by Amanda Scott
His body ached for her. The temptation to make her his at once was almost overwhelming, but he feared hurting her. He admired her pride, the way she held her head high and looked men in the eye. Most Englishwomen of his acquaintance behaved more submissively. They kept their eyes downcast, their words soft and gentle. They seemed obedient. They were not all alike, though, for people were different everywhere, and a man who behaved gently one day could be anything but gentle the next. Surely, it was the same with women.
Still and all, Scotswomen of his acquaintance seemed different from Englishwomen. Their tongues were sharper, and they seemed more likely to speak their minds. Shrewdly, he realized that he was thinking of women in his family, and he knew that Margaret Scott spoke more sharply to Buccleuch when they were amidst kinsmen than she did when others were about. Perhaps that was all it was.
Yet Janet Graham had spoken sharply to him from the first. Was it because she had seen him as a captive and thus an inferior? Surely her manner toward him would mend now that she was his wife. Perhaps, like Margaret, she would speak frankly now only when they were alone or with close kinsmen, and would behave with proper, dutiful submission when others were about.
Impulsively, he said, “You sometimes remind me of my mother.”
“Do I?” Her eyes seemed wider, larger than ever. “How so, sir?”
“When my father was still alive, she often spoke her mind to him. He told me that once when she thought there would not be enough food to last the household through the winter, she served his spurs to him on a platter.”
“Godamercy, she cannot have expected him to eat them!”
“Nay, she expected him to put them on and go a-raiding. For years, our meat was nearly all English bred. In those days, our wealth, like Buccleuch’s, lay not in gold so much as in the livestock we owned. That is a common state of affairs in the Scottish Borders, because men fear to plant or even cultivate their land. They believe the English have only to learn of a plowed field to raise an army of raiders.”
“Well, you have outwitted the English, sir, for you have taken one to wife, but if you think that I shall ever serve your spurs to you for supper, you are mistaken. As I said before, your raiding days must stop. Surely, if both King James and Queen Elizabeth want peace, and if the two countries will become one when Elizabeth dies, you can begin to cultivate crops without fearing destruction.”
“Can I, lass? Do you think your brother means to leave me in peace?”
She frowned.
“Your silence is answer enough,” he said. “Sir Hugh will not forgive me for marrying you, or you for marrying me.”
“Perhaps he will not.”
Her sad tone surprised him. “I thought you did not like him,” he said.
“Whatever gave you such a notion? Hugh is my brother, my only close kin, and I love him. We do not always agree, certainly, but we are siblings, sir, and it is human nature for siblings to disagree. I shall miss him fiercely.”
“Then we must see if we can mend matters sufficiently to put you on speaking terms again,” he said with a smile. “We will think about that tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Tomorrow?”
“Aye, because now I want to think only about making you mine.”
“You keep making me sound like property,” she complained.
“Aye, well, perhaps it is so. How else would you describe a man’s wife?”
“She is more important than his cows, I hope!”
Smiling, he touched a finger to the tip of one breast, making her gasp again. Wanting to demonstrate how easily he could stir her, he bent his head and took the nipple in his mouth.
She seemed to have stopped breathing.
He moved one hand, palm down, over her belly and lower to touch the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. Tickling first the curls and then the opening they concealed, he inserted a finger and felt her stiffen, then relax when her body began to respond to his caresses.
She was ready for him, but he teased her a little more, until he heard her moan with pleasure. Then, shifting so that he could touch his lips to hers, he kissed her gently, then more possessively, exploring her mouth with his tongue while his fingers remained busy below. She stirred, stretched, and moaned more. Her hands clutched him, uncertainly at first and then with more confidence.
When at last he believed that she was aching for him almost as fiercely as he ached for her; he took her swiftly, knowing there was little he could do to protect her from the pain of that first time. He was sorry when she cried out but stifled the sound quickly with more kisses while he reached his own climax. Then, sated, he relaxed and held her close. Kissing her gently, he murmured, “It will not always hurt, lassie, I promise. Next time will be more pleasant for you.”
“Will it?” The lazy, contented look in her eyes surprised him. She stretched a little, and when he shifted so that her head lay against his shoulder, she turned her face toward him and smiled. “I thought it would be dreadful,” she said softly, “but it was not. I think I might grow to like marriage, a bit.”
He chuckled, kissing her lightly. “Do you, indeed?”
“Aye,” she said.
He shut his eyes, and the next thing he knew, it was morning. When he awoke, she was curled like a kitten beside him, and he thought he could even hear her purring. It took a moment to realize that the purring came from behind him, and a moment longer to realize that a warm, furry body was stretched alongside his bare back, underneath the coverlet.
Kissing his wife’s bare shoulder, he murmured, “Please do not tell me that your cat always sleeps under the covers with you.”
“Of course not,” she said, turning to look at him. “He sleeps at the foot of my bed at home but never under the coverlet.”
“Well, he is under it now,” he said. “His fur is tickling my backside.”
