by Amanda Scott
“Nay, then. I’ll tell ye only that it be rightfully mine and I’ll soon have it.”
“Was it buried in the ground? Is that why your da couldna get it?”
Stunned by the question, Chukk jerked on his reins, almost stopping his horse. Urging it on, he said tersely, “Why d’ye ask me such a thing?”
“I just wondered is all,” Benjy said, shrugging. “Me sister tells me tales of buried treasures, and gold that wee folk hide in the ground.”
“This be real and o’ greater import than any made-up tale. I swore to me da on his deathbed that I’d fetch it and go home to tell our people what became of us.”
“I hope you can do that,” Benjy said. “I want to go home to my people, too.”
“Ye’ll help us both by doing as I bid ye, then,” Chukk said.
“I want to help ye, sir,” Benjy said quietly. “A man must keep such a vow.”
A lump formed in Chukk’s throat, but he did his best to ignore it.
Leg o’ Mutton Cut lay just ahead.
Dev approached the cut alone, as he had promised.
Bangtail Joey had said naught about weapons, so Dev had a knife in his right boot, his dirk on his belt, and a short sword in its scabbard.
He also wore a chainmail shirt under the leather jack that he always wore in battle. Quilted and well-padded with horn and other hard objects, it weighed him down but was lighter than armor and would give some protection against arrows and sword slashes.
His head was bare, so the villains could recognize him, but he had strapped his helmet behind his saddle, atop his rolled-up cloak.
He hoped that none of his precautions would prove necessary, because if any did, Benjy might be hurt, even killed.
Robby’s sorrowful face leaped to his mind’s eye, but he ruthlessly banished the image. He could pray and he could hope, but he could do naught else. What happened would happen, and he would face the consequences afterward.
Jock had parted from him and gone to ground soon after they’d left. His orders had been clear: to watch where Dev went but not interfere; to note what occurred; and, if the villains broke their promises, to do all he could to aid Benjy and then report what had happened to Buccleuch and Ormiston, and to the Douglas.
Auld Nick’s pace had been slow from the beginning to give Jock time to make his way, and for the benefit of any watchers. He kept it so now because he wanted to avoid having to wait alone in the cut as a sitting target for enemy archers on its slopes.
The English, he knew, were fond of archers.
He felt confident that if any were there, they’d do naught until their leader had hefted the jar and felt its weight. First, he’d want to see if Dev had it.
He did have it, in the cloak strapped to his saddle. If the silver in it did belong to Northumberland, the young earl was unlikely to see it. One of Benjy’s captors was likely the thief who stole it, and would want to keep it. But Dev would give it to them, anyway.
The people of Coklaw would benefit from the gelt if he kept it, but they’d benefit more by keeping their young laird.
Auld Nick found the measured pace tedious. Well behaved though the stallion was, Dev could sense Nick’s suppressed energy and his yearning to run.
Rounding the next curve, he saw the cut opening ahead. And, approaching its central and widest point from the far end, he saw two riders on trotting horses, the larger one leading the smaller one’s mount. Relieved as he was to see Benjy, Dev scanned the hillsides again. He saw no movement on the slopes or sign of anyone else nearby.
Experience warned him to distrust what he saw and expect the worst, but he kept riding. He also kept Nick to a walk so the man who led Benjy’s horse could choose where to stop. His choice might provide information.
When the man pulled off his cap as he drew rein, Dev recognized him as the messenger Jock o’ the Storm. However, on horseback, there was something familiar…
Benjy waved, so Dev waved back and urged Nick forward. As he neared them, a score of armed men rose out of dense shrubbery on each slope, swords drawn.
Meeting their leader’s gaze, Dev said, “You’ve broken your word, Jock o’ the Storm, if that is your true name. Will you tell me why?”
“Why, me true name’s Chukk Jamieson, and I’ve no broken me word. Them be nobbut Percy lambs grazing on rightful Percy land. Where’s me jar?”
Recognizing him then and one or two of his henchmen on the nearer hillside as members of the ambush party near Chesters, Dev said, “I brought the jar, as I promised, but I expected to meet a nobleman or a gentleman spokesman for Northumberland. I did not anticipate meeting a ruffian who ambushes men going about their rightful business. I believe, however, that the contents of this jar belong to Northumberland, do they not?”
