Border Fire

by Amanda Scott

  Quin was accustomed to the conflicting voices in his head, for he had heard them all his life. He had only to decide to do a thing to hear a quite reasonable voice in his mind telling him that a better way existed. Over the years he had learned to make decisions, even difficult ones, despite the ceaseless mental debates; and he believed that the constant questioning and rethinking made him a wiser leader than he would have been without it. Nonetheless, there were times when he wished that he were not always so conscious of the fact that questions generally seemed to invite more than one reasonable answer.

  It occurred to him then to wonder what, exactly, Jenny had thought she could accomplish by following him, and this time his fertile imagination swiftly produced an answer. She had not trusted him to see his Bairns or himself safely home again. Knowing that he had failed once, she had expected him to fail again.

  His anger was stirring anew when a soft meow startled him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jemmy Whiskers emerging from behind the bed curtain, where apparently he had been curled up on a favored pillow.

  “What do you want?” Quin demanded, even as he realized that Jenny had probably already missed the little cat and was wondering where it was.

  Jemmy Whiskers stretched, then sat and scratched an ear.

  “Here,” Quin said curtly, striding to open the bedchamber door. “Go and find Jenny. Go on now. Scat!”

  Jemmy Whiskers cocked his head, blinked, then casually raised a forepaw and began to clean his face.

  Quin strode back to the bed, picked the cat up, and carried it to the threshold. Setting it down outside the bedchamber, he firmly shut the door and returned to his contemplation of the fire.

  Moments later a soft scratching announced Jemmy Whiskers’ desire to return. Quin resisted a strong temptation to let him in, and with difficulty forced himself to ignore the persistent, rhythmic sound until it stopped.

  Janet paced the floor of her bedchamber, trying to concentrate, determined this time to make a plan that would not instantly fail. Recalling the details that Tip had pointed out to her before, she realized that as much as she wanted to do so, it would not be possible to escape from Broadhaugh during the night. She would be wiser to wait until morning and hope that her husband had not issued strict orders that would prevent her from leaving.

  He had no cause to do so, she told herself. Doubtless he would expect her to obey an order he had so sternly given her. She would not be so meek, however. Even with Hugh she had established her own way of accomplishing things, of getting her way in matters that were important to her, and of taking part in any significant event at Brackengill. In truth, she had never succeeded in bending Hugh to her will, nor had she ever really tried to do that.

  With the world ruled by men, as it generally was (Elizabeth of England notwithstanding), it was practically impossible for any woman to rule any man. It was certainly not as easy as it was for men to rule women. But there were ways, nonetheless, of avoiding total subjugation, of standing up for things in which one believed, of persuading men to do right. If Hugh had not succeeded in crushing her spirit, no Scotsman would do so.

  She was grateful to Sir Quinton for his protection, and she admired the love and respect that his men conferred upon him, but she also saw much of Hugh in his domineering ways. Both men demanded respect but did not seem to respect her. She had not expected Quinton to pay her compliments after the night’s disastrous events, but she did think he might at least have considered the possibility that events could have transpired differently. Only the fact that she had met Lem and Gibby had prevented them from ambushing the Bairns. If that had happened, she could easily imagine ways in which her proximity to the scene might have proved helpful.

  As her husband, Quinton had every legal right to demand her obedience, and she knew that each time she defied his authority he would seek to reestablish it. Still, she could not let him shut her out of things that affected her, things that would affect their people at Broadhaugh, things that would affect their children when they had children. As his wife, she wanted the right at least to express her opinions before he plunged them all into danger.

  She understood his loyalty to his men and theirs to him, but she believed that it was time he began to grow into his new duties as a husband and deputy warden, and prepared for the much greater ones he would shoulder when the two countries became one. Whether he found himself guardian to Buccleuch’s heir or merely served as landowner and laird in his own right, he would have great responsibilities when the Union at last brought peace to the Borders.

