The Tweedie Passion

by Helen Susan Swift

  'They are early this year,' Mother said calmly. 'Is it the Veitches?' Living on the Border makes one stoical about the unexpected.

  'Not this time,' Father said. 'Much worse than that.'

  I felt Mother stiffen. 'Is it the Armstrongs?'

  'I believe so,' Father said.

  Although Mother nodded calmly, I could sense her tension. 'Wild Will Armstrong casts a wide net but I have never known him to hit the Lethan before.' She raised her voice only slightly. 'All the women! Get the animals within the barmekin wall.' She pushed me toward the horses. 'Go along, girl. We will hold the tower.'

  I looked at her. 'How about the kye?' The cattle, you may know, are at the shielings, the high pasture in the summer. Father had left them nearly unattended in the shielings so we could get the barley and hay cut.

  'The men will get the cattle in,' Mother said. 'Move, Jeannie!'

  She had made her decision and as I said, nobody argued with the Lady Tweedie.

  Our tower, Cardrona Tower sits near the head of the valley, at the confluence of the Manor Burn and the Lethan Water, so there is a natural defensive moat on three sides. The Tweedies have owned the upper Lethan Valley since 1307 when our ancestor Sim Tweedie joined King Robert I against the English invader; before that we only held Cardrona Tower itself. It is not the largest tower house in the Borders, but it is secure against all but a major army and all our tenants and most of their livestock can fit into the barmekin, the walled area immediately outside the keep.

  Mother looked over the tower, tutted and shook her head. 'I would wish for a better home,' she said. 'We are the Tweedies of Lethan; we should have something grander than a mere tower like any Border laird.'

  I said nothing to that. I had heard the words, or something very similar, a hundred times before. Mother always had grand ambitions for a palace to grace our position as the pre-eminent family in the area. Father was quite content to remain packed and cosy within our gaunt stone tower. It was secure, it was traditional and it had been our home for so many centuries that Father could not consider anything else.

  Robert cantered up to join Father, looking somewhat bemused as he often did. It was an expression that irritated me.

  'Take care,' I touched his arm, surprised as always by the hardness of his muscles. There was no need to say more.

  His broad face broke into a smile. 'I will,' he said.

  I watched him fondle the ears of his horse and check the sword at his side. He tapped his horse, waved to me and to my good friend Katie Hunnam of the Kirkton and followed my father out of the great gate.

  'He should not need you to wrap him in cotton wool,' Mother said. I expected nothing more from her. 'He should be man enough to care for himself.'

  'He can care for himself,' I watched the line of men ride up the pass toward Brothershiel with the horses sure-footed on the wet grass and Robert near the front. The rain increased, hammering off the barmekin walls and pattering into the fast-surging Lethan Water, a harbinger of autumn.

  I had mixed feelings as I saw Father take the men up the pass into the high hills. Up here in the Lethan we were away from the worst of the riding families of the Borders, but we always had a fear that the Veitches would come over these same hills that Father was entering and we did suffer the occasional raid. Only a year before riders from Liddesdale had passed us by to take the Thieves Road by the Cauldstaneslap over the Pentland Hills and hit the lands around Edinburgh, so we had been on alert. That smoke from Peebles had been a warning.

  'I hope they will be all right,' I said slowly.

  'Your father knows what he is doing.' Mother assured me. She lifted her hand and dropped it before raising it again to pat me on the shoulder. I could see her struggle between a show of affection and acting the stern matriarch of the family. I never knew which side of her would triumph. Indeed, I never knew which side of her was true and which was an act. 'You get back to your work and allow the men to do what they do.'

  I nodded. 'Yes Mother. Wild Will Armstrong is a killer as well as a reiver,' I reminded, 'and father has not drawn sword or held a lance in my lifetime.' I hesitated, 'and then there is Robert…'

  'The least said about him the better,' Mother said. She pushed me toward the door. 'The Fergusons of Whitecleuch have aye been a weak house, Jeannie, and Robert is as bad as the rest. Worse, mayhap.'

  I did not agree but neither did I argue. I had learned from bitter experience that it did not pay to disagree with mother. She did not reserve her tongue or her hands solely for the tenants and neighbours.

  'Lock and bar the outer door,' Mother ordered. I hastened to obey, watching these men who were too old to ride and fight push the great double doors close and drop the massive oaken bar into its slots. It would take a battering ram to burst through now, and even Wild Will did not carry such a thing in his armoury.

  If any raider managed to get through the outer door, they would find the livestock and many of the tenants within the barmekin wall, and then there was the peel tower to contend with. Mother ushered me through the press, with animals, women, children and old men huddled together, all fighting for space in which to shelter from the damp night and through into the tower itself.

  You may be familiar with the Border towers, and if so please forgive me while I give you a brief description. They are straightforward things, four stories high of solid stone. The bottom, or ground floor is used for animals or stores, with the upper levels for living accommodation. The watchmen sit behind a parapet on the roof, ready to fire harquebuses or arrows at any attacker. Towers are cramped, crowded and uncomfortable as well as cosy and secure. It would take a small army to capture a typical Border tower, and Cardrona Tower is no exception. Many of the Border lairds have added a substantial house beside the tower to add to the comfort of the residence. My mother, as I have already hinted, had been pressing Father for such a thing all my lifetime.

