"'Tis a good thing that the horse races at Langholm are still more than a month away," he added, "or 'tis likely I'd have to miss them, too."
Proud as she was to know the important role her husband would play at Dayholm, Janet greeted the news with mixed emotions. She saw little of Quinton after they returned to Broadhaugh, for his duties took him away from home nearly every day, and often he was gone overnight.
As soon as they returned, she tried to discover what Tip's fate had been, but although the little man answered her summons, he refused to answer her questions.
"I'm no to speak of it," he said flatly. "The master did say he would make me gey sorry did I tell ye what transpired betwixt us, and I ken fine that he would. Pray, mistress, dinna command me to speak of it."
Since Tip displayed no visible signs of rough treatment, Janet was willing to drop the matter, recognizing her husband's devious intent immediately.
She told herself that he had not flogged the little man, that he had merely scolded him the same way that he had scolded her. Even so, she could not help wondering about it and knew that Sir Quinton had taught her a lesson.
For the moment, things remained good between them, but she believed that was due as much to his frequent absences as to anything else, and she was not so foolish as to believe they would remain so indefinitely. In any event, she resolved never to involve others in any future escapade.
Chapter 18
"O were there war between the lands,
As well I wot that there is none … "
TRUCE DAY ARRIVED AT last, and Sir Quinton and his lady rode at the head of a respectable entourage to Dayholm, where narrow Kershopefoot Burn divided the two countries. They had dressed with particular care-Sir Quinton because he wanted to look as grand as Buccleuch would look on such an occasion, and Janet because her pride was at stake. She expected to see old friends and did not want them to think that she had made a dreadful mistake in marrying across the line.
"You look grand, sweetheart," Quinton said with a smile, raising his voice to be heard over the jingle and thud of harness and hooves, punctuated by bursts of conversation and laughter. "You'll have every man slavering with lust and every woman spitting in envy."
"I don't look for such vulgar reactions," she said, lifting her chin but struggling not to smile back. "I just want to do my part to lend you consequence, sir. Scrope will be less likely to make outrageous demands if you surround yourself with the trappings of Buccleuch's power, and that includes a richly garbed wife."
"And a dutiful one," he replied dryly. "Doubtless I shall test that trait before the day is done, lass. Just see if I do not."
"You may try," she said, but she laughed at the threat. The day was filled with sunshine, her pony wore trappings rich enough for King Jamie, and she knew that she looked her best. Ardith had arranged her hair more elaborately than usual, and if the pins tended to pull, the small discomfort did nothing to spoil the day.
The men and women behind them laughed and chatted gaily. The entourage was not excessively large, but it included many members of the Scottish Border nobility, their men-at-arms, and a few of their wives.
Even the more somber aspects of the day would not detract much from the merriment and feasting, Janet thought. Certainty that both sides would honor the truce would give everyone a sense of unfettered release. The feeling was welcome, for it was one that rarely visited the Borders. Janet heard men singing as they rode, and someone was playing the pipes. The lively music made her smile again.
Riding south by way of Hermitage Water till it met the Liddel, they crossed the river at Whithaugh and continued toward Kershope, keeping to higher ground once they could see the merrily tumbling little burn and follow its course. They rode in a more westerly direction now, toward the meeting site at Dayholm on the flat bit of ground where the Liddel met Kershopefoot Burn.
Janet glanced at Quinton, remembering that it was not far away, across that burn, that Hugh's men had trapped him. Thinking of Hugh reminded her that her brother might attend the meeting, but she did not think he would recognize Rabbie Redcloak in the richly garbed, clean-shaven gentleman who rode at her side.
If Scrope followed the pattern that Buccleuch had described, he would lead a cavalcade from Carlisle comprising Cumberland and Northumberland gentry and nobility, which certainly included Sir Hugh Graham. However, someone would have to act as Scrope's deputy while he was away. As Buccleuch had suggested, that someone was likely to be Hugh, but Scrope did have other deputies.
