by Amanda Scott
Sir Hugh was well aware that his connection to Buccleuch was like a stone stuck in Scrope’s craw, although Scrope himself had had more to do with arranging the marriage than Hugh had. They had requested Hugh’s consent, of course, since he was Janet’s nearest kinsman, but the two wardens had given him no choice. They had worked the details out between them after Sir Quinton had supposedly rescued Janet from a reiver, admired her beauty, and expressed a desire to marry her.
Elizabeth and James had supported the marriage, expressing the joint hope that it would help bring peace to the long-riotous Borders.
Hugh had not attended the wedding, but if he still harbored resentment over the connection, it was due mainly to his loss of an excellent housekeeper. There were certain details about the whole business, however, of which Scrope remained blissfully unaware, details that Hugh hoped would remain buried forever.
Although Scrope knew that Hugh and his men had met the Carlisle raiders and had tried unsuccessfully to prevent their return to Scotland, he clearly did not know that Hugh had fought single-handedly against the erstwhile prisoner. Nor did Scrope know that Hugh’s sister Janet had been present at the time.
Even now, months after the raid, Hugh knew that Scrope wanted nothing more than to connect him to the Carlisle raiders and to punish him for it. If the scathing letter that he had written Hugh soon after the raid had not made it plain, the abandon with which he had ordered the arrest of suspect Grahams did. Although Hugh had done all that he could to prevent the raid’s success, Scrope had only to learn that Janet had been among the rescuers to order his arrest.
In the meantime, Hugh was certain that the massive, murderous attack on Liddesdale could only escalate strife in the Borders. It was only a matter of time before Buccleuch would retaliate.
Five
There was an old man, and daughters he had three….
“What are you doing, my fair lady?”
SHORTLY BEFORE FIVE O’CLOCK, freshly bathed, smelling of roses, and dressed in a modest gown that she knew became her, Laurie went in search of Sir William.
She found him in the hall, still at his table, still surrounded by documents. Servants bustled about, setting up trestle tables for supper, and she did not know how he could concentrate. But he seemed to be completely absorbed.
“Forgive me for interrupting your work, sir,” she said when she stood in front of him. His scribe was no longer at his side.
Sir William had not so much as glanced up at her entrance, but he did so now with a frown, saying, “Is it time for supper already?”
“Aye, sir, nearly.”
“I do not know where the afternoon went,” he complained. Pushing away the document he had been reading, he sat straight and stretched his spine. Then, adjusting his cap, he looked at her more narrowly and added, “I like that dress.”
“Thank you.”
His lips twitched. “You know that I like it, lassie. I’ve told you so before, more than once. Hoping to soften me up, are you?”
“Aye, sir,” she said frankly. “I’m hungry, and I would like to take supper with the family.”
“You’d like to avoid a whipping, that’s what you’d like.”
“Aye, that too.” She had not known what to expect, but now she relaxed. He might still punish her, but she knew from his light tone that he would not thrash her.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said, as if he had read her thoughts. “What were you thinking, lass, to slip off and go to the Elliots? You know how much your mother dislikes such visits.”
“Davy and Lucy are my friends,” she said simply. “I thought if I went early, before anyone here was up and about, I could see them and get back before anyone knew I’d gone. I did not know that the English would raid Liddesdale.”
“It was that perfidious Scrope,” Sir William said. “It was a foolish thing to do, too, because James will not like it. He may well release Buccleuch now, and Buccleuch will exact his revenge.”
“Do you think the King really will release him?”
“Aye,” Sir William said with a sigh. “He’ll soon be on his way back from Edinburgh to Hermitage to begin plotting what he will do. But he should not. It will only make Elizabeth angrier than she is now.”
“Aye, sir.” Laurie did not think it wise to add that, whatever the cost, she hoped that Buccleuch would make the villainous English pay heavily for what they had done. She was in enough trouble already without stirring more.
Instead, she said, “Will you stop being warden if Buccleuch returns?”
He shook his head. “King James thinks me less warlike than Buccleuch and thus more likely to bring peace to the area.”
Impressed, she said, “Can you?”
“God knows I prefer peace to war,” Sir William said with a rueful smile, “but I’m no peacemaker. I’ll be less so if Buccleuch comes back, too. I lack the power to fight him. If James wants peace, he should persuade Buccleuch to impose it. He could if he chose, but I doubt that any other man could.”
A noisy group of men-at-arms entering the hall to take their supper drew his attention just then. He pushed back his armchair and stood up.
“You may come with me now, Laura,” he said.
Laurie felt a prickle of fear. “Am I not to sup with the family then, sir?”
“Aye, you may, but your mother chooses to take supper in the ladies’ parlor today. She’s taken a notion into her mind that it is not suitable for your sisters to sup in company with my men.”
“Not suitable? But why?”
“’Tis acceptable at noon, she says, when everyone is in a hurry and no one talks much. But, at supper, she says, the men tend to become more boisterous and to say things that are not suited to young girls’ ears.”
Sir William extended a forearm as he spoke, and Laurie rested her right hand upon it as she considered his words.
