She raised her chin, Braw Cate again. ‘Go. Tell him I am waiting and tell me what he says.’
With a glance back at her, he hurried his steps.
And in the moment she was alone, she heard the rustle of the leaves, saw the corbies take their flight, felt thunder in the ground beneath her feet, and realised, too late, what was coming.
Then the horses were upon them.
These men—three, if her head could still count—still wielded weapons and she cursed the trust that had allowed the Brunsons to give up their arms in perfect faith. Unarmed, on foot, there was nothing to do but run and hide unless she wanted to hold up a naked palm to stop a short sword.
But these men did not stop to fight. They rode down the street, directly for Scarred Willie, and cut the rope that bound his hands. Then they handed him a sword and the reins of a horse and kept riding for the other end of town before the rest of the men could regroup.
But before Willie put his boot in the stirrup and followed them, he came to Cate, pulled her to him and put his mouth on hers.
She reached for the dirk, now gone, then swung a fist at him instead. But it was Belde who tore into his arm, leaving the man bloody and howling before he mounted and followed the others out of the village.
And as he rode away, she stood in the dirt, doubled over, gritting her teeth to keep her breakfast bread in her stomach, and clutching a scrap of brown cloth that Belde had ripped from Scarred Willie’s sleeve.
Chapter Thirteen
‘You knew!’ John’s hand was on Carwell’s throat, holding him against the wall of the alehouse. He was tempted to squeeze. Hard. ‘You must have known!’
In the street behind him, villagers cowered and Brunsons and Storwicks ran to lay hands on their weapons.
He had first tried to reach Cate and, after, his sword. Too late for either. The men had ridden into the village and were gone before any one of them could retrieve a horse and a spear. Behind him, belatedly, three Brunson men mounted to follow.
He had little hope they would succeed.
And Cate? Bessie was with her. Cate would not welcome him now.
‘They betrayed me, too,’ Carwell said. His shifting greenish eyes usually hid more than they revealed, but now they burned with unconcealed fury. ‘I swear on my father’s grave.’
John forced his fingers away from the man’s throat. ‘I hope he meant more to you than mine did.’
‘Storwick’s defamed Carwell honour now,’ the warden said. A Borderer’s resolve had replaced his diplomat’s mask. ‘And I will discover whether the English warden helped.’
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Rob and the Storwick head man face off, toe to toe. Rob had his sword pointed at the other man’s chest, but instead of striking back, the man stood with open hands, sorrow weighing his shoulders.
‘This was not of our doing,’ he insisted, shaking his head. ‘He is no longer a Storwick. He is a broken man.’
A broken man. Dead to his family. The worst curse a Borderer could inflict. A quarrel with Scarred Willie was no longer a Storwick matter. The family’s head man had spoken.
John joined his brother. Slowly, Rob lowered his sword, then spat on the ground. ‘There!’ he yelled, raising his arms to encompass the day. ‘Are you satisfied, Johnnie?’
Truce lay shattered. Men of both sides hobbled, bloody, to seek their horses, weapons and homes.
‘Satisfied? Nay,’ he answered through gritted teeth, itching to hold a sword again. The Border Laws and the King’s Justice were not going to be enough. Even for him. ‘Not satisfied by half.’
He had never felt so vulnerable, so foolish, so naked as when he stood, helpless, as they swooped in and took the man from justice. It was worse than when he had been the youngest boy, not big enough or strong enough or tough enough to beat the others.
And then Storwick put his hands on Cate.
Seeing the sickness on her face had been worse than all the rest. ‘He cannot be far. We will ride after him. Now.’
‘And if we do, we’ll gallop into an ambush deadlier than the one we just survived.’
‘Then we’ll go home. Get help.’ He tried to think. Failed. ‘We’ll bring a thousand men!’
‘You’re ready? To kill the bloody bastard?’
John wrestled with his emotions, realising he had been ready to violate every duty he had come to perform and cut off every opportunity the king might offer.
He took a deep breath, struggling to subdue his anger. He had already laid hands on the king’s warden. If he murdered a Storwick outside the law, he’d be the one on trial at the next Truce Day.
‘I am ready to track him down and take him to Edinburgh to stand trial.’ There, at least, he could be sure that the judges had made no secret alliances.
Rob leaned back, arms crossed, looking at him as if he were Johnnie Blunkit again. ‘If you think to do that, then you remember nothing and have learned less. You’ll never take him alive, I can promise you that.’
‘There has to be a way.’ He wanted to argue, to tell his brother to put down his arms, and turn justice over to the king instead of holding tight into his own hands, but he had to convince himself, first. ‘You must listen to me—’
‘No! It’s you who will be listening, Johnnie boy. I told you what would happen, but you knew it all. So I did it for you. I tried your precious justice. You see what happened. Now you can tell your king in Fife that allegiance to him and his laws is worth no more than a piece of parchment pierced by a sword. The sword always wins.’
Would Rob still send the king his men? Would they get there in time? None of that seemed to matter now. John had seen the truth the king was too far away to understand. There was no law, no justice on this frontier except that a family made for itself. And unless the king could change that, nothing else would change.
