Border Fire (25 page)

“I hate being left out of important matters,” she informed the cat, which now, except for the occasional flick of an ear, studiously ignored her striding agitation. “All my life men have told me that what they do is none of my affair, that it does not concern me,” Janet went on, “and that is just plain foolishness. Men
are
fools. One has only to see how they manage events like this one to see that. They think with their swords and their cocks and naught else.” Biting her lip, she looked sharply about to see if anyone else could have overheard her. Except for Jemmy Whiskers and herself, the room was empty. Feeling guilty nonetheless, she muttered, “I should not have said that about cocks, Jemmy.”

The cat blinked, then shut its eyes and did not open them again.

Janet sighed and walked to the window near the chimney. It was drafty there, and the fire’s warmth did not reach her. Lifting her skirts, she climbed onto the bench and looked out, recalling only after she had pushed the shutter wide that Sir Quinton had warned her to stay away from the windows.

The prospect might have delighted her on another, less tension-filled occasion, for moonlight gleamed on the Teviot as it wound its way past the foot of the crag, turning the river into a glittering dark ribbon. Pale, silvery light cast shadows where trees dotted the landscape beyond it and revealed gently rolling undulations. She was looking the wrong way, though, and she felt frustrated. From the ramparts beyond Sir Quinton’s bedchamber, she could look toward Hermitage and England, but even from there, mere looking would avail her naught.

An idea stirred. She gazed thoughtfully at the cat, measuring the idea’s merit in her mind. If Sir Quinton caught her, he would surely be tempted to use her as Hugh had so often used her, and no one would blame him if he did.

“But if I stay here, Jemmy, he will come home to a demented wife. I will be happier doing something—anything. And perhaps, if aught goes amiss, I can help.”

On the thought she jumped down from the settle, snatched up her skirts, and hurried from the room. Growing excitement banished lingering concerns about what her husband might say, and she sped up the stone steps to her bedchamber, only to stop on the threshold when a disconcerting thought struck her. “Why, I have no clothes here suitable for—”

Looking around, she bit off the words before saying anything else aloud. She would do her purpose no good if some well-meaning lackey overheard her muttered scheming. Thinking swiftly, she went down to Sir Quinton’s room instead and stood looking around in growing frustration. He was too big. Nothing he owned would fit well enough to do her any good. She had to find someone to help her.

Tip’s small, wiry image leapt to her mind. He had been kind to her from the start, and thanks to the fresh-baked bread she sent each week to his mam, he now seemed to worship her nearly as much as he worshipped Sir Quinton.

“Perhaps he will help,” she said to the cat when it wandered in, looking for her. “Even if he will not, I do not think he will betray me.”

She could not shout for him, however, so she went in search of him, finding him in the kitchen, flirting with the new cook’s daughter.

“Tip, I want a word with you.”

“Aye, mistress?” He regarded her expectantly.

Janet did not speak.

He got up, grinned saucily at the cook’s daughter, and excused himself.

In the dimly lit stone corridor, he said, “What will I do for ye, mistress?”

Drawing him away from the kitchen doorway, she said, “I need clothes, Tip.”

“Aye, then I’ll fetch Ardith, mistress. I warrant she’s no gone far. Likely, I’ll find her in the great hall wi’ the other lassies, since the master said they was all t’ stay safe within the walls this night.”

“I do not want Ardith, Tip. I want you. Come away from the kitchen, though, lest someone overhear us.”

His expression changed, and he glanced anxiously around as if he expected to see the very stones of the corridor walls begin to grow ears.

When they reached the stairway, Janet said, “I want boy’s clothing, Tip, or some from a small man—shirt, jerkin, breeks, and trunk hose.” She had been measuring him with her eyes, and he was not slow to catch her meaning.

His mobile eyebrows shot upward. “Ye want lad’s clothing?”

“Aye, or that of a small man.”

“What for?” His tone now was decidedly suspicious.

Janet grimaced. “I mean to follow the master, Tip. He is riding into danger, and he owes as much duty now to me as he does to Buccleuch and to his men.”

“But them Kielbeck bastards raided and burned Cotrigg and murdered Ally the Bastard’s wife and cousin and his cousin’s three wee bairns,” Tip protested.

