When noon arrived without any sign of him or his party, she ordered dinner put back an hour, declaring that they would dine then whether Sir Hugh and his men had arrived or not. While she waited, she attacked her mending, but although she tried to think of things other than the hapless prisoner, she still could not. Surely, she thought, the entire English Border west of the Cheviots must have heard by now that Hugh had captured Rabbie Redcloak and meant to hang him without trial.
Even Thomas Lord Scrope must have learned of Hugh's intent. Scrope lived miles away in Carlisle, where he served as keeper of its great castle when he was not in London serving as Cumberland's Member of Parliament. He might be away now, she knew, although Hugh had received messages from him not long since, complaining that the Scots-meaning Buccleuch of Hermitage, of course-had refused to agree to his latest suggested site or date for the next wardens' meeting.
The thought of Truce Day was not helpful, for her imagination presented her at once with a mental list of Border lords on both sides of the line who would learn what Hugh had done. When she considered their likely reactions, her anger with her brother increased.
She did not waste time worrying about what the Scots would say, although it galled her to know they would be right to protest. Nor did she worry much about English lords who lived near Brackengill. Most of them, particularly Sir Edward Nixon of Bewcastle, had suffered serious losses to Scottish reivers, and several were friendly to the English Grahams-presently, at all events. Therefore, chances were good that they would support Hugh's actions, perhaps even to the point of hanging the reiver. After all, it would not be as if they had done it themselves.
Lord Medford of Bellingham was a high stickler, however. He and his forebears had done much to create the leges marchiarum, or "march laws," that ruled the Borders, so he would not look kindly upon any man who broke them.
Unfortunately for Hugh, most lords of the English middle march-and Hargrave, Loder, and Sawkeld from the west march-allied themselves more closely with Medford than with Scrope or Hugh himself, or with any other Graham. Those men, she knew, would strenuously oppose his actions. Indeed, Hargrave was a Bell, and the English Bells were feuding with the Grahams, who had been feuding with the Scottish Bells for nearly a decade. It was all very complicated, as Hugh should know, and those who might stand with him one moment could turn against him the next. She had to make him see reason.
He and his men returned at last a few minutes before one, and by then she was fairly spoiling for a fight. Although servants had long since set up the trestle tables, and everyone in the castle had already waited an hour past the usual time, she felt only mild annoyance when he ordered them to put dinner back another half hour. She knew that he wanted time to change into attire more comfortable than the metal-plated leather jack, steel helmet, and other protective accouterments that he wore whenever he rode outside the castle walls.
Nevertheless, when he entered the hall at last, she was pacing the floor, stirring the fresh rushes and filling the air with the scent of rosemary and herbs.
Without speaking, he strode to the fireplace near the high table and stretched out his hands to warm them. The noise of others entering the hall after him forced her to walk nearer to make herself heard.
"Good afternoon," she said, keeping her voice calm, knowing that she would get farther with kind words than with sharp ones. "Did your business prosper?"
"Aye," he said without looking at her. "Shot a brace of grouse, too. I had a lad give them to Sheila to hang. We can have them for dinner one day soon."
"It is early yet for grouse," she said.
"Aye."
"Hugh, I-"
"My men and I are hungry, Janet, and they are ready to serve the food." He offered his arm. "Come, let us not keep everyone waiting."
Glancing toward the lower tables to see that his men had gathered around them and were waiting to sit, she put a hand on his forearm and went with him to the high table. As soon as they sat down, servants with baskets scurried from man to man handing out stale bread for trenchers, and the others took their seats. Hugh said a brief grace, and a servant set a huge platter of sliced ham before him.
Although she sat beside him, the near silence of men and women eating their dinner made it difficult to mention his captive with any degree of casualness. There was still much for everyone to do before day's end, and everyone ate hastily, not in the more leisurely way that they would later eat their supper.
The latter meal, though smaller, was the social time of day at Brackengill, just as it was in most Border households. Laughter and conversation would reign then, and someone would play music. Now the feeling was companionable rather than cheerful. The fires roared, and odors of burning wood, roasted meat, and warm ale mixed with the sweet herbal scents from the new-laid rushes.
Although Sir Hugh owned considerable land and collected a respectable income for a Border lord, his household did not operate on a grand scale. What money he was able to lay his hands on went into improving Brackengill, and over the years since he had attained his majority, he had done much. He had replaced the wooden stockade walls with stone, and had expanded the family living quarters, encouraging his sister to make them as comfortable as she could.
They lived well compared to many, but even when he entertained company for dinner, there was no butler to prepare knives for the carver or to slice the bread before it came to the table. Generally, everyone used trenchers rather than plates-except, of course, when important visitors dined with them. In such an event, no lord who owned plates of any sort would use bread for trenchers unless unusual circumstances such as the arrival of a sudden and unexpectedly large number of guests required him to do so.
Fresh bread came to Sir Hugh's table in small, individual loaves that diners could break at will. Janet swiftly scanned the basket that the servant set before him, looking for any loaves that were too brown or that still had oven grit on them. She did not want him to find reason today to complain about the food.
At the trestle tables, the bread frequently was several days older and each person scraped his own. When leftover loaves grew too hard to break easily, the kitchen maids would cut them in half for use as trenchers.
When Hugh reached for the salt, Janet held her breath. Until the days grew warmer, there was always risk that it would cake. It was Sheila's job to make certain that the top of the container did not touch its contents and discolor them, and that the salt remained fine, white, and dry. Still, one could never be certain.
Apparently finding the salt satisfactory, Sir Hugh called for ale from his personal supply, and a pewter goblet was quickly filled for him. Watching him rip a roasted chicken to pieces while she toyed with her own food, Janet noted with satisfaction that, despite the wait, the skin was crisp the way he liked it.
Although it was frequently the habit in large households for dogs to wander through the hall at-will, begging and fighting each other for scraps and other choice bits that the men threw to them, no dogs attended meals at Brackengill. Once Janet had learned how much easier it was to keep the hall floor presentable without them, she had banished them from mealtimes.
The minutes marched by, but finding no easy way to bring up the subject of the captive while they ate, she waited, responding when Hugh spoke to her but content to let him speak with Ned Rowan and another of his sergeants who sat with them. Not until the servants began to clear away the food and everyone else began to return to their duties did she say, "I would speak privately with you, brother."
"Now?" he demanded, frowning at her. "I have much to do, lass."
The frown did not auger well for their discussion, but Janet pressed on, keeping her tone even as she said, "I want to discuss your prisoner again, sir."
"There is no point in that," he snapped, adding more moderately. "You tend the household well, lass. I noticed the fresh rushes, and I know that it is no mean achievement to keep a household fresh at this time of year. I know, too, that I have you to thank for having my dinner when I want it, for looking after the linens and such, and keeping the servants contented, even cheerful. However," he added sternly, "do not think that your expertise in household matters qualifies you to meddle in those that are of no concern to you."
"Your honor is my concern," she insisted, fighting to keep from raising her voice. "What touches your honor touches mine."
"My honor! What the devil do you think you are talking about?" He made no attempt now to keep his voice down.
Suppressing a wince, she managed to keep from looking around the room to see if others were watching them. Though many of the men had gone, she knew that those who lingered, and the servants, could hear everything he said to her.
"Please, Hugh, do not shout."
"I have been in the saddle all morning, Janet, and since I am to take supper with Nixon tonight at Bewcastle, I'll spend much of this afternoon in the saddle, as well. I've neither time nor patience to deal with your woman's whining now."
"Then when, sir? If you hang the man without a trial, you will anger all our friends and allies who believe in the laws of the Borders. You could even lose your position as deputy warden."