by Amanda Scott
“Most of the men I know are either members of the gentry or their henchmen,” she said. “When I think about them with their families, though, and not just talking amongst themselves, perhaps they are not so bad.”
“You must have maidservants at Brackengill,” he said. “Do your brother and his men treat them all badly?”
“No, for in the general way of things I do not allow them to. Of course, if Hugh loses his temper, there is not a great deal I can do to protect his target. Still, he does like a comfortable home, and over the years I have brought him to agree that our servants exert themselves more to make him comfortable if he treats them with some degree of courtesy. He takes pride in what he has achieved at Brackengill, and he knows that the comfort with which he has surrounded himself contributes a great deal to the impression that Brackengill makes on visitors.”
“What else has he achieved then? I saw that he’s got a strong stone wall, but the lodging he afforded to me was not what I would call splendid.”
She suppressed a chuckle, not certain enough yet of his wry humor to believe that he meant her to share it. “Hugh has spent years making Brackengill a home of which he can be proud,” she said. “I do not know if you ever saw it as it was before, but when he inherited, the castle was no more than a pele tower surrounded by a wooden stockade. He inherited when he was twelve, but our uncle served as his guardian, and it was not until Hugh turned eighteen that Uncle allowed him to make any choices of his own. Once he could do so, however, he set about turning Brackengill into what it is today.”
“Not without help, I’ll wager.”
“If you mean help from me, you cannot know much about nine-year-old girls. If I helped then, it was only by providing poorly embroidered cushions for the stone window seats. I have learned to help more since then, of course, for I organized the kitchens and have done much of the needlework. The arras cloth in the hall came from Belgium, of course, but—”
“I have not seen that,” he said dryly. “Is it particularly good?”
“Oh, yes, magnificent,” she said. “Don’t think you can raid Brackengill to steal it, however. I doubt it would look as well on the walls of a reiver’s cottage.”
He chuckled again but did not deny that he had been contemplating such a thing. Hugging to herself what felt like a small victory, she wished that she could think she had sorted him out in her mind, but she could not. One moment he spoke with the broad accent of the Scottish Border, the next he sounded much as Hugh did. She decided that he had spent time with educated men and that, in her presence, he tried to ape their manner.
The gusting wind settled to a stiff breeze, and above its murmuring, Janet soon heard the gurgle of a nearby burn. Moments later she could make out the white froth of its rapids as they roiled over boulders and stones in its path.
She said, “I suppose you know exactly where we are.”
“I’ve a fair notion,” he said. “Every bit of water flowing west hereabouts flows into the Esk, you see, so once we find a place to cross this burn, we should be only a few miles from the dike. We’ll cross the Esk just east of Netherby, where I know a ford. If your brother follows, he’ll reach the line well east of that point. Doubtless you’re sleepy,” he added. “Why do you not rest for a time?”
“Have you tired of my conversation so quickly?”
“I have not, but there are any number of hamlets hereabouts, and now that the wind has fallen to a whisper, I think we should keep silent, lest someone hear us and come out to see who we are.”
The warning was enough to silence her. They were still in Graham territory, and although any Grahams she encountered south of the line would be friendly to her, they would be likely to tell Hugh they had seen her. She did not intend to accept the reiver’s invitation to nap, however, tempting though it was.
While they had talked, it had been possible to ignore their closeness to each other. Riding in silence made that more difficult. Her body touched his in too many places, and the motion of the horse constantly jostled them together. Moreover, of necessity his arms were around her, and his left one kept brushing her breast as he manipulated the reins. He did not carry a whip, so his right hand, behind her, was generally unoccupied, and she assumed that he rested it on his thigh as he rode. When he guided the pony to the edge of the burn and into the water a few moments later, he steadied her with that hand as if he feared she would fall.
On the other side, he held her while the pony lurched up the steep bank, and when they reached the flat, she felt almost sorry when he took his hand away.
