"Nonsense. Scrope wants to be rid of that devil Redcloak as much as I do, and so do many others hereabouts-Sir Edward Nixon, for one."
"Aye, but what of Medford? He will demand your head, Hugh, or at least that you pay a fine for evading proper procedures. Hanging a man without trial may even be murder in his eyes-aye, and in God's eyes, too!"
"Don't be daft," he snapped, signing to a passing lad to fetch him more ale.
Janet bit her lower lip to keep from snapping back at him. Waiting until the servant had gone away again, she said with forced calm, "Hugh, I beg of you, consider carefully what you do. You are a man of your word, are you not?"
"Aye, when it suits my purpose. What of it?"
"You prevaricate, sir. I know you well, and I know that when you give a man your solemn word, you keep it. It is a badge of honor with you."
"I will not debate my decision with you, Janet. It is not seemly for a man to debate such matters with a woman."
"Are not laws made because men agree to their making, and then swear an oath' to uphold them?"
"No one on our side of the line intended for the law to protect scoundrels like Redcloak, who steal from us."
"Pray, do not attempt to clothe your anger in pious respectability, sir. We have just agreed that I know you well. It is not the thieving that angers you, for you have led thieving raids into Scotland yourself, and so has nearly every other man of property on this side of the line. Our lot is no more law-abiding than the Scots."
"We only seek redress for wrongs done to us," he growled.
"Now you sound like a sanctimonious prig," she retorted impatiently. "You know as well as I do that men on both sides say that very same thing whenever they raid. The excuse is as ancient as the behavior."
"They steal our horses, and we take them back; that's all."
"That is not all. Men, women, and children are killed in raids on both sides. Raiding destroys lives and property, Hugh." Aware that her voice had risen, she looked guiltily around the hall to see that three of Hugh's men and the two lads dismantling the trestle tables were still there.
Following her glance, Sir Hugh said grimly, "Hold your tongue. Thank God it is men who decide these matters, not women."
"Women would have better sense," she retorted. "We would not expect others to obey laws that we ourselves flout. How can you break a law that you have sworn an oath to uphold, Hugh?"
"I have sworn to serve my queen and the warden of the west march," Hugh said. "That God-forsaken reiver in my dungeon is one of the most scurrilous thieves in the Borders, and he deserves to hang."
"Then let them declare his sentence at the next Truce Day."
"A Scottish jury would hear our complaint against him, not an English one," he reminded her. "Even though we would select its members, do you think that such a jury would ever order Rabbie Redcloak hanged? He is a legend to them, lass, a man they greatly admire. They would probably reward him."
"But-"
"We have sent bills against him before," Hugh went on impatiently, "and he and his supporters have ignored them. More times than not the Scots insist that he does not exist. Well, I have proved that he does, but if any Scotsman demands to know how we dared to hang him, I shall simply refer to their own insistence that there is no such person, and that will be that."
"Hugh, you can achieve the same end by holding him until the wardens' meeting in the legal manner, and presenting him for trial. No one can deny his existence after you present him to them in person."
"That's enough, Janet. I don't want to hear another word out of you on the subject. Do you understand me?" His voice had risen again.
Before she could answer, a man spoke from the threshold. "Beggin' your pardon, Sir Hugh, but will ye be wanting a full company to ride to Bewcastle?"
"Aye, I will," Hugh said, scraping back his chair and getting to his feet, clearly having decided that his discussion with his sister was over.
Drawing breath to steady herself, Janet said boldly, "If you insist on going forward with this mad plan, Hugh, I shall have no recourse other than to let Thomas Scrope know what you mean to do."
He glowered at her. "Damnation, lass, who do you think will take such a message if I forbid it?"
"I don't know," she replied honestly. "If I must go myself, though, I will."
"By God, you will not defy me further in this!" he bellowed.
Her own anger quickly igniting, she stood to face him, wishing she were taller so that she could look him eye to eye. Grimly, she said, "I do not count it defiance, Hugh. Scrope must support me in this. He will not want it known throughout the Borders that he allows his deputies to defy the law when it suits them to do so, or that they will hang men without trial."