  She continued her pacing while these thoughts and others of their ilk paraded through her mind, until at last she pulled off her garments, shoved them into the bottom of the wardrobe, and crawled naked under the counterpane. Although she was certain that her thoughts would keep her awake until she had thought of a plan to escape from Broadhaugh—at least long enough for Quinton to understand the difference she had made there—her scheming lasted only until her head settled into the pillow. Within minutes, she was fast asleep.

  When Ardith woke Janet soon after sunrise, she opened her eyes and shut them again with a groan of protest.

  “’Tis already light outside, mistress,” Ardith said. “The days do be growing longer each sennight, ye ken. Ye can see sun through the mist, and I’m thinking ’twill be clear long before the morning be gone, although they do be saying we’ll see rain again soon. Did ye no sleep well the nicht?”

  Realizing from the maid’s cheerful greeting that the men had kept silent about her part in the previous night’s activities, she called silent blessings upon them and upon her husband, as well. Clearly, he had not informed the servants that she was to stay in her bedchamber. Relieved, she tugged the quilt up a little so that Ardith would not realize that she was naked beneath it.

  “I was up rather late,” she admitted.

  Ardith grinned, and her eyes twinkled. “I’ll warrant ye stayed up till the master returned, and then some.”

  “Aye, I was awake then,” Janet said, ignoring her fluttering conscience.

  “Ye mun be fair trauchled, m’lady,” Ardith said. “Mayhap ye’d prefer to lie abed for another hour yet.”

  “I’ll get up,” Janet said. “I am famished, Ardith, but I think I will break my fast here, rather than go downstairs. Perhaps whilst I wash, you could fetch me a bowl of porridge and some bread to toast over the fire.”

  “Aye, mistress, I’ll see to it in a trice. I’ve already set out a clean smock and bodice for ye, and I stirred up the fire afore I woke ye.”

  “Thank you.” Janet waited until the maid had gone before she got out of bed. Since she had taken off every stitch and had gone to bed in her skin, she knew that Ardith might assume certain things, and she did not want to deceive her more than she already had.

  Scrambling into the clean smock and the first of her under-petticoats, she had tied the latter’s ribbons and was reaching for her underbodice when she remembered that she had shoved the clothing she had taken off the night before into the bottom of the wardrobe. Telling herself it was a wonder that Ardith had not seen it there when she took out her clothes for the day, and certainly would later when she tidied the room, Janet went at once to put them away more carefully.

  Folding the garments, she put them on the wardrobe’s high shelf, where Ardith would be less likely to notice them. She would give the things back to Tip at the first opportunity.

  Remembering her decision to leave, she looked thoughtfully at her dresses. She had nearly decided to forego wearing a formal stiffened bodice, to make do with her underbodice alone; however, there was only one place she could go if she left Broadhaugh, and she did not want to arrive looking like a beggar.

  Thus it was that when Ardith returned, carrying a tray, she found her mistress attired in her best silk underbodice and wearing a green satin petticoat over her everyday red flannel one. Janet had managed to tie the underbodice ribbons, but the busk-stiffened “pair of bodies” she would wea
r over it lay ready on the bed.

  “I am going to wear the green velvet,” she said calmly.

  Ardith’s eyes widened. “Do ye expect visitors, mistress?”

  “No, but I mean to ride out to enjoy the day, and I want to keep warm.”

  “The sun will be shining bright afore noon.”

  “Perhaps,” Janet said, relaxing at this further indication that Quinton had left no orders that would keep her in her bedchamber. “’Tis still March nonetheless,” she added smoothly. “I shall not smother in velvet. Is that my porridge?”

  “Aye, mistress. I’ll put it on the wee table yonder, shall I, whilst I help ye wi’ your lacing?”

  Janet nodded, and minutes later, the bodice firmly laced, she slipped a loose gown on to protect her from drafts while she broke her fast. Drawing a chair to the little table, she sat down and poured fresh cream over the hot porridge.

  Ardith hung a small pot of milk to warm on the hob, saying over her shoulder, “I brought ye an apple, too, mistress.”

