Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (21 page)

Neb said, “Ye’ll see him, then?”

“I’ll be gathering men to my banner and to his in the next sennight and will meet him in eight days at Southdean. In return for my aid,” Wat added, “I will ask that you offer yourselves to the Douglas’s cause, which is to secure the safety of Scotland from the English once and for all. Will you agree to that?”

“Must we serve
you
?” Neb demanded.

“I’d welcome you, although I ken fine that you are not my kinsmen or sworn to serve me. However, you are Borderers, so I’ll accept your word as such that you will aid us by serving leaders who fight with us and not those who fight against us.”

He waited, letting the silence in the hall grow until Neb said, “Aye, then. Ye’ve my word, sir, and I speak for most o’ my men. But on this matter, if ye’re agreed, I’ll ask them to speak for themselves.”

“I’m agreed,” Wat said.

“Aye, then, I’m with ye,” one man said loudly, getting to his feet.

“And I,” shouted another, and another, until the only ones who had not spoken were the two on the rear bench who had been tormenting the kitten.

The one who had not held the bag said quietly, “I, too.”

The tormentor did not speak or give any sign of what he might be thinking.

Wat waited, saying nothing. The only sound he heard was the little cat’s purr, but he kept his attention on the silent man.

Neb said, “Bestir that tongue o’ yours, Kip. What do ye say?”

“I’m thinking I’ll say ‘aye,’” the man said, looking at Wat.

“Why?” Wat demanded. “Why should I accept your word when I ken fine that you likely harbor ill feelings toward me now?”

“Aye, sir, I might ha’ done. But a man who’s so plainly master o’ his castle even wi’ a wee cat sitting on his shoulder, cleaning itself and purring loud enough to make itself heard in a big chamber like this—and without his paying it any heed whilst he lays down the law like ye did . . . That man be one I can follow anywhere.”

Chapter 14

Nae boar in the forest, when hunted and wounded, Did ever sae storm, or was ever sae stounded . . .

M
eg had all she could do not to laugh, not just at the man’s comment but at the look on Walter’s face. Others in the hall, including the man beside her, clearly felt the same way. But, except for hastily stifled noises, they resisted the temptation.

Turning to Neb Duffin, she said, “My sister and I must retire now, so that you can discuss your situation more thoroughly with Sir Walter. I assure you, his word is good. So I hope you will excuse us.”

“Aye, sure,” he said. “I ken fine he be a man o’ his word and, too, that he and his da’ be close friends wi’ the Douglas. We’ll do now, I’m thinking, and I thank ye for your kindness, me lady. None so many would ha’ done as ye did today.”

“I’ll bid you goodnight then,” she said. “You will always be welcome here, so if you encounter further difficulties, you must come at once and tell us.”

He nodded. She saw him swallow, but he did not speak.

“Come, Amalie,” Meg said. “We’ll go up now.”

“I think we’d better wait a moment,” Amalie said, glancing at the lower hall.

Meg looked toward the back, where Walter had been only a moment before. Men-at-arms were crossing the threshold, but they kept their weapons sheathed.

She was about to ask what Amalie had meant when she saw Walter step onto the dais. Finding him so much closer than she had expected was a bit unsettling.

Neb stepped back out of his way, but Walter said, “Don’t go yet. I want to talk longer with you and your men before you leave, to learn just what your needs are and hear more about this agent who told you he spoke for the Douglas.”

“Aye, sir.”

“I’m certain he is not Douglas’s man, but I can assure you that Douglas, too, will help you, especially as you have agreed to aid him. Where do you think
you
are going?” he added in a less cordial tone, as Meg moved to step past him.

“I did not want to interrupt you, sir. But Amalie and I are going to bed.”

He said, “If you will join your men by the fire, Neb, I would have a brief word with my lady wife before she retires.”

Neb agreed, bowed to Meg, and turned away.

The moment he stepped from the dais, Walter said grimly, “You may go upstairs, but do not go to sleep. We are going to have a talk, you and I.”

To his shock, she grinned.

“Does the thought of such a talk amuse you?” he demanded. “It should not.”

“No, sir,” she said. “But it is hard to feel really terrified whilst Sym’s wee cat looks so adoringly at you and purrs.”

“Oh, for . . .” He reached up and took the cat off his shoulder, handing it to her with a near snarl. “Take it with you and give it back to Sym.”

Eyes downcast, she said as she stroked the kitten, “Yes, sir, I will.”

Apparently unimpressed with her docility, he snapped, “See that you do.”

