Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (4 page)

“I do not fear Douglas,” Murray snapped.

“No more should you, sir, for I warrant he hopes, despite your customary neutrality in such matters, to persuade you to support his forthcoming efforts against the English. But if he has already learned of
this
incident . . .”

Seeing her father stiffen, Meg knew Lady Murray’s unfinished suggestion had struck home. They did not want to make an enemy of the Earl of Douglas. It would be far safer for them if he retained at least a hope of persuading Sir Iagan to support the Scottish cause. The earl was going to need all the men he could muster.

In England, she knew that whenever the King needed an army, he just forced his nobles to order out their vassals and equip them with arms. But the King of Scots was merely the chief of chiefs. If he wanted an army, he had to persuade the Scottish nobility that his cause was good. Therefore, even the Earl of Douglas, as powerful as he was, often had to do some persuading.

The earl’s vast power lay in the fierce loyalty of the enormous Douglas clan and that of other noble supporters such as the Laird of Buccleuch, who would do whatever he asked of them. But to raise the entire Scottish Borderers to aid him in discouraging yet another English invasion, he would have to persuade others like Sir Iagan, who did not leap to obey whenever the Douglas lifted a finger.

It was one thing to remain neutral. In that event, the Douglas would be displeased, but he would do them no harm. However, if aught occurred to make him believe that Sir Iagan might actively aid the English, Douglas would likely take swift, punitive action.

Indeed, in view of Lady Murray’s kinship with the powerful English Percy family, which included Douglas’s chief rival, Sir Harry “Hotspur” Percy, Douglas would have to be a fool to trust Sir Iagan much under any circumstance. And no one had ever called Douglas a fool.

Sir Iagan, evidently lost in thought himself, had not yet replied to his wife when that wily dame went on to say, “You will doubtless agree, sir, that Meg would be quite safe in riding to Rankilburn with Sir Walter and an escort of six men-at-arms all known to be loyal to Douglas and Buccleuch. Indeed, it might be wiser and more tactful than to escort her yourself. Moreover, you need not provision them.”

Indignation rose swiftly in Meg’s breast. Was her mother truly suggesting that she should ride off with the reiver and have no one she knew to protect her, not one soul whom she could trust even to talk to?

Her contrary imagination suggested that she would likewise have no one to scold her or order her about—other than this supposed husband-to-be of hers. She eyed Sir Walter speculatively, then glanced at her sister.

Amalie was watching her, probably trying to imagine what Meg’s feelings must be. Meg couldn’t tell her, for she wasn’t certain herself what they were.

She turned back to watch the reiver as Sir Iagan said, “Madam, we are scarcely the only people in these borderlands to have kinsmen on the other side o’ the line. Fixed as we are, less than three miles from the crossing into England at Carter Bar, it would be odd if we had no such ties. Douglas certainly understands how necessary it is for me to tread carefully.”

“To be sure, he must, my lord.”

“I ken fine that ye believe the wisest course would be for Scotland to yield to England, so that all of us may live in peace. I’ve said before and I’ll say again that ye may ha’ the right of it, but few other Scots would agree wi’ ye. Douglas would not, certainly. Nor would Buccleuch.”

“You are right, as always, sir,” she said. “Your detailed knowledge of such things constantly reassures me of your wisdom.”

He nodded. “Then ye must see by now that if this young rascal does agree to wed our daughter and I agree to set his men free, they must all promise to protect her and to treat her with the respect her noble birth demands.”

“As she will be Sir Walter’s wife, we can be sure he will agree to that.”

“Aye, then it’s settled,” Murray said. To Sir Walter, he said in a stern, clear voice, “I shall allow ye to wed my eldest daughter then, and ye’ll agree to protect the lass henceforward. If I spare your men as well, they must swear to serve her loyally and protect her until death excuses them from her service.”

Instead of replying at once, Sir Walter exchanged looks with each of his men in turn, including the youngster. Only after receiving a nod from each one did he say in a tone as firm and clear as Sir Iagan’s, “We agree to your terms.”

“’Tis wise o’ ye,” Sir Iagan said. “As I’m giving ye your men, though, in their stead ye’ll forfeit the lass’s portion as well as yon kine I offered ye earlier.”

Meg saw Sir Walter’s jaw tighten again, but he nodded.

