Border Fire (15 page)

“I’ve promised to send word of your plight out and about Liddesdale and the surrounding area. I told him that many people will help search for you.”

“Did he believe you?”

“It does not matter if he did,” Buccleuch said. “I mean shortly to invent a rescue for you.”

“Oh, sir, if you could do that, then I might truly return in safety. I doubt that Hugh would dare punish me too severely, for others would soon learn of it and would hold him accountable if they believed me the victim of an abduction.”

“Aye, lass, that would be a good thing, I agree; but there is a wee hindrance.”

“A hindrance?”

“Aye. According to your brother, however all this turns out, your reputation is shredded beyond repair. He said that no decent Englishman would offer for you, knowing that you’d spent a full night and more as a reiver’s hostage. Even were he to have you tested and proven still to be a virgin—”

Janet gasped at the humiliating image these words produced.

“’Tis sad, mistress,” Buccleuch said, nodding sympathetically, “but they are his words, not mine. He evidently cares not a whit how much he might offend you.”

“Nay, he would not,” Janet said, “but even to have suggested submitting me to such humiliation….It…it must not be thought of.”

“It will not be,” the reiver said grimly. “I promised that we would see you safe, lass, and so we will.”

“Then you must agree to marry her forthwith,” Buccleuch said gravely.

“Aye, well, as to that,” the reiver replied with a grimace,

“Pray, sir, I must object,” Janet interjected. “Legally, my brother might be able to force me to a marriage I do not want, but surely no one else can do so. At least, no one else can under English law,” she added as the unwelcome thought struck her that the laws of Scotland might be different. Her stomach tightened painfully as she awaited Buccleuch’s response.

He smiled, and to her surprise, the smile was both charming and sincere. “In Scotland,” he said, “a lass generally obeys her family just as she would in England, but even her family cannot force her to wed against her will.”

The pain in her stomach eased. “I am glad of that,” she said.

Before she could say more, however, he added, “You are not answerable to me, lass, except insofar as you might wish to claim my protection. In that event, I’ll expect you to obey my commands.” Turning to the reiver, he said sternly, “This is your doing, so like it or not, you will accept the consequences. You bear an ancient and honorable name, and by God’s grace and mine, you will do what you must.”

“What name?” Looking in bewilderment from one man to the other, Janet said, “What does he mean, reiver? He does not speak to you as to a common vassal, nor do you behave like one. Indeed, you speak to him as if you were his equal. What is your surname? Just who are you?”

The reiver said evenly, “The rest of our conversation had better be accomplished without the benefit of your presence, lass. Why do you not go—”

“Who are you?” Janet repeated, putting her hands on her hips. “Clearly, you are no ordinary cattle thief, or you would not speak as you do to the master of Hermitage.” When he did not answer, she said grimly, “Tell me. Now!”

He looked at Buccleuch, who returned his look steadily, saying only, “Do you fear that she will unmask you?”

“I do not,” the reiver said. Turning to Janet, he added with a rueful smile, “What I fear is finding myself on the receiving end of Mistress Graham’s temper.”

“You are there already,” she said. “If you do not bring an end to this nonsense, you will speedily learn the extent of it. What is your family name, sir?”

Clearly as tired of the stalling as Janet was, Buccleuch said, “His surname is Scott, mistress, like my own. He is my cousin, and if my young son does not survive me, Quin will be my heir. If I the young, he will be the lad’s guardian.”

“By heaven, you should bring Margaret to Hermitage,” the reiver said. “Her presence here it would resolve all—”

“She is not here, nor will I command her to come here,” Buccleuch snapped. “You are going to marry Mistress Graham, Quin, so you had best stop cutting whids and tell her exactly who you are. We ken fine that your being my cousin may not sufficiently recommend you to her as a husband.”

Janet did not feel that it would do any good to declare again that she would not marry the man no matter who he was, particularly now that Buccleuch had explained that Scottish law would support her refusal. She watched the erstwhile reiver, feeling no sympathy for his visible discomfort.

At last, facing her, he made a profound leg and said quietly, “Quinton Scott of Broadhaugh at your service, mistress.”

“Broadhaugh? I do not know of such a place,” she said. “Is it cottage, manor house, or one of the many pele towers I’m told litter the Scottish side of the line?”

