Rory’s heart tightened, cutting off his breath. He had not given up hope despite the odds. He had abandoned Lachlan when his younger brother needed him years ago. He hadn’t realized how haunted his brother was until he returned from ten years at sea. Even then, Lachlan had risked his life for him, had almost died in the effort. Lachlan had shown far more loyalty to him than he had to Lachlan.
And now because he had not wanted to leave his wife and two bairns, his brother could be dead.
He would not accept that.
“I will go to meet Jamie Campbell.”
“Nay. They will be back tonight. Ye can start looking again at first light.” He looked over Rory’s breeches, linen shirt, and doublet. “Ye look too much like what ye are. I’ll find ye some new clothes. Ye may want to let your beard grow out.”
He was shown a room and invited to eat supper with them. As hospitality demanded the invitation, courtesy demanded acceptance, though he would have preferred to be out looking for his brother.
The meal was loud and noisy and drunken. The Armstrongs were undistinguishable by rank or dress or language. They all wore the same attire: dark breeches, doublet, and jack. They drank with gusto and told tales of their bravery, and the cowardice of the English borderers.
Riders appeared after dark. There was a cry from sentries, then he saw the light of torches dancing in the night air as the party approached and the riders dismounted.
One of the men dismounted and hurried over to him.
It took Rory a moment longer to recognize Jamie. Rather than the plaid he usually wore, he’d donned the same rough garments as the Armstrongs along with the steel helmet that was so common on the border. Jamie took it off, and Rory saw him clearly in the moonlight. He was pale, and thin, his red hair darkened by some substance. The bright grin had dulled into an expression void of light.
Rory clasped Jamie’s shoulder. “My God, but it is good seeing you.”
“Too many others did not make it,” his friend said somberly.
Jamie was obviously burning up with guilt. Rory understood. “I should have been there as well.”
“Another casualty? I do not know what good that would have been.”
“Lachlan—”
“Lachlan fought like the very devil. I saw him go down. He was swinging his sword.”
“You have no hope for him then?”
“I had blasted little hope for myself, but I survived.”
“When did you last see Lachlan?”
“He was at the left side of the king. I was on the other. The king charged down the hill. As we engaged the English, we were attacked from the rear. We were surrounded. James fought like a madman. So did Lachlan. I tried to make my way to him, but a pike took down my horse. When I was on the ground, there was a sword at my throat, and I had no weapon.” He was silent, then, “I should have died with the rest.”
“Nay,” Rory said, knowing guilt all too well. “That would have gained nothing.”
“Except my honor.”
“No one will question that. You have not asked how your wife is.”
“I do not deserve her. I dishonored the Campbells. I live while the best and bravest of Scotland are dead.”
“She does not feel that way.” Rory paused, then added, “She’s with child, Jamie.”
Jamie looked at him with the startlingly blue eyes that were now filled with agony. Gone was the laughter, the teasing, the charm.
“She needs you,” Rory continued.
“I cannot return until I discover what happened to Lachlan. I swore to you I would bring him back.”
“Hector? Have you heard anything of him?”
“Nay. I fear the worse. You and I know he would not have left Lachlan,” Jamie said. He paused, then added, “We went to the battlefield, to the place where the king and Lachlan went down. We found nothing. The reivers stole everything, including the baggage of the English army.”
“There must be something,” Rory protested.
“Aye, some bodies were taken to various churches. We’ve been to several on the Scottish side. Lachlan was not on any of the lists there. Now that the English army is mostly gone, the Armstrongs suggest I try Branxton Church. Mayhap they have a list of known dead.”
“How far is it from here?”
One of the Armstrongs spoke up. “A night’s ride.”
“Then we go tonight. Archibald and I can go. You stay here and get some rest.”
“Nay,” Jamie said. “I will go with you.”
From the determined look on Jamie’s face, Rory knew he would not change his mind.
“Ye can have a hobbler while ye are here. Our horses may no’ look so big,” the Armstrong said, “but they can travel fast over long distances and go through boggy land that no other horse can. Ye would not be taken for a borderer on the horse you rode.”
In minutes, Rory had changed to the rough clothes of the borderer, wishing mightily for his plaid. The jack was heavy, woven with steel strands, and the shirt rough. The helmet weighed heavily on his head. And as he mounted the small horse, he felt as if his long legs were dragging the ground.
They were silent as the Armstrong led the way through the ridges of sward and rough grass, then the bogs. Lit by a three-quarters moon, the bleak and lonely landscape helped Rory understand the hard and ruthless men who lived here. He knew of the border reivers, of course. King James had often vowed to try to do something about the lawlessness on the border. It wasn’t only Scots raiding English but Scots raiding Scots as well.
But his family had also done some business with the Armstrongs, business that involved a bit of smuggling, and he had little right to question the morals of others.
Jamie rode over to him. “It is an inhospitable land,” he said.
“Yet it has a stark beauty.”
“I have no’ your vision, Rory. I hate every foot of it.”
The emphasis in Jamie’s words was something else that was new. A bitterness that was alien to everything his friend was. He wondered what had happened to Jamie these past months.