“If that’s settled, we’ve the good fortune just now to have a mendicant friar staying with us,” Sir Iagan said. “I warrant he can perform the wedding as well as any priest, so we’ll attend to it straightaway.”

“Sakes, Murray,” Sir Walter said indignantly, “I’ve given my word that I’ll marry the lass, and whether you believe it or not, my word is good. There can be no need for such unseemly haste.”

“Ye may be a man o’ your word,” Sir Iagan said. “But ye canna speak for your father or the Douglas, and I doubt I can trust either one o’ them no to forbid this marriage if they get the chance. Ha’ ye no sworn obedience to them? Will ye swear to keep your word to me if it means disobeying them?”

Without replying directly to either question, Sir Walter said, “Would you deny my mother and father a presence at their eldest son’s wedding, sir? At least delay long enough to allow them to attend.”

“Aye, sure, and give your father and the Douglas time to mount a raid against Elishaw,” Sir Iagan said derisively. “I’m no so stupid. Ye’ll marry as soon as one o’ me lads can fetch the friar. I’m no the one who denied Buccleuch and his lady the chance to see ye wed, either, lad. Ye’ve only yourself to blame for that. I’m thinking now, though, that we’d best ha’ the bedding afore ye leave, too.”

Meg gasped when Amalie caught hold of her arm, squeezing it tight.

Sir Walter said, “Surely, you would not be so cruel to your daughter as to force her to lie with a man she had not even seen until today. We must both do her the courtesy of giving her time to accustom herself to me.”

“My Meg will cope as well as any newly wedded lass does,” Sir Iagan retorted. “Few maidens ken what to expect on their wedding night, but all o’ them ken fine that they must obey their fathers and then their husbands.”

“But—”

“Enough, lad! I warrant ye ken as well as I do that if ye fail to consummate your marriage, ye’d be giving Buccleuch and the Douglas good cause to demand an annulment. I won’t have that. The marriage will take place here in this yard, and straightaway. Ye’ll bed the lass directly afterward.”

“Nay, then,” Meg said, shocked into freeing her tongue at last. “I won’t do it!”

Sir Iagan turned a wrathful face toward her, but she had come to realize that she wielded some power of her own in the dreadful business.

Forcing determination into her voice, she said, “I won’t lie with a man who has not washed in God knows how many months, Father. Nor will I marry without having a bath myself and changing out of this old kirtle into a dress more suitable for riding. I shall also require time to pack my clothing and other things unless you mean for me to ride into my new life with only the clothes on my back.”

“Dinna be impertinent,” Sir Iagan growled. “Ye’ll do as I bid ye.” But when he glanced warily at his lady, Meg felt a surge of relief.

Lady Murray said, “To be sure, my lord, you will agree that she must have things of her own to take with her. The servants can pack them whilst she has her bath. That young man should also bathe before he beds her, although he can do so here in the yard as well as anywhere, and someone can brush his clothes whilst he does. Meg should also enjoy a proper wedding feast,” she added. “How fortunate that it is still early in the day. If I give the orders at once, we should be able to dine only an hour later than usual. That will give Meg and her new husband plenty of time to reach Rankilburn before darkness falls.”

“Ye seem to have it all thought out,” Sir Iagan said sourly. Fixing another glowering look on Meg, he added, “Be there aught else ye’ll require?”

“Forgive me, my lord,” her ladyship said. “I do think we ought to go inside if we are to discuss these matters further. You will not want to be making a gift of our further discussion to your men and these other persons.”

He nodded curtly but said to Meg, “Doubtless that will give ye time to think up a long list o’ your needs, lass. Just do not try me too far.”

“No, sir,” she said, wondering what else she might request, since he had already declared that he would give her no proper dowry, nor agree to return the kine that he had surprisingly called the reiver’s own.

Once back in the now nearly deserted hall, taking her courage in hand again, she said, “I would like to take at least one maidservant with me, Father. I would feel most uncomfortable as the sole female in such a party of men. But I own, the real reason is that I’d like to have at least one familiar face with me in my new home.”

“And just who d’ye think would agree to go wi’ ye?” he demanded.

Feeling heat flood her cheeks, she said, “I do not know, sir. I doubt that any of our maidservants will want to go so far from home. But if you or my lady mother could induce one of them to accompany me even for a few weeks—”

“I’ll go with you,” Amalie said. “Faith, but I’d like to go!”