He leaned closer, his fury plain. "You will go nowhere but to your bedchamber, my lass, and you will stay there until I give you leave to come out again. Do you hear me?"
"Hugh, you are mad! If you hang him, you will be fortunate to survive him by a sennight, for when his people learn of it, they will demand your life in return for his. What will you do if King James of Scotland demands your arrest?"
"I'll tell Jamie what I tell you," he snarled. "I caught the man red-handed and it is my right to hang him!"
"But Hugh-"
"No more!" he roared. "Go to your room!"
Taking an involuntary step backward, she said nonetheless firmly, "I will find a way to stop you, Hugh. I may be sorry for it, but-"
Her words ended in a cry when he slapped her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She managed to remain upright only by the merest good fortune. Pressing a cool hand against her flaming cheek, she straightened. Aware of their audience, augmented now with faces peeping through doorways, she looked him in the eye and said, "Do you seek to silence me with violence, sir? I think our people will not support you in this instance. Indeed, I believe that once it becomes widely known that you mean to hang your Scottish reiver on Wednesday-"
"I no longer mean to hang him on Wednesday," he said evenly.
His grim demeanor made her breath catch in her throat, but she managed to reply just as evenly, "I hope that means that I have made you see reason, sir."
"Rabbie Redcloak will hang at sunrise tomorrow," he declared. Looking at the man near the doorway, he said, "Do you hear me, Ned? I want a gallows built for that scoundrel, and I want it built before I return from Bewcastle. See to it!"
"Hugh, please."
Menacingly, he put his face close to hers again and growled, "If you do not go to your room, you will feel my hand on your backside next, lass."
Unable to believe that she had failed so miserably, Janet hesitated, but when he straightened and reached for her, her courage vanished and she fled.
Chapter 4
"Herself would watch you all the day
Her maids watch all the night … ."
FIGHTING TEARS OF HELPLESS fury, Janet went straight to her bedchamber, only to meet the kitchen maid, Sheila, on the landing outside her door. Pulling herself together as she had done many times in the past under similar circumstances, Janet said quietly, "What is it?"
"Beg pardon, Mistress Janet, but Matty would know where ye will eat your supper when it's time, bein' Sir Hugh has said he means to sup at Bewcastle."
"Godamercy, I've only just eaten my dinner." Realizing that the maid was attempting to assure her that, despite Hugh's orders, they would somehow provide her with her supper, she smiled ruefully and said, "Someone can bring some warm bread and milk to me here, Sheila. I doubt that I shall want anything more."
The girl nodded, her eyes still fixed on Janet's face. Her sympathetic expression made it clear that she wanted to say more.
Janet returned the look directly, and the maid's gaze dropped.
"I'll tell Matty," she said, bobbing a curtsy.
Janet knew that Sheila was concerned about her and had wanted to say as much but that the maid knew it was not her place to do so. Although grateful for the kindness, Janet was even more grateful that Sheila had held her tongue, because overt sympathy would only have made her feel worse than she already did. She was glad, too, that the exchange had helped her recover her composure. Her stomach still felt as if it contained a pair of wrestling shrews, and her eyes still burned from tears she had neither shed nor quite managed to suppress, but she was quickly regaining her customary composure.
Entering her bedchamber and shutting the door, she looked at the cold, well-swept hearth and debated whether to light a fire, knowing that she would soon have to send someone to fetch more wood if she did. Generally, a servant would not light a fire in this room until after supper, giving it just enough time to lose its chill before Janet prepared to retire. The stone chamber was chilly-nay, ice cold-now, but she had no wish to see anyone else until she could be certain that she had herself under control again.
Hugh could stir her emotions like no one else. He enjoyed wielding power over her. Indeed, he probably enjoyed it the more knowing that she resented his male authority to order her about. She knew that if her parents had lived, her attitude might be different, and that she might even accept her lot the way other women did. She could not know one way or another, however, for her parents had not survived her early childhood. She barely remembered them. What she remembered most was their voices-one soft, the other booming loud like Hugh's.