Again the silence made her unnaturally aware of his nearness. She knew that she ought to be outraged that he was taking her away from the only home and family she had ever known, but she was grateful not to have to face Hugh and could think of little else beyond the reiver. She could hear him breathing, could feel the slightest movement of his left arm, and each of those movements stirred other sensations, deeper ones that made her feel wicked.
Just thinking of such wickedness conjured up a looming vision of Hugh, and the little shiver that followed momentarily expelled the wanton thoughts. Then the reiver shifted on the saddle. His right hand steadied her again, and feeling that hand on her arm sent new sensations tingling from one nerve ending to another, straight to the center of her body. The feelings wanned her and stirred thoughts that she knew she ought to pray to God for the strength to resist.
“Lean back against me, lassie,” he murmured. “I willna bite.”
His voice was seductively low-pitched. It seemed to vibrate through her, and she was too sleepy to muster more resistance. Her body felt like warm wax in his arms, as if it were molding itself against his. She obeyed his command without a thought of protesting.
He knew the instant she slept, because her weight settled against him. She was not heavy, and her body seemed to fit against his as if it had been created for the purpose. He wondered what had possessed him to make off with her as he had. Surely, it had been the most reckless thing he had done in a life filled with reckless deeds. He would never hear the end of it. Buccleuch would see to that if no one else did. Just the thought of his cousin’s inevitable wrath stirred a prickling sensation along his spine. Surely even the hairs on the back of his neck stood erect.
She shifted—snuggling, seeking comfort—and when he moved his right hand and arm automatically to support her, he found his fingertips resting against the curve of her hip. A wave of her scent touched his nostrils, and his cousin’s fierce image vanished in a trice as bodily instincts and reflexes banished thought of anything but Janet Graham. The scent of her, and the warmth emanating from her slender, curving body beneath the thick cloaks stirred other parts of him to life. The temptation to allow his fantasies a free rein was nearly irresistible.
A purring sound drifted to his ears, and for a moment, he thought the sound issued from the lass. When it continued steadily, rhythmically, he realized it came from the little cat she still held in the shelter of her arms beneath her two cloaks.
The sound reminded him of his folly. Bad enough that he had taken the wench, but he had taken the damned cat as well. Should anyone require proof that Mistress Janet Graham had unhinged him, the cat would provide it. He decided that when it came time to describe his escape, he would omit the cat. The legend of Rabbie Redcloak encompassed a host of audacious escapades, daring deeds, and admirable accomplishments—a number of which were even true—but he did not think the legend would benefit by adding his abduction of Jemmy Whiskers.
The lass did not stir until he began to descend the Esk’s bank at the seldom-used crossing near Netherby. By then her head lay against his shoulder, and his right arm supported her body. Sleepily, she tilted her head back to look up at him.
“Where are we?” she murmured.
“Near the dike, about to cross the Esk. We’ll make for Jess Armstrong’s place. He’s a broken man, but he keeps his mouth shut and I warrant he’ll put us up for the day without making any fuss about
it.”
“For the day?”
“Aye, it’s safer to lurk a bit, I think, since we’ll have to make our way east and your brother will likely be searching for us soon. I want to put out a few ears to listen for news before I risk your bonny neck by riding farther.”
“Where will we go?”
“To my place, I think, until I can decide what to do with you. There are Grahams on this side of the line, of course.”
“Aye, but they are not friends of mine,” she said.
He clicked his tongue. “Now, fighting within families is something I don’t hold with,” he said virtuously.
Sweetly she said, “Tell me again about this cousin of yours.”
He chuckled. “Bless you, lass, we dinna fratch. Well, not as you mean, at all events. He will be wroth with me. I carina deny that, but ’tis only because I’ve put up your brother’s back. It’s his being a deputy warden, and all, that will put Wat in a stir. He has scruples, does Wat. He seldom shows them, but he does have them. Here now, hold on tight. This is probably the worst ford for twenty miles, and the water flows high and moves fast now that the thaw has begun.”
