Border Storm (26 page)

“Sir Hugh Graham of Brackengill and his captain, your lordship.”

“In good time, Hugh,” Scrope shouted, gesturing him forward. “I expected you sooner, but you come in excellent time, nonetheless.”

Relief surged through Hugh. Despite his confident words to Laura and to Meggie, he had half expected to learn that Scrope had already hanged the boy.

“I would have a word in private with you,” he said when he could make himself heard above the din. He recognized captains from Brougham, Dalton, Muncaster, as well as his cousin Musgrave from Edgelair.

Scrope grinned and raised his mug, saying, “So you’ve learned about my newest Graham captive, have you?”

“He is my kinsman,” Hugh said, his voice carrying easily to the others in the great chamber. “I have come to plead his case to you, my lord.”

“He tried to murder Francis Potts. He could have killed me, as well.”

“I suppose I should be gratified that you credit him with so much skill,” Hugh said sardonically. “Are you aware that he is only nine years old?”

“He fired upon my party,” Scrope said stubbornly. “He deserves hanging.”

“He deserves a skelping for taking the pistol without permission,” Hugh said. “Had he actually shot anyone with it, my lord, you might have cause to punish him, but he thought he was shooting Scots reivers.”

“He was shooting at my men,” Scrope said indignantly. “Doubtless, he would have shot me, as well.”

Noting Scrope’s choice of words, and striving to retain his calm, Hugh said, “But you were not riding with your advance party, my lord. I’ll warrant that you were some distance behind them, as usual. Moreover, you must admit that Francis Potts does not accouter his men well. They do look like thieves.”

Laughter erupted in more than one corner of the hall, and several of the men sitting at the high table with Scrope grinned openly.

Sir Francis Musgrave said with a chuckle, “Cousin Hugh’s right about that, my lord. I say let the young rascal go. His father should tend to him.”

“Who is his father?” Scrope asked.

“A deceased tenant of mine, Jock Graham,” Hugh said, adding, “He fell in a fray last year, against the Scots. The lad feels his loss sorely.”

One of the others at the high table said, “Seems a pity to hang such a young lad, my lord. Sounds as if he need only learn to tell enemy from friend.”

“The trouble with you, Graham, is that you’re devilish soft,” Scrope said, swallowing what remained in his mug and setting it down with a snap. “Very well, I’ll give you the young rascal, for I’ve no doubt that you’ll see him punished.”

“Thank you, my lord,”

“Aye, well don’t think I’m doing it to please you.” Signing to one of his menservants, he sent the man to fetch Andrew, then said, “I’m doing it because I don’t want anything to spoil my celebration. Would you not like to learn its cause?”

Hugh nodded. He could scarcely believe he had succeeded so easily and dared not trust himself to speak. Nothing he might say could improve the situation, but he could easily, and quite inadvertently, anger Scrope into changing his mind about the boy. Scrope was entirely capable of going back on his word out of spite.

He was grinning now, though. “I’d no sooner returned here this afternoon,” he said, “than I received word from our ambassador in Edinburgh that Jamie has agreed to turn Buccleuch over to us.”

“That surprises me,” Hugh admitted.

“It was inevitable,” Scrope said. “Not only did the villain raid Tynedale, killing and looting like a wild man, but after refusing to appear at the wardens’ meeting to answer for his crimes, he dared to repeat them. He made it impossible for James to refuse a moment longer.”

“I share your joy in the news, my lord,” Hugh said. “Has King James actually agreed at last to send Buccleuch to London?”

“Not London yet, unfortunately,” Scrope said. “Sir Robert Cary, warden of our eastern marches, is to hold him in ward at Berwick until Buccleuch can arrange pledges to guarantee that he will stand to answer for his crimes. In due time, he will answer for raiding Carlisle, I promise you.”

“But Berwick’s only a few miles from the border!” Hugh protested. “Moreover, Buccleuch can produce such pledges in a trice.”

“Aye, and doubtless Cary will provide luxury on the same scale that Buccleuch enjoyed at Blackness,” Scrope agreed bitterly. “Still, we can expect no more at this point, and at least it will get Buccleuch out of my hair again.”

“You may come to rue his absence,” Hugh said. “He is the only man in Scotland capable of keeping Liddesdale in order.”

Scrope shrugged. “You worry too much, but without your uncle to speak for you in London, your days as my deputy might be numbered, in any event. ’Tis a pity Loder’s no longer with us. He’d have liked to take your place. Still, if those villains set foot in England again, I’ll deal with them if you and Eure cannot.”

Hugh felt Rowan stir at his side and curbed his own temper with difficulty.

Scrope added, “I can see you don’t like the sound of that, but that only proves what I’ve said before.” Loudly enough for everyone to hear, he added, “You’re soft, Hugh Graham, and you’ll never be aught else. Here’s your laddie now. Take him whilst I’m still in a pleasant frame of mind, and go home to that pretty little Scotch wife of yours.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Hugh said, bowing stiffly.

He left the hall, struggling so to contain his fury that he scarcely heeded whether Ned Rowan or Andrew followed him. Only when the men awaiting them raised a cheer at the sight of the boy did he collect his wits. Even then, he knew that Scrope’s arrest of Andrew was not what infuriated him now. It was the man’s disrespectful reference to Laura.

“I’ll take the lad up with me, master,” Ned Rowan said, as they reached the others. “I’ve some few things to say to him.”

Hugh nodded, knowing he could safely leave Andrew to Ned. The big man cared for the lad as if he were his own son.

“Hugh Graham!”

Turning at the shout, he saw with annoyance that his cousin Musgrave was striding toward him from the hall entrance.

“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.

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.