It was as much to bolster her courage as for any other reason that she had taken such care with her dress. She would need courage if she did have to face Hugh. Having not seen or directly heard from him since the night Quinton had taken her away from Brackengill, she had no idea how he would behave. She had missed him, but her emotions were mixed. Perhaps he would not come.
Deciding that he would not, she dismissed all but a lingering tickle of worry and settled to enjoy herself, looking forward to seeing the first recognizable Graham face. If her kinsmen were not delighted by her marriage, at least no one would be in any hurry today to express his or her displeasure to her face. She had missed her family and friends and looked forward to seeing them again.
Half an hour later they topped a rise and looked down on the flat plain near the hamlet of Dayholm, which snuggled into the V-shaped area where Liddel Water met the little burn. Sir Quinton raised his hand to call a halt.
"Why have we stopped?" Janet asked.
"We'll wait here for Scrope and his men to show themselves," he said.
"Should they not already be within sight?"
He smiled. "Buccleuch warned me how it would be. Scrope will want to know that we are here so that it will not look as if he let us keep him waiting. It is all part of the little dance we do," he added. "Doubtless someone is watching from that hilltop across the way, and Scrope is below the crest awaiting his signal."
The singing and laughter had stopped, and now the chatter died away to muttered comments. It was, Janet thought, as if a cloud had slipped across the sun.
Five minutes later, across the way, a flutter of colorful banners preceded the appearance of a wide array of horsemen lining the crest of the hill.
"We'll wait a bit longer," Quinton said. "See how many they are."
Hearing an unfamiliar note in his voice, Janet glanced at him again, but there was nothing to read in his stony expression.
As trumpets sounded on both sides, Quin tried to remember everything that Buccleuch had told him during the past ten days. All he could recall just then, however, was his cousin's admission-astonishing at the time-that he always felt nervous in the moments just before a wardens' meeting. That had been, Quin realized now, a vast understatement of the reality. The awesome appearance of the armed horsemen across the valley, heralded by the martial notes of the trumpets, stirred tingling up and down his spine and tightened every muscle, making him wish that his followers numbered a thousand more.
The distance between the two forces being less than a quarter mile, he recognized a host of familiar banners, even a few familiar faces. Many of those lined up on the other side were enemies who in times past, when not in the actual heat of battle, had proved more friendly than hostile. He had probably drunk ale or wine with half of them in the taverns of Carlisle and Kelso.
Instinctively he estimated the number of lance points, considered the bearing of the riders, the weight and deadliness of their arms.
"I'd guess they be five hundred or so," Hob the Mouse muttered beside him.
Quin glanced at him. "Buccleuch said we could expect that many. Scrope likes to make a grand display, and we have nearly as many ourselves, after all."
"Aye, counting our lasses, but them yonder ha' none," Hob pointed out.
"'Tis likely their women wait behind the hill," Quin said. "Only a few of the men carry themselves as if they were here for anything but common ritual, and I'll warrant they do that out of habit." He glanced again at the big man beside him.
Hob was still scanning the opposition force, but within moments he visibly relaxed. "It is so," he said. Looking over his shoulder as if to take stock of the men behind them, he added, "Our lot looks much the same, and none here seeks war. Still and all, master, Truce Days ha' been known to end in blood."
"Aye," Quin agreed. Both sides had been guilty of transgressions. Only ten years before at Cocklaw, Scots had murdered the English Lord Russell. On that occasion, Buccleuch had said, the English had made the mistake of taking assurance before they had seen the Scottish force, which they later claimed was unusually strong and drawn up in battle array. Quin would not make that mistake.
"Hob, tell the women and other unarmed folk to stay back till we have met for the embrace and taken our seats at the wardens' table," he said, still scanning for known troublemakers in the group across the way.
"Aye," the big man said, wheeling his mount to carry out the order.
"That is not Scrope's banner," Jenny exclaimed suddenly, drawing his attention. Leaning forward on her saddle, she muttered, "Godamercy, it's-"
"There are many banners, lass," he interjected, trying to follow the direction of her gaze.