by Ashe Barker
Robbie held the older man’s gaze, assessing. At last, he extended his hand again.
“We shall be glad of your hospitality, Mr. Duggan, and your friendship.”
* * *
It was a full four days later before the skies at last started to clear. Robbie and Jane stood at the door to the cottage and gazed up into the emerging blue.
“Do you want to leave in the morning?” she asked, threading her fingers through his.
“We should,” he agreed. “We have at least a week’s riding ahead of us.”
“I shall tell Betsy.”
The Duggans were philosophical at the news that their visitors would be leaving soon. Betsy insisted that they must take a couple of dozen eggs with them and sent Martha to collect them from the poultry run.
“We have a few spare turnips, too,” Bill insisted, “and we can let you have some honey.”
Robbie slanted him a wry grin. “I dinnae suppose ye have a horse or two ye could sell us, do ye?”
Bill lifted an eyebrow. “I do not own a horse...”
Robbie shrugged. “Aye, well.”
“...but I know a man as does. How many would you be wanting, then?”
Now he had Robbie’s full attention. “Ye know where we might buy horses?”
“Aye, I do. There’s a horse fair in Chester, day after tomorrow.”
“In Chester?” Robbie grimaced. He had hoped to avoid entering the city since they had found hospitality elsewhere.
“Aye.” Bill nodded enthusiastically. “‘Tis a large fair. They have it every quarter, come from miles around, they do, to trade good horseflesh. Fine beasts to be had, so I gather.”
Robbie exchanged a glance with Archie. Perhaps they could manage to make their purchases without attracting undue attention, though he did not relish the prospect of entering the city when it would be so crowded.
“Am I to understand that you have reason not to wish to go yourself to the fair?” Bill asked, his gaze assessing.
Robbie returned his cool look. “It might give rise to... complications,” he acknowledged. “But, our journey will be far easier with enough mounts to go round. Maybe it will be worth the risk.”
“I shall go to Chester,” Bill announced. “Me and our Harry, my sister’s lad. We shall go and purchase the horses on your behalf.”
“I could not ask you to do that.”
“I do not recall that you did, lad. I offered. So, ‘tis settled then. How many horses will you be needing?”
“But—”
“How many, and how much do you want to be paying for them?”
Robbie paused to consider his options. All in all, Bill’s offer was by far the best chance they had of obtaining the horses unnoticed.
“Very well,” he conceded. “You have my thanks. We shall require four horses, if you can obtain that many. I shall give you ample coin to purchase them.”
“Aye, you will have to, lad, since I have not enough spare to buy four quality mounts. I shall not cheat you, mind.”
It had never occurred to Robbie that Bill would even contemplate such a thing. “We shall be needing saddles, too. And bridles.”
“We shall see to it.”
“This fair takes place the day after tomorrow, you said?”
“Aye.”
“And how long will it take you to return with the horses?”
“No more than a day, if the weather holds. You can expect to be on your way back to Scotland in four days.”
“I did not say we were going to Scotland.”
Bill shrugged. “No, you did not. I said I would not pry, but I have ears and I’m not daft. And especially now, what with King Henry’s men marching north...”
“Our journey has nothing to do with the hostilities between England and Scotland, you may have my word on that. We are in England on a private family matter.”
Bill nodded. “I believe you, Robbie. As I said before, I know you to be a man I can trust, and a friend to me and my kin. We shall see you safe on your way and wish you God speed.”
* * *
Bill was as good as his word. He returned in the late afternoon of the day after the horse fair astride a fine chestnut gelding. He led another horse, a grey. His nephew was mounted on another dappled grey, with a bay mare on a leading rein. Both riderless horses were saddled, and all looked sprightly enough.
Robbie cast an experienced eye over his purchases and ran a palm along the flanks of each. “Ye did well, Bill.”
His new friend acknowledged the praise with a grunt. “‘Tis too late for you to set out this night, but we shall see you on your way at first light.” He tossed a bag of coins at him, and Robbie caught it in mid-air. “We drove a decent enough bargain. You have a few guineas left for the rest of your journey.”
The purse felt surprisingly heavy in his hand. Bill Duggan was indeed a wily trader, but Robbie had not intended to take any money back. “I want ye tae keep this. For your trouble, and for our keep while we’ve been here.”
Bill grasped the bridles of two horses and began to lead them in the direction of the lean-to structure at the rear of his cottage that served as a stable. “You’re welcome to our hospitality, lad. I’ll be taking no payment from you.”
Robbie knew by now that the old man was even more obstinate than his own father. Further discussion would be pointless. There was nothing, though, to stop him from leaving the purse behind. He grabbed the other two bridles and followed his host.
* * *
The following afternoon saw Robbie McGregor and his party approaching the border between Cheshire and Cumberland. As they were no longer obliged to share their mounts their progress had become much faster. They even had a spare, since one of his men was required to drive the wagon and Jane insisted that she was not confident about handling her own horse. She continued to share Robbie’s stallion, and the rest rotated their mounts so that one could always be rested.
