Captive of the Border Lord

by Blythe Gifford

  Long Mary rested her hands on her stomach, looking confidently at the field. ‘The King will win.’ She looked at Bessie. ‘If your warden is a wise man.’

  ‘Not that it would matter to you if he did lose,’ Wee Mary said.

  Long Mary made a face and Wee Mary laughed.

  The King always wins.

  Thomas had told her as much. Those were the rules of this place and Thomas would surely abide by them. And yet...

  I will honour you with my victory.

  Every word he spoke was considered. He would not promise a victory he did not intend to win.

  She hunched her shoulders against the wind, glad of the high collar at the back of the borrowed gown that protected her neck from the cold.

  What would Thomas do?

  And when had she started to think of him that way?

  * * *

  At the end of the field, Thomas pulled off his helmet, reached for the goblet his squire handed him and downed the wine.

  The King always wins.

  He knew that as well as any man.

  The smooth ground of the morning had been churned into mud by charging horses and fallen men. The jousting field had fallen into shadow. One more ride, one more charge, gracefully, though not obviously, ceded to the King and he could retire to the fireside.

  There was no choice, of course. He was the King’s man and if he did not allow the King to win, everything he had come to do would be at risk. But as he glanced up at the rock where the women clustered, the edge of a sunbeam tangled in Bessie’s firelight hair and he felt unwelcome desire churn again.

  He wanted to win.

  He wanted the kiss that would be his due.

  His horse, still eager, pawed the ground. He handed the goblet back to the squire and rode to the centre of the field, below the Ladies Rock, to face the King before each went to the opposite end of the field.

  James looked up at the ladies and smiled. ‘Let’s raise the stakes, shall we?’ He spoke loudly, the words meant for ears beyond Thomas’s. ‘If I win, I will collect your lady’s favour as well as my own.’

  He looked up at Elizabeth. She had not moved, but her fists were clenched. Yes, she had heard. And though he did not doubt the woman’s strength of will, she was not a woman accustomed to the advances of kings.

  If anything happens—

  Thomas rode back to the far end of the field.

  Now he knew exactly what he must do.

  * * *

  Long Mary glanced down at her own stomach and then towards Bessie, next to her. ‘Already you have caught his eye.’

  Stricken, Bessie looked at the woman. What could she possibly have done to draw the eye of the King? ‘That was not my intention.’

  ‘Maybe that is why,’ Wee Mary said. ‘That touch-me-not air about you.’

  And he shall not touch me, she started to say, when below them, the charge began.

  * * *

  In the end, three horses and two men were injured and King James lay on his back on the mud.

  Some kind of blood lust cleared from Thomas’s vision. Holy Mother of God. Now he would be able to save neither Bessie nor himself from the King’s wrath.

  Thomas dismounted, quickly helping the King to his feet.

  James pulled his arm away, then squinted at him, assessing. ‘I asked you to bring me surety for the Brunsons,’ he said. ‘Did Solitary Thomas instead finally find a bride?’

  No, was his first thought. No and no and no again. Let his cousins inherit the castle if he left no heir. Nothing could force him to marry again.

  Especially to marry Elizabeth Brunson.

  ‘She is...unused to the ways of court.’

  ‘You’re not,’ James snapped.

  The King’s words were an accusation. One he deserved. He knew the rules. He had explained them to Bessie. Yet he had let emotion trample truth and sense.

  The King’s varlet rushed over, bearing water and wine and a cloak to shield him from the biting November wind. James took a step, winced and leaned on the man’s shoulder, limping as he left the field. ‘Come to my chambers in an hour. I want to know what the hell is going on in Liddesdale.’

  Carwell bowed, silent.

  The King nodded toward Ladies Rock. ‘And go kiss the girl. You earned it.’

  His eyes went to her immediately, as if he had known where among the flock of ladies she stood. Hair like flame flowing over the black dress moulding her curves.

  And he remembered, vividly, what lay beneath.

  He had thought to spare her this. The public kiss, so lightly treated by King and court.

