Border Fire

by Amanda Scott

  “But he’s too close! I’ll step on him.”

  “No, you won’t. There’s room enough on this side of him to stand whilst you close and bar the gate, and you won’t have to put the damned cat down to do it.”

  It was hard to believe that she would fit, but since he could see better than she could from where he was, she decided to trust his judgment. It was difficult to manage both the cat and her skirts, but she gathered everything up that she could hold and carefully stepped over the guard. No sooner had she done so, however, than two strong hands grabbed her arms and pulled her close. Thinking he meant to kiss her, and hesitating to fight him, she kept silent just long enough to realize that he had eased the gate shut with his foot. She heard the latch click into place.

  Horrified, she said, “I can’t get back in now without waking someone!”

  “I hoped that was the case,” he said. “You are not going back, lass.”

  “Not going back? Of course, I am. I must! Hugh will kill me!” Fighting to keep her voice down, she nonetheless expected at any moment to hear a clamor erupt on the other side of the gate.

  “I’m afraid he will kill you,” the reiver said. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Abducting you, lass. I confess, though, I did not count on taking the cat.”

  Chapter 6

  “My ladye’s kindly care you’d prove,

  Who ne’er kenn’d deadly hate.”

  “YOU CANNOT TAKE ME with you,” Janet protested, turning her back to the stiff, icy wind and clutching the two cloaks around herself and the little cat.

  “I’d have to be a knave to leave you here,” he retorted. “What is the least that your brother would do to you for betraying him like this?”

  “He would not dare harm me,” she muttered.

  “Since for safety’s sake you must speak low, I cannot pretend to know for certain that you are lying,” he said, and although he, too, kept his voice low, she could detect wry amusement in his tone. “Nonetheless,” he added, “your words do not persuade me.”

  She could not blame him. They weren’t doing much to persuade her either, because she knew as well as he did that, under English law, aiding his escape constituted “high treason and felony.” By helping him, she was not merely risking her brother’s displeasure. She was risking her life.

  Gently, his hands still on her arms, he said, “Shall I leave you here to face the consequences of your kindness to me, Mistress Janet Graham?”

  She knew that he could feel the shudder that rippled through her body. Jemmy Whiskers felt it, too, for the little cat mewed. It made no attempt to free itself from her grasp, however. The mew was clearly just a comment.

  Although the reiver did not press for an answer to his question, she knew that he must be impatient. Hugh and his men could return at any moment.

  “I am not usually at such a loss for words,” she said. “I own, though, you have put me in a dreadful position by shutting the gate.”

  “You put yourself in that position when you freed me, lass.”

  “Aye, that’s true.”

  “Would you let that hapless guard hang rather than admit to your brother that you helped me? Not that your admission would help the guard, I’ll wager.”

  She remained silent, unable to pretend that she would lie to Hugh.

  “I thought as much,” he said. “It is a pity that I did not think of all this before I saddled only the one horse.”

  She sighed. “I would have argued more fiercely with you inside the walls.”

  “Aye, I ken that fine.” She heard the chuckle again in his voice.

  “Do you dare to laugh at me, reiver?”

  “Lassie, that I can laugh at anything just now is a good sign. We must go.”

  “You are right,” she agreed. “We’ll ford the river Lyne at the bottom of the hill. Then we should ride northeast to cross the Liddel at Kershopefoot Bridge.”

  “Something warns me that you’re a managing sort of female, Janet Graham.”

  “Aye, perhaps,” she agreed. “I have managed a large household for nearly eight years, you see, so it cannot be surprising that I have learned to be decisive.”

  “I’d call it meddlesome, and we’ll have a little less of it, if you please. We are not going to ride east or even north just yet. We’ll follow the river west for a time instead, and then we’ll make for the Scotch Dike.”

  “But that’s in the Debatable Land—”

  “Aye, it is,” he interjected. “I know what I’m doing, lass, and you’ll help best now by being silent. We must—”

  “But that area is dangerous!” Thinking that she heard a sound from the east, and fearing that it might be Hugh, she turned to look as she added, “Moreover, it would be much quicker to—”

  A hand clapped across her mouth, silencing her. In her ear, he said grimly, “You will be silent when I tell you to be silent. Both of our lives could depend upon it, and I am more experienced at this business of escaping the enemy than you are. Do you understand me?”

  His tone made his point for him. She nodded.

  “Good. Now, can I trust you to stand quietly whilst I mount, or must I put you up first and then try to swing up behind you? I warn you, my lad here is not accustomed to ladies’ skirts or to cats, even wee ones.”

  When he removed his hand from her mouth, she muttered, “I’ll be quiet.”

  “Excellent.” On the word he was in the saddle, reaching a hand down to her. Somehow she managed to hold Jemmy Whiskers and her blowing skirts long enough to put a foot on his and let him swing her up to sit sideways before him.

  “Will your pony be able to carry us both any distance like this?”

  “Oh, aye. Now, hush. We’ll ride alongside the wall so the lads above canna see us until we reach a point a wee bit nearer the trees by the river.”

  “Surely you don’t mean to gallop down this hill.”