  “Excellent. I shall take it with me when I ride out.”

  “Ye’ll be taking one o’ the lads along. Mayhap I should tell Cook to put up some food for the pair o’ ye, and some bits for them wha’ ye visit? It isna baking day, but she will ha’ buns or bread that she’ll be gey happy to send wi’ ye.”

  Janet hesitated. To say that she would take nothing would surely stir Ardith’s curiosity, but she did not want to burden herself, nor did she want to visit tenants along the way.

  Casually, she said, “Is Sir Quinton at home?”

  “Nay, then, mistress. The master rode out quite early. Said he were going to Cotrigg village to see what needed doing. He willna return afore suppertime.”

  Janet began eating her porridge to give herself time to think. If Quinton was away, most likely no other barrier stood in her path. She did not believe that he would have given orders to prevent her leaving. He was a fair man, and he would assume that she would obey him. Moreover, he would not want to betray their quarrel to his men. The notion of his fairness stopped her train of thought for a moment, and niggling guilt made it difficult to continue.

  She saw Ardith eyeing her curiously and quickly collected her wits, saying, “’Tis good that he is looking after the people of Cotrigg. I should have known that he would be, of course. I am trying to think of anyone else who might need anything that I could take them today.”

  “Ye went to Tip’s mam and the others but two days ago,” Ardith said.

  “Yes, I did, and the men will be dividing up the stock taken last night, I expect. Perhaps it would be wiser to wait until they have finished with that.”

  “Aye, sure, they’ll ken fine then who might need summat else.”

  “I’ll ride north along the Teviot then,” Janet said with a smile. “I’m finished now, so you can help me with my dress.”

  As Ardith fetched the green velvet skirt from the wardrobe, Janet watched to see if she would notice Tip’s clothing. It occurred to her then that Ardith might have smelled it the moment she opened the wardrobe, but she quickly realized that the strong scents of herbs and other sweeteners that customarily filled it ought to prevent that. In any event, the maid did not seem to notice anything amiss. Nor did she question her further about her plans, as any maidservant who had served her at Brackengill since childhood would have done as a matter of course. It was good, Janet decided, occasionally to have servants who did not believe that her every move was as much their business as her own.

  Taking her whip and gloves from the table where she had laid them the night before, she let Ardith drape her cloak over her shoulders and declared herself ready. If the maid thought she looked too fine merely to be taking the air on a pleasant morning, she kept that opinion to herself.

  By the time Janet reached the bailey, she had decided that she could not refuse an escort. If Quinton had said anything to the men it would be that she must not ride out alone. Indeed, knowing the ways of the Borders, his men were as likely to object to her riding out alone in broad daylight as Tip had been to object to her going alone the previous night. Thinking again of Tip, she wondered what his fate had been, and hoped that Quinton had not been too harsh.

  She did not see the little man about, nor did she inquire after him. To have done so would have raised eyebrows unless she could think of a reason for wanting him. He was Sir Quinton’s personal servant, and although he frequently offered to do her bidding, it was not her habit to send for him.

  No more than the usual number of men attended to duties in the bailey or stable, and the lad she asked to saddle her horse simply gave a polite nod and shouted, “Ferdie, bring out her ladyship’s pony and one for yourself. And dinna be wastin’ time about it!”

  Just as well, Janet decided, that she had decided to take someone with her.

  Guilt stirred again when she saw the sidesaddle that Quinton had bought for her in Hawick, but she remained resolute. He had his good points, but if they were to live together for the rest of their lives, he had to learn to respect her opinions and her decisions. Putting her foot into Ferdie’s cupped hands, she mounted quickly.

  The guard at the postern gate grinned at her as he opened it. “’Tis a fine soft mornin’ for ridin’, m’lady. Ye’ll see the mist gone in less than an hour, I’m thinkin’.” Then, stepping closer, as if he would speak without Ferdie’s overhearing him, he added in a low tone, “Ye’ll no be riding south now, will ye?”

