Border Fire(29)

Quin had never lain with a virgin before, and although Janet had received his comments with a steady intensity, her blushes had warned him that he might have frightened her. She had not spoken to him in nearly a quarter hour-not since he had said he looked forward to their coupling-and although he hoped the constant din of the feasting accounted for her silence, he did not think it the sole reason.

What sexual experience he had came from brief liaisons with knowledgeable women, and seeing her color up like a spring rose reminded him of her innocence. He saw, too, how she reacted to the ribald remarks shouted at them from the crowd of merrymakers, and mentally rebuked himself. He had, after all, sworn not an hour since to cherish and protect her.

Her continued silence made him uneasy. "Have you lost your tongue, lass?"

"I do not know what to say to you."

He was glad his question had not disconcerted her, for he had not meant to speak so abruptly. His glib tongue apparently had deserted him on the night of the Haggbeck raid and did not mean to return anytime soon. First he had stood before Buccleuch, feeling more like an errant schoolboy facing an irate master than the man who, if the Scott history continued as it had begun, might eventually control all that Buccleuch possessed. Now here he was, teasing his bride of less than an hour and unable to think of anything sensible to say to her.

Although her silvery blonde hair, blue eyes, and clear skin had pleased him from the moment he first laid eyes on them, he had not realized how beautiful she was. The creamy velvet gown complemented her skin, and her long, fine hair looked like silvery moonlight spilling down her back. She had not yet donned the cap of a married lady, and he wanted to reach out and stroke her hair to see if it was as smooth and silky as it looked.

"Are many of your Bairns here today?"

Her tone was matter-of-fact, taking him off guard.

"Bairns? Surely, you do not think I have a litter of them running about."

She smiled, raising her chin. "You need not pretend with me, Sir Quinton. If you will but recall, we discussed-"

Suddenly realizing what she meant, he cut her off, saying, "We'll not discuss such things at present, madam." He had collected his wits, and realizing that she had not thought before speaking, he added sternly, "Jenny, lass, with regard to certain matters, you must learn when to speak and when to keep silent."

"My name is Janet, sir."

Her little chin jutted at him, making him want to catch and stroke it to soothe her. He had not had time to consider all that marrying her could mean, because his impatient cousin had left him no time for thinking. What time he'd had he had spent trying to organize his affairs, arranging for funds to pay the merchet, and getting his bride a dress. She had not even thanked him for it, and God knew he had worked a miracle to procure it for her. Francis Tailor had not wanted to part with it, and no wonder, for it was an exquisite creation and suited her well. Francis himself had doubtless seen that for himself, since he numbered amongst the guests. So did Lady Roxburgh, who had been tactful enough to compliment Janet's appearance.

Just then, Buccleuch, who sat at her right, offered to serve her from a platter of sliced lamb. She turned her attention to him and then to her plate. She was dainty with her food.   





 

Hearing masculine laughter to his left, he turned and saw some of his men watching him with broad, knowing grins on their faces. He had no difficulty interpreting their laughter and decided that if he wanted to spare his bride a surfeit of ribaldry, he would do well to devote the same concentration to his meal that she was devoting to hers.

Janet also heard the laughter, but she ignored it with practiced ease. Had she been oversensitive to the teasing of men in their cups, life in her brother's home would have been a misery. She had long since managed to curb his men's worst behavior, and she had been satisfied with the victories she had won without fretting over ones she had lost. If the men and women sharing her wedding feast wanted to make merry, she had no wish to stop them.

She had quickly realized that she would soon become a target for ribaldry if she sat blushing through the meal. That meant, however, that she had to force her thoughts away from what lay ahead. The whole marriage-bed business was a mystery, anyway. She knew the basics of human coupling, as anyone must who assumed that it bore some resemblance to similar activities in the world of farm animals. But from that point her imagination failed her. She had twice helped at birthings, despite her maiden state, so she knew where the baby came from. She also knew that she owed Sir Quinton some undefined duty, because her brother had spoken often enough of how he longed to see the day when she would have to submit to a husband. But beyond those vague bits of knowledge lay vast unexplored territory that did not bear thinking about in a roomful of watchful people.