  “Stop trying to tell me what to do,” he said. “Indeed, you can stop your nattering altogether. If it were not for this ceaseless wind, they’d have heard us by now, drunk or sober.”

  Knowing he was right, she kept quiet, and when at last he turned the bay away from the wall, she held her breath, expecting at any moment to hear shouts from above. None came, however, and she blessed the icy wind and Hugh’s brandy.

  The gelding padded quietly through the dark night. She could make out shapes of trees and bushes by starlight, and she knew that the moon would rise soon. With luck, they would be well away before Hugh and his men returned. Even as the thought crossed her mind, however, she glanced toward the west and stiffened at the sight of torches lighting the crest of the nearest hill.

  “They’re coming,” she exclaimed. “Hurry!”

  “We’ll keep to a sensible pace,” he replied calmly. “They cannot see us from where they are. The trees ahead make a black shadow that conceals us from anyone behind us. If we were riding along the horizon, they might see us, or if the moon should suddenly take it into its head to rise, they would. But the moon is on my side, lass. ’Tis a good Border moon that will pop out later to show us the way.”

  “But they will be after us by then!”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Don’t be a dolthead,” she snapped. “Do you think that my brother will not raise the countryside to follow us when he learns of your escape?”

  “Well, now, I warrant he would if he were to realize that I’ve gone, but if we are lucky, he won’t learn any such thing before morning.”

  “How can you say that? With Yaro’s Wat in a stupor, and—Godamercy,” she exclaimed when another thought struck her. “The keys! You left them in the cell door! Even if by some miracle Hugh should fail to notice that Wat—”

  “Whisst now! Softly, lass. I did not leave the keys in the cell door.”

  “Then you’ve still got them with you, and that’s worse! Hugh will hang Wat, and Wat is kind. He does not deserve such a horrid fate.”<
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  “Then I am sorry if he will suffer for this,” the reiver said. “I warn you, though. You’d best never try to use any of my men in a like way, because if one of them ever drank himself into such a state that a wee lass was able to relieve him of his keys or his weapons, I’d hang him from the nearest tree.”

  Janet winced, knowing that Hugh would do the same and would not need to seek a tree, thanks to the gallows already standing in the bailey. She would have given anything at that moment for the power to turn back the clock, to—

  “If you are wishing that you had not done it, lass, I hope you will also remember that your brother meant to hang me at sunrise. I am grateful to you for my life and will do all possible to see that you come to no harm through helping me. That is why I do not have your Wat’s keys. He has them.”

  “What? But how—?”

  “I kept them, and when I pushed you toward the stable, I took a moment to lock the dungeon door and put the ring back near his belt. The greatest likelihood is that when your brother returns, he and his men will make enough noise to wake the lad sleeping by the gate and to stir your Wat to life as well. If that occurs, they will none of them miss either of us until sunrise when Sir Hugh will seek me out to hang me. I also locked the cell door,” he added with a chuckle.

  “But why?”

  “Think on it, lass. What will they think when they find both doors locked, the keys where they are supposed to be—indeed, everything as it is supposed to be?”

  “They will think the devil flew away with you!”

  “Aye, or that I’m Auld Clarty myself. In any case, it is bound to add to my legendary stature, don’t you agree?”

  His audacity amazed her. He had been within hours of meeting his Maker, and here he was instead, chuckling at a boyish prank. Hugh would certainly think that magic was involved, perhaps would even suspect that the devil had flown away with his prisoner—Her train of thought stopped abruptly, overtaken by another. “It is not just you that Hugh will think the devil flew away with,” she said.

  He chuckled again. “I wondered if that would occur to you.”

  “Holy Mary, preserve me,” Janet muttered. “Do you really think he will believe the devil carried us off?”

  “Well now, that depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether you have ever before run away from home.”

  “I am not running away now,” she protested.

  “That depends on one’s viewpoint, I suspect,” he said. “However, I am reasonable enough to accept that as fact for the sake of the greater argument.”

  “You are making my head spin. What greater argument?”

  “The devil. Remember him?”

  “Aye, I do, and I am not at all certain that we ought to be discussing him so openly. Doubtless he hears every word we say.”

  “Oh, aye, but he and I are well acquainted, lass, and so long as you and I have right on our side, we need not fear him overmuch.”

  “Are you so certain then that we do have right on our side?”

  “Aye, of course. We’ve saved me, have we not—for the moment, at least?”

  “And are you certain that was the right thing for me to do?” she asked bitterly. When he chuckled again, she shook her head, feeling a need to clear it, then answered her own question. “Of course, you would think so. You must think me a dunce even to ask you such a question.”

  “Aye, it was a daft one to ask me. I cannot think of many things that a sensible man would consider more right than preserving his own life. I am certainly not ready to exchange mine for the great unknown beyond it.”

  They had reached the safety of the trees, and looking back, she saw Hugh’s party approaching the postern gate. In the distance, she heard their shouts and then heard someone pounding on the postern gate with a sword hilt or some other heavy implement. Moments later, they disappeared inside.

  Neither she nor the reiver said anything for several moments, and she knew that he was listening, just as she was, for sounds of imminent pursuit. When none came, she felt him relax.

