The Border Hostage

by Virginia Henley

  “Take the damn horse!” Dacre offered desperately.

  “I intend to take you both.”

  At this moment, Raven came upon the scene. When she saw Dacre picking himself up from the ground, she cried, “Christopher! What's going on?” She looked at the mounted moss-troopers surrounding them, and then she saw the dark Borderer who called himself Kennedy. Fear prickled her scalp. She had known from the first moment she had seen him that he was dangerous. She had felt the subtle sense of threat whenever he had drawn close to her, yet she had willfully ignored it. Anger suddenly overcame her fear. “You Scots swine, how dare you attack us without provocation!”

  Heath Kennedy stared at her in utter disbelief. “Raven Carleton, what the hellfire are you doing here?”

  “I am visiting Bewcastle with Christopher Dacre.”

  “Scum like him will blacken your reputation,” he spat angrily.

  “We are betrothed! Christopher Dacre and I are to be married.”

  Her words were flung at him defiantly, like steel-tipped arrows, and they hit their mark. Never in his life had Heath Kennedy wanted anything as badly as he wanted Raven Carleton. The lust that rose up in him was so strong, he wanted to tear off her fancy clothes, lay her back in the grass, and put his brand on her. The dark beauty was a challenge to his manhood, and the thought that she belonged to Christopher Dacre was unendurable to him. “That's strange,” he sneered. “In Carlisle, Thomas Dacre was considering a match with Beth Kennedy for his precious son and heir.”

  “Things have been settled since then,” Raven said loftily. “Christopher and I are pledged.”

  Not for long, Heath vowed silently. I took Blackadder from him and I shall take you too! He was suddenly elated, for here was the means to make the Dacres pay in more ways than one. He could not have planned a more perfect revenge than kidnapping Christopher Dacre and his intended bride! Aloud, he said, “Good! Lord Dacre should be most willing to pay ransom for his son's future wife.” Heath said to Gavin, “I'm taking her too.”

  Gavin Douglas was grinning like a heathen. “I've often wanted tae kidnap a woman, but always thought better of it. They can be one hell of a lot of trouble, especially English females.”

  “Leave her alone. Let her go!” Dacre cried.

  “You shut your mouth,” Heath warned, “and while we're at it, I'll have your boots.”

  After a moment's hesitation, Dacre removed his spurred boots and handed them to Kennedy. Heath flung them into the trees, then told him to mount the roan. “Take him,” Heath directed Gavin, and watched with satisfaction as the Douglas men headed west with his prisoners and his mares.

  Raven jumped down from Sully's back to confront him. “You must be mad! Taking him to Scotland is kidnapping!” “I am relieved you understand.” “I shan't go with you!”

  Heath ignored her and looked about for burdock plants.

  Raven was incensed at his indifference to her plight. She reached into her pocket, rejected the hag stone, then closed her fingers over her knife. She withdrew it cautiously and launched herself at her captor. In a flash she found herself on her back with the Borderer astride her. Gone was his indifference as he pried the knife from her fingers. “You, mistress, will do exactly as you are told.” As he looked down at her, he wondered if she had allowed Dacre to make love to her. The thought knotted his gut.

  As Raven lay panting beneath him, she knew real fear. Her own recklessness had put her in this dangerous position. She expected any moment he would ravish her, and opened her mouth to scream.

  Heath covered Raven's mouth with his in a rough kiss that effectively silenced the scream. He withdrew his lips and stared fiercely into her eyes.

  She remembered the last time he had kissed her. The name is Kennedy, sweetheart, and I want you to never forget it. Next time we meet, I promise to do something even more outrageous. Raven feared he was about to fulfill that promise.

  “Let me go, Kennedy,” she begged softly.

  For long minutes, Heath fought the sexual hunger her closeness provoked. She was so beautiful and so reckless, her passionate spirit cried out to him. Finally he stood up and helped her to her feet. He moved away from her and bent to cut burdock leaves with her knife. He rubbed the leaves into the bloody gashes on Blackadder's flanks and at the same time spoke softly to the stallion. When he was done, the horse nudged him with his nose.

