"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."
"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."