Having delivered the kitten to Sym, Meg was smiling as she went upstairs until Amalie, behind her, said caustically, “I don’t blame Walter for being angry, Meg. Those horrid men might have killed us. Why ever did you invite them here?”

“But I told you, dearling. Having watched our parents tread softly between Englishmen and Scots for much of my life, I merely sought to put those lessons to good use by persuading the raiders that we were harmless and would even help them if we could. Back there in the woods, I saw, as you did, that they viewed us as little more than two useful hostages. Moreover, they had four men to every one of ours. Do you really think that what I did was wrong?”

“It does not matter what I think,” Amalie muttered. “It is Sir Walter you will have to persuade now. And I do not think he looked very persuadable.”

“No,” Meg said. “But he does listen sometimes.”

She stopped when they reached the landing by her bedchamber and put a hand on Amalie’s arm when she would have gone on by. “Don’t go yet,” Meg said. “We still have much to talk about and time for it, I think, before Walter comes up.”

Clearly reluctant but just as clearly aware that Meg would insist, Amalie sighed and went into the bedchamber. She stopped a few steps in, and stood still.

Shutting the door, Meg said, “Why do you think you might be with child?”

Amalie turned then, saying, “Is that not how a woman gets a child in her? When a man has his way with her?”

“Aye, it is,” Meg said. “Our mother told us that much. But I do not think it happens every time, and you have not grown any fatter.”

“I am already plump. How would we know?”

Meg was at a loss to answer her, but she was sure there must be a way to know for sure. People did seem to know that a woman was expecting a bairn before she grew so fat that everyone could tell. “We could ask Lady Scott,” she said. “She has birthed three sons and a daughter.”

“I don’t want to ask her. She is only just starting to be kind to me.”

“Don’t be petulant, love. It does not suit you. I will ask her if you like. In troth, I should like to know on my own account. But won’t you tell me who did this to you? We shall have to know sometime.”

“Nay, no one can know,” Amalie said, growing visibly distressed again.

“We need talk no more about it now,” Meg said. Hearing a telltale footstep on the landing, she added hastily, “Prithee, do not show that face to Walter!”

The door opened on her words, and she turned to face him.

Hoping to divert his attention from her sister, to give Amalie time to collect herself she said, “I . . . I expected you to remain some time with Neb Duffin.”

He cast Amalie only a brief glance, saying, “I turned him over to Jed Crosier and his minions to help with the food, and set Neb’s lads to unloading their carts.”

“Are you letting them keep their chickens?”

His lips twitched. “Aye, although I did point out that if the chickens are truly wild, taking them counts the same under the law as taking pheasant.” His gaze flicked back to Amalie. “We’ll excuse you now, lass. But don’t go downstairs.”

“I won’t,” she said, hurrying past him with a quick, sympathetic glance at Meg. At the door, she looked back, said goodnight, and fled.

Meg murmured, “Goodnight.” But she did not spare her sister another glance as she did, and Walter did not take his eyes from Meg.

His anger was plain to see. But she knew it would do her no good to try to defend herself without learning first exactly what had made him so angry.

Since he had been quick to take his cue from her in the hall, she had hoped he understood that she had acted the best way she knew.

The look in his eyes now said he did not understand any such thing.

He let the silence continue until she wanted to speak just to end it. But just as she might have done so, he said, “I am waiting for an explanation, lass. I thought I had made it clear that you were not to go haring off on your own again. By your actions today, you betrayed that belief. I want to know why.”

The accusation angered her, but she knew that revealing her anger might ignite his, whereas a calm explanation had aided her with him before.

The problem this time was that her normal serenity had deserted her. She said, “Do you want to know why I left the tower or why I invited them home?”

“I won’t ask why you left here with only six men to escort you, because—”

“Forgive me, sir, but I did not know that you expected me to stay inside this tower whenever you are away. Am I to stay here the whole time you are away with the Douglas? That could well be weeks, and—”

“Don’t try me too far,” he said, stepping closer. He seemed suddenly even larger than usual, which—she suspected—was his intent. “You know I mean nowt of the sort. Nor are we likely to be away so long. Douglas wants only to make a grand show of force to dissuade the English. I doubt we’ll be gone a fortnight.”

“But you will again take most of your men with you, will you not?”

“Aye, but as you heard below, the raiders will go with us, so things will be safer here. And, too, I believe my mother means to visit our Jenny. She will likely invite you to go with her, if she has not done so already.”

She pressed her lips together.

He frowned. “What?”

“She did ask us. But . . . but I would prefer to stay here,” she added, unwilling to reveal to him yet that Amalie was the reason.

