by Amanda Scott
“He will want to see Quin at once,” she said worriedly. “At least, he will if he is in any case to speak with anyone.”
“In any case…” Janet stared at her then, her fears forgotten. “What has happened, madam? Is aught amiss with Buccleuch?”
“They say he fell from his horse,” Margaret said, wringing her hands. “Such clumsiness is most unlike him, but one of his men rode in not a quarter hour before you to say that they are carrying him here on a gate. Branxholme was nearer than Hermitage, he said, but that makes sense only if one knows where they were when Buccleuch fell, of course.”
“Don’t you know where it was, madam?”
Margaret shrugged. “He may have told me, but I did not heed it if he did, because he also said that apparently Lord Scrope has at last decided to hold the next wardens’ meeting in ten days’ time. Forgive me, my dear, but I must not stand talking,” she added. “I simply must send someone to fetch Quinton at once.”
Chapter 16
“High was their fame, high was their might
And high was their command.”
BUCCLEUCH DID NOT ARRIVE on a gate, for he would not allow his men to carry him into the castle. He rode in on his horse, but he swayed dangerously in the saddle, and when he tried to dismount, only the swift action of two of the men saved him from collapsing.
Margaret stood stoically in the doorway, watching.
Beside her, Janet said, “At least he is not bleeding.”
“Not that we can see,” Margaret muttered. “His father died when he was only five-and-twenty, you will recall.”
“He is not going to die,” Janet said firmly. “Look at him.”
Buccleuch had an arm around the shoulders of two of his men, and just then he grinned at the one on his left, saying something that made the man laugh.
“He wants us to look at them,” Margaret said. “If we stare at his ape-grin, we might not notice that his face is scraped and bleeding or that he is not putting any weight on his left foot. Doubtless it refuses to bear weight, and it may well be broken. At least his horse looks healthy. He would hate to have to put that one down, and if he had to do so because it had stepped into a rabbit hole through some carelessness of his, he would behave like a surly bear for weeks.”
Turning, she raised her voice to say to a hovering maidservant, “Mary, tell them to fetch hot water and clean cloths to the great hall. They must tear strips of linen if they have none ready to hand. His leg will need binding, and I shall want compresses, too, both hot and cold. Oh, and send someone to fetch Alys the herbwoman from her cottage straightaway.”
“Aye, m’lady.”
As Buccleuch hopped up the steps toward them, leaning heavily on his aides he said, “Take that grim look off your face, Mag. They’ll be hearing rumors of my death as far away as London town if anyone sees you looking so dour.”
“Take him into the hall,” Margaret said quietly to the men, “and settle him in his own chair. Set a stool for his leg. How bad is it, sir?”
“’Tis naught but a curst nuisance,” he said, but Janet noted that he did not meet his wife’s steady gaze. “The only pain is that it was my own fault,” he added. “Everything seems to work well enough, but I’m seeing two of everything.”
Janet drew breath to speak, but before she could, Margaret said calmly, “You hit your head then, I expect.”
“Aye, I did,” he admitted. “I’ve got a fair-sized knot above my right ear. I don’t know what I hit, but it put me right out, and how the devil I managed to hurt a leg and my head all in one toss, I do not know.”
“Ye should ha’ seen him, m’lady,” the man on his left said. “The pony stepped wrong, and Himself flew through the air as if he’d growed wings. Had he no kept ahold o’ the reins, he’d be flyin’ yet, I’m thinkin’.”
“’Twas the pony stepping on his leg when he landed at the puir beast’s feet that did the damage,” the second man added, “but if it’s broke, we carina tell.”
They had reached the hall, and Margaret gestured toward Buccleuch’s armchair. “Fetch pillows,” she said to a lackey who peered in through a doorway at the far end of the hall.
“And ale, lad,” Buccleuch called as the lackey turned to do her bidding.
“Bring him water,” Margaret commanded. “I’ll not have you fuddling your brain more than you already have, sir,” she added with a winsome smile.