  When had he last kissed a woman?

  You want to kiss her. Want it as you’ve not wanted a woman before.

  True. And damned inconvenient.

  * * *

  He handed his helmet and gauntlets to a waiting squire and climbed the steep path up Ladies Rock, clutching the well-used strip of linen in his fist. As he reached the top, the ladies’ chatter waned and they fell back, leaving a clear path between him and Elizabeth.

  And when he stood before her, he found himself strangely tongue tied. She looked like Elizabeth now, in her court gown with the high neck in back and the low cut in front. Yet the steady eyes and lush lips were the ones he recognised. Wanted.

  She brushed her fingers gently across the cut on his brow, her cheeks as white as her linen before the battle. ‘You’re safe, then.’

  The cut throbbed and he could feel the ache of bruises on both thighs. ‘As long as I stay out of King James’s sight.’

  ‘I thought the King always won.’

  ‘The King thought so, too.’

  ‘And now...’ she swallowed, but her eyes did not waver ‘...you have come to claim your prize.’

  He wanted to claim more than that, but for so many reasons—his failures of the past, his promises to her brothers—he should not take even this taste.

  He leaned forwards. ‘They will wonder if I don’t.’

  She did not turn her head, but only nodded, then offered her lips as if the kiss were no more than her duty, and with no more passion than if she handed him a fresh tankard.

  Better that way, he told himself, as he stepped forwards. He’d had his fill of passion today. It was a moment of misguided passion that had got him here. He would do no more than press his mouth to her forehead and they would both be done.

  But her lips were too close. Soft, rounded, looking as if nothing but honeyed words would ever pass them. Looking as if they were shaped solely for kissing.

  He pressed his lips to hers. Felt her yield...and for a moment, the bruises, the worries, all of it fell away and there was only Bessie.

  He had thought perhaps her kiss might be as blunt as her words. Workmanlike. No nonsense. Instead, it was soft as a pillow, as if he were sinking into her, deeper, deeper, and would never come up for air.

  As if he were sinking into the quicksand.

  She bent into him, pressing against his immovable armour. Who was this woman? Was she anything he had surmised? Was her very bluntness a disguise?

  He put his hands on her arms and felt her shift to meet him, felt something within him surge, unstoppable as the tide flowing over the sand, rushing to meet the strength of earth and rock...

  His arms, wiser than his lips, gently set her aside, breaking the kiss.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  He blinked.

  So did she.

  He could not look away from her eyes, brown, like the rest of her clan, but lighter. And while he had been sure she had yielded to his kiss, her eyes reflected none of the passion he felt.

  Her gaze was not foggy or soft. Nor was it shielded and hard, as he had so often seen her.

  Her eyes simply met his. Open. Forthright. ‘So that’s a kiss, is it?’

  He turned over the idea in his mind. ‘Is it your first?’

  She looked away. Ladies Rock was empty now. The others had left to seek food and fire. ‘My first in a long, long
time.’

  He touched her chin and turned her face back to his. There was pain in her eyes. She was struggling to hide it. ‘How long?’

  She shrugged and shook her head.

  ‘You speak frankly about everything, but not about this?’

  ‘Some things don’t bear speaking.’

  It was all clear to him suddenly and he wondered why he had not seen it before. The honest words and blunt speech were no more than armour. Her secrets hid in her silences.

  She started down the rock, back to the castle, and he fell into step beside her.

  ‘The King has summoned me,’ he said. ‘He will ask about John.’

  She looked down and brushed her skirt as if she had just come from the kitchen and wanted to be sure no flour clung to her. Then she looked up at him, her armour safely in place again. ‘I must go with you.’

  ‘Not this time. Best not to remind him of you right now.’

  ‘But that’s why I am here.’

  ‘The King and I have other matters to speak of. I will see you in the Great Hall, later.’

  Much later, he hoped. After his heart had returned to its normal rhythm.

  And after he had told the King of England’s new peace offer.