Chapter 3

“I swear, then, this hour shall my daughter be married t’ ye . . . Or else the next minute submit to your fate.”

I
n the courtyard, Wat stood silently as Murray’s men-at-arms untied first his hands and then those of each of his lads.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” one of Murray’s gillies said. “But if ye’re wanting to bathe out here, nae doot ye’d like us to set the tub yonder in the sunlight, where ye’ll keep warm.”

“Thank you,” Wat said. “Do as you think best, but I would speak privately with my men before I bathe.”

The gillie glanced around as if seeking guidance but, finding none, turned back and said, “As ye will, sir. I’ll just speak to the lads fetching out your tub.”

As soon as he had walked away, Tammy strode across the yard to say urgently to Wat, “Ye’ll never be takin’ them lassies back to Rankilburn wi’ ye, Master Wat. That one he says ye’re to marry’s got a face on her that—”

“Enough, Tam. That lass is soon to become my wife.”

“Aye, sure, and if she does, we’ll no say nowt, but be ye sure, lad? I dinna ken what your da’ will say about this, nor yet the Douglas. ’Tis his own cousin ye were to marry, after all.”

“That was my father’s wish,” Wat said wearily. “I had nowt to say to it, so I don’t even know how far those negotiations have advanced. Not that it matters now, of course, not where I am concerned or where their tempers are concerned. I think I should give thanks that I’ve won my spurs, don’t you?” he added wryly. “Otherwise, I’d not put it past my father to take a tawse to my backside for this.”

“As to someone deservin’ the tawse,” Tammy said with a grim look at Wee Sym Elliot, “I’ll wager that lad has some painful minutes comin’ to him.”

“That he does,” Wat said, motioning to Sym.

The boy approached warily. Glancing at Wat, then Tammy, and back again, he said, “Be it true that old sneck doesna mean to hang us after all, Master Wat?”

“It’s true, aye.”

“Are ye going to marry his daughter, then? Which one? To my mind, they both seem devilish ill favored to suit a man o’ taste like yourself.”

“If you are wise, you will keep that opinion to yourself,” Wat said sternly, aware that Tam had put one huge hand over his mouth, doubtless to hide a grin.

“I just wondered, is all,” Sym said. “The old one be skinny and her mouth be too muckle for me. The other one’s too fat, and neither o’ them looks cheery. I like a cheerisome lass, m’self.”

“You are too young to be thinking of lasses, cheery or not,” Wat informed him. “Now, what the devil did you mean by following us here?”

“I saw ye leaving, is all, and I thought I’d see where ye’d be going, the lot o’ ye. I only meant to go a short way, but ye kept on, so I got curious to see if ye’d cross over the line after the Douglas said ye were no to do it.”

“Have I not told you that you must not follow us anymore?” Before the boy could reply, Wat added curtly, “Has your mother not told you the same thing, and your brother Dod as well?”

“Aye, sure, I guess near everyone I ken has told me, but when the moment comes, I forget. Am I really to serve your lady then, for the rest o’ me life?”

Remembering Murray’s demand, Wat nearly told Sym that he need not feel himself bound by any promise made under such duress, but the lad’s grimacing annoyance gave him pause.

With the Borders as unsettled as they were, and with Douglas eager to meet England’s Hotspur, thus threatening battle any day now, the likelihood was smaller than ever that anyone would keep a close eye on Sym. The much greater likelihood was that with such interesting events looming around him, the lad would be in trouble again before his mam’s cat could lick an ear.

“You heard what her father said,” Wat told him. “What’s more, when I looked to you, you nodded your agreement. You thus gave your word to me to serve her, your word as a Borderer. You ken fine what that means, do you not?”

Sym grimaced again but nodded. “Aye, sure, a Borderer’s word is aye good, or he doesna give it.”

“I’m thinking you have hitherto taken good care to avoid giving your word to anyone,” Wat said. “Is that so?”

The boy nodded again. “I dinna like to give it, because a man never kens what may arise afterward that he didna expect.”