He smiled, and her treacherous body responded instantly, dismaying her and making it seem as if his words, when next he spoke, branded themselves on her mind. “Broadhaugh is my home, mistress. It is a house of peace, and if I have aught to say about it, it will remain a house of peace.”

“It…it is a house, then,” she said, fixing on the one word that seemed to answer her question.

Buccleuch said, “Broadhaugh is more correctly defined as a fortified manor house, mistress. ’Tis not so well fortified as Hermitage or Carlisle Castle, of course, but it sits high on a hill, and its defenses are adequate for its location.”

Forcing herself to look at the laird so that she could regain her wits, she said, “Where is Broadhaugh exactly?”

“In Teviotdale,” Quinton Scott said. “Not so much upper Teviotdale, mind you. Buccleuch did not lie to your brother, but he might have misled him a bit.”

“I neither lied nor mislead him,” Buccleuch said. “As far as I know there is no Rabbie Redcloak listed on any parish roll in
all
of Teviotdale.”

Janet made the mistake then of looking back at Quinton Scott, and his gaze caught hers. The firelight reflected in his eyes made them look like molten gold, and she realized that she had never seen eyes quite that color before.

“’Tis true there is no Redcloak,” he murmured in response to Buccleuch, but his gaze still locked with Janet’s. After a lingering pause, he added softly, “Well, lass? I do not know if we are suited to each other, but the laird commands it, so if you are agreeable, I would count it an honor to arrange a marriage between us.”

The longer she looked into his eyes, the more her resistance crumbled. She felt now, however, that if she allowed herself to look away before he did, it would somehow be a sign of weakness. To her own ears, her voice sounded faint when she said, “My…my brother will never agree to such a marriage, sir. In any event, your connection to the laird and his power notwithstanding, the laws of both our countries forbid such a union.”

“That’s perfectly true, Wat,” Quinton Scott said, still not looking away. “How do we overcome that law?”

“’Tis the nature of wardens to mold the laws of our countries to suit the occasion,” Buccleuch said with a shrug. “Let us order supper and discuss the matter. Have you a desire to retire for a short time before we eat, mistress?”

Quinton Scott smiled again, and Janet felt herself relax. As one, they turned to the Laird of Hermitage, and she said lightly, “I would like to refresh myself, sir, if one of you can provide me with a comb or brush.”

“I can do that,” he said, going to the stairwell and shouting for someone named Will.

Reluctant as she was to leave the two men alone to plot her future—or their version of her future—Janet nonetheless needed a few minutes to herself. Scooping up Jemmy Whiskers just as he settled down in front of the fire, she left the room.

“Fetch us ale, Will, when you’ve found Mistress Graham a hairbrush,” Buccleuch called after the lad.

“How the devil do you mean to pull this off, Wat?” Quin demanded. “Hugh Graham will never agree to a marriage between his sister and me.”

“Not if he knows that you’re Rabbie Redcloak, he won’t, but he gave me no reason to think that he harbors any such unfriendly suspicion.”

“My identity is not a closely kept secret in Liddesdale,” Quin pointed out. “Many on this side of the line know it. Although they do not talk openly, we have little reason to believe that no one on the other side knows it.”

“Sometimes ’tis necessary to maintain a pretty fiction, however, and I’d not be surprised to find Sir Hugh Graham as willing as any other man to accept one if we can but show him one that will suit his purpose better than the truth.”

“Why should he believe anything we tell him?”

“First, because a suitable marriage for the lass creates less scandal for him. He’ll not want to admit that a common reiver carried off his sister from under his nose; but if he must, it will give him ease to add that a Scottish gentleman rescued her, killed the reiver, and fell passionately in love with her. We won’t mention the wee cat,” he added with a wry smile.

“Thank you for that small mercy, but I still cannot think much of the notion.”

Ignoring the feeble protest, Buccleuch added, “If Sir Hugh agrees to the marriage, he can describe the events that led to it any way he likes. We’ll have given him one version. If he rejects it, there are others. I trow he’ll prefer any one of them to the pain of telling the truth, which is that his own sister helped his most important captive escape, then compounded her crime by running away with him.”

“What exactly is our version to be, then?”