  Raven saw how gently he handled the horse, and some of her fear receded. When he gave her back her small dagger, she was thunderstruck. Did it mean that he trusted her, or was he showing contempt for her futile attack? “You don't really intend to kidnap me, do you?” she asked, clinging to hope.

  “Yes, lass, I do. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Get Sully, and let's go.”

  “I cannot go yet,” she said desperately. “I have a pair of falcons with me.”

  Heath glanced up at the tallest trees where he saw the outline of a hawk against the sky. He took a piece of meat from his saddlebag and tied it to a rope, then swung the lure in a wide circle, imitating the flight of a small bird. Sheba flew to the bait immediately, and Heath caught hold of her jesses and fastened them to his saddlebow. He smoothed down her feathers, using a firm but gentle touch, and whistled a two-note refrain that he repeated a few times. Sheba cocked her head and settled quietly.

  Suddenly the male peregrine swooped down and landed on Raven's shoulder. She staggered slightly but had enough presence of mind to get a firm hold on his jesses. “Good boy, Sultan.”

  “You may bring your hunting birds.”

  “How generous of you! Most likely you covet them,” Raven accused as she fastened the falcon's jesses to her saddlebow.

  Heath's gaze swept her from head to toe. “I do have a fancy for the female.”

  His words brought a blush to Raven's cheeks. She could still feel the imprint of his kiss and the rough touch of his unshaven jaw against her cheek. She watched him mount the stallion, then he gestured for her to do the same. She obeyed him reluctantly and, when she was in the saddle, thought about fleeing. She knew he would recapture her in minutes, and almost immediately she realized that if she was to escape, she would have to use subtler means.

  Raven rode ahead of him, and she imagined she could feel his dark, compelling gaze riveted upon her. She vividly recalled the vision she had had of the falcon flying into the room, swooping about her in a great circle. She saw the raven from the rafters try to flee. The raptor had not harmed the small raven, but had forced it to fly in unison. She realized that the vision had been a portent of things to come, and that Kennedy was the raptor.

  CHAPTER 8

  When Heath and his captive caught up with the others, Gavin Douglas nodded in Dacre's direction. “I gagged him; couldn't stand listenin' tae his whining for twenty miles.”

  Raven wanted to protest their treatment of Christopher, but held her tongue. Anything she said might make his plight worse. She rode in silence over the rugged moors, and realized they must now be in Scotland. As endless miles of wild, wide-open carse stretched before them, she saw that the Scottish Borders were far less inhabited than their English counterpart, making them lonely and dangerous, with treacherous terrain. She obeyed her captor's orders to stay close beside him whenever they skirted a moss or perilous bog, for she feared Sully might sink up to his fetlocks and break a leg.

  The weather became overcast and daylight was fading fast by the time they reached Eskdale Valley. Raven was relieved when the small cavalcade headed toward a castle that sat in the valley's sheltered lee. She resented that the dark Borderer was so unwearied. When they arrived at the stables, there were many hands to take their horses, and she realized that most were moss-troopers rather than grooms. Her heart sank, for she knew it would be impossible for Christopher Dacre and her to escape with so many would-be guards.

  Kennedy lifted Sheba from his saddlebow. “Bring your falcon to the mews. It is empty at the moment; Lord Douglas left his hunting birds at his other castle.”
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  Raven took Sultan onto her wrist and followed him up five stone steps and through a doorway. “Which Lord Douglas would that be?” she asked loftily, setting the male peregrine on the perch next to Sheba and securing his jesses.

  “Lord Ramsay Douglas, Border Warden of the West March, and nephew to the late Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus.”

  Raven hid her surprise. Since King James Stewart had died at Flodden, the Douglas clan held all the power in Scotland. And Lord Ramsay was a Border Warden like Lord Thomas Dacre, sworn to uphold the law and keep peace. He could have no idea that Lord Dacre's heir had been kidnapped. She would make a formal complaint to him, if she was lucky enough to find him in residence.