He frowned, but when he met her gaze at last, his expression softened. “You’ll enjoy this more than I will, lass,” he said, grimacing. “Did the lads I sent ahead tell you that that damnable snake Scrope’s agreed at last to meet at Dayholm on the seventeenth?”
“Aye, they did, and before you ask, I’ve sent someone to fetch Quinton.”
He looked sharply at Janet. “Do you mean to say that he’s not here?”
“No, sir,” Janet said. “I…I came alone.”
“What the devil for? Not that you are not welcome,” he added hastily with a guilty look at his wife. “Still, the Borders are grumbling more than usual. It is not safe for anyone traveling alone, particularly a bonny wee lass like yourself.”
“I had Ferdie with me,” Janet said. When he frowned, she added quickly, “It was perhaps not wise to bring only a lackey, sir, but it was such a fine day that I could not resist riding along the river. We just rode on, and…” Spreading her hands, she left the rest of the sentence unspoken, leaving him to draw his own conclusion. Although she had planned to be frank with Margaret and beg for her support, she felt unable to tell Buccleuch that she had left Broadhaugh.
He seemed to accept the implication that she had simply ridden farther than she had intended, for he said, “It is just as well then that Mag’s sent for Quin. He’ll not be pleased to find you here, though, lass. Don’t think he will.”
“I know he will not,” Janet said truthfully.
Margaret’s attempt to remove Buccleuch’s boot snapped his attention back to his injuries and showed that he had understated the pain they caused him. His wife soon provided compresses for both the swollen leg and the knot on his head, and managed to persuade him to sip barley water in place of the ale he would have preferred. He quickly grew impatient, however, with his inability to move freely or to see clearly, and by the time the elderly herbwoman arrived at last, Janet knew that everyone in the hall felt the same relief that she did to see her.
Margaret said warmly, “Thank you for coming so swiftly, Alys. As you see, the laird has injured himself. He complains that he sees two of everything, and his injured leg has swollen considerably despite my compresses.”
“Aye, well, it would,” the old woman said, peering at the offending limb for a long moment, then setting the compress aside to examine the injury through his knitted netherstocks with swift, practiced movements. At last, she looked at Margaret and said in a tone of deep disapproval, “Summat fell on it.”
Buccleuch said, “They tell me my horse stepped on it after I took a toss and landed on my head.”
Janet thought his tone seemed surprisingly respectful. Hugh had no use for herbwomen or apothecaries and tended to dismiss any advice either might give him. Clearly Buccleuch was not so intolerant.
“Likely it’s cracked then, and ye’ll do well to keep to your bed and keep it rested,” the old woman told him. “D’ye walk on it, ye’ll do it more hurt—your pate, as well. I’ve seen them wha’ took such a knock feelin’ well one minute and fall over dead the next. Ye should stay abed till ye can see clearly again.”
“His injuries will result in no lasting harm then,” Margaret said, making a statement of fact rather than asking a question.
The herbwoman smiled, revealing wide gaps between her yellowed teeth. “Not an he keeps his head still and looks after himself,” she said.
“Then he will do as he is bid,” Margaret said, giving her spouse the same look that she might have given a recalcitrant child.
Buccleuch grinned at her.
Sternly, she said, “I ne
ed you whole and healthy, sir. Will you allow these lads to take you quietly up to your bed now, or shall I leave you here alone to look after yourself?”
“Aye, and she’d do it, too,” Buccleuch said. “I’ll let them take me upstairs but only to your cozy parlor, sweetling. Someone can set up a bed there if you insist on me being in one, but unlike the days when a gentleman attended to his daily business in his bedchamber, mine is a far less comfortable place to receive visitors than your parlor is, and I’ve much to do.”
Margaret pressed her lips together in such a way that Janet knew she would have liked to say more, but instead she just signed to the men to take Buccleuch upstairs. That she worried about him was clear, but he looked healthy enough to Janet. A blow to the head could be worrisome, she knew, but she did not think he looked softheaded. More than likely he had dented whatever stone he had hit.