“I know they did, but if our men raid them in return, the enmity will grow and grow until none of us remains alive and no building remains standing. Who will look after the livestock or the bairns then? Oh, don’t you see, Tip, someone has to take the lead. Both King James and Elizabeth of England have demanded peace, and neither is known for patience or for expending compassion on those who defy them. Already Elizabeth has ordered plump patrols set in place of the two-man patrols that used to guard the most common crossing places. What will happen to us all when she sends armies?”

“We’ll beat them down,” the little man said stoutly.

“Aye, perhaps, but what if we cannot? And what will we do when Jamie takes the English throne after she dies? Do you think the fighting will just stop?”

He frowned, but she did not have time to debate the matter further. “I am going after them, Tip. If anything does happen, perhaps I can help, because I know many of the men who fight on the English side. At least, I know their commanders and most of the English landowners in the area. In any event, if I cannot help, at least I will know what became of them and can ride to Buccleuch for help.”

“Aye, that’s true,” he said thoughtfully, “but ye ken, mistress, the master will ha’ left lads behind to prevent ambush on their return. ’Tis ever his way.”

“He is taking only twenty men, Tip.”

The manservant shrugged.

Janet glared at him. “See here, I am going after them whether you help me or not, but I shall be much safer with your help than without it, shall I not?”

“Aye.” He said no more but hurried along the corridor to the service stair, and she followed him up the several nights to his master’s bedchamber.

“Why have we come here?” she demanded when he opened the door. “I cannot wear Sir Quinton’s clothes. They are miles too big for me.”

“Aye, but neither can ye accompany me to my wee chamber, mistress. If anyone should see ye…” He grimaced expressively.

She did not want to let him out of her sight. “I do not want to stand here waiting whilst you go in search of clothing, Tip. I must leave at once. If I do not, I will never catch up with them.”

“Dinna fash yerself,” he said calmly. “I ha’ clothing here that ye can wear.” He disappeared into the tiny closet where he awaited his master when Sir Quinton was out late and would want help undressing on his return. In moments, he returned with garments draped over one arm.

“Do ye ken how t’ put these on?” he asked. “Because if ye dinna ken—”

“I do,” she said, blushing at the thought of Tip trying to help her. “I’ve worn my brother’s breeks, and I’ve helped dress small boys. It cannot be so different.”

“Nay,” he said doubtfully.

“Go away, Tip.”

He fled to the corridor, carefully shutting the door behind him.

As she pulled on the netherstocks, Janet wrinkled her nose. They clearly had been well worn since their last cleaning, and she was fastidious, but she could not think of that now. Noting that Tip had brought everything but boots, she decided that she would be better off wearing the fur-lined ones that she had put on earlier to stroll in the bailey with her husband. Pulling them back on, she stood and tucked into her belt the small, sheathed dagger she always carried.

At last, regarding her reflection as well as she could and using Sir Quinton’s polished metal shaving mirror to view the hind bits, she hid a smile. No one would recognize her. She was all the wrong shape, for one thing. Her boots looked odd, because there was too much space between their tops and the bottom edges of the breeks, and Tip’s netherstocks were baggy on her slender legs. Not that anyone would notice that once she was safely on horseback. Until then, she would just have to take care that she did not attract anyone’s particular notice.

A floppy knitted cap concealed her hair, and over her shoulders she draped a plain black cloak that she found in one of Sir Quinton’s chests. Though the cloak would be short on him, it was long enough on her to conceal nearly everything, and all the clothing she wore was dark. Even Tip’s shirt had been dyed a soft dark brown, which was just as well. Moonlight, however pale, would reflect from a white shirt and quickly betray her presence to any watcher.

She needed her gloves, but then she would be as ready as she could be. Fastening the cloak’s clasp, she left the room and found Tip awaiting her just outside. He had changed his attire and was dressed now in much the same sort of clothing that she wore.

“I must get my gloves,” Janet told him, “but you need not come out to the stable with me,” she said. “I can manage, and the less you have to do with this the better it will be for you.”

“I be goin’ wi’ ye, mistress.”

“No, Tip, you are not.”

