stood six feet four inches tall in its bare feet or wielded a Jedburgh ax as easily as if it were a jackstraw.

While the clerk rearranged inkwell and quills, and the two wardens settled in their chairs, Hugh found his gaze returning to Mistress Halliot. She was dressed as richly as her father was, and her father’s attire was as rich as Scrope’s.

Hugh remembered from his own experience as acting warden that it had seemed important that he not allow the other side to outshine him. Doubtless Halliot and Scrope felt the same way.

He watched Mistress Halliot, thinking again how beautiful she was. Her dark curls gleamed in the sunlight. With her dark eyes, pink cheeks, and red lips, she seemed to have more color than the other women. Most were older than she was, of course, but Hugh did not think it would matter if every one of them were young and beautiful. Mistress Halliot would still stand out.

She looked excited by the activity but worried, as well. No doubt, she was concerned for her sister’s fate—as she ought to be if the lass had killed a man. Not that murder was always a hanging offense, for it wasn’t, but the murder of Scrope’s chief land sergeant would be, even if the accused murderer was a young woman.

Having known Loder, Hugh wondered if May Halliot had merely defended herself. Scrope had written the complaint, and although Hugh had read it, it said little about the circumstances surrounding Loder’s death. Clearly, Scrope was keeping the details to himself until the time came to reveal them. It would not be long, either, Hugh realized. The wardens would hear the most recent grievances first.

They selected their juries quickly, and it amused Hugh to watch the two of them pretend to consider their choices. Scrope had been quite willing to accept the list of Scots that Hugh had drawn up, and he was certain that Halliot had made his choices long before leaving home.

The English warden chose the six Scottish jurors, and the Scottish warden chose the six English. Any defendant who requested a jury trial would be tried before the jury of his countrymen, albeit one carefully chosen by his enemies.

The oaths given and taken, the clerk called the first case, a grievance against an Englishman, Steven Musgrave, and five of his cohorts.

The charge alleged that they had come over into Scotland and stolen fifty cattle and horses, and that on being pursued they had captured four of their pursuers and subsequently ransomed them for a total of twenty-five pounds. They had also ransomed their captives’ horses—except for those that they had kept.

The case was over quickly, because Musgrave pleaded guilty, hoping for leniency. The two wardens, after a brief conference, agreed on the fine he and his friends would pay, and he agreed to return the livestock and the ransom money.

Hugh thought that Buccleuch would not have agreed to so tame a penalty, but his duties as deputy warden did not include giving advice to the Scottish warden or arguing with Scrope. Knowing Steven Musgrave, he knew there would be another grievance against him soon, probably for the same offense, even the same livestock. Justice would catch up with him.

Not long after that, the clerk called out, “Mistress May Halliot, step forth and answer to the grievances laid against you. The charge is seduction of an officer of the English Crown, and the willful murder of that same officer, one Martin Loder, chief land sergeant to Thomas Lord Scrope.”

The steady murmur of conversation that had accompanied the proceedings to that point died away to silence. It lasted only seconds before a pony snorted and shook its head, rattling its bridle. Hugh saw that Halliot was looking down at the table. Deep color tinged the man’s cheeks.

Scrope said testily, “I believe the accused is your daughter, sir. You were charged with guaranteeing her presence before this court.”

“Aye, my lord, and well do I know it,” Halliot said. He looked Scrope straight in the eye. “I regret to inform you that my daughter disappeared the very night the bill of complaint arrived. We have not seen her since.”

“An unlikely tale,” Scrope snarled. “I took you for a man of honor, and yet now we see the truth. You are as much a villain as any other damned Scotsman.”

Angry muttering from members of the crowd reminded Hugh that the situation could take a violent turn at any moment. He said evenly, “With respect, my lord, we have no cause to doubt his word. Sir William Halliot’s reputation is that of a man of honor. Moreover, my lord, you and every man here must know that women often act without consulting their menfolk.”

“Aye, that’s a fact,” Scrope agreed, nodding.

It being well known that Lady Scrope was as great a gamester as her husband and was as often as not the cause of his frequent financial woes, men amongst the audience quickly covered impulsive smiles, stifled laughter, and nodded with him.