“They do not,” Jamieson replied. “That jar and its contents are mine. Ye might call it me inheritance, to which ye’ve nae right at all.”
He scowled fiercely at Dev as if daring him to deny it. Then, almost ludicrously, his focus shifted beyond Dev and his fierceness altered to dismay.
“Wha’s this, then?” he demanded.
Benjy’s mouth had fallen agape, too, so Dev looked back to see a host of mounted Borderers lining the low hill behind him and filling the mouth of the cut. Their unsheathed swords flashed in the midday sun.
He estimated that they numbered at least a hundred men.
Leading them—astride Black Corby in her breeks, boots, and jack—was Robby, waving the Gledstanes’s hawk banner.
Coll rode beside her, his sword at the ready.
Just behind them, Geordie Elliot waved the crescent-moons-and-star banner of the Scotts of Buccleuch with one hand and his sword with the other. Beside Geordie sat Wat on his favorite bay, and beside Wat was Ormiston. Wat’s sword remained in its sheath. His grin as the leaders reined in, however, was big enough for everyone in the cut to see.
Turning back to face Jamieson, Dev said gently, “What is that, you ask? Why those are Coklaw’s sheepdogs, sirrah. As fierce as they are, they’ll not stay leashed long.”
“Ye broke your word!”
“I promised to come alone, and unlike you, I did,” Dev said. “I promised to bring your jar, and I did that, too. I did not summon those men or know they would come. I told no one of this meeting and gave orders that none should follow me. Buccleuch, however, does not take orders from me.” Nor, he added silently, does my lady wife!
“Are ye a-going to give me yon jar, then? Or is it empty?”
“It retains all of its contents,” Dev said. “As to giving it to you, I have yet to understand why you think it belongs to you. But if you’ll agree to return to Coklaw with me, I’ll hear your tale. If you can persuade me—”
“I’d ha’ to be daft to go wi’ ye. Ye might listen, but ye’d hang me for taking pity on the lairdie there, all on his ownsome in a graveyard, and keeping him safe overnight.”
“Is that how it was?”
When Jamieson hesitated, Dev looked at Benjy.
“He did me nae harm,” Benjy said.
“And you did go alone to the graveyard on Sunnyside Hill?”
Warily, Benjy hesitated. Then, drawing a deep breath and meeting Dev’s stern gaze, he said, “Aye, sir, I did. Ye willna hang Chukk, will ye?”
“I cannot answer that question until I have heard his reasons. But if you mean to speak for him, likely we won’t hang him.”
Turning to Jamieson, Benjy yanked his own reins from the man’s grasp. Then he said quietly, “Come with us, sir. I meant what I said about helping ye.”
Dev grimaced at the “sir” but kept silent, watching Jamieson, who said, “Will ye let me lads go, Sir David? They ha’ done nowt to ye.”
“If you can assure me that they will leave Coklaw land and that I’ll never find them raiding our kine, I will. I suspect they’re responsible for some stock we’ve lost recently.”
“I canna say ye’re wrong, but I willna say ye’re right, neither. What I will say is that I�
�ll send ’em back to Alnwick and they willna lift your kine.”
“So you do at least come from Alnwick.”
“Aye, sir, all of us.”
“Am I to understand, though, that you will return to Coklaw with us?”
“If ye’ll hear me out, I will. I must.”
Dev nodded. “Dismiss your men, and we’ll ride together. We can talk on the way.”
When Jamieson wheeled his horse and spurred it toward his men on the nearer hillside, Dev said, “I think that you and I must have a talk, too, Benjy.”
“Are you going to punish me?”
“That depends on what you have to say,” Dev replied. “I’d like to know why you went all the way to the graveyard by yourself.”
“To ask Rab why he talks only to Beany and see if he’d talk to me, too.”
Chapter 23
Deciding that the danger was over, Robina handed the Gledstanes banner to Coll, who accepted it without looking at her. He stared fixedly at Dev, likely fearing what Dev would do to him.
