Border Fire(44)

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 master 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.

"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?"