The wagon groaned beneath the weight of supplies that Betsy Duggan insisted upon loading for them. The village lacked for cash but had just brought in a bumper harvest and food was in plentiful supply. There would be no need to venture into a market again before they reached Scottish soil, for which Robbie was grateful.
He had sought out young Donald before they left, the lad now none the worse for his adventure in the swollen river. Robbie crouched before him and handed the lad the purse that Bill Duggan had refused, with strict instructions to give it to his mother after their party had gone. “Ye will wait until we are out o’ sight, then count tae five hundred. Can ye count that far, lad?”
The boy gave him a gap-toothed smile and started to count by way of a demonstration.
Robbie stopped him at twenty. “I am impressed. I know I can trust ye with this important task.”
Donald nodded, his enthusiasm near palpable. “I shall sit over there, by the stile an’ watch while you go. Then I shall start to count.”
“Excellent.” Robbie straightened, then offered his hand to the boy. “It has been a pleasure tae do business wi’ ye, Donald Duggan.”
Cumberland, the northern-most county of England on the Irish Sea coast, was far less populous than Cheshire or the shires to the south. Such folk as they did encounter were either peasants on the road to the closest market, far more interested in herding their stock or toting their wares than in questioning the presence of a half dozen or so men on horseback, or villagers working the fields. Their tartan had been left behind at the abandoned farm close to Stratford, so there was nothing to mark Robbie and his entourage as other than a bunch of men riding north, a not unfamiliar sight in England over recent days and weeks.
They continued to make decent progress. The first night they halted on the outskirts of Carnforth where they set up their camp close to the tiny hamlet of Capernwray.
Robbie watched as Jane tended to the baby, then handed her to Lady Falconer who would care for the child overnight. The older lady and the wee one usually slept on the wagon while
he and the rest rolled themselves in blankets and sought what shelter might be had under trees or close to walls. Jane always shared his blanket and he had grown accustomed to the feel of her soft body pressed against him. Surrounded by his men there was little enough opportunity for intimacy, though he found it easy enough to fill his hands with her ample breasts or slide his knee between her legs. How long before he might get to tumble her across a bed, he wondered, as she nestled her delightful rump against his swelling cock.
“God’s bones, lass, ye’re doin’ that on purpose,” he growled.
She turned to peep at him over her shoulder, her features just discernible in the fading firelight. “I have absolutely no idea what you might mean, sir.”
Their next night was spent close to Kendal, right in the heart of Cumberland. They were fortunate enough to spot a derelict barn, which offered decent shelter from the sharp wind that cut straight through their flapping cloaks. There was a distinctly autumnal nip in the air now and Robbie feared the weather might worsen again and impede their progress north. His fears were confirmed when they awoke the next morning to a thick, cold mist.
“Archie, d’ye think it safe tae ride in this fog?” Robbie peered into the haze, unable to make out objects more than a few feet ahead.
“If we were better acquainted wi’ the terrain we might risk it,” his friend offered. “T’would be all too easy tae lame a horse or worse.”
Robbie had to agree. A rabbit hole, a low wall, a stream... all became dangerous, near insurmountable obstacles in such poor visibility. “We shall stay put, then, until it lifts.”
They were trapped by the fog for three more days, only to have it replaced by cold, drizzling rain on the fourth morning. Robbie cursed the foul climate but ordered his men to saddle up. They had been wet before and would be again. It was perfectly possible to ride in the rain, and they had wasted enough time already.
The next night they made their makeshift camp at the head of a lake that Archie identified as Ullswater. The tiny village of Pooley Bridge nestled at the lake’s side and offered the opportunity to purchase a couple of fat trout. Lady Falconer assisted Jane in roasting the fish on spits over the fire, and they all enjoyed the succulent flesh before settling down in their far from cosy blankets.
Jane was not her usual pert self this night. None of them were. The journey was taking its toll, but surely they would reach Carlisle tomorrow, and find themselves back on Scottish soil. The heavens might open, they might find themselves trudging through mud six inches deep, but at least it would be Scottish rain and Scottish mud.
* * *
“My lord, wake up.”
Robbie sat bolt upright, instantly alert at the urgent tone in Alec’s voice. The man had been posted as lookout for the night.
“What is it?” Robbie reached for his sword and sought to extricate himself from the blankets without disturbing Jane.
“Soldiers,” Alec hissed. “About half a mile away, movin’ south.”
“Have they spotted us?” A glance at the dead embers of their fire gave him hope that they may not have drawn attention.
“Nay. Will an’ the captain are wi’ the horses.”
“Good.” If the sight of smoke or smell of a fire did not alert the soldiers to their presence, then the sounds of horses might. Archie and Will would ensure their mounts remained silent until the danger was passed. “Show me.”
Robbie followed Alec at a running crouch until they reached the edge of the trees they had used as shelter for the night. There, they squatted in the undergrowth to watch the activity on the rutted path a few yards away from where they hid. Robbie counted perhaps a couple of hundred men, all on foot, and bearing the marks of recent battle. Some were wounded, sporting rough bandages, or limping along with the aid of a branch fashioned into a crutch. Though clearly weary, the troops did not appear especially downhearted. It was immediately apparent to Robbie that he was not looking at defeated men.