  “Just up along the dale,” Janet said.

  “Aye, that’s good, that is. Ye’ll be safe in the dale, but after last night I’m thinkin’ the master wouldna like it an ye rode toward the Border. Them thievin’ Kielbeck men be like to cross over, can they but find ponies to carry them.” He chuckled, clearly believing they would find no horses left in Kielbeck.

  “I’m sure I shall be safe,” Janet said.

  “Aye, she will,” Ferdie said, drawing aside his short cloak to reveal a pistol underneath. “I’ve me bow along as well,” he said, gesturing toward the longbow slung across his back.

  “Aye, then,” the guard said, “ye’ll be as safe as a wee chick in its nest wi’ Ferdie, mistress.”

  Smiling warmly at each of them, Janet rode through the gate and down the hill, giving spur to her mount when she reached the narrow track along the river. The increased speed exhilarated her, and she breathed deeply of the cool, damp morning air. Shreds of mist clung to tree branches, but she could see that new leaves were forming where none had been only two days before. Spring was stirring.

  Ferdie was a taciturn man, but the noise of the fast-moving river would have precluded casual conversation in any case. Thus, Janet was alone with her thoughts, and they soon proved discomfiting. Despite the easy pace they settled into, she was well aware that she was leaving Broadhaugh behind. A sense of guilt began to nibble at her conscience. What would result from this latest impulse of hers?

  Quinton would be angry. That much was plain. What he would do about it, however, was not plain at all. She did not think he would beat her. He did not seem like a man who ever employed violence against those who could not fight back. His servants and his men showed deep respect for his temper, but they did not treat him with the same profound awe as Buccleuch. It occurred to her only then that Buccleuch might be at Branxholme when she arrived.

  For a few shaky moments, she hovered on the brink of turning back. Then she told herself that there was nothing wrong with visiting Margaret. Branxholme was less than eight miles away, after all, and she had traveled farther than that when she had visited tenants, both with Quinton and without him. To this reasoning, her conscience rudely replied by reminding her that her husband had confined her to her bedchamber and would expect to find her there upon his return from Cotrigg.

  It was nearing noon and her stomach had begun to growl when Branxholme’s ramparts appeared at last on the horizon.

  “I didna ken ye was coming so far, mistress,” Ferdie said doubtfully. “I warrant the ma
ster would say we should ha’ brought more o’ the lads wi’ us.”

  “We scarcely saw so much as a rabbit,” Janet said. Since they had passed through several small villages along the river, that was not precisely true, but she did not care. Her gaze was fixed on the ramparts above the castle entrance. “Buccleuch’s banner would be flying if he were at Branxholme, would it not?”

  “Aye, it would,” Ferdie growled. Glancing at him, she saw that he was staring straight ahead. His jaw was set.

  Persisting, she said, “He is not here then.”

  “Nay, he is not. Did ye want him to be, mistress?”

  “I came to pay my respects to his lady,” she said airily. “I did not think one thing or another about him, but I expect he is likely to be at Hermitage.”

  “Aye, he should be.”

  Janet managed to conceal her relief. She was in no mood to confront Buccleuch. Yet, had he been at Branxholme, she would have had no choice. The guards had noted their approach by now, and had they tried to turn back, doubtless a heavily armed party would have ridden after them to inquire into their business. She would have had to brazen it out and face the consequences later. It was far better if Buccleuch was still fixed at Hermitage.

  Fifteen minutes later, when she was shown into Margaret’s parlor, Margaret leapt to her feet, exclaiming, “My dear, how providential! You can have no notion how glad I am to see you, but where is Quinton? Did he not accompany you?”

  “No, I came alone,” Janet said. “I came to—”

  “How vexing,” Margaret cut with a distracted frown. “His being here would have saved us a good deal of time. I was just going to send someone with a message for him, you see, because Buccleuch will arrive within the hour.”

  “Here?” Janet knew that she sounded dismayed, but Margaret did not notice. Her own thoughts seemed to consume her attention.