Border Fire (40 page)

She was riding astride, as she had since leaving Ardith and the others the previous day, albeit now with her skirts kilted up to reveal her bare calves. She wore her drab cloak and her leather boots, and she fancied she looked like any ordinary female in town on a market day. In a covered basket tied to her saddle, she carried minced lamb pies that Jess’s sister had baked for her to sell. Anyone who did not recognize her at once would see only a common street vendor.

Hob and Wee Toad wore their usual accouterments, including steel bonnets and leather jacks, but neither carried the usual number of weapons. Hob’s crossbow was strung to his saddlebow, his sword hung at his side, and his dagger and pistol occupied their customary places. But he carried neither lance nor Jedburgh ax.

“We are going to estimate how high the walls be; that’s all,” he said.

“Well, we must have some notion of how long the scaling ladders must be,” Janet said reasonably. “You told me that yourself.”

“I were talking wi’ Jess,” he said. “Ye was sleeping, or so I thought.”

“I have learned the importance of listening,” Janet said. “How will you measure them?”

“We canna do more than look and tak’ a guess,” he said, still frowning. “More oft than not, such ladders prove too short, but we’ll give it a try.”

Wee Toad Bell looked from one to the other, his head bobbing on his thin neck like an apple on a twig. He said nothing, however, having met with Hob’s displeasure nearly every time he had gathered enough courage to speak. Janet knew the younger man had heard only what Hob wanted dearly to say to her, and she was sorry to cause Wee Toad discomfort, but having come so far, she would not leave Carlisle without first learning exactly what she had come to learn.

Occasional thoughts intruded of what would happen when Buccleuch discovered—as he certainly would—that she had not gone home as he had thought she had. Quinton would be angry with her, too. She did not doubt that for a moment, and just thinking about it sent prickles of ice through her veins, but she would not let that stop her either. She had meant every word she said to Ardith. It would be far worse never to hear him scold her again. She would bear whatever punishment he chose to mete out if only he were still alive to do so. As to Buccleuch, she would not think about that until it was unavoidable.

Their view of the great castle was daunting. Its great, square, red-stone keep squatted solid and strong at the top of a steep slope behind plain but massive walls. From her position on the Stanwix Bank, a line of bluffs that reared above the River Eden on its north side, the huge castle seemed to tower above them. It was the English Border’s greatest stronghold, a fortress not to be taken easily.

They descended from the bluffs to cross the river at a ford that the recent rains and runoff from melting snow had made deeper than usual, and Janet noted that Hob kept a close eye on her. For all the heed he paid to Wee Toad Bell, the younger man might have been swept away into Solway Firth without his noticing.

Casually, as they approached the bustling town nestled round the base of the castle wall, Janet said, “You will be more easily recognized than either of us, Hob. Perhaps you should study the height of the walls whilst we walk a little apart from you and mingle with the townsfolk. No one will think it odd that you have come into Carlisle, but if anyone should recognize you and me together, tongues might flap, and we can gain nothing good from that.”

Knowing that he could dismiss her reasoning as weak, especially since it would be far more dangerous for her than for him or Wee Toad to be recognized, she did not look at him, pretending to be fascinated by the bustle in the street.

Wee Toad said cheerfully, “’Tis true, Hob. Them what ken ye in Carlisle would think only that ye’ve stepped across the line to ha’ a drink in a guid tavern.”

Instead of silencing the little man again, Hob said, “Ye willna stray far, mistress. I’ll want to keep ye within sight.”

“I’ll not stray far,” Janet said, thinking that “far” was an ambiguous word at best. “Come, Wee Toad, We’ll tie our ponies yonder.”

“Nay, then,” Hob protested, “we’ll no be leaving good ponies standing within reach of these thievin’ English—begging your pardon, mistress.”

She grinned at him. “Then you take them. I can hardly pretend to be selling meat pies from the back of a horse.”

“’Twas a daft notion, that,” Hob said.

“It will serve excellently well,” she retorted. Without waiting for Wee Toad to offer assistance, she slipped down from her saddle and untied the basket of meat pies. Slinging it over one arm, she began to walk toward the castle. For some moments, feeling Hob’s sharp gaze on her, she wandered aimlessly from one side of the street to the other. As the big man strolled nearer the castle wall, she did likewise, hoping that he would think she was just hovering near him. But the moment his back was turned, she slipped into the crowd and hurried toward a postern gate that she had noted as they crossed the Eden.