Jamie lapsed into silence.
Rory turned his thoughts to Lachlan. Someone must have seen Lachlan. Someone must know whether he was dead or alive. He prayed silently that he would find some answers at the Branxton Church.
Chapter 15
ROBERT Howard felt irretrievably tangled in his web of lies.
He hated them.
He liked Thomas Charlton, regardless of his questionable acts as a reiver. He certainly did not want to deceive him. Holy Mother, but he didn’t even know what he was lying about.
He’d thought about what Kimbra had said. In truth, he thought about her entirely too much. Yet there was nothing he could do. He was watched carefully. Every time he left the tower, he had a shadow nearby, and until now he hadn’t had the strength to try to elude one.
Now, though, he turned his thoughts to leaving.
It was what Kimbra wanted.
It wasn’t what he wanted. He felt oddly at home here on the border, both in Kimbra’s neat cottage and with the rough borderers who seemed to seize life. He liked most of them, with the exception of Cedric, who seemed always around the corner.
He walked outside the tower, trying to regain strength in his leg, and had even engaged in sword play with a Charlton. He favored his leg and weakened much too fast, but for a few moments he held his own.
Later the Charlton brought the chessboard back into his room.
“I watched ye today.”
“I did not do very well.”
“Nay, ye did very well for a man with the kind of injuries ye have.” He set the board down and put the black chess men in place. They had traded black and white this past week.
Robert’s mind was not on the contest this time, and the Charlton won for the first time.
“Ye let me win?”
“Nay. I would not insult you.”
“Then ye were not paying attention.”
“Mayhap,” Robe
rt said, smiling. “’Tis time to be thinking of leaving if you give permission.”
“Where would ye go?”
Robert shrugged.
The Charlton gave him a sharp look. “I can use more raiders if ye choose not to return to the Howards.”
“I have no love for them—or loyalty,” he said carefully. “I meant little to them.”
“Then mayhap ye would like to go with us on a raid into Scotland? The Armstrongs raided one of our farms.”
“I thought the English were still scouring the countryside for Scots,” Robert Howard said.
“A few patrols, but they do not know the border and do not venture in most of it. And there is much to raid over. English horses. English cannon. English tents we’ve already liberated.”
“I am flattered but puzzled. You know little about me.”
“Ye will be watched at first, make no mistake about it. But I need men I can trust. Kimbra’s Will was a leader. I have few now that other men will follow. Ye have the look and feel of one.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“I know your eyes meet mine,” Thomas Charlton said. “Kimbra trusts you, and she does not do that easily. I had Cedric picked out for her, but she told me she would no’ have him. I have since asked others about him, and though few would talk against him, ’twas obvious they do not like him.” He paused. “My only daughter married across the border, the saints preserve her, but she did it against my wishes, and I have disowned her. My only son died during childhood. Will came close to being one.” His voice broke slightly. Then he shrugged. “Your wounds show ye to be a man who does not run from a battle, even one that is not his.”
Robert Howard tried not to show any emotion. Kimbra had mentioned that the Charlton had said something of the kind, but he’d dismissed it as fanciful. He should have known that nothing about Kimbra was fanciful. “You would trust me?”
The Charlton gave him a thin smile. “Nay, not completely. As I said, ye will be watched. But prove yerself, and ye will have a place here.” He paused, then added, “I want Will’s Kimbra to be happy. She has a light in her eyes when she looks at ye, and it’s been gone far too long. But be warned, do not lie to me. Do not betray me. I take either as a personal injury. I will kill any man who betrays my trust.”
His eyes had hardened, and the genial host and chess player was gone. In its stead was not an old man, but a powerful and ruthless one who ran one of the most notorious families along the border.
Robert Howard—the name was becoming more familiar now—merely nodded.
“Ye will join us then on the raid?” the Charlton asked.
It was not really a request, but a demand.
“Aye,” Robert Howard said.
The Charlton poured them both a cup of wine. “To a successful raid,” he said. “And a new Charlton.”
It nearly choked Robert Howard on the way down. He was being offered everything he now wanted. Kimbra was obviously available to him if he proved his worth.
He wanted to stay. He wanted a home. He wanted Kimbra and Audra.
Be warned . . . do not lie to me.
He had done nothing but lie since he’d set foot into the tower.
After the Charlton left, Robert went to the window. It was past midnight and a three-quarters moon hung over the bare landscape. Sheep and cattle grazed outside the wall.
And beyond that was a warm cottage. Was Kimbra unable to sleep as he was? Did her belly ache with wanting as his did? Or did that happen with women?
A lone rider approached the wall at a gallop.
Robert watched as the gate swung open. The rider spurred the horse inside and dismounted. Several men joined him, and they hurried inside. Apprehension crawled up his spine. Had someone discovered who he was?
But no boots pounded down the hall for him, and after several moments he started to relax. Beneath him, a lad ran out to take the horse to be stabled. But as soon as he did, another worry plagued him.
There was urgency in the arrival. A raid of some kind? On the outlying areas?