  By statute of the crown in Edinburgh, each prominent family in the Borders must have a peel tower within a barmekin wall, partly as defence against English invasion and partly to keep the Border secure from the raiding families. The barmekin wall had to be at least seven feet tall and two feet thick; not strong enough to hold out against artillery, but sufficiently stout to hinder an attacker. As the Borders were dotted with scores of such peels, they would delay any invasion, or cause the invaders to split or deploy his forces, allowing the King to gather an army to defend the country.

  So there we were, all locked up safe inside the peel tower while the men-folk hurried up to the summer shielings to bring the cattle to safety. I hurried up to the roof to peer into the darkening evening to try and see what was happening. As luck would have it Mother had decided on exactly the same thing and met me on the roof beside the unlit watch fire with its tarred covering to keep out the rain.

  'Who are you watching for?' Mother asked.

  'Both of them,' I replied.

  Mother grunted and said nothing. I knew what she was thinking.

  'Mother, I am twenty years old now. If I do not wed soon I will be an old maid, fit only to sit in the ingle-neuk and sew buttons.'

  Her laugh surprised me. 'I cannot see any Tweedie woman as an old maid,' Mother said. 'The Tweedies have ayeways been a lusty bunch, casting their eyes on every man or woman they fancy.'

  I did not smile. I did not say that if the Tweedies were so lusty, why was I twenty years old and still without a man? Other women of fewer years than me were walking along the Lethan Valley carrying one child and with another toddling at their feet. Of my contemporaries, only Kate Hunnam and I were not with our man, although I knew that Kate had known many in the Biblical sense. I had Robert, and was determined to wed him, despite the doubts of my mother, who had continued to talk during my period of contemplation. I cast my mind back to what my Mother had been saying.

  'You remember how the Tweedies got their name, Jeannie, don't you?' I had not replied to that question so Mother had continued. 'Your ancestor had gone on crusade to
the Holy Land, leaving his wife to look after the castle and lands. That was normal practice, as you are aware.'

  'Yes, Mother,' I said. It was always normal practise for women to look after the castle and lands when the men went to war. That was how it always had been and always will be.

  'Well,' Mother gave the secretive little smile that meant she was about to impart something she thought was amusing or scandalous. 'Your ancestor put a chastity belt on his wife to ensure she remained faithful to him.'

  I nodded. 'That was not very trusting of him,' I said. I tried to imagine my reaction if Robert attempted to fasten such a contraption on me. He would learn that a Tweedie woman nursed a hot temper, at the least.

  Mother grunted. 'I wonder if that lord intended to remain chaste while he was in Outremer. Anyway, he was away for five years fighting the Saracens and when he returned he discovered his wife with two children, the youngest only six months old.'

  I shook my head in mock horror, as Mother would expect of me. 'The hussy,' I said.

  'Hussy indeed,' Mother approved of my reaction, apparently. 'As you may imagine, her husband was not pleased to find he had been cuckolded. He immediately dragged his wife upstairs, ripped off her clothes and checked the chastity belt. It was intact and only her lord had the key. His wife could not have been with a man, yet she had given birth on two occasions.'

  I shook my head. 'How could that be?'

  Mother leaned forward. 'It was obvious. As the knight's wife said, the Spirit of the Tweed came out and forced himself on her, at least twice.' She leaned back in her chair. 'And that is how we got the name Tweedie!'

  'Was it the spirit of the River Tweed?' I asked. Living in such close proximity to nature, we tended to be less sceptical of such things as nature spirits, hobgoblins and witches. And do remember that I was born at midnight on Midsummer Eve and had my own gifts.

  Mother raised her eyebrows wide. 'Your ancestor said it was … would you doubt the word of a Lady of the Lethan in such circumstances?'

  I thought hard before I replied, which was most unlike me. 'Yes, Mother, I would. I do not think that any river spirit was the father of her children.'

  Mother leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. 'Well said, Jeannie. You may make a Tweedie wife yet. Your ancestor's lover was a blacksmith; he knew how to open a chastity belt and make another.' Her smile was full of mischief. 'Men think they know all there is to know but we have the final say in everything.' She patted me in my most personal place. 'Especially what we do with that!'

  I felt the colour rush to my face. 'Mother!'

  'Yes, Jeannie: I am your mother and know what desires you will have and should have. It is the Tweedie Passion, Jeannie and it is within you, waiting to burst out. You will know it when it comes and, God help you, you will not be able to control it. Rather, the Tweedie Passion will control you. It is in your blood, as it is in the blood of every woman and man of your name. Your father now…' Her voice faded away and she avoided my eyes, which was very unusual for Mother.

  'What about my father?' I asked. 'You only had the one child and that was me. If father was as lusty as you say surely there would be more?' I knew I was venturing on very dangerous territory.