“Mistress, wait!” Wee Toad broke into a run behind her. She had, perforce, to slow, lest he shout her name or—worse—shout his concern for everyone in the street to hear. “Ye mustna go so far,” he scolded breathlessly when he caught up. “I am going into the castle, Wee Toad,” she said calmly. “If you wish to come with me, keep quiet. If you want to tell Hob what I am doing, then go. He cannot stop me, nor will you. I mean to learn exactly where these villains are holding the master.”

“I would slight Carlisle castell high

Though it were builded of marble stone…”

C
OMICALLY, WEE TOAD BELL’S
eyebrows flew upward. “D’ye think ye can find him, mistress?”

“Aye, for I know of at least two Grahams who work inside the wall,” Janet said. “They are kinsmen of mine, and if either is here today, he will help me.”

Wee Toad offered no more argument after that, trailing in her wake as she approached the gate. Casually, she swung her basket and smiled at the gatekeeper and the man-at-arms standing guard beside the gate.

“’Tis a fine morning, is it not?” she said, speaking in the broad accent of a common English Border woman.

“Aye, it is,” the gatekeeper said, grinning back at her. “What’s in your basket, lass?”

“Meat pies for my cousin, Neal Graham,” she said. “D’ye think one o’ ye could be so kind as to fetch him for me?”

“I’m no lackey,” the guard said, “but if ye’ll give us a pie each, the keeper here will let ye slip in and look for your cousin youself. ’Twill give the lads inside a rare treat to see a bonny wench like yourself struttin’ about.”

“Ye’re welcome to ha’ a pie each,” she said, fluttering her lashes. “Neal will not miss them, for I packed plenty and more for him to share.”

“I wish I had a cousin like you,” the gatekeeper said, chucking her under the chin with one thick, grubby finger.

She tossed her head saucily. “Mayhap ye do,” she said. “I’ll warrant ye dinna ken all your cousins, me lad.”

Laughing, he opened the gate, and she looked at the mechanism as she passed through. The bolts were stout ones though, and the gate heavy and ironbound. Inside, she noted that there were thick iron bars to set across it at night. Doubtless Buccleuch would already know these details, but one never knew. In any case, she decided, it would be foolish to waste such an opportunity.

Finding Neal Graham proved easier than she had expected, when one of the men in the inner bailey offered to fetch him for her.

A few moments later, Matty’s burly cousin hurried through a nearby archway. Had he not clearly been searching for someone, Janet would not have known him, for it had been years since she had seen him and he had grown considerably in girth. She had walked right up to him before he paid her any heed, and then he did so only because she said clearly, “Cousin Neal?”

“Who are ye, lass? I be looking for me cousin Matty fra’ Brackengill.”

“Look at me, Neal.”

He did then, and his eyes widened in shock. “Mistress Janet?”

“Aye,” she said, “but pray, do not shout my name to everyone here.”

“Well, I did hear that Sir Hugh were here, and I thought it odd that Matty would ha’ come wi’ him, but if she came wi’ ye—”

“Hugh is here?” Janet’s knees threatened to betray her.

“Aye, did ye no come wi’ him, then?”

“No, and he mustn’t know that I’m here! Pray, do not tell him, Neal.”

“Most likely I willna see him,” Neal said with a shrug. “But if ye didna come wi’ him, how came ye here at all?”

“I am married now, Neal. I married Sir Quinton Scott of Broadhaugh.”

“Och, aye, I did hear summat about that.”

“Is he well, Neal? Have they hurt him?”

“Who?”

“Sir Quinton, of course! Don’t be an apehead. He is a prisoner here.”

“If he be here, mistress, I havena seen him. The only prisoner I ken aught about be the reiver, Rabbie Redcloak.”

“They have the wrong man locked up, Neal. That so-called reiver is my husband. I was with him when they broke the truce and seized him.”

By the way he opened his mouth, she knew that he wanted to contradict her. Doubtless, in whatever version he had heard, no one had broken truce. He did not speak, and she said quietly, “Please, Neal, tell me at least that he is well.”

“Aye, he is that. That be his window yonder, second from the end at the top. Ye’ll no see him looking out, though. Yon window’s set too high in the wall.”