  Chapter Seven

  Bessie was silent the rest of the way back. Words would only make things worse.

  Once inside, she watched him walk down the corridor while she struggled to forget the kiss and remember why she had come.

  It was a kiss. A ritual of the tournament. Nothing more.

  But it had felt like more. More than lips meeting lips and hands meeting arms. Something had moved within her, top to toe. Feelings for this man she neither wanted nor needed.

  Feelings that meant nothing to him. And must mean nothing to her. She would put them aside. Bury them.

  The man’s kisses were no doubt as untrustworthy as the rest of him.

  Still, how could such a feeling be feigned?

  ‘He’s a handsome one, isn’t he?’ Wee Mary’s voice startled her.

  She snapped her gaze away from his retreating back. The truth was, her eyes were drawn to Carwell. Regularly. Only because she was trying to work him out. Not because he was pleasant to look at. Oh, he was tall and strong and had a nice head of hair and all his teeth, but it took more than that to make a man.

  It took honour. And integrity. ‘Either of my brothers would have the best of him.’

  Wee Mary nodded, as if considering carefully. ‘I’d call him a match for Johnnie. You kiss as if you know him well.’

  ‘I know him well enough not to trust him.’

  The woman laughed. ‘That would be true of anyone you meet at court.’

  Even you?

  She bit her tongue. Who could be trusted, outside the family?

  Together, they walked across the courtyard and mounted the stairs to the room.

  ‘What do you know of him?’ she asked. If she was to prove his betrayal, she needed to know more of the man.

  ‘He has not been at court since I’ve been here. His family was out of favour under Angus. The Earl took the Warden’s position from Carwell’s father and kept it for himself.’

  The only man in Scotland the King hates more right now is the Earl of Angus.

  The King and Carwell both, it seemed. No wonder Carwell wanted the Brunsons’ Great Oath to destroy Angus. His motive wasn’t just to appease the King. It was revenge, just as any true Borderman’s would be. ‘So when James became king in his own right...?’

  ‘Their place was restored, yes. And the King named Carwell Warden again.’

  Back in the room, Wee Mary helped her settle in and explained some of the royal routine. Grateful, she took it in. How was she to navigate this new world? Carwell couldn’t be trusted, and without a guide, she might do her family more harm than help.

  Yet she needed someone to talk to. Women, she had found, were usually ready to lend a hand. Wee Mary obviously knew the landscape of the court as well as the Brunsons knew the hills of Liddesdale. And without guidance, Bessie could easily be lost in a morass as dangerous as any in the hills.

  A woman who had known Johnnie? Well, Wee Mary might be as close to family as Bessie would find within these walls.

  She took a breath. ‘I need your help.’

  The easy smile turned sceptical. ‘With what?’

  ‘I know nothing of court. You do.’

  The woman looked at her. ‘And in return?’

  Ah, so that was the way of this world. It was not only the dance that was difficult. Already her foot had touched boggy ground. ‘For Johnnie’s sake, perhaps?’

  We all miss Johnnie, Wee Mary had said, with a laugh. How close had they been?

  ‘Is he coming back?’ A wistful question.

  She could not lie. She shook her head. ‘He’s married now.’

  Now the sigh, but still, Mary smiled. ‘I hope he’s happy. He was a sweetling, Johnnie was. You have the look of him, though not his eyes.’ She sighed. ‘Never saw eyes so blue.’

  At the memory, tears stung Bessie’s eyes. Johnnie, Rob, Cate—everything she loved was far behind her. Perhaps this woman just wanted to leave her in ignorance, a source of amusement for the rest of them as she stumbled.

  Wee Mary patted her hand. ‘Are you missing home so much, then?’

  She bit her lip and shook her head. Bessie Brunson never cried. ‘I asked to come. It’s just all...strange. I’ve never been away before.’

  ‘Well, I’ll wager after you’ve been here a while, you will not want to go back. Now come. Of course I’ll help you. Let’s make sure you enjoy your time here.’