‘Nevertheless, I will hunt him down and see him punished.’
Rob shook his head. ‘Why? You made it clear this was not your fight.’
Why? Because he’d sworn a vow on the Hogback stones.
‘Because I stood before you and vowed to Cate that I would bring the man to justice myself if the wardens did not do it.’
In hindsight, he’d given his word lightly, never thinking he would need to keep it. But now he was bound by more than words. He had seen the enemy, seen what he did to Cate.
Rob was silent, but a look of approval that John had never hoped to see crept into his eyes.
‘Well, Johnnie me boy,’ he said finally. ‘You may grow into that vest yet.’
John shook his head. Cate would not agree. He had failed her and, until he could redeem that sin, he would be no Brunson. He wouldn’t even call himself a man.
‘Come.’ Rob motioned him. ‘We’ll meet with the others. Decide what’s to be done.’
He looked to Cate again. Bessie stood on one side of her, Belde on the other. ‘I must speak to her first.’
* * *
Cate did not berate him as he approached.
She did not waste a breath on him at all.
She simply stood, stiff as a graven image with fury engraved on her face.
Bessie slipped away from her side and he was grateful for his sister’s understanding. She, at least, did not look at him with judgement, though the dog’s eyes held disappointment.
‘Walk with me,’ he said.
Cate didn’t move.
He put his hand on her arm and pulled her with him, towards the river, out of earshot of the others.
Startled, she raised her head. ‘I did not give you permission—’
He hated the fear in her eyes. ‘I did not ask.’
‘You did not ask when you came here.’ She shrugged off his hold. ‘You, who thought to stop the wind and change the path of the sun. Now do you see?’ The anger in her eyes faded. ‘It’s as if God delivers him and punishes me.’
He hated her hopeless whisper. ‘Man, not God.’
The words snapped her face into focus.
‘Carwell?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said, though he was not sure.
‘The English Warden, then. It doesn’t matter. You can trust none of them.’
How well he understood that now. ‘The Storwick head man has disowned him. Scarred Willie’s a broken man now.’
‘Yet he still lives. He rides free into the Debatable Land while I...’ She squeezed her eyes against tears.
He forced himself to wait, not touching her, until she could speak again.
‘While my father lies dead beside his fore folk.’
He had no argument for that. She had trusted him and he had failed her. ‘I will hunt him down myself.’
They had reached the edge of the stream. Gold-and-green trees mingled side by side and fallen leaves littered the bank and floated on the water. Belde bent his head and slaked his thirst.
She looked at John, finally, doubt replacing the pain in her eyes. ‘You would do that?’
For you, yes.
The thought came quickly, but he could not tell her that it was for her that he wanted to ride. Could barely tell himself. ‘Did you not believe me when I gave my word?’
She searched John’s face as if perhaps she had not.
Yet he had hardly believed himself.
He reached for her, wanting to touch her, as if somehow the feel of his hand on her arm would convey what mere words would not.
She looked down at his hand. ‘Is your promise about Scarred Willie worth any more than your others?’
He dropped her arm and stepped away, wishing he had promised her nothing. ‘I will bring him in.’ He held up both hands, a surrender. And he’d explain it to the king later.
‘Why now? What has changed? Is my father more dead today than he was afore?’
Nay. It was not the death of Cate’s father that haunted him. ‘The wardens, the Border laws, failed you.’ And me. He wondered whether he could make the king understand that.
‘Then I must be thanking you, Johnnie Brunson.’ She met his gaze and took his hands in hers. ‘For I know this is not an easy thing for you to do.’
He looked down at her hands, covering his. She had refused his touch. Now she sought it. Who was this Cate and what did she want of him? ‘But Storwick’s capture must be the end of it, the end of the killing.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s not mine to change.’
‘But you could help. Help me convince Rob.’
She looked away, but her hands did not leave his. After a day hard with anger and dark with fear, she looked as bashful as any young maid.
But her touch, innocent and light, lit the fire in his belly, a burning desire for something more than revenge. It was an ache to possess and protect what was his. What he wanted to be his.
Land. Family. Home. Woman.
‘Think of it, Cate.’ He swallowed, the words halting. ‘Think of a life of peace—’
And then he could no longer think. Her lips coaxed him closer. He leaned forward...
And realised the last lips that had touched hers had been Storwick’s.
* * *
Cate lifted her face and opened her lips to his. A kiss of thanks to seal the bargain they had struck. To let him know she understood the sacrifice this promise was for him.
Nothing more.
But it was more. It was a kiss to wipe away the taste of Willie Storwick. It was a search for hope that she might some day be done with revenge and fear and be like other women.
A dream she had never dared until Johnnie Brunson.
He hesitated, respecting her wishes and his promise. He took a breath, as if to speak.
She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned towards him. She did not want him to ask if he could kiss her or to hold his arms behind him. She wanted him to hold her, to protect her from the awful memory of the day.
Everything else must wait.
All day she had been Braw Cate, watching, waiting, muscles and nerves knotted so she would not run. People can be happy, he had promised, even when life is harsh.
Show me it is true. Just for a moment.