She chuckled and turned over to face him, discovering as he had hoped she would that he was hungry for her again. Without another thought for the cat, he moved over her, taking care to move gently. Her lips tightened, telling him that she still ached a bit from the night before, but then they relaxed and her body welcomed his. He took his time, enjoying her increasing pleasure as much as his own, and when it was over, they both lay back, feeling pleasantly drained, and slept again.
A rap at the door accompanied by a plaintive meow from Jemmy Whiskers awoke them sometime later.
When Quinton got up and strode naked to the door, Janet said with amusement, “Do you plan to help me dress, sir, or will one of those maidservants have arrived by now?”
“I’ll ask,” he said, opening the door to his man. “Do not disturb her ladyship, Tip,” he said, as if it were necessary to warn the man that he was not alone. “And watch out for the damned cat!”
As he spoke, however, Jemmy Whiskers shot through the doorway, accepting the opportunity to make good his escape.
Quin said ruefully to Janet, “I’ll get the lads to catch him. He’ll not get far.”
“He won’t run away now,” she said. “Let him explore. They would only frighten him.”
He nodded, then turned back to his man. “Forget my things for the moment, Tip, and see if one of the maids you found for her ladyship has turned up yet.”
“Aye, laird, Ardith is here. I thought I’d just see first if she were wanted, knowing the state o’ dress ye’d likely be in when ye opened yon door of a mornin’. Ye’d ha’ sent the poor lassie screechin’ for her mam.”
Quin looked down at his naked body and sighed. “I expect I’ll have to change some of my habits now that we’ve got women in the place,” he said.
“You will, sir,” Janet agreed from the bed, “and not just with regard to your dress. You have not yet given me your word on that other matter, you know, and I fear that I must insist. It is of the utmost importance to me that you forgo your raiding ways now that you have married me. I would never forgive you, you know, if you were to kill one of my kinsmen in a raid, or destroy his home.�
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He gave her a stern look. “We will speak more of that anon. Get you gone now, Tip, and send Ardith to her ladyship straightaway.”
“But what about your clothes, laird?”
“I’ll dress before you fetch her. Breeks and a jack will do me.”
Tip slipped past him and hurried from coffer to wardrobe, flinging articles of clothing over an arm, taking care not to look in Janet’s direction.
“I should have my own bedchamber, should I not?” she said when Tip pushed a pair of netherstocks and a pair of linen drawers into Quin’s hands.
“I expect you should at that,” Quin said. As he sat on a coffer to pull on the netherstocks, he added with a teasing grin, “For dressing in.”
“I see ye enjoyed a good bit o’ the soup,” Tip said, pausing beside the hearth. “Why did ye no use the mugs?”
“We did not touch the soup,” Quin said, moving to join him. Small paw prints in the ashes told him at once who the culprit was. He looked at Jenny.
She smiled but then fell silent while he dressed. When he shut the door at last behind Tip, she watched warily, and he realized that she had noted his annoyance earlier. Thus, he chose his words with care, although he would have preferred to issue a flat order, just as he would with any of his men who dared to make impertinent and untimely demands of him.
“You may speak your mind to me privately,” he said, “but you must not do so when others are about. I’ll warrant Sir Hugh does not encourage such candor.”
“He doesn’t,” she admitted, “but I care deeply about this, sir. I should not have spoken so plainly in front of your man, but I must insist nonetheless that you promise henceforth not to attack my kinsmen or friends.”
His temper stirred, but he said evenly, “My men will expect me to lead them, lass. It is what I do.”
“Then you should lead them in the path of peace, sir,” she said, her tone matching his.
“Peace requires that both sides cooperate.”
“Aye, but one side must begin. Why not yours?”
“Do you think that my people should sit meekly whilst the English raid their homes, burn them out, kill their wives and bairns, and steal their livestock?”
“Surely they will not kill people who do not oppose them.”
“If you believe that, you do not know your countrymen,” he retorted.
“The men I know would not kill innocent women and bairns.”
“Then the men you know have not taken part in raids against Scotland,” he said. “Not long since, in burning out half of Tarrasdale, men from Bewcastle Waste burned a score of cottages, killed six men, eight women, and seven children. Those were your brothers’ men, lass. They did it, knowing that my Bairns would avenge the raid and hoping to trap me. As you know, that plan succeeded.”
She frowned. “I did not know about the killing or burning, but many English women and children have died in raids, too.”
“Aye, they have. I don’t deny that. My Bairns do not kill innocents, though, unless they want to answer to me. They ken fine that I’ll hang them for it.”
He heard her gasp and pressed his point. “Life in the Borders is hard, Jenny, and men must be hard enough to match it. Mayhap one day we will all enjoy peace, but that day has not yet come. Until it does, I cannot and will not abandon my men, no matter how winsomely you plead with me. ’Tis my guidance that holds them in check. Without it, there would be more killing.”
She shook her head. “That argument won’t serve. You have the power to stop your own men from raiding. Perhaps we cannot end all the killing, sir, but you must prevent your men—our men—from attacking others. Defending their homes is another matter. I would not ask you to deny them your help in such a case.”
“I would not listen if you did,” he said with a thin smile. “What you do not seem to understand, however, is that attack is defense of their homes. If we did not respond in kind, eventually the English would wipe us out.”