Supper was certainly a more relaxed meal than dinner at Aylewood, just as it was in most households. Nonetheless, since Laurie and her two sisters had dined and supped with the men since childhood, she thought it more likely that Blanche had noticed May’s recent inclination to flirt with any man who looked her way.
At fifteen, the elder of Laurie’s half sisters was eager to marry. Thus, she tended to look upon any man she met as a potential mate. Moreover, despite Blanche’s continued insistence that her daughters were perfect, Laurie was sure she had to know that May, at least, was nothing of the sort. May was flighty and headstrong. She was perhaps not as likely as Laurie was to slip out unattended, but she frequently managed to do as she pleased and count the cost later.
To her credit, Blanche did punish May for her misdeeds, albeit not so harshly as she demanded that Sir William punish Laurie. May’s punishments were light, so light, in fact, that they rarely deterred her impulses. She knew that she enjoyed her mother’s favor. That it had taken Blanche as long as it had to notice the flirting was rather remarkable, however. Laurie wondered if Blanche had said anything to May about it, and she decided to ask May as soon as a good opportunity arose.
As she and Sir William left the hall and crossed the gallery to the ladies’ parlor, she gave his arm a squeeze, welcoming his escort. Blanche would be less likely to aim acid remarks at her in his presence.
She was not yet out of the briars, however.
“You must mend your ways, lass,” Sir William said quietly.
“I will try, sir.”
“You will do as I bid you,” he said more sternly. “You set a poor example for your sisters when you disobey me. I won’t allow anarchy in my household.”
“But it is not fair to forbid me to visit my friends in the dale,” she protested. “I do not have many friends elsewhere, after all.”
“Your mother prefers that you behave in a more proper manner, Laura, and after seeing the state you were in this morning, I cannot disagree with her.”
“But I had to hide in the tree!”
“Aye, perhaps, but you did not have to
leave Aylewood—and certainly not without so much as putting shoes on your feet, lass. She did not like your coming home without your cloak, either.”
“Well, she will not want me to return to Davy’s to collect it,” Laurie said. “She does not approve of anything I do, sir. You know that she does not.”
He looked at her, and his grim expression told her that she had crossed the line of what he would accept.
Hastily, she said, “Pray, sir, forgive me. I should not have said that.”
“No, you should not,” he said. “You must learn to curb your tongue, daughter. I am in no mood to play the harsh parent, for I believe that you had some cause to act as you did this morning. But you must not count on my continued leniency. Should your mother have further cause for complaint, you will suffer whatever consequence she deems appropriate. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Laurie said dismally.
He said no more, and they entered the parlor to find the rest of the family ahead of them, gathered near the fireplace, talking quietly.
Blanche wore a gown of her customary, elegant, dove-gray silk. Decked as usual with an abundant array of expensive jewelry, she sat in a straight-backed chair with her feet on a blue velvet footstool. Even the French hood covering all but the smoothly combed forepart of her hair boasted fine pearled embroidery.
Ten-year-old Isabel stood beside her with one hand on the back of her chair. Isabel wore a modest milk-and-water gown similar in style to her mother’s, with a stiff, smooth bodice and flaring skirts. Her light brown hair fell in a shiny curtain to her waist, held away from her face by a plain white coif, the strings of which tied neatly under her softly rounded chin.
Since May was talking and stood with her back to the doorway, when Laurie and Sir William entered, the other two saw them first.
Blanche nodded regally, and Isabel curtsied, whereupon May stopped talking and turned to face them, quickly making her curtsy to Sir William.
Her dress was the bluish-green color known as popinjay and was much less modest than those of her sister or mother. May’s tightly laced corset pushed her plump bosom so high that when she curtsied, her breasts threatened to spill over the low-cut bodice. The narrow lace edging of her chemise peeped over the bodice edge but barely covered her nipples. A ruff around her neck matched the chemise lace, but it was so narrow that, in Laurie’s opinion, it looked more like a necklace than a part of her gown. Laurie noticed, too, that May had reddened her lips and cheeks and had darkened her eyelashes.
Indeed, she thought, May looked almost as though she had expected to dine in company.
Even Sir William noticed, for he said heartily, “You are looking very fine tonight, May.”
May blushed, and Blanche said, “She does look well, does she not, sir? One can easily see that she will benefit from taking more care with her appearance.”
“Aye, that she would,” he agreed.
Blanche smiled archly. “I believe we should take her with us next month when we visit Fast Castle, for she is old enough now to show herself more in company.”
“Well, as to that—”
“Faith, sir, she ought to have been doing so these two years past.”
Sir William looked around the chamber as if to make certain that no servants had joined them before he said firmly, “I believe I understand you, madam. But we have discussed this matter before, and I do not intend to alter my decision.”
May’s lips pressed tightly together, for she knew better than to protest.
Laurie glanced at Blanche, wondering if her stepmother would dare at such a moment to speak her mind.
Blanche’s expression remained firmly under control, however, and if Sir William could read her thoughts, Laurie could not.
Mildly Blanche said, “One would not wish to gainsay you, husband, but the present situation is most unfair to May. She is quite old enough for betrothing.”
“You and I will discuss this anon,” Sir William said. “It is no topic to bandy before the servants, and I warrant I hear them coming now with our supper.”