  Quietly she said, “It seems that your mischief worked its magic, reiver.”

  “So far,” he said, “but we’ll still ride for the dike, I think. If your brother misses us before morning, he will head for Kershopefoot Bridge, believing that we’d do as you suggested we should.”

  “I suppose he might, at that,” she agreed with a sigh.

  “He will. I did not mean that as criticism, however,” he added. “I know that you meant only to set me on the most direct route, and I thank you for your kindness—indeed, for your many kindnesses. Is there any place away from Brackengill where your brother might believe you had gone this evening?”

  The abrupt change of subject caught her by surprise. “Why?”

  “Well, I was just thinking that you might not want to ride to Scotland with me, so if there is somewhere nearby where you might have gone to take supper with friends, just as he went to Bewcastle…”

  When he left the sentence unfinished, she sighed again. “Even if there were such a place, and people there who would agree to lie to Hugh to protect me, the fact of my having done such a thing without his leave would only infuriate him.”

  “He seems to infuriate with devilish ease,” he said with audible annoyance.

  “Most men do,” she said. “Of course, I expect that you will tell me you are a man of mild temperament.”

  “Oh, aye. They do say that I am the placid one,” he replied. “Of course, that’s by comparison with my cousin, who is famous for his temper, so some might call that description a wee bit deceptive.”

  “What is your cousin’s name?”

  He chuckled. “Now, lass, do you think I am going to make you a gift of my particulars before we even cross the line? I am not such a fool.”

  “I do not think that I want to go to Scotland,” she said, more to hear what he would say in reply than because she believed that he—placid or not—would give her much choice.

  Nor did he. “You will go where I say, lassie. I am not an insensitive man, and I ken well that you will leave much behind. However, if we put our heads together, we may yet think of a way to get you home again and still keep that pretty head on your shoulders. Until we do think of such a way, however, you will bide with me.”

  “Bide with you? If you think for one minute, reiver, that you are going to—”

  “Nay, I did not mean that as a threat, lass. Your honor is safe with me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Aye, well, you’ve the right to doubt, and in truth, since I’ve not yet seen you in full light, mayhap I did promise too lightly. We were speaking of the devil before, however. We ought to finish one subject before we begin another.”

  He seemed so calm, so certain that they were safe and that he could protect her, that his confidence was contagious. She felt herself relax.

  Curiously, she said, “Are you saying that you do think Hugh will believe we have both been carried off by the devil?”

  He chuckled again. “Nay, lassie, much as I’d like to believe it. Your brother is not a simpleton. He might waste a moment or two scratching his head, but once he learns that you are gone and that I have escaped, he will put the facts together and most likely arrive at the correct conclusion. All we have gained by my little trick is time, but time is ever a friendly ally. With luck we’ll be across the line before he knows we’re gone, which is more than I’d have expected.”

  “But what if he declares a hot trod? He has only to call out his men, tie a bit of burning turf to a lance, and ride across the border after us.”

  “Aye, he might do that. For twenty-four hours he has the right to declare himself in hot pursuit of any escaped felon, even to cross the line and demand that the first citizen of Scotland he claps eyes on should go for the march warden, report that he’s in pursuit, and demand his help. But I do not think that he will do that, or that it would avail him much if he did.”

  �
�Why not?”

  “Well, you see, he would first have to determine which march we entered.”

  “But is not the Laird of Buccleuch acting warden for both the western and middle marches? I am certain that Hugh said he was.”

  “Aye, and keeper of Liddesdale, as well; but the law is the law, and Sir Hugh cannot insist on searching two marches for us. Any road, Buccleuch is likely to tell him to go to the devil.”

  “He cannot do that! By law he must honor a legitimate request.”

  “Not if he claims that he does not know Rabbie Redcloak and doubts that he would find anyone in his marches or in all of Liddesdale who would admit to knowing any knave as scurrilous as your brother is like to describe me.”

  Seated sideways as she was, Janet was able to look into his face, and her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough so that she could make out his general features and shape, but she could not read his expression. She could still detect the ever-present note of amusement in his voice, however.

  “I do not know how you can so easily mock the law,” she said. “Do you not fear hanging?”

  “Bless you, lass, every man fears death, for we are but a moment away from it at any time. However, those who spend their living hours thinking of naught else waste their lives. I enjoy mine, and never more so than when I am risking death.”

  “Men,” she muttered.

  “Aye, we’re a sorry lot,” he agreed.

  “I do wish you would stop mocking everything I say.”

  “Then you must say something sensible,” he said. “Do you really believe that all men are alike?”

  “Not in every way,” she said, “but in many ways. They like their comforts and expect women to provide them. They are brutal and cruel when it suits them to be and care not for what havoc their behavior wreaks in the lives of others. I have yet to meet one who is not selfish and stubborn and—”

  “Enough,” he said, laughing again. “I know I asked the question, but it seems to me that you have met a sorry lot of men. The ones I know are merry, even when they struggle to find food for their tables. They look after one another—aye, and after their families and friends, too. If they do expect their women to provide them with those comforts you mention, they generally appreciate them when they get them. Comfort of any sort is rare in their lives.”