  The tears threatened again. She’d never been grateful to anyone outside her family. ‘I have a coin.’ She wondered what its worth would be.

  The woman shook her head. ‘You’ll owe me. Let’s leave it at that.’

  Vaguely uneasy at a bargain with hidden terms, she nodded. Yet most things here were hidden, it seemed, including whatever covert business the Scottish Warden was conducting. Did he discuss the Brunsons when he talked with the King? Or did his treachery go deeper?

  That was what she needed to ponder. Not the memory of his lips.

  * * *

  Carwell stood, waiting, as King James prowled his chamber.

  The man’s good humor had faded as his bruises darkened. His tournament had ended no better than his siege, leaving him with a black eye and a bloody lip.

  In order to improve his monarch’s mood, Carwell needed to balance the good news from England with the bad news about the Brunsons.

  The King’s first question made that more difficult.

  ‘Where’s John Brunson? I summon his men. They do not arrive. I ask for raids to cease so we can negotiate with the English and I hear of more forays and killings.’ He raised his brows. ‘I even hear rumours that you helped them.’

  The King paused. So they were to begin with the bad news. Well, better to end with the good.

  ‘One must always be suspicious of rumours, your Grace.’ More than that, he would not say. Let the King speak everything he knew first.

  ‘And then,’ King James continued, ‘I ask for an oath from all those loyal to me. An oath to destroy the traitor Angus who held me captive for two years. Is that an unreasonable request for a king to make?’

  ‘No.’ He himself had vowed so ten times over, but not for the King’s sake.

  ‘Exactly. Simple requests. Johnnie should have complied and returned weeks ago. Why isn’t he here?’

  Thomas cleared his throat. How to begin? ‘He’s, uh, newly married.’

  ‘Married!’ The King threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now I know the man has gone daft! He’s the one who taught me about the ladies.’

  The laugh was reassuring. ‘He’s apparently found one who made him forget many.’

  ‘Something you’ve yet to do.’ The King’s moment of humor passed quickly. ‘And he sends his sister as some poor substitute?’

  ‘Much has hap
pened, your Grace.’

  James snorted. ‘I’ve not exactly been idle these few months. I’ve been hunting down a traitor, forming a council, staffing a household, negotiating a peace treaty with the English. What can John have been doing more difficult than all that?’

  ‘When John returned home, he found his father dead.’

  The King’s face flinched. He had never known his own father, who had died when he was still a babe. But that had been long ago and James was a king now.

  He shrugged. ‘It happens to all men,’ he said, with less sympathy than Thomas had hoped to hear.

  ‘Afterwards,’ Thomas continued, smoothly, ‘he discovered his father had left undone the righting of an old injustice. He stepped in to—’

  ‘John Brunson’s family problems do not compare with the needs of his King. Just tell me when he will return.’

  Thomas took a breath. ‘He is staying in Liddesdale.’

  ‘He did not ask my permission!’

  If the King thought a Brunson would ask permission for anything, he still had much to learn of the Borders. ‘The very presence of the Brunsons is a bulwark against an English invasion, your Grace. An aid to your strength.’

  The King wanted none of it. ‘They send no men. They give me no oath.’ His fury escalated with each statement. ‘And they flagrantly ignore my commands to keep the peace?’

  ‘His sister is here as surety for their behaviour.’

  ‘Do they think she’ll seduce me into good humor?’

  His hands fisted before he could stop them. The King looked down. ‘Oh, I forgot. It’s you she has cajoled into forgiveness.’

  The discussion had taken a dangerous turn. For both of them. ‘Not at all.’ He must steer the subject to the real reason he had come. ‘But I bring more important news. From the English.’

  As quickly as the turn of the tide, the King’s attention shifted. ‘What did you learn?’

  ‘Your fears were justified, your Grace. There was a plot to kidnap you.’

  ‘My uncle?’ The King might have had suspicions, but the shock of confirmation was on his face.

  ‘Not directly. King Henry stayed at a safe distance.’

  Greater horror dawned. ‘My mother?’