She eyed the swiftly moving river warily. “Is it safe?”
“Oh, aye, my lad will make it. ’Ware the cat, though, because we might all get a wee bit damp, and that water’s bound to be cold.”
That proved to be an understatement, but Jemmy stayed dry; and not long after they reached the opposite bank, they came to a cottage and the reiver reined in.
Without dismounting, he shouted, “Jess!”
The door opened so quickly that Janet was sure the cottager had not been sleeping. Indeed, he seemed almost to have been awaiting their arrival. He hurried out, saying, “Dinna get down fra’ the pony, Rab. Ye’ll no be stayin’.”
“Now, Jess,” the reiver said calmly, “the lass is tired, and so am I. You may not have heard the news, but I ha’ been imprisoned these three—”
“Och, do I no ken that? Still, Rab, ye’re no t’ stay here. Himself said ye’re t’ ride for Hermitage as fast as your pony’s legs’ll tak’ ye. He’ll meet ye there.”
“Damnation,” the reiver said. “We’re for it now, lass, right enough.”
Chapter 7
“With fairest words and reason strong, Strove courteously in vain.”
“I’M RIGHT SORRY ABOUT this,” the reiver said.
“But what’s the hurry?” Janet asked. “Surely we can go inside and rest a bit.”
“Believe me, I’d stay here if I could,” he replied, “but I dare not.”
“But you cannot take me to Hermitage! ’Tis the strongest fortress on the Scottish side of the line. ’Tis a prison, what’s more.”
“Aye, I ken fine that it is,” he said. “Still, I must go there, lass. Even Rabbie Redcloak must obey orders from Himself.”
“But the master of Hermitage is Buccleuch, and he’s a terrible man! Hugh says that as warden of two marches and keeper of Liddesdale he wields his power like a fiery sword! Hugh says it is foolhardy for James to rest so much power in the hands of one man. He says that Buccleuch is nigh as powerful as the King himself.”
“Aye, ’tis true,” the reiver said with a sigh. “You can see my dilemma, lass. I could leave you here, I suppose, although Jess might balk at the notion and you would not find his hospitality all that you might wish.”
Regarding the burly, unkempt Jess with disfavor, Janet barely managed to repress a shudder. “You cannot leave me here,” she said firmly. At least, she hoped she sounded firm and that no trace of the shudder had touched her voice. “Since you made the decision to abduct me, Redcloak, you are stuck with me. I just hope Buccleuch believes you when you tell him that this madness was your idea and will not take me for a common doxy who somehow seduced you. Godamercy,” she added when another thought struck, “he might even decide to hold me for ransom!”
“Lassie, you’ve kept your wits about you thus far; dinna lose them now,” the reiver said. “I promise you, you’ve no cause to fear Buccleuch. He’ll reserve his wrath for me. If I’m lucky, he’ll just be glad to see that I am free. Jess,” he added, “d’ye ken aught o’ Himself’s mind when he said I were to make for Hermitage?”
Jess rolled his eyes. “Hob the Mouse came here,” he said. “He tellt me that Himself be of a mind t’ raise the Borders did he hear nowt afore Wednesday o’ yer safe return or where them bastards was holding ye.”
“There, you see, lass? He’s just been a wee bit worried about me.”
“He said,” Jess added glumly, “that he’d give ten pounds t’ the man wha’ tells him where he can find ye, so he can pin your ears back for ye himself.”
“Ah, I see,” the reiver said. “We’ll be wasting no time then, and I’ll see that you get the ten pounds, Jess.”
“I thank ye for that, Rabbie. Watch weel the noo. I’ve a sword and a pistol for ye, so ye willna lose your head to some deevilish thief.”
The reiver grinned at him. “I thank ye for the weapons, Jess. I’ve felt naked without my own. Have you perchance got a bit of food to spare for us, as well?”
