Border Fire by Amanda Scott Page A

attempt to clothe your anger in pious respectability, sir. We have just agreed that I know you well. It is not the thieving that angers you, for you have led thieving raids into Scotland yourself, and so has nearly every other man of property on this side of the line. Our lot is no more law-abiding than the Scots.”
    “We only seek redress for wrongs done to us,” he growled.
    “Now you sound like a sanctimonious prig,” she retorted impatiently. “You know as well as I do that men on both sides say that very same thing whenever they raid. The excuse is as ancient as the behavior.”
    “They steal our horses, and we take them back; that’s all.”
    “That is not all. Men, women, and children are killed in raids on both sides. Raiding destroys lives and property, Hugh.” Aware that her voice had risen, she looked guiltily around the hall to see that three of Hugh’s men and the two lads dismantling the trestle tables were still there.
    Following her glance, Sir Hugh said grimly, “Hold your tongue. Thank God it is men who decide these matters, not women.”
    “Women would have better sense,” she retorted. “We would not expect others to obey laws that we ourselves flout. How can you break a law that you have sworn an oath to uphold, Hugh?”
    “I have sworn to serve my queen and the warden of the west march,” Hugh said. “That God-forsaken reiver in my dungeon is one of the most scurrilous thieves in the Borders, and he deserves to hang.”
    “Then let them declare his sentence at the next Truce Day.”
    “A Scottish jury would hear our complaint against him, not an English one,” he reminded her. “Even though we would select its members, do you think that such a jury would ever order Rabbie Redcloak hanged? He is a legend to them, lass, a man they greatly admire. They would probably reward him.”
    “But—”
    “We have sent bills against him before,” Hugh went on impatiently, “and he and his supporters have ignored them. More times than not the Scots insist that he does not exist. Well, I have proved that he does, but if any Scotsman demands to know how we dared to hang him, I shall simply refer to their own insistence that there is no such person, and that will be that.”
    “Hugh, you can achieve the same end by holding him until the wardens’ meeting in the legal manner, and presenting him for trial. No one can deny his existence after you present him to them in person.”
    “That’s enough, Janet. I don’t want to hear another word out of you on the subject. Do you understand me?” His voice had risen again.
    Before she could answer, a man spoke from the threshold. “Beggin’ your pardon, Sir Hugh, but will ye be wanting a full company to ride to Bewcastle?”
    “Aye, I will,” Hugh said, scraping back his chair and getting to his feet, clearly having decided that his discussion with his sister was over.
    Drawing breath to steady herself, Janet said boldly, “If you insist on going forward with this mad plan, Hugh, I shall have no recourse other than to let Thomas Scrope know what you mean to do.”
    He glowered at her. “Damnation, lass, who do you think will take such a message if I forbid it?”
    “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “If I must go myself, though, I will.”
    “By God, you will not defy me further in this!” he bellowed.
    Her own anger quickly igniting, she stood to face him, wishing she were taller so that she could look him eye to eye. Grimly, she said, “I do not count it defiance, Hugh. Scrope must support me in this. He will not want it known throughout the Borders that he allows his deputies to defy the law when it suits them to do so, or that they will hang men without trial.”
    He leaned closer, his fury plain. “You will go nowhere but to your bedchamber, my lass, and you will stay there until I give you leave to come out again. Do you hear me?”
    “Hugh, you are mad! If you hang him, you will be fortunate to survive him by a sennight,