“That is true,” Wat said. “But a man’s word is important. He should not give it lightly, but when he does, he must keep it. If he fails, he breaks the trust he has with others, and he can never replace that. He may swear he’ll never break his word again, and he may keep that promise despite breaking the previous one. But the trust others place in him will never be as strong as before he broke faith with them the first time, simply because the others can no longer be sure of him. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, I think so.”

“Well, ponder my words until you do understand,” Wat said. “For now, I want you to promise me again, on your Borderer’s word of honor, that you will serve the lady Margaret until she releases you from her service of her own will. You may not ask her to do so without breaking your word to me. Do you agree?”

He held the lad’s gaze with his own.

“Aye, then, I do,” Sym muttered.

“Good lad,” Wat said.

“I’ll just be going to see what I can do to help the others then.”

“There is just one thing more,” Wat said as the boy turned away.

Sym froze where he stood.

“Look at me.”

Swallowing visibly, Sym obeyed.

“Do you remember what I said would happen if you followed me again?”

“I didna!” Sym exclaimed. “I followed Dod and them other lads.”

Hardening his expression, Wat said, “What did I tell you?”

Reluctantly, eyes downcast, Sym said, “Ye said ye’d see me well skelped.”

“Do you think I do not keep my word?”

Still looking at his feet, Sym shook his head.

“Answer me properly.”

“Aye, sir,” Sym said, looking up at him. “I ken fine that ye’ll keep your word. Will ye do it now, or wait till we get back to Rankilburn?”

“You will go to Dod right now and tell him I said he is to give you the skelping of your young life. And, Sym?”

The boy’s lower lip trembled, but he said stoutly enough, “Aye, sir?”

“Do not put me to the trouble of having such a conversation with you again.”

“Nay, then, I won’t.”

Watching him walk away with greater reluctance than ever to join the others, Wat felt surprisingly strong empathy for him. He had no doubt that after Buccleuch had described his own lack of good sense to him in a similar chat, he would be feeling much the same remorse that Sym felt now.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but your bath be ready.”

Turning with no small relief, Wat followed the gillie to the waiting tub.

In the hall, as stunned as Meg had been to hear Amalie’s unexpected offer to go with her to Rankilburn, she could not think what to say to her.

Their parents appeared likewise speechless.

Lady Murray was the first to recover. “Do think of what you are saying for once, Amalie,” she said. “You cannot mean such a thing.”

“But I do,” Amalie said, looking from one parent to the other. “I think Meggie is right. She
should
have someone she knows go with her. Sithee, I need stay only long enough to see her settled into her new home and happy there.”

Sir Iagan opened his mouth, met his wife’s gaze, and shut it again.

Having no doubt that he had been about to point out to Amalie that happiness was not a necessity in any marriage, let alone one resulting from such a negotiation as this one had been, Meg said hastily, “I swear I would take the greatest care of her, Father. Indeed, her company would do much to reconcile me to this dreadful change in my life. Oh, pray, sir, do say she may go.”

“I do not like the notion,” Sir Iagan said stiffly.

“Nay, sir, nor do I,” Lady Murray said. But her thoughtful expression gave Meg cause to hope she would not forbid it outright.

Nor did she. Instead, she announced her intent to see to such changes in the midday menu as might transform it into a wedding feast. “Collops of beef and a few chickens, I think,” she said. “That young man’s lads must eat, too, after all.”

“Meantime, I will send for that friar and try to find some maidservant or other who will agree to accompany our Meg to Rankilburn,” Sir Iagan said.

“An excellent notion, sir,” Lady Murray said. “If Amalie does go with Meg, it would be as well to provide a respectable serving woman to attend them both. For now, Meg, you go along up to your chamber and set your Tetsy to packing your things into a pair of sumpter baskets that the men can tie to a pony. I’ll send someone up straightaway with your bath water. Amalie, you go along and help her.”

“Aye, madam,” Amalie said.

“Prithee, madam . . .” Meg began, only to bite off the rest of her words when Amalie pinched her arm.

“Yes, Meg, what is it?” Lady Murray asked.

Thinking quickly, Meg said, “Must I try to pack all I own in two baskets?”

“Nay, just such clothing and other items as you will need for comfort until your father can arrange to send the rest of your things to you. Two baskets should suffice, but judge for yourself. I know you will be sensible in your choosing.”

“Thank you,” Meg said, feeling heat in her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. Such moments were rare.

