Blythe Gifford – Taken by the Border Rebel (страница 8)
Now he saw the worry in Johnnie’s eyes. ‘I’ve seen him. Bessie barely escaped from him.’
He shook off the guilt. Bessie had insisted she be the Brunson to plead their case to the King. For all the good it did them. Or the King. ‘He has no sway with me.’
‘Maybe not, but he’s put a price on our heads.’
His brother had come home from court, yes. But he still did not fully understand life here and what a leader must do to protect the family. To survive. Rob did.
‘And much has come of that, as you see.’ He spat in disgust. ‘Who’s to fear him? He’s barely more than a bairn. Doesn’t dare come himself.’
‘He will, Rob. I know him. He will.’ John grabbed his arm and shook it. ‘He burned a man at the stake in St Andrew’s.’
Rob couldn’t stop the shiver. A man should die on his pony, fighting. Not burned. Not hanged.
And not in his bed, as his father had.
‘Can you not just agree with me for once?’
His brother sat back, and crossed his arms, as if knowing further argument would be futile. ‘What
‘Hold her here. And if they try to take Hobbes Storwick from Carwell …’ He left the threat unsaid. Couldn’t bring himself to say he’d kill a woman.
Storwicks wouldn’t know that, though. They’d done worse.
Johnnie looked at him, sharply. ‘Take Storwick? From a moated castle? Impossible.’
‘I’d expect you to try. If I were the one held.’
Silence. Then a sigh. ‘Aye. I would.’
Rob nodded, relieved. It was their own kind of truce.
‘Do they know yet that you have her?’
‘It’s been a day. Two. They know she’s gone.’ A missing daughter. They’d worry, not knowing whether she had fallen into a ravine, drowned in the river … He steeled his heart.
She was safe and better treated than she’d a right to be, but he was surprised to have seen no signs of a search.
‘Well, you can’t send a message to Bewcastle.’
He sighed. ‘Carwell must do it.’
His stubborn sister had been betrothed to the Scottish Warden at the King’s command. Then she had defied her brother to marry the man.
Thomas Carwell had managed to dance on the edge of the Border Laws he was paid to enforce and still not infuriate King James. At least, not until he ignored the King’s order that he bring the Brunsons to Edinburgh for hanging.
But still, the King had not removed the man from his office. Not yet, anyway.
‘He’s still the Scottish Warden. He can send an official message through the English Warden.’
‘Who’s no friend of any of us since we violated the new treaty. He’s not going to like it.’
‘Neither do I.’ You never knew with Carwell. Reiver one day. English collaborator the next. Agent of the King the day after that. ‘What’s to keep him from tattling to the King about it?’
‘Bessie.’
He sighed. For all that she was a woman, his sister was steadier than most lasses. He certainly missed having her about the tower. He was not a man who craved comfort, but without her, there had been no one to keep the kettle full and stuff fresh feathers into the mattress.
He wondered what the Storwick woman was doing in the kitchen. Probably scheming to poison him.
‘Well, I’ve saddled myself with the woman. And if they don’t know I hold her, it’s for naught. Would you go to Carwell Castle to tell him?’
‘You’ll not go?’
He shook his head. He had not spoken to the man since the Storwick raid. Nor to his sister Bessie. He was not ready to start now. ‘Not the time to leave the tower undefended.’
Johnnie eyed him for a moment. ‘We could take the girl with us. Give her to Carwell for keeping. She’ll be surrounded by a moat and out of your hands.’
‘And held beside her father. Together, the two of them would make an irresistible target.’ Based on Stella’s questions, they did not know where Hobbes Storwick was held. That could not last for ever. ‘If I hold her here, she protects our tower and makes them think before they ride to Carwell Castle.’
To protect the tower. No other reason he was keeping the woman. In truth, he’d as soon be rid of her and her haughty air.
Johnnie rose. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow. Cate will be happy to see Bessie again.’ He paused, waiting.
Rob averted his eyes.
‘I’ll tell her,’ his brother said, finally, ‘that you asked of her.’
‘Tell her I asked for her recipe for lamb stew.’
Family was all. Protecting it, not loving it.
Love made you weak.
The thought of Bessie’s stew reminded him that the Storwick woman was in the kitchen and he crossed the courtyard to see how she fared. Drizzle had dissolved yesterday’s sun, along with his good mood, and he began to doubt that today’s meal would be any more edible than yesterday’s.
At the kitchen door, he stopped.
The room—pots, hearth and floor—was white as if a snowstorm had hit.
And in the midst of it, the Storwick woman clutched an empty sack of flour.
Both women turned to him.
‘Take her away,’ Beggy shrieked, when she saw him. ‘I’d rather cook alone.’
Stella blinked. Rapidly.
Mercy. He had no patience for crying females.
He stepped into the room, sending a puff of flour over his boot. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘First, she let the stew burn. Now, she’s spilled half our flour!’ Beggy’s voice danced on the edge of a scream. ‘Get her out of here.’
He took Stella’s arm, but she looked back at Beggy. ‘I should help you clean …’
‘No! Don’t help,’ the girl said. ‘Or there’ll be nothing left to eat.’
He pulled Stella out of the kitchen and into the courtyard. ‘Did you plan to starve us all?’
‘I do not cook at home.’
He stared. All women cooked. Didn’t they? ‘You were the one who complained of the food!’ Criticising the lack of foolish luxuries, of no importance to anyone except to her. ‘And you don’t even cook?’
‘I didn’t think it would be so hard.’
‘For most women, it isn’t.’
‘Then why don’t you marry a woman who can cook?’
Her words hit as hard as horse’s hooves on rock. ‘And why don’t you marry a husband who’ll keep you from roaming the Borders alone?’
She licked her lips, crossed her arms, lifted her chin, all as if to fill the space where there should have been words. But flour still clung to her sleeves and her apron and her shoes and he couldn’t help but think she looked ridiculous instead of haughty.
‘I will,’ she said, finally. ‘Soon. Someone worthy. Special.’
‘No one you would know. No one the least bit like you.’ She turned away, as if she could choose to end the conversation. ‘And no one who would interest you.’