Resolutely, she turned her thoughts to Broadhaugh. From Buccleuch's description, she thought the place must be more refined than Brackengill if not as fine as Branxholme. Buccleuch's seat was magnificent compared to any she had seen before. She had not visited often among the gentry, but she had seen the homes of several English notables, and Brackengill in its present state was the finest she had seen before Branxholme-except for Alnwick, of course. She had visited that magnificent residence some years before, when Hugh's guardian had hoped that he could arrange a marriage for her with the powerful Percy family.

Branxholme was beyond anything else in splendor, though. Experts had woven the arras cloths on the walls of its hall. The stone chambers and corridors were immaculate, their furnishings polished, their fireplaces swept daily. The food was so good that she had already requested several of Margaret's recipes.

"How far is Broadhaugh from here?" she asked Sir Quinton.

He smiled, and again she noted the warmth of his smile-and an increasing hunger in his look, which suggested that rather than being a man who had been eating steadily for more than a quarter hour, he had not eaten in a sennight. "Not far," he said, and his voice seemed deeper than ever.

His intense look shot tingling sensations through the core of her body. She felt warmer and wished that someone would open a door to let in cooler air. She swallowed carefully, hoping she looked merely interested in what he would say.

"Are you in such a hurry to get home, madam?"

"I … I just wondered how long it would take us to ride there." She wished that he would look back at his food. The way he was gazing at her made her skin feel hot, as if she had a fever.

"There will be dancing first," he said.

"Aye, Margaret told me. Shall we have to ride home in the dark?"

"So you are in a hurry," he said with satisfaction.

"Nay, I would not be so impolite as to want to hurry from hosts who have been so kind to me, but I would like to see my new home in daylight," she said.

"Then you shall," he agreed. "We will depart as soon as we can do so without offending anyone. We'll have to wait for the runners to return, though."

"I should think that such a race over rough terrain would be dangerous for them after eating and drinking so much."

"Aye, perhaps, but Border lads thrive on danger."

She looked steadily at him then. "Do you thrive on danger, sir?"

"You must know that I do."

"Well, I have thought about that, you know, and I'm afraid that it must stop."

He blinked. "What do you mean, lass?"

"I generally mean exactly what I say, sir. Now that we are married, you must stop raiding my friends and kinsmen. They'd never forgive me if I let you steal their livestock or burn their houses. It simply must stop."

Sir Quinton stared at her, apparently rendered speechless.

Determined to be sure that she had made her point, Janet said evenly, "I would like you to give me your word, sir-your word as a Borderer."   





 

"Now see here, Jenny lass-" He broke off when the tempo of the music abruptly increased, and it grew louder.

Buccleuch stood up, waving a goblet. "A toast to the bridal pair," he shouted.

Roaring, the men leapt to their feet, raising their mugs and goblets high.

Perforce, Sir Quinton rose to reply with his own toast to the company. Next he toasted his bride.

A myriad of other toasts followed until Janet was certain that everyone in the hall must be tipsy. Then the music changed again, and her husband held out a hand to her. "We must lead the dancing, lass. We'll finish our talk anon."

His voice was stern and his demeanor no longer that of the merry reiver of legend. Suddenly she was not so certain that she wanted to cross swords with him.





Chapter 11


"High on a hill his castle stood,

With halls and tow'rs a height … "

OUTLINED AGAINST THE SETTING sun, Broadhaugh Tower's crenellated battlements rose out of thick forestland near the village of Teviotdale, darkly crowning a craggy knoll atop a long, sloping ridge. Despite natural defenses provided by its setting, Janet thought the castle did not look particularly formidable.

She was riding for once like a proper lady on a sidesaddle borrowed from Margaret. Lined with sheepskin and possessing a high cantle, it was comfortable enough but not as stable as the Italian saddle Hugh had given her for her eighteenth birthday in the forlorn hope that she would put away her cross-saddle for good. She still wore her wedding dress beneath the warm cloak that she had worn from Brackengill. Both the cloak and her train draped over the pony's haunches. Sir Quinton, riding beside her, also wore his wedding clothes beneath his thick cloak.