Border Fire by Amanda Scott

called for ale from his personal supply, and a pewter goblet was quickly filled for him. Watching him rip a roasted chicken to pieces while she toyed with her own food, Janet noted with satisfaction that, despite the wait, the skin was crisp the way he liked it.
    Although it was frequently the habit in large households for dogs to wander through the hall at-will, begging and fighting each other for scraps and other choice bits that the men threw to them, no dogs attended meals at Brackengill. Once Janet had learned how much easier it was to keep the hall floor presentable without them, she had banished them from mealtimes.
    The minutes marched by, but finding no easy way to bring up the subject of the captive while they ate, she waited, responding when Hugh spoke to her but content to let him speak with Ned Rowan and another of his sergeants who sat with them. Not until the servants began to clear away the food and everyone else began to return to their duties did she say, “I would speak privately with you, brother.”
    “Now?” he demanded, frowning at her. “I have much to do, lass.”
    The frown did not auger well for their discussion, but Janet pressed on, keeping her tone even as she said, “I want to discuss your prisoner again, sir.”
    “There is no point in that,” he snapped, adding more moderately. “You tend the household well, lass. I noticed the fresh rushes, and I know that it is no mean achievement to keep a household fresh at this time of year. I know, too, that I have you to thank for having my dinner when I want it, for looking after the linens and such, and keeping the servants contented, even cheerful. However,” he added sternly, “do not think that your expertise in household matters qualifies you to meddle in those that are of no concern to you.”
    “Your honor is my concern,” she insisted, fighting to keep from raising her voice. “What touches your honor touches mine.”
    “My honor! What the devil do you think you are talking about?” He made no attempt now to keep his voice down.
    Suppressing a wince, she managed to keep from looking around the room to see if others were watching them. Though many of the men had gone, she knew that those who lingered, and the servants, could hear everything he said to her.
    “Please, Hugh, do not shout.”
    “I have been in the saddle all morning, Janet, and since I am to take supper with Nixon tonight at Bewcastle, I’ll spend much of this afternoon in the saddle, as well. I’ve neither time nor patience to deal with your woman’s whining now.”
    “Then when, sir? If you hang the man without a trial, you will anger all our friends and allies who believe in the laws of the Borders. You could even lose your position as deputy warden.”
    “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