Putting such thoughts out of her head, she spurred Corby forward to meet Dev and Benjy, noting with more annoyance than surprise that the raider had stayed with them.
She heard Wat shout for her to wait but ignored him. The ruffians on the hillsides had laid down their swords, and since the riders and other men-at-arms behind her outnumbered the Percy louts five to one, she knew she was safe.
“Aye, you may think so. But take care in what you say to Dev.”
She did not argue with Rab even in her thoughts. Dev would be displeased to see her there, but whatever the result, she’d been right about the danger from the Percys. Moreover, she thought little of a code of honor that let any husband of hers endanger both himself and Benjy by adhering to it at such grave risk.
Rab remained silent, but common sense warned her that she’d be wise not to say that to Dev. She was astonished, though, to see the Percy men on the slopes walking away toward the far end of the cut. And when she neared the oncoming riders and recognized Jock o’ the Storm, she had a few second thoughts about so impulsively riding to meet them.
Benjy looked unnaturally solemn, the Percy too confident, and Dev so grim that she shifted her gaze back to Benjy without hesitation.
“I’m glad to see you safe, lovey,” she said, wishing she could snatch him off his horse and hug him.
He gave her a rueful smile, glanced at Dev, and sobered again.
Dev said evenly, “Take Jamieson on ahead of us, Benjy, and present him to Buccleuch and Ormiston.”
Benjy spurred the unfamiliar pony he was riding, but the man, Jamieson or Jock o’ the Storms, hesitated and said to Dev, “Ye did give me your word, sir.”
“I did,” Dev assured him. “The lad will tell them so.”
Nodding, Jamieson murmured, “M’lady,” and spurred his mount to catch up with Benjy’s, leaving Robina to face Dev alone.
Reluctantly, she met his gaze and found it thoughtful. Taking courage from that, she said tersely, “Whatever you mean to do to me, sir, you are not to punish Coll. He told me what you said to him. ‘Stuff her in a kist and sit on it!’ ”
He smiled briefly then but said sternly and with a more enigmatic look, “I look forward to making you wish that he’d done so, madam wife.”
The bolt of fire that shot through her then from her core outward startled her, but she did not mistake it for fear… not really.
By heaven, she was beautiful, Dev thought, although strands had come loose from her plait and she was wearing the damnable breeks, boots, and jack again.
Her flyaway strands and the sheen on her face told him that she and her army had ridden full pelt to reach the cut when they had. It was a wonder they were not close enough on his heels for him to hear them coming.
He should not encourage such defiance of his orders, though. She deserved… Smiling again, he decided he did not know what she deserved, nor did he care.
“How did you contrive to unman Coll?” he asked as they urged their horses toward the others.
“I had only to confide to him what I’d done,” she said soberly.
“You’d sent for Wat and my father against my direct order,” he said.
Although she looked cautious, she said, “Aye, I did, last night. I told them to wait out of sight until you’d gone and then to follow you. Coll and I met them.”
He waited for her to try to justify what she had done, but she did not.
“Would you like to know why I agreed to come alone?”
Without looking at him, she nodded.
“That jar contains a treasure by almost anyone’s definition,” he said. “I deduced from that fact, and the messengers’ calling it something I’d dug up, that whoever would come for it was unlikely to have shared the jar’s existence, let alone its contents, with his companions. Therefore, he would be unlikely to order an attack on me before he had seen the jar and examined it.”
“Where did you hide it?”
“It’s wrapped in my cloak, strapped to my saddle.”
She gaped at the bundle. “You brought it with you?” When he did not reply, she shook her head. “Of course, you brought it with you. You promised.”
“Aye, and when I met them, Benjy’s attitude toward Jamieson reassured me. The boy likes him, and Jamieson seems to like him, too.”
“Why did you let his men walk away?”
“Because Jamieson, whom you likely recognized as our erstwhile messenger, Jock o’ the Storm, agreed to come back to Coklaw and explain why the jar is his.”
“But what will you do with him? He deserves to hang for taking Benjy.”
“He found Benjy alone in the graveyard,” Dev told her.
“Good sakes, what was he doing there?”