“Aye, my sister’s inside puttin’ up a bit for ye, and I’ve got a pony ye can tak’ for the lass if ye like. Hold on a bit, and I’ll fetch the lot out.” He turned away, then turned back with a frown to say apologetically to Janet, “I must crave pardon, mistress, for I dinna possess a sidesaddle.”
“I do not require one,” she told him with a smile. “A simple cross-saddle will serve me well if you have one that I may use.”
“I’m glad that you can ride astride, lass,” the reiver said when Jess had gone to fetch the horse and saddle. “Many ladies do not, but I never thought to ask. If you’d required a sidesaddle, we’d have had to travel much more slowly, and as it is, it will take us the best part of the day to reach Hermitage. I’ve never yet understood how women can be comfortable riding sideways, any road.”
“Women just have better balance than men, that’s all,” she replied sweetly.
Hugh would have scoffed, might even have snapped at her to hold her foolish tongue; but, to her surprise, the reiver grinned and said, “I never thought of that possibility. In truth, though, any saddle of Jess’s is bound to be shabby, and not as comfortable as what you’re used to. You might use that second cloak of yours to cushion it, and I’ll be glad to put you up. You needn’t worry that Jess will see more than he should. Your skirts are full enough to keep you decent.”
“I am accustomed to riding astride,” she said. “I have done so since childhood and sometimes even wear my brother’s cast-off breeches beneath my skirts for extra comfort. I had no mother or father to tell me that I should not, you see, and Hugh was often away.”
“I think I begin to see how you grew to be as you are,” he said thoughtfully, “but we’ll not discuss what I think of such an upbringing. At present I am just grateful that my own weary lad need carry the two of us no longer.”
She did not know whether to be glad or sorry about that. She had rather enjoyed feeling his arms around her, and now that she could see his features clearly in the early gray dawn light, she saw that he was better looking than any reiver had a right to be.
He wore no helmet, and his shaggy hair and beard were darker than she had imagined them. His eyes were light brown or hazel. She would need more light to discern their exact color. When he walked, he did so with lithe, powerful grace, and in the saddle he sat tall and moved with his horse as if he had been born riding. She took care not to stare, however, having no wish to betray thoughts that were wholly inappropriate to their different stations in life.
When Jess returned leading a plump little gray mare, she made no objection when the reiver lifted her to its saddle. She required no assistance to arrange her skirts or her cloak, but she did not disdain his help when he held the reins while she did so and offered to fold Hugh’s cloak to provide a cushion for Jemmy Whiskers.
The little mare did not seem to mind her skirts much, but
the process tested its manners and the cat’s patience. Remembering what the Brackengill stable lad had said about half-broken Scottish ponies, she wondered if the mare had been raised in England. Trading horses across the line was illegal, but that did not stop the practice. Nor did it stop the reivers from doing their own sort of horse-trading.
The sun was rising through a light mist as they rode over the first hill and beyond sight of the cottage. The day promised to be warmer than the previous one.
“How will you get the mare back to Jess?” Janet asked, breaking the silence.
The reiver shrugged. “One of my lads will see that she gets back to him,” he said. A moment later, as he led the way down the other side of the hill, he added, “We’ll head north for a bit. The Liddel flows as much from the north as from the east, you know, and it would not do for us to run into your brother and his men before we reach Hermitage.”
She nodded, although she had not really known which way the Liddel flowed. She had never been on the Scottish side of the line before, and she was a little surprised that it looked much the same as Cumberland. For some reason she had expected it to be different, but the hills bore the same melting patchwork of snow, and in many places, the same stiff brown grass poked through. In south-facing hollows, bits of green grass were starting to show, just as they were in similar hollows in England. Most seemed to have survived the freeze the night before, but it was still too early to count them as harbingers of spring on either side of the line.
The mist soon disappeared, leaving a bright blue sky, and the air, though crisp, held warmth that had been lacking for months. Janet knew, however, that the higher temperatures could vanish overnight and that more snow might blanket the hills before spring spread true warmth through the Borders.
Soon they came to the banks of a river as wide as the Esk.