She had more to worry about, in any case, and long before anyone could reasonably have expected Sir Quinton to arrive, she found herself looking out onto the bailey to see if he had. She had retired to a small sitting room so that her hostess could tend Buccleuch with privacy in her parlor, and the sitting room window overlooked the bailey. As she watched, Janet told herself more than once that she was not afraid of her husband.
Unfortunately for her peace of mind, she could not recall exactly what she had expected to accomplish by leaving Broadhaugh. Somehow, in her earlier thinking, she had decided that her husband would learn a lesson, that he had only to realize that she had left him to understand that he had overstepped the mark of what she would accept in his behavior toward her. She had expected him to see that, in following the raiders, she had wanted only to help. He should recognize that she had been brave to follow them, and could have proved useful in an emergency. The more she tried to persuade herself, however, the guiltier she felt. As a result, she was in no case to deal with her hostess, let alone with Sir Quinton.
Margaret soon joined her in the sitting room, saying with a sigh, “I finally persuaded him to try sleeping. His vision has not improved, however, and he expected it to do so at once. I do not know how long I can bring him to coddle himself. Truly, Quinton cannot get here too soon.”
Janet grimaced.
Margaret said gently, “What is it, my dear? It occurred to me whilst I was sitting with Buccleuch, and praying for him to recover quickly, that I never thought to ask why you came here alone as you did. You are not a fool, although Buccleuch would have it that you behaved foolishly, and doubtless Quin will say the same.”
“I ran away from home,” Janet said baldly.
For the first time since Buccleuch’s arrival, the worry vanished from Margaret’s expression, and she chuckled. “Let me get my needlework and something for you to do, and you can tell me all about it.”
By the time Janet had finished relating her tale, Margaret was no longer smiling. “You were not wise to leave as you did,” she said.
“No, I can see that quite clearly now. You know Sir Quinton better than I do, madam. What will he do?”
“Godamercy, you might just well ask me if it will rain on Tuesday next, or snow tomorrow. His temper is more predictable than Buccleuch’s, to be sure, but that is true of every man in Scotland save the king. Quin will be angry. I cannot doubt it, but I do not think he will do anything horrid whilst you are here with us.”
“Then perhaps I should stay until Christmas,” Janet said with a sigh.
“Do not anticipate trouble,” Margaret recommended. “It is difficult enough to deal with it when it finds you without facing the possibility of its doing so a hundred times beforehand. You set a very fine stitch,” she added. “Did I chance to show you Queen Mary’s embroidery when last you were here?”
“No,” Janet said, recognizing and accepting the diversion.
“Then this would be an excellent time to do so. Come along, and leave your worries here for a wee bit. Likely, they’ll wear themselves out.”
It was nearly suppertime before Sir Quinton arrived at Branxholme, and if he was in a fury, Janet could not discern it. He gave her one cool, appraising look that turned her innards to jelly, but then he demanded to know what was amiss with Buccleuch, and Margaret took him upstairs.
She returned minutes later to tell Janet that Buccleuch had wakened and was insisting that they take their supper with him. “He says he is starving and will not eat pap, which is what Alys said he should eat, of course. I cannot prevent him from doing as he pleases in that respect, however, nor do I mean to try.”
“In my experience,” Janet said quietly, “men eat what and when they want to eat. I have rarely seen that it does them harm. Indeed, it would be worse for him to feel weak, I think.”
“Well, I do not know whose advice is best in such a case, but I will take yours because it will keep my husband from flinging boots or whatever else he can lay a hand to. I’ll tell them in the kitchen to serve us upstairs, and then you and I can go right up. You and Quin will stay the night, of course—longer if you like.”
Janet swallowed. Branxholme was large enough for Margaret to offer her a private bedchamber, but since she had not done so already, she most likely would not. The thought of spending the coming night alone with Quinton set her nerves dancing. Whether they danced from fear or mere anticipation, she could not tell.
He and Buccleuch were talking in low voices when she and Margaret entered the parlor. A bed had been set up against the inside wall near the fireplace at the far end, and Quinton had drawn a chair up near the bed. He stood politely when they entered, and Buccleuch said, “I have just been explaining what must be done.”