When they reached the stair hall, Amalie said, “You were about to ask her if I should pack, too, weren’t you?”

“I was, aye, for it would be as well to know, don’t you agree?”

“You should say no more about my going, Meg. If you don’t irritate her by pressing her, she is going to let me go. One could just see that.”

“I saw nothing of the sort,” Meg said as she followed her up the stairs. “I will agree that she is thinking about it, but she may as easily decide
not
to let you go.”

“Nay, for if she means to forbid something, she does so at once. Also, recall that when Father said he’d find a serving woman, she said I might be going.”

“She did not exactly say that you
are
going, though.”

“She said enough. Sithee, it is only when she thinks she sees merit in a plan but needs to sort details out for herself that she delays. In this instance, I warrant she will quickly see how much safer you will be if I ride with you.”

“Aye, perhaps, but that respectable serving woman Father is seeking would do as much to ensure my safety without your going.”

“She would not,” Amalie said. “Just consider those reivers, who are nearly all of the sort our lady mother calls Scottish brutes and ruffians. Do you think they would show the same respect to a serving woman of their own class as they would to me—to the two of us?”

Meg smiled again. “Surely, you do not think them any rougher than our brothers’ henchmen—Simon’s in particular, of course, but even Tom’s men are surly—as are most others of their ilk that we’ve known, English or Scot. Do you think Sir Walter cannot control his men?”

Meg had lowered her voice in hopes of keeping it from echoing up and down the stairwell to anyone within earshot. Amalie did not bother to lower hers.

“What do we know about him?” she demanded. “Why should he care what they do? Is our father not forcing him into this marriage just as he is forcing you? What if Sir Walter were to decide to abandon you, or kill you, along the way?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Meg said. “He may be angry, but he has no cause to take out his anger on me.”

“Faugh,” Amalie said, rudely echoing one of their father’s favorite epithets. “Men always take out their anger on the women closest to them. One has only to think of our brothers and our father—or, indeed, of any man we have ever met.”

“That may sometimes be true,” Meg said. “But you will not pretend that any of them has ever killed a woman merely because someone else has angered him.”

“We cannot know all they have done,” Amalie said. “We see them only when they are here. They may do all sorts of horrid things elsewhere.”

Although Meg could believe the ambitious Simon capable of almost anything if he thought it would gain him what he wanted, she could not imagine merry Tom behaving as Amalie suggested. Shaking her head at her sister, she said, “You know our lady mother disapproves of exaggeration, dearling. Do contain your fancies until we are alone where no one else might hear them.”

“They may be fancies,” Amalie said. “But you know our mother well enough to know she harbors the same opinion of those men.”

“Even so, you ought not to say such things where others may hear you.”

Having reached the next landing, Amalie looked back and stuck out her tongue, but she kept silent until they were safely inside the bedchamber they shared.

Then she said, “What do you think of Sir Walter, Meg? I think he is very—”

Breaking off, she shot Meg a rueful look when the door opened to admit Tetsy, the rosy-cheeked chambermaid who served them.

Meg knew that Tetsy must have been just behind them in the stairwell, ever silent in her soft-soled slippers, and wondered how much she had overheard.

“Her ladyship sent me,” Tetsy said. “She said ye’re to ha’ a bath and she’ll be sending hot water right up. I’m to fetch out the tub and then see to packing your clothes. Och, m’lady, she said ye be going to Rankilburn!”

“Do you know Rankilburn, Tetsy?” Meg asked.

“Och, nay, but it does sound gey far away,” Tetsy responded as she vigorously hauled the wooden tub from its place in a corner of the chamber. “Her ladyship did say ye be going to marry a nobleman, m’lady. But I dinna ken how that can be, when none of us ha’ heard aught about any such thing afore today.”

Sweetly, Amalie said, “Do you doubt my lady mother’s word, Tetsy?”

Looking horrified, Tetsy disclaimed any such doubt. “’Twas only that we usually hear straightaway if someone be getting married, and her ladyship did say ye’d be marrying your man today, Lady Meg.”

“Do you not think that is romantic, Tetsy?” Amalie asked.

“Don’t tease her, Amalie,” Meg said. “It is true, Tetsy, and it happened quickly. I am to marry Sir Walter Scott, the Laird of Buccleuch’s eldest son. Have you heard that name before?”