“That does not make sense. If you would stop attacking them, they would stop attacking you. What would be the point?”
“The point,” he replied, forcing patience, “is that before the English would stop, they would beggar every Scotsman in the Borders. I cannot allow that, and even if I were foolish enough to sit by and let it happen, Buccleuch would not.”
She sighed. “I cannot stop Buccleuch.”
He nearly told her that she could not stop him either, but he decided to hold his peace.
She remained silent for a long moment, still watching him. Then, abruptly, she said, “I cannot blame you for refusing to listen. You did not want to marry me.”
“’Tis true that marriage was not a notion that entered my head,” he admitted. Then, with a smile, he added, “But after last night, I believe I will adjust to it without undue difficulty.”
Color leapt to her cheeks, and for the first time she avoided his gaze. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she said, “I…I, too, believe we may come to an understanding, sir. Nevertheless, it will be much more difficult for me if I have to worry about attacks on those whom I love and care for.”
“You must learn to love and care for your new family,” he said.
“Aye, and I will. That does not alter my feelings about the raids, though. Is there not some compromise that we might come to?”
He hesitated. It was a fair question. “I’ll do what I can,” he said at last. “I can promise no more than that. If Buccleuch orders a raid, I must go. He is my liege lord and will expect and demand my obedience. Moreover, if my land or that of any of my followers falls under attack, I will do what must be done.”
“Still, you need not initiate any raid or attack,” she said. “You might also encourage your people—our people—to try the ways of peace. You would thus be obeying a royal command, after all.”
“Jamie’s commands and Jamie’s wishes are often at odds with themselves,” he said. “He says one thing—often for no more reason than to be able to tell the English Queen that he has done so—yet he desires another. He is entirely capable of ordering Buccleuch to wipe out an English village on the same day that he publicly deplores the violence in the Borders. Here is your maidservant,” he added unnecessarily when a rap on the door announced Tip’s return. “Come in,” he commanded. “Bring my razor, Tip. You may shave me whilst my lady dresses.”
Janet watched Sir Quinton leave, feeling frustration and wondering if he would respond to any of her wishes with anything other than argument. At least he had seemed to listen to her, which was an improvement over Hugh. Still, listening did not mean he would comply with her requests.
She had no more time just then to think about the matter, for plump, redheaded Ardith waited to assist her and another rap heralded the arrival of a lackey carrying a jug of hot water for her ablutions.
She did not look forward with much pleasure to dressing, for there was little choice available as to what she could wear. She had the two skirts and the bodice she had worn when she left Brackengill, a dress that Margaret’s woman had altered to fit her, and her wedding dress. She had alternated the two day dresses during her stay at Branxholme, and she was thoroughly tired of both. She knew women who owned far less, however, and if Margaret was typical, Scotswomen paid less heed to their attire than Englishwomen of the same station did.
When visiting Bewcastle or other such residences, she had always taken a sensible variety of clothing, and her hostess had frequently expected her to change her attire several times a day. At Branxholme, however, she and Margaret had dressed in the morning and had not changed all day, even to dine.
It occurred to her that Margaret might have altered her usual practice to accommodate a guest who had brought little with her to wear. Still, the fact that Margaret had given her only the one dress argued that Margaret had not thought she would require more.
“I shall wear the blue bodice and overskirt, Ardith,” she said as she moved to perform her ablutions at the washstand, where the young maid was
pouring water from the ewer into the basin.
“The laird’s man—that Tip—he said the laird would doubtless like ye t’ wear one of the new dresses, m’lady.”
“What new dresses?”
“He said I’d find ’em in the press,” Ardith said, looking around and pointing to the wardrobe. “I trow we’ll find them there. Shall I see, then?”
“Yes, please,” Janet said, her interest stirring.
She watched with growing delight while Ardith opened the press and took out a loose gown of shimmering golden-brown silk edged with richly embroidered braid. A second gown followed of grass-green satin trimmed with white velvet.
“There be shoes, too, mistress,” Ardith said. “Did ye no ken they was here?”
“No,” Janet said. “Sir Quinton must have meant to surprise me. I came away from home rather quickly, you see, and—” She broke off, seeing awareness in Ardith’s eyes. “But you know all about me, do you not?”
The girl smiled. “Nay then, not all, m’lady, but some. Ye helped the laird escape, and that be all we need ken o’ ye—that and that ye’re mistress the noo o’ Broadhaugh. Which will ye wear, then?”
Janet’s first impulse was to wear her own old dress, since she wanted to explore Broadhaugh from towers to cellars and would likely soil whatever she wore. When she hesitated, looking at the worn dresses, the maid’s disappointed expression made the decision for her. It would be her first appearance as Broadhaugh’s mistress. She would accomplish no good by appearing in worn-out clothing.
“I shall wear the green,” she said.
Ardith nodded her approval. “It will suit you fine, that dress. The master chose well.”
“Aye.” As she said the word, Janet thought of Lady Roxburgh and wondered if the poor woman had got any of the new dresses she had ordered from Francis Tailor. She wondered, too, how many other women Sir Quinton had bought clothing for. Feeling her fingers curl into claws, she quickly composed herself.