The table was ready, and almost as an echo of Sir William’s words, three menservants entered, carrying platters of food.
The members of the family took their places at the table.
Sir William glanced at the platters’ contents and said to his carver, “We will tend to ourselves, I think. You may leave when you have served the soup and then return in half an hour to see if we require aught else.”
“Aye, master.”
While the carver ladled barley soup into bowls and a lackey set a bowl before each of them, Laurie became aware of Blanche’s searching gaze. She returned the look steadily but said nothing, knowing that her stepmother was trying to determine what punishment, if any, Sir William had meted out. From experience, however, she knew Blanche would not ask, so she turned her attention to her food.
Much of the food was cold, left over from the noontime dinner, but the soup was hot and tasty to one who had had nothing to eat since before dawn. She might have shared a crust and some cheese with Davy’s family when she and Sym rejoined them after the Englishmen had departed, but she never liked taking food from them. They had little to spare. Usually she took gifts to them from Aylewood’s kitchens, but that morning she had been in a hurry. She had not seen them in days, and had thought—wrongly, as it turned out—that an early visit would be safe.
May said abruptly, the moment the servants had left the room, “May I go to Fast Castle when you go, sir?”
Isabel shot her a startled glance, then quickly turned back to her food.
“We’ll see,” Sir William said. “The King has asked me to attend a meeting of the Scottish wardens to discuss various things that we might do to encourage peace in the Borders. I had not thought of the meeting as a social occasion, but your mother has expressed a desire to go.”
“I’ll warrant that at least some of the other wardens’ wives will be there,” Blanche said, smiling at him.
Smiling back, he said, “Aye, perhaps. Do you want to go, too, Laurie?”
Conscious of May’s hopeful gaze, and the sterner one of her stepmother, Laurie said, “It would be pleasant to visit Fast Castle, sir. I have never been there.”
In an austere tone, Blanche said, “Is it not premature to promise such a treat to a daughter who disobeys us so easily, Sir William?”
Isabel gave May another quizzical look, and Laurie’s curiosity stirred.
When May caught Laurie’s eye and looked away quickly with a flush that was discernible despite her painted cheeks, Laurie began to wonder what mischief she had been up to. She did nothing to draw attention to her, though, for she had no wish to harm May. In any event, if she expressed her thoughts aloud, she knew that Blanche’s anger would fall on her no matter what May might have done.
Sir William and Blanche continued to talk of the forthcoming meeting at Fast Castle, but Laurie paid their discussion no heed. She did not care if she went with them or not. She liked music and dancing, and if the occasion proved a festive one, she would enjoy it. But she would not enjoy her stepmother’s constant urging to encourage the attention of every marriageable gentleman who attended the gathering, regardless of age or appearance. Such occasions made her feel like the winning pony after a race, when all the men were looking it over and wondering if they could afford to buy it.
“Laura, you are not attending.” Blanche’s sharp voice drew her attention again. “Why do you stare so rudely at your sister?”
Realizing that she was still gazing blindly at May, Laurie collected herself and said, “I beg your pardon, May. I was not really looking at you. I was thinking about… about Fast Castle,” she added hastily.
“You should have been attending to our conversation,” Blanche said. “At polite gatherings, a young woman who finds her own thoughts more fascinating than the conversation around her is judged to be haughty or unbecomingly proud.”
Sir William said, “No one who knows Laurie for l
ong finds her overly proud, madam. For that matter, I have frequently heard you complain that she is not sufficiently aware of her worth.”
“Pray, husband, do not encourage her to misbehave. It is her duty to pay heed when we discuss social occasions, for it is likewise her duty to marry. You agree with me on that head, as you have pointed out to her more than once.”
“Aye, well, she should marry,” he said.
“Indeed, she should,” Blanche agreed. “Instead, however, she behaves like a lowborn hoyden. Should word of such behavior spread beyond Aylewood, no one will want her, and since you have commanded that your younger daughters may not marry until Laura has done so, she must do so at the first opportunity.”
“Aye, well, there is no great rush about it.”
“Perhaps there is not, but if she does not marry, you, my dear sir, will find yourself supporting three daughters until the day of your death.” She crossed herself hastily, adding, “Although I certainly pray that the good Lord sees fit in His mercy to put off that dreaded day for many and many a year.”
“Aye, there’s no rush about that, either.” Turning to Laurie, he added ruefully, “I cannot argue her point, you know.”
Disliking the turn the conversation had taken, Laurie said quietly, “I have found no one with whom I can imagine spending the rest of my life.”
“But I have introduced any number of excellent gentlemen to you, lass! They are the best Scotland has to offer, yet you have scorned them all.”
“Had you simply commanded her to obey you and marry one of them, she must have done so,” Blanche said.
“I am a man of law, madam,” Sir William said testily. “I must not give an order that I lack the power to enforce. How would it look for a march warden to do such a thing?”
“You are her father,” Blanche said, as if that were that.
“But Scottish laws are not secret, madam. Most men know the marriage laws well. Certainly the parson knows them. Would you have me command her to lie to him when he asks if she has agreed to the marriage she is about to enter?”