  Kennedy secured the wooden door, descended the stone steps leading from the mews, and ordered Dacre to the castle. Raven saw that the other prisoner had been taken away, and she hurried to walk beside Christopher, determined to stay close to him. Inside, there were servants everywhere, and Raven was impressed with the richness of the furnishings. Kennedy spoke to a burly steward, who nodded his understanding and led Dacre toward a studded door. When Raven tried to follow, Kennedy stopped her.

  “I want to be with Christopher … I intend to share his fate!”

  Heath looked amused at her dramatic gesture. “The walls of the dungeon drip with damp, and the rat-infested straw pallet stinks with mold.” When he saw her look of outrage, he laughed. “You must think me a barbarian. I am sorry to disappoint you, mistress, but Dacre will occupy a well-appointed tower room until the ransom is paid. And you must not consider yourself a prisoner here; you will be an honored guest, Mistress Carleton.”

  “You must be mad—we both know I am your prisoner!”

  “If you insist.” He gave her a mocking bow. “Come, I will escort you to your chamber, so you may refresh yourself.”

  Raven looked down at her disheveled state in dismay. “You devil, I have only the clothes on my back.”

  “And very fetching they are,” he said, placing a proprietary hand at her back to urge her up the stairs.

  She straightened her back and pulled away from him immediately, hurrying up the stairs. “Don't touch me.”

  “As you wish,” he drawled, throwing open a heavy wooden door that led into a well-furnished tower. “Actually, these two rooms are mine, but since you are my honored guest, you may take the far chamber with the window and the fireplace.”

  Raven saw that she was fairly trapped; she would have to enter and exit through his chamber. “I cannot sleep in an adjoining room to yours; it would be highly improper!”

  “I am concerned only for your safety.”

  “What about the safety of my virtue?” she demanded.

  His bold eyes swept over her, assessing her. “If Dacre is your lover, you have no virtue.”

  “How dare you! I demand to speak with Lord Douglas.”

  “I suggest you do something about your appearance before you seek audience with his lordship,” he told her bluntly.

  Raven wanted to fly at his face, but did not dare. Instead she marched into the adjoining chamber and slammed the door. A huge bed dominated the room, and knowing it was his, Raven averted her eyes and moved toward the welcoming fire in the hearth. On the front of a massive wardrobe was a mirror, and when she stepped before it, she gasped. The black skirt of her riding habit was covered with dirt from rolling about the ground with the Borderer. Her red velvet cap sat at a comic angle, and the once finely plumed ostrich feather hung limp and bedraggled down her back. Her hair beneath the cap was in such a wild black tangle, she despaired of ever getting a comb through it again. Then she groaned, remembering that she didn't even possess a comb.

  She pulled off her gloves and dragged the ridiculous cap from her head. She grabbed one of the brushes laid out on an oak chest, ignoring the fact that it belonged to her captor, and firmly brushed the tangles from her curls. Because of the dampness, the brushing made her hair look like a wild blackberry thicket, and she had to take the ribbon from the neck of her shift to fasten it back. Then she took up another brush and removed the dirt from her skirt. Finally she poured water from a big jug into a bowl and washed the travel stains from her hands and face.

  Raven heard urgent voices in the adjoining room, then from a distance she heard a woman scream. She threw open the door and saw the Borderer conversing with an attractive woman about thirty.

  “Thank God you're back, Heath. She's been in labor for twelve hours, and Ram is mad with worry. He's with her now, making things worse. I need you to calm him down, so Tina and the midwife and I can get on with women's business.”

  “I'll do what I can, Ada.” He ran from the tower room, leaving the women to their own devices.

  “Who is in labor?” Raven asked.

  “Heath's sister, Valentina. She's Lady Douglas. … She's having twins, and she's been at it for twelve hours with nothing to show for it but pain and misery!”

  Suddenly their identities fell into place for Raven. Of course, Valentina Kennedy, Beth Kennedy's older sister, was married to powerful Lord Ramsay Douglas, and the man who had kidnapped her was one of Valentina's brothers, no less!

  “Have you tried giving her colewort?” Raven asked.

  “Oh, God be praised, you know herbal medicine?” Ada asked.