When he frowned again, she added hastily, “This is my home now, and I’ve scarcely spent a sennight in it. I want to get to know the place and our people better. Also, I am sure your mother would prefer to have Jenny to herself.”

“We can discuss that later,” he said. “I will acquit you of defying me. But I want to know why you headed into the Forest instead of coming straight home. Neb said you were more than a mile west of the cleuch entrance when you met them.”

She nearly reminded him that, rather than meeting them, the raiders had rushed out of the woods and surrounded them. Instantly perceiving pitfalls along that course, she realized she would encounter even more if she tried to explain that she had taken that route because, on a horse in unfamiliar country, Amalie could not just walk away—as she would have at the tower—if Meg tried to persuade her that they should go with Lady Scott to Ferniehurst.

She could not tell him that without explaining Amalie’s reasons.

“I wanted to see more of the Forest,” she said. That much, at least, was true. “And I am glad we met Neb, sir. If that makes you angry, no doubt you will say so, but is it not better to learn the truth than not to know?”

“That is not the point,” he said sternly. He proceeded then to tell her what the point was. He spoke articulately, logically, and at length. He did not shout at her, as her father did when he was angry, but his words were harder to endure in silence.

The gist, as she understood it, was that he believed a woman should obey her husband rather than use her own good sense—even to act as he would expect when she could not know his expectations. That she had known he would be angry was beside the point. His reproaches strained her patience and her temper.

He spoke as if he did not trust her to act sensibly despite plain evidence to the contrary. Had she not capably managed a difficult situation that very day?

Her father would never speak so to her mother. He valued her ladyship’s advice and her intelligence even when he resisted acknowledging both.

Realizing that Walter had reached a point of greater fury than before, she wrenched her attention back to what, exactly, he was saying.

“To have frightened everyone, to have sent poor Sym riding like a madman to seek help . . . To have ridden into woods that had already suffered raids! And to have invited the very raiders here without any notion of how dangerous they might be! They may well prove to be just as desperate as they say they are, but you had no way to know as much then. You are never, ever to do such a thing again.”

When he paused for breath, she said, “Did Sym really ride like a madman?”

He blinked, then grimaced. “He rode faster than was safe for him. However, his actions are irrelevant. The point is . . .”

Realizing he was still too angry to discuss the incident sensibly, she made no effort to interrupt him. As the torrent of words swept over her, she began to see that something more than anger fueled them. Even so, she could not ignore what he was saying in the same way that she had managed to ignore most of her father’s rants.

Her irritation increased.

He had a way of sounding confident, sensible, and utterly logical. The result was that she felt as if she were being unreasonable by disagreeing with him. Her father was never logical or sensible when he was angry. He just ranted. But when his ranting stopped, one had only to apologize to achieve peace again.

She could not honestly apologize to Walter for having met the poachers and invited them home, because she was glad to have been able to help them. She thought he ought to be glad, too. But clearly, if he was, he was not yet ready to admit it. Nevertheless, she had learned over the years that a sincere apology could often prove a most powerful weapon.

When he paused again, she stifled her smoldering anger, put a hand on his arm, looked into his eyes, and said, “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you so.”

Wat stared into those beautiful eyes and felt a surge of remorse. He had been too hard on her, too fierce in his scolding. Worse than that, he had been unfair.

He had worked himself into such a fury that his words had run away with him.

He covered her hand with one of his and gave it a squeeze as he said, “Nay, lass, you’ve not disappointed me. In troth, this whole business gave me a rare fright. You’ve no idea what I felt when I saw Sym careering toward us. And then to see you sitting beside that ruffian, Neb, at my own table . . . Well—”

“Surely, it is my table now, too,” she said.

He moved both hands to her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “It is, aye. But henceforth, when you invite someone to sit beside you there, you might be wiser to consider first whether his presence will please me or not.”

“At the time, I wanted only to persuade him that we were no threat to him,” she said quietly. “I invited them to supper when he said their families were going hungry, because I was sure that you would want to help them if that were so, and so would the Douglas.” She paused, licked her full lips in a way that stirred him below, then said, “I did know it might anger you. Is there aught I can do now to atone?”

His gaze had not left her lips since the first lick, and the longer he stared, the harder his cock grew. Anger was but a faint memory.

His fingers moved to deal deftly with the lacing of her bodice.

“I do know a few things we might try,” he said.

As she lay beside him after their coupling, Meg wondered if her mother had ever done such things with her father. Not the coupling, of course, but the actions that had preceded it. Some of the things he had asked of her had astonished her but not nearly as much as he had astonished her by doing similar things to her. She had not realized that one’s lips and tongue could be used to such good purpose.