“He went to ask Rab why he talks only to you and see if Rab would talk to him, too,” Dev said. Seeing her shock and the tears in her eyes, he knew he need say no more.
Robina could not speak. Her throat had closed. She could scarcely breathe. It had never occurred to her that Benjy might have overheard her talking to Dev, nor that Benjy would ever know that Rab spoke to her. That her little brother had heard them and that his abduction occurred because he’d gone to the graveyard hoping to persuade Rab to…
She thrust that upsetting image out of her mind and ignored the tear that spilled down her cheek. She could not let herself cry in front of Wat, Ormiston, Benjy, his iniquitous captor, and all the other men who awaited them.
Collecting her dignity, she lifted her chin and decided that she deserved whatever Dev did to punish her.
Finding her voice at last, she muttered, “So what are you going to do?”
“I told Jamieson I’d hear him out if he came back with us.”
“I want to hear him, too.”
“Then you shall,” Dev said.
They discovered when they reached Coklaw that Ada Greenlaw had ordered the midday meal delayed for them, and that Ormiston, Wat Scott, and the others also expected to hear what their sole “captive” had to say.
“I mean to talk to Jamieson first,” Dev said in reply to demands for an immediate trial with a hanging to follow. “I told him I’d listen to him. If I decide his actions warrant criminal charges, we’ll have a trial. For the present, though, Benjy has asked to speak for him, and my lady will also hear what they have to say.”
“Now, see here, Dev,” Wat said.
Dev stopped him with a gesture, saying, “I’m more grateful to you than I can say for your prompt response to my lady’s summons, my lord, but this is a matter I must see to privately.” Turning to Ormiston, he said, “Sir, if you’ll serve as host in my stead for those of our guests who will dine in the hall, I’ll meet with my… my captive in the inner chamber. We’ll join you at the table as soon as we can, but prithee do not keep the others waiting.”
Ormiston agreed, and Wat kept silent, so Dev ushered Jamieson, Benjy, and Robby into the chamber. Shutting the door, he moved to the table and stood beside it, fac
ing Jamieson, to say, “Explain yourself, sirrah.”
“Call me Chukk if ye would, sir,” Jamieson said, as Robby moved to stand by Dev.
Benjy stayed where he was, beside his abductor, who went on glibly to explain his actions. He was articulate, and Dev could see that he believed the tale he told and that the passion he felt about fulfilling his promise to his dying father was real. He listened until Chukk Jamieson had no more to say.
Then Dev turned to Benjy. “What do you say to this, lad?”
“I think a man who makes such a promise must keep it,” Benjy said. “So I told Chukk that I’d help him keep his.”
Dev nodded. “ ’Tis a good argument, and so is Chukk’s. Yet Scotland does have strict laws against theft. Most civilized countries do, come to that. Chukk’s father, Shetland Jamie, admitted stealing the coins from the English Earl of Northumberland during the siege here at Coklaw. If we aid Shetland Jamie’s son now by giving him the jar, we’d all be abetting Jamie’s crime. That means that all of us would be as guilty of the theft as Jamie was. Those coins should properly go back to Northumberland.”
“Aye, but I doubt ye’ll be returning them yourself,” Chukk said scornfully. “Or that he’d believe ye if ye did. And, if ye keep them, then ye’re the thief.”
“You are in no position to accuse others or to make demands,” Dev reminded him. “However, I will offer a compromise. You are innocent of the theft, so I’ll accept your version of how and why you took Benjy and your assurance that we’ll lose no more kine to your men. If you tell Northumberland that I have his gelt, he can request a safe-conduct from the Douglas and send a man to collect it. Meantime, I’ll keep the jar and its contents secure until he requests it or for as long as I am warden here.”
“Bah, ye’re just keeping it for yourself, is all. I’ll tell ye what, though. Ye can give me the jar and I’ll take it to his lordship.”
“I won’t entrust you with it,” Dev said. “But I will give you my word as a Borderer that I’ll do as I’ve promised. As you must admit, my word is more reliable than yours.”
“I’ll admit nae such thing,” Jamieson said. “But if ye willna give it to me, what will ye do wi’ me?”