  “My grandmother taught me. Colewort steeped in wine speeds up childbirth.”

  “I have no idea what it looks like. Go to the stillroom and if you find some, take it to Mr. Burque in the kitchen. He will make a decoction that Tina can drink. I must go … please hurry.”

  Heath ran up to the Master Tower, but before he could knock on the bedchamber door, it was thrown open by Ram Douglas. He had a distraught look on his face, and his black hair stood on end from running his hand through it. “She's ordered me out!” Ram said incredulously. “That's the thanks I get fer hoverin' over her night and day—she's thrown me out!”

  “Women like to be in charge at times like this, and rightly so. It is their domain, and you are trespassing. Ada has given me orders to distract you, and that should prove easy enough.”

  Ram arched a black brow. “How so?”

  “I am convinced that Dacre is paying Scots to murder Scots. I tracked down the scum who came for you and took me by mistake. I have reason to believe they are Armstrongs, an outlawed Scottish clan. I saw their leader, Mangey Armstrong, at Bewcastle, where he had gone to collect his blood money. Safe behind the walls of the English fortress, I couldn't get my hands on him. I was so thirsty for revenge, I kidnapped Dacre's son instead, and I'm holding him for ransom.”

  Ram gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Ye're a Borderer through and through,” he said with admiration. “It's a sure way tae make Dacre pay, and at the same time send him a message that we know who's behind these bloody raids.” Ram's eyes glittered with anticipation. “Let's go and help the heir write a letter that will put the fear of God in his father, then Jock can deliver it.”

  “I don't want to put Jock in jeopardy.”

  “No fear of that,” Ram replied. “I'm an old hand at this; let me explain how it's done. In plain language the ransom letter states that if our messenger doesn't return by midnight, Dacre will get his son back in pieces. Then set down the time and place where the exchange will be made, and the amount of the ransom.”

  Heath nodded. “I'll give him two days, and make the exchange at the peel tower right on the Border at Liddel Water.”

  “Good plan. Only one at a time can cross the bridge, and I insist ye have two dozen moss-troopers at yer back, just in case.”

  “Chris Dacre had a young woman with him. I brought her too.”

  “Double the ransom,” Ram said with approval. Heath shook his head. “I'll not take Dacre's money for her.”

  Raven went immediately in search of the stillroom. A plump maidservant with a thick Scottish brogue led her downstairs, through the great hall, and past the kitchens to an unheated chamber where milk and butter were kept on stone slabs and dozens of
bunches of herbs hung from the rafters. Raven had no trouble identifying the different herbs by their scent and by their appearance. Colewort was a common plant whose seeds were used in cooking to flavor soups or desserts, and Raven was relieved to find a good supply. She took out her knife and cut some dark green leaves with their sticky seeds and hurried back to the kitchens.

  The castle kitchens, redolent with delicious smells, were bustling with activity. The chef in charge stood out from his Scottish assistants by his accent and his attractive, expressive face as he paced the kitchen restlessly. Raven approached him and held out the colewort. “You are Mr. Burque, I believe. Ada asked me to bring you this herb to make a decoction for Lady Douglas. When steeped in wine, the seeds …” Raven hesitated, wondering how she could speak of childbirth to this stranger.

  Mr. Burque plucked the colewort from her fingers and his face became transformed with hope. “Ah, it will help the birthing and soothe her pain, no?”

  “Speed it up, yes,” Raven confirmed. She watched his graceful hands as he washed the plant, placed it in a copper pot, crushed its seeds, and poured red wine over it. As he brought the mixture to a boil, the air was filled with the scent of colewort, which resembled that of cloves. He added honey to thicken the potion and to sweeten its taste, and in a remarkably short time declared it ready. He poured the steaming wine into a goblet. “Ta-da! I shall carry it for you, chérie, and we will present it together!”

  Mr. Burque led the way to the Master Tower, and Raven had to run up the staircase to keep up with him. As he raised his hand to knock on the door, a long wail of distress came from inside the chamber. Burque thrust the goblet into Raven's hands and fled. She knocked loudly and the door was promptly opened by Ada.