The voices of the English warriors carried on the night air. One was heard to crow over the fate of a ‘filthy painted savage’ he had taken pleasure in disembowelling. His comrade in arms, with an elbow in a crude sling, shared his mirth, spouting forth about the bloodstained tartan the brave English had left strewn across Flodden Field for the crows to scavenge.
Robbie knew they referred to highlanders, some of whom still chose to adorn their bodies with the blue woad of their ancestors when going into battle. It was not a practice dear to the McGregors, but several of the more traditional clans still clung to the old ways. It was clear enough, from what he heard and saw, that the battle had not gone well for his countrymen.
The pair waited in silence until the last of the troops disappeared into the darkness. Eventually the crunch of booted feet on hard-packed earth died away and Robbie straightened.
“It must be all over, or they wouldnae be marchin’ south again.”
“Aye, sir.” Alec narrowed his eyes, clearly contemplating giving chase and perhaps taking out a few of the soldiers bringing up the rear. “Did ye hear what they said? About Flodden Field?”
Robbie nodded, fearing the worst. If the armies of England and Scotland had met on the field of battle, he could be reasonably certain his father and brother would have been fighting alongside King James. It might well be their blood that now stained the soil of Flodden. The sooner he got back to Mortain, the better.
Chapter Fourteen
“Archie, d’ye see that?”
Robbie reined in his horse and waited for his friend to come alongside. Jane peered ahead, wondering what had caught their attention.
“Aye, ‘tis the wall.” Archie beamed at Robbie, and the two clapped each other on the back.
Wall? Jane could make out no wall through the freezing needles of persistent rain, just a few rocks heaped in a pile.
The other men also clustered about them and appeared to share their leaders’ pleasure.
“What is it?” Jane asked. “Where are we?”
“See there? ‘Tis the remains o’ the Roman wall.” Robbie pointed to the heap of rocks.
On further examination of the stones in question, Jane would be prepared to concede that their arrangement had a structured look to it, rather than the haphazard pile she had at first assumed. But she had no idea what he meant by a Roman wall.
“Many centuries ago, the Romans were here. They conquered England but considered the Scots a wild and lawless bunch.” Lady Falconer had joined the group and taken pity on Jane’s look of bewilderment. “I daresay they were right,” she added. “So, they constructed a great wall to keep them out. This is what is left of it, I assume.”
“A wall?” Jane echoed. “To keep out the Scots? Did it work?”
Robbie chuckled. “I dinnae suppose so, lass, though it did used tae be a lot higher than ye see here. The local people have raided the wall for the stone, built their farms an’ cottages from it. But the countess is right, it would ha’ taken a lot more than a bloody wall tae keep us at bay, had we had a wish tae invade England.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I suppose it would...” Certainly, in its current dilapidated condition, the wall served no obvious purpose whatsoever.
Robbie soon set her right on that score.
“The wall, or what’s left of it, marks the border between England and Scotland.” Robbie dug in his heels and urged the stallion on, past the decaying pile of stones. He reined in his mount and turned to his men. “We are home.”
The rest of the group cantered forward to join them.
Robbie leaned to his right and opened one of his bulging saddlebags, then pulled out a length of the bright purple and green McGregor tartan.
“I thought you left it behind,” Jane murmured.
“Aye, so we did. Most of it.” Robbie slung the tartan across her shoulders, then pulled out a second length, which he wrapped around himself. “Welcome tae Scotland, Janie.”
Once over the border, their progress was north easterly. Robbie explained that
his brother’s castle, Mortain, lay in the lowlands, quite close to the border. Their route, designed to avoid English troops, had brought them into Scotland perhaps fifty miles to the southwest of their final destination. They had another two days of traveling before them.
“But, we are safe now,” she whispered. “No soldiers will find us, and Richard Culpepper cannot chase us here.”
“Aye, we are safe.” Robbie kissed her damp hair, then slid down to the ground and took the horse’s bridle. “Just the fucking rain tae contend wi’ now.” He led the animal forward, picking his route with care to avoid the large rocks that lay strewn across the landscape. The hood of his cloak was drawn up over his russet locks and he ducked his head against the relentless downpour.
Jane offered to take baby Cecily from Lady Falconer. “I shall tuck her up nice and warm within the tartan,” she explained. “You must need a rest.”
The countess inclined her head gratefully. It struck Jane that, though she never once complained, this arduous journey had taken a much greater toll on her employer. Lady Falconer was older and not accustomed to such hardship. And, of course, she appeared to be desperately worried about the fate of her daughter, regardless of the assurances offered by Robbie and Archie. Jane had not been made privy to all the details of what had apparently gone awry between the newly married couple, but she gathered it was serious.
“It will be all right,” Jane said, not entirely believing her words herself. She knew the McGregors to be stern when the occasion called for it; she had experienced this trait at first hand. Even lacking the details, she was in no doubt that Lady Eleanor’s offence was far greater than any of Jane’s had been, and her husband would be quite within his rights to exact the lawful penalty if he so chose.