Indignantly, Buccleuch said, “Were you no listening, man? Sir Quinton Scott of Broadhaugh—that’s you, lest you’ve forgotten—rescued Sir Hugh Graham’s unfortunate sister—that’s our bonny wee Janet abovestairs—from the wicked reiver. Having done so, Sir Quinton has expressed a strong willingness to wed with her.”

“What is to keep Sir Hugh from scorning my offer? He can simply point out that the law forbids such a union and demand her return.”

Thoughtfully, Buccleuch looked up at the paneled ceiling for a moment before he said, “I shall tell Sir Hugh we ken fine that you require his permission to marry her. I shall likewise say that we hope he will be generous enough to grant it; however, I shall also warn the pestiferous measle that we’ll approach Scrope or even Elizabeth herself, if necessary. That will put it into his head that both Scrope and Elizabeth may well discover the truth if he does not take care to prevent it.”

“Aye, I can see that he might think that way.”

“He will. I’ve studied the man. He is Scrope’s deputy, after all, and although I’ve not had to deal with him yet at a truce table, that may come to pass one day.”

“Aye, but I have met him,” Quin reminded him. “He is a hard man, Wat. I doubt he will be in any great hurry to grant the lass permission to marry anyone.”

“He may want her to suffer, but that man thinks first of himself and his own interests,” Buccleuch said firmly. “Next he considers Graham interests, and only after that does he reckon with England’s interest or that of any other entity. I shall tell him that you believe in his sister’s virtue but quite understand that even a breath of scandal would ruin her in England. I’ll tell him, too, that we sympathize with him, because as men we know that scandal would deeply embarrass him, his family, and every one of his pestiferous English Grahams.”

“Aye, that might dent his armor,” Quin agreed, “but will he not know much about you, too, Cousin—enough to suspect your motives?”

“Aye, sure, but ’tis no secret now that Jamie and Elizabeth have both decided that peace in the Borders serves their political interests better than war. ’Tis my hope to procure that peace, or so I mean to tell Hugh Graham. I’ll explain to him that if he can bring himself to agree to the marriage, it will serve—as such unions historically have served—to help assure the grand Union to come.”

Quin grinned. “’Tis a canny thought, my lad, letting him believe that his decision could bring peace to the Borders. It won’t do any such thing, of course, because the damned English cannot keep themselves to themselves. They see Scots merely as vassals that must be subdued, but—”

“But it may serve long enough to secure Mistress Graham’s safety and your own, Quin, and for the moment that will suffice. As to your folly in getting yourself caught, not to mention abducting the wench, I have more yet to say to you.”

“I don’t doubt it, but I’d as lief not hear it.”

“You’ll hear it anyway,” his cousin said, his tone grim enough to stir prickles of uneasiness along Quin’s spine.

He stood quietly for the next few moments, suppressing his resentment, while Buccleuch shredded his character and informed him that his behavior was about to undergo a sea change. “You’d best hope that Mistress Graham does not take it into her head to refuse this marriage, because if she does, you’ll answer for your actions. I’ve warned you, time and again, that you were growing too reckless.”

“Hold a minute,” Quin said, his temper erupting at last. “You are as guilty as I am of recklessness, Wat. Worse! Your reputation for raiding far exceeds anything anyone credits Rabbie Redcloak with doing.”

“Aye, ’tis so,” Buccleuch agreed, “but I have the power to protect myself. Until you assume that power in my stead, Cousin, should you ever do so, you serve at my pleasure and Jamie’s. Do you anger either of us, you will suffer for it.” He held Quin’s gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment before he added softly, “Have you aught more to say on the subject?”

Quin swallowed. Not only did his own fate hang on his reply but that of the Bairns, for without Buccleuch’s support, they would all suffer. “I’ll say no more,” he said. “I must take responsibility for what I’ve done, and it is certainly my fault that Janet Graham left Brackengill in my company and is now here at Hermitage. If you believe that the only way now to protect her is for me to marry her, I will. I have said that already. But I owe much to the Bairns, too, Wat, and you know that I could not allow any of them to suffer merely to save myself.”

“Marry the wench, Quin. What comes after that will come as God wills it, and in the end you must answer for your actions just as I must answer for mine.”

“Aye, but first she must agree to the marriage,” Quin reminded him, “and I have seen naught in that wench to make me think she will submit merely because we tell her she must. Her claws are nigh as sharp as her cat’s.”