“Have they at least fed him?”

“They take him food now and again. Not that it be what he’s accustomed to if he be your husband, mistress. If he is, ye’d think Sir Hugh would ken him.”

“He knows right well who he is,” she said indignantly, but this second mention of her brother reminded her that she was borrowing time. She would not have any chance to see Quinton, but she had learned what she had come to learn.

“I must go, Neal. It would not do for any of Hugh’s people to see me, and you must promise me that you will say naught of this.”

“I dinna talk much, mistress. Does no one ask me if I’ve spoken wi’ ye, I’ll no mention it on my own.”

Thanking him, she remembered to hand him the basket of pies, smiling at his astonishment. Then, signing to Wee Toad to follow her, she hurried back into the outer bailey, and toward the postern gate. At a turning, she stepped aside to let two men-at-arms pass, and when she stepped forward again, a boy carrying a pair of boots darted in front of her, head down, too quickly for her to avoid bumping into him. When he looked up, she exclaimed aloud, for it was Meggie’s Andrew.

Her astonishment was nothing compared to his. “Mistress Janet!”

“Andrew, what are you doing here?”

“I came wi’ Sir Hugh and Ned Rowan,” the boy said. “I didna tell them, Mistress Janet. I swear it. It was Scots what told. I were trying to warn ye.”

Understanding that he meant he had not told anyone that he had heard men link Sir Quinton with Rabbie Redcloak, she said, “I never thought for a moment that you had repeated what you heard, Andrew. Wicked men started the rumors, and it was they who caused Sir Quinton to be taken. But where is Sir Hugh?”

“I dinna ken. Ned Rowan sent me to fetch his boots from a cobbler in the High Street.” He hefted the pair he was carrying.

“You must not tell anyone that you have seen me,” Janet said.

“Nay, then, I won’t.”

“Will you be going back to Brackengill soon?”

“I think so. Sir Hugh and Ned Rowan be going to the races at Langholm on Saturday,” the boy said with a shrug, little realizing the effect his words had on her.

By the time Janet and Wee Toad met Hob the Mouse outside the castle walls, instead of thinking that Hugh’s presence at Langholm would ruin everything, she had thought of a way to turn it to good account. So delighted was she with herself over this feat that it was a moment before she noted the expression on her larger protector’s face. When she did, she decided that it was an excellent thing that Hob held no authority over her.

Wee Toad ducked behind her, and when it looked as if Hob might reach past her to grab the little man by his scrawny neck, Janet said, “We must not stand here. I have just learned that my brother is here, and it would not do for him to see me.”

“Nay, then, it would not,” Hob growled. “I might be tempted to give ye to Sir Hugh as a wee gift. It is no my place to be tellin’ ye what to do, mistress, but ye should
not
ha’ given me such a fright.”

Realizing that she had truly alarmed him, she apologized sincerely. “I did not think about what you might believe if I disappeared, Hob, but I knew that you would only argue with me if I did not. I discovered where they are keeping him.”

He sighed, relaxing visibly. “I’ll no deny that’s a good thing, mistress, but I dinna want to be near when he learns what ye did, or when Himself learns of it.”

Striving to sound casual, she said as he lifted her to her saddle, “I do not think we need tell Himself just yet, you know. That knowledge, or lack of it, will scarcely alter any plan he makes for breaching the castle wall, and we do not want to make him so angry that he will command us to forget our mission altogether.”

Hob’s awe of his liege lord was such that he proved difficult to convince, but the ride back to Liddesdale took time, and Janet was persuasive.

They stopped briefly at Jess Armstrong’s and again in Tarrasdale so that Hob could pass along his rough estimate of the length required for the scaling ladders; but the threatening weather held off, and they made good time otherwise.

On the ridge above Hermitage, Janet called a halt. “Now, remember, Hob,” she said, “you will tell Buccleuch only that the Bairns have agreed to his provisions if he will help set their master free. You must also tell him that you visited Carlisle long enough to estimate the height of the walls and have already taken the liberty of ordering men to build the scaling ladders.”

“’Twas yourself gave that order, as I recall it,” the big man said sardonically.

She smiled. “They want to please me, I think. Your Scottish Borderers have been extremely kind to me, Hob.”

“They ken fine how the master feels about ye, mistress.”