And when that moment was over, she would be Braw Cate again, afraid of no man.
But he did not move. His arms stuck stubbornly to his side. She slipped hers around his waist, pressed herself to his chest, protected by the vest she had made, and lifted herself on to her toes, seeking his lips.
Finally, he gave a groan of surrender. His arms tightened around her. His lips met hers. And the world she knew dropped away.
The feeling of safety she had craved came first. His arms, impossibly strong and gentle all at once, drew a wall around her, closing out all the pain of the day.
But the moment of peace slid quickly into something more.
A rush of heat in her cheeks, a throbbing between her legs, a pounding in her chest like birds fleeing the hunt.
Desire. Her body like a runaway horse, galloping to join with his as if nothing else mattered. Not even her last breath.
And that was even more frightening that the tightness of his arms and the hunger of his kiss.
Her life depended on controlling her fear. If she lost her grip on her emotions, there would be nothing but a yawning, black pit before her.
She struggled against him. Ripped her lips from his. ‘Enough.’
He looked at her as if she were mad. ‘But you—’
‘I know.’ How could she explain? It was herself she rejected. Not him. ‘Forgive me. You must think—’
He put his hands on her shoulders and held her steady, searching her eyes. She did not protest his touch. Just moments ago, his blue eyes had been filled with fierce joy. She’d put confusion and anger there.
‘Catie Gilnock, I must know what you want.’
She bit her lip and looked to Belde, calling him back, not wanting to face Johnnie’s eyes, but he took her chin and turned her face to him again.
How brave are you, Cate? Brave enough to look in his eyes and tell him the truth? Brave enough to put yourself in hands other than your own?
She tried. She met his eyes, hoping for forgiveness, seeing only anger. And then, something else. Something she was afraid to name.
‘It was I who broke a vow today,’ she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. ‘You had said men and women might grab some happiness. After...today...I needed to see if it were true.’
‘Is it?’
Yes. But not for me.
He had her wanting impossible things. Peace. Love. A normal life. Better to hope for none of those things. Better to remember who she was.
‘No,’ she said. A lie that was easier than the truth.
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Then you needn’t worry, Catie Gilnock.’ His voice carried all the anger she had feared. ‘I’ll be inflicting no such unhappiness on you again.’
No such unhappiness. Only the loneliness she knew.
Too late to save her heart. She had let herself imagine she might be like other women some day, able to give her body to her man in joy and trust.
Today, Scarred Willie had proved her hopes a lie.
And for that, he would pay.
She nodded. ‘And so, Johnnie Brunson, are you ready to track down Willie Storwick?’
Chapter Fourteen
John’s flash of anger almost answered no.
He had not thought her one of those women who said come hither, only to say go hence. He had known those, the ones who would say yes, then no, then maybe, thinking that, eventually, a man would do anything she asked to have her.
Cate Gilnock was not one of those.
Or was she?
What did he know of this woman whose cause had become his? Her body said one thing, her words another. Yet yearning had filled her eyes, as if she saw a star, high overhead, and craved what she could never touch.
And there was something else in her eyes. Something too close to fear.
He sighed. Well, after today, she was entitled to her fear of Willie Storwick. And was he ready to hun
t the bastard who had dared lay lips on hers?
The promise of his father and his brother had become his, the weight of it heavy, all because of this woman. He had taken on her cause and, with it, taken a step off the side of a mountain into a ravine deep and hidden as the one on Hogback Hill.
And he didn’t know how far there was to fall, or what might await at the bottom.
Was he ready? ‘Yes.’
She fell into step beside him. ‘Then let’s chase him down.’
Rob’s reminders echoed in his ear. ‘He’s disappeared. We can’t just ride into the middle of the Debatable Land and expect him to emerge and surrender.’
She shook her head. The grim, determined set had returned to her face. ‘Belde will lead us to him.’
He looked at the dog. ‘How? We have nothing to give him a scent.’ He knew enough of the dog to understand that.
‘Yes,’ she said, calm as cold steel, ‘we have.’ She pulled some brown fabric from her pocket, holding it like a bloody captured flag.
‘What is that?’ Yet he knew, somehow. She was his Braw Cate again, a woman who feared nothing.
‘He may have stolen a kiss, but I stole something better.’
* * *
John let Cate explain her plan to Rob. Sleuth dogs could track across water and rock with little more than a whiff, but this was a man on horseback. They must move quickly, so as not to lose the trail.
Bessie and most of the men would return to defend the tower. A smaller group, but enough to outnumber the outlaws, would chase after Storwick’s band.
The street was near empty. The Storwicks had escaped into the hills and the poor folk of Kershopefoote had disappeared behind closed doors.
Carwell and his mounted men milled before the
alehouse too far away for words, but when they rode past, the warden paused, looking down at John.
‘I cannot countenance it,’ he said, looking over the family, re-armed and ready to ride. He knew what it meant. The Brunsons would take their own justice now.
John grabbed the horse’s bridle. ‘You’re an arrogant son of a bitch and I don’t care what you think. Perhaps you countenance an English Warden in league with the Storwicks.’
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