The door was no longer locked. There was, in truth, no way for him to leave the tower without being noticed. He limped down the hall to the Charlton’s room and encountered Jock, who ushered him inside.
He ignored Cedric’s glare. “Something has happened?”
“A farm was raided,” the Charlton said wearily.
“Kimbra?”
“Not Kimbra, but I have sent some men to bring her in. A farmer was stabbed when he tried to protect his cattle. They lost all their sheep as well as two hobblers.” The Charlton’s face was red with fury. “I am sending men after them.”
“I want to go,” he said. Oddly enough, he felt as if he himself had been violated, even though his head said something else. These were not his people. This was not his home.
“Not this time. The riding is hard, and ye must know the trails. Your leg is no’ ready yet.”
“But you said . . .”
“In a few days, Howard. Other Charltons will be joining us then. We will be strong enough to attack on their land, but now we may have a chance to bring back the stock. The cattle will slow the raiders down.”
The Charlton looked among the men standing there, his gaze lingering on Cedric, then moving on to choose one man. “Richie’s Will, ye pick fifteen men to go.”
Cedric stepped forward to protest.
“I need ye here for protection,” the Charlton said. “There has been one raid tonight. There may be others.”
A mollified Cedric nodded. “As ye wish.”
The man called Richie’s Will left the room quickly. Robert followed the Charlton as he rose and went to the window. They watched as sixteen armed men galloped from the tower.
Robert grasped the stone wall as a new image seized him . . .
He was galloping along a path with a group of other men. He was with them, riding hard beside a man of great bearing.
Suddenly others blocked the road. He tried to lift his sword, but he could not.
The man at his side interceded, moved in front of him. Then he fell, blood pouring out of his body . . .
He knelt next to the body, despair racking his body.
Father.
And he had killed him.
KIMBRA waited restlessly for word of her Scot. Surely he’d had an opportunity to escape by now. But if he had, she was sure Jane would have ridden over to tell her. The same held true if he had been revealed as an enemy.
She hadn’t left her cottage or its immediate area in hopes that he would make his way to her cottage. But each day she waited in vain, and her apprehension mounted. How long could he continue to play an Englishman without getting caught?
Both she and Audra continued working on their letters. She knew the alphabet now and a few simple words. As Audra fed the chickens, Kimbra drew the words the priest had read from the crest in the dirt. Virtue mine honour. She had remembered the shape of each letter.
She said the words softly, trying to remember the sound of each.
“What is that?” Audra asked.
Intent in her study, Kimbra hadn’t realized her daughter had approached. It was too late now to erase them.
“It says ‘Virtue Mine Honour.’”
“What does it mean?”
“That virtue is honorable,” she guessed.
“What is virtue?”
“Good things like loyalty and kindness to others, bravery, honesty.”
The last words stuck in her throat.
“Then you have virtue,” her daughter said seriously.
But she did not. She robbed the dead, and she had withheld a valuable item from a guest in her house, and she had lied, and she had betrayed both her king and the Charlton. She could not even repent, because, given the circumstances, she would commit the same acts again. She certainly could not confess that to the local priest.
She would be damned forever.
But she could not say that to her daughter.
Instead she erased the words with her foot and went inside the cottage to make supper.
After a meal of the last of the stew she’d made with the mutton, she fueled the fire with wood, then sang a lullaby to Audra until her daughter’s eyes closed. When she was sure Audra was asleep, she went outside. Bear was sitting there expectantly. “Go guard the road,” she said with a brief scratch behind one ear. Bear lolled his tongue in pleasure, then obediently trotted down the path.
She sat down and looked heavenward. The night was clear, and a full moon was surrounded by a million stars. Ordinarily she would have appreciated the sheer beauty of it. But not tonight. Raiders liked a full moon to light their way along torturous paths. She shivered, more because of apprehension than the cold wind that was blowing.
Jane had said that since the English army left, the Armstrongs had started raiding again across the border. Her cottage had never been raided. It was deep in the woods and away from the traveled roads and trails. But she could not sleep. Worry was like a snake inside her. Worry for her daughter. Worry for the Scot.
Had the Charlton taken the Scot on a raid? Was he even well enough to make such a hard ride? If so, would he try to leave them and disappear into Scotland?
She must have dozed, because Bear’s bark startled her.
She came awake quickly and ran inside. She’d planned what to do in the event of a raid. She woke her daughter and carried her in a blanket out to the stable. She led Magnus out of the stable and put Audra on his back, and she led both of them to a spot just inside the nearby woods. She securely tied the animal to a tree. “Audra, stay here,” she said. “Take care of Magnus.”
Audra, her eyes sleepy, nodded.
“No matter what you hear, stay. If I do not return for you, take Magnus and go to Jane’s. Can you be a big girl and do that?”
Frightened eyes looked up. “I want to stay with you.”
“Nay. Do as I say. Please.”
“Aye,” her daughter finally said in a small frightened voice.
Audra looked so small. It broke Kimbra’s heart to leave her there, but hopefully she would be back in a few moments. She did not worry about animals. For the first time, she thanked God for the English who’d cleared out most of the game. She had seen none near the cottage.
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