“’Tis of nae use to argue,” he said calmly. “I’ll ride wi’ ye or I’ll follow. I’d prefer t’ ride wi’ ye, for I ken the ground. I’ve fetched your gloves, and ye’ll be needin’ this, as well,” he added, handing her the gloves and a riding whip.

Taking them, she grimaced. Knowing the ground was a point that she had not considered as carefully as she should have. Assuming that she had only to follow the track toward Hermitage, she had believed that she would find her way easily by moonlight and that, thanks to Quinton’s instructions when they had ridden to Hermitage together, she would be able to read the signal he would leave for laggards at the gathering place. Still, she wished that she knew the Scottish landscape as well as she knew the landscape near Brackengill.

“I do not like putting you in danger,” she said, tucking the whip under her arm to pull on her gloves.

Tip’s eyes twinkled. “Any danger we might encounter, mistress, would be as nothing to the danger in which I’d find m’self if I let ye ride after them alone. I warrant the master will say that I should ha’ locked ye in your bedchamber or sat on ye to keep ye here.”

“If you dared to try that—”

“Nay, I would not!” Tip chuckled. “I took your measure long since, mistress, and I’m nae such a fool as to get wrong o’ ye. But I’m goin’ wi’ ye nonetheless. Ye’d best make up your mind to that.”

She smiled. “I confess, Tip, that I shall be glad of your company, but I fear that you will pay heavily for helping me.”

Aye, I will. Mayhap ye should give up this daft notion, he said hopefully.

“I cannot. I keep feeling that this must be another trap, that my brother will catch Sir Quinton and this time there will be no one at hand to help him escape. I must prevent that if I can.”

“Aye, sure, and d’ye think the master doesna take such risks into his mind each time he leads a raid? Mayhap ye dinna ken his grand reputation, mistress.”

“Mayhap you forget that I first made his acquaintance in a dungeon cell,” Janet reminded him tartly.

“Aye, well, there is that.”

“We are wasting time,” she said. “If you are coming with me, make haste.” With that, she passed him and hurried down the stairs, delighting in the freedom the breeks gave her to do so. Skirts were a nuisance.

“I’m thinking,” Tip said as he clattered down behind her, “that we’d best slip out through the kitchen. We can whisk round to the stable, and they’ll no pay us much heed.” As they reached the entrance to the kitchen, he added thoughtfully, “Ye might ha’ met wi’ trouble tryin’ to tak’ a horse on your own, ye ken.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Do you really think anyone would dare try to stop me?”

“If ye come over the mistress, and if the master ha’ failed to leave orders forbidding it, ye might win through—if the lads be no so shocked at seeing ye in netherstocks that they fall down dead in their tracks.”

“In that event, they would not stop me,” she pointed out Realizing from his set expression that he meant to continue an argument he found promising, she added evenly, “You win, Tip. You have convinced me that I need your help. Tell them whatever you must in the stable, but hurry!”

“Aye, sure.” He obeyed but not before muttering, apparently to himself, “They’ll be long gone and back afore we catch them up, any road.”

Ignoring him, and using the glow emanating from the banked kitchen fires to see her way, Janet hurried to the door leading out to the bailey. Opening it and peering out, she said, “I doubt that anything bad will happen before the Bairns reach Kielbeck village, Tip, because ambushers are bound to want to catch them with the goods in hand. It is their safe return that concerns me most.”

They fell silent while they crossed the cobblestones.

Inside the dark stable, Janet helped saddle two horses that Tip selected, and they rode out through the postern gate, where the single guard barely glanced at the “lad” with Tip.

“You see,” she said when they reached the rough track leading south along the ridge between the Teviot and Broadhaugh Water. “He scarcely looked at me.”

“Aye,” Tip said, “because ye rode wi’ me, and because doubtless he thinks we ride to join the raid or to meet them on their return.”

Knowing better than to continue the argument, or indeed, to continue speaking while they rode, Janet turned her attention to following him along the rough track. They had not reached the pass into Liddesdale before she realized that she had gravely underestimated her ability to follow a narrow, nearly invisible track in the dark. Often she had no idea what Tip saw that led him to take one way instead of another. When she realized that the misty moon, which had hovered to the left for most of the way, had apparently drifted ahead of them, she called a halt.