“About what, sir?” Margaret asked.
“The wardens’ meeting, of course. Thanks to this devilish leg and my damnable vision, I cannot do it all, and Quin may as well learn what duties I bear. We’ll be sending word out and about at once, of course, so we must tell everyone that any grievances against the other side that have not yet been filed with a warden should go either to Quin at Broadhaugh or come here to me.”
“Must we look into them all beforehand?” Quinton asked.
“Nay, what we think about them does not matter, though we’ll want to know their nature, of course, since such knowledge will aid us in selecting jurors. We’ll simply forward the complaints as a lot to that want-wit Scrope, and he will forward to us any complaints that he receives betwixt now and the day. Our responsibility is to see that all men the English name in their grievances attend the proceedings.”
Raising his eyebrows, Quinton said, “Have you received many from them?”
“Aye, of course.”
“Any against Rabbie Redcloak?”
“Nay, and that troubles me some. There are nearly always several, as you know, and except for the time that chap from Hawick told them Rabbie was English, someone consistently has stepped up to claim that he does not exist. Mayhap they have simply given up trying to identify him.”
“I doubt that,” Quinton said.
Buccleuch’s eyes narrowed. “I heard about last night,” he said.
Janet’s breath stopped in her throat. She dared not look at Quinton.
He said calmly, “What did you hear?”
“That you were out and about again, over Kielbeck way.”
Janet looked at her shoes, waiting for him to continue.
He remained silent.
Quinton said, “Anything else?”
“Is that not enough? Christ, Quin, you’re a married man now, and my deputy. You should know better than to go flitting around the countryside with naught but a score of men to look after you.”
“I was under the impression that I was looking after them and rightfully defending what is mine,” Quinton said.
“Aye, perhaps you were at that. How did you fare?”
“Forty head of kine, about half that in horses. Half went to Ally the Bastard.”
“He’d rather have his wife back, I expect.”
“Aye.”
Janet darted a
glance at Quinton and saw that he was looking at her. She looked hastily away again.
Buccleuch said, “If you are going to serve as my deputy, you’ll have to put the raiding behind you. I thought I had made that clear before, but I do understand your reaction to the raid on Cotrigg. I’d have done the same, albeit with more than twenty men.”
“Aye, I know that,” Quinton said. “Last time you led a raid, as I recall the matter, you led two thousand.”
“I do not dabble; I control,” Buccleuch said grimly. “I want your word on this now, Quin. It would have been bad enough to have to ransom you when that blasted Hugh Graham got his hands on you. But now…Christ, I do not want to find my deputy’s name on the grievance list.”
“I’ll willingly pledge my word to take care,” Quinton said evenly. “I cannot promise, however, to do naught that might require your ransoming me. That would mean letting the thieving English burn my people out, and I won’t do that.”
Janet looked at Buccleuch and saw his face redden ominously.
The ensuing silence held menace, but the danger evaporated when he shrugged and said, “I’d say the same, I expect. Just watch well then, and know that you’ll be inviting disaster if you don’t take care.”
“Aye,” Quinton said, then added in a different tone, “Do we wait till the day to decide everything? It seems to me that on previous occasions, you managed to settle some of the disputes beforehand.”
“Aye, that’s true. They will make some offers, and we will make some. But in any case not settled beforehand, we are bound to summon the accused to the day of truce, and also to deliver any persons previously convicted to answer for their crimes. I’ve got a list, and you will see to all that. Indeed, I’m thinking that you may have to attend the meeting in my stead. I’ll be damned if I’ll let that dunderclunk Scrope see me hobbling about.”
“I’ve attended Truce Days before, of course,” Quinton said, “but I cannot say that I’ve ever paid heed to the procedures. “You’ll have to tell me how to go on.”
“You’ll not be alone,” Buccleuch said, grinning at him. “Gaudilands and Todrigg and others of their ilk will be along to keep you from putting a foot wrong. Still, I’ll tell you a bit now, and more as the time draws near. We’ve still ten days to plan, after all, and mayhap I’ll be recovered by then. You’ll attend, in any event.”