  'There are things it is best you do not know,' Mother said. 'I do assure you, Jeannie, that if you have only a fraction of your father's hot blood you will never lack for suitors.'

  I smiled although I quite resented the implications. Let it be recorded that at twenty years old I was still intact where it mattered. I had never as much as kissed a man, yet alone allowed one to touch me anywhere important. I told my mother so, tartly and with force.

  Surprisingly, she did not react by slapping me. Rather she listened with a look on her face that may have been amusement, or perhaps concern; I was not sure which. 'Not even Robert?'

  'No!' I turned my back to show my anger, thereby facing into the rising wind and cold rain. I was too stubborn to move, however, and endured my self-imposed discomfort. 'Robert would never touch me without my permission!'

  'I see.' I was sure that I detected some disapproval in mother's tone although it might have been disappointment. 'And have you never tried to touch him … even without permission.'

  'Mother!' I spoke without turning around. 'You know I would never do such a thing!'

  Her laugh was genuine, which surprised me. 'Not yet, perhaps, Jeannie, but the time will come when you will feel like doing nothing else.'

  I snorted. I knew better than that. I had been around the boys and men of the Lethan Valley and knew what they were like. I could not imagine myself ever wanting to touch any of them in certain places until such time as I was legally married and had to perform my duty. Oh they were decent enough lads, hard working, hard-riding, some quiet, others noisy. They treated me like my mother's daughter and some made sheep's eyes at me. But there were none that captivated me in that particular way. Indeed there were none that captivated me at all. Although Robert and I were fast friends and engaged, I never had any physical leanings toward him. I was sure that when the time came I would be adequate in that way, for I had all the necessary equipment and I am sure I had the shape a man liked. A wife had to accept her husband's desires, although Robert had never pushed himself toward me either. Perhaps after we were married we would change; perhaps marriage would awaken some so-far-hidden craving.

  I realised that I had been telling such things to mother and she had been listening, nodding at all the right places. 'You will know it when it comes,' she said. 'You have not met the right man yet,' she said.

  'I have met Robert,' I insisted. I was facing her. When had I turned around? I could not remember having turned around; what sort of power did that woman have to make me open my heart to her and face her.

  'I know you have,' Mother sounded infinitely sad. 'Perhaps if he was the older brother he may be a bolder man.' She raised her head to the sky and lifted a finger to quieten me. 'Listen.'

  I heard it at the same time; the drum-beat of horses' hooves, echoing off the surrounding hills as they came hard-riding up the valley.

  'That is not your father,' Mother said softly. 'He will be coming over the hill pass with the cattle. Those are riding men.'

  Chapter Two

  LETHAN VALLEY

  SEPTEMBER 1585

  For a moment I could not react. I was twenty years old and although we had lived with the constant possibility of danger, I had never experienced it first-hand. I had been too young to remember the excitement of the days when Queen Mary had been in power and armies had marched and counter-marched across the country, and as I have said, the Lethan is a bit too far north to be raided by the predatory riding families and any Veitch raid had merely reived a few cattle or burned the odd cot-house.

  Yet here they were now, reivers were loose in our valley and all its men were deep in the hills. All that were left were the women, children and old men.

  'Get the spears,' mother was surprisingly calm. Raising her voice, she shouted out: 'Riders coming up the valley! Spears and bows! Take your places!'

  We all knew what to do. Father and Mother had drilled us in case of just such an emergency so we grabbed what weapons the men had left us and ran to our stations. I know I should have felt frightened. Instead I found it all rather exciting really. Life could be so dull stuck up there at the head of the valley counting cattle and tending crops. It was good to have something different happen.

  'Shall I light the beacon?' I had always wanted to put flame to the great beacon fire that sat in its iron cage on the roof of the tower. The purpose was to send out a message to our neighbours that there were raiders, so they could prepare and send men to help.

  'Wait,' mother said. 'Wait until we are certain. The reivers, if they are reivers, must have passed Whitecleuch to reach us, yet the Fergusons have not fired a warning.'

  I bit off my disappointment, peered down the valley and waited as the hoof-beats came closer.

  I heard the hail. 'Tweedie! Are you in?' Th
e voice came from outside the walls, loud, powerful and a stranger. 'Adam Tweedie of the Lethan!'

  'I am Elizabeth Tweedie of the Lethan!' My mother replied, equally as loud. 'Name yourself and state what you want in our lands!'

  'I am the Yorling!' the claim was simple and direct. 'I want your gear and insight.'

  'Oh sweet Mary Mother.' Although Scotland had been officially Protestant for decades, mother still clung to the Roman Catholicism with which she had been raised. I saw her cross herself. 'It is a ghost, risen from the dead.'

  I stared into the dark, hoping to see this ghost yet glad of the high barmekin walls around us. 'Who is the Yorling?' I asked, stupidly.

  'You will get nothing here,' Mother ignored my question as she shouted into the dark outside.

  That same voice sounded from beyond the dark. 'I will take what you do not give me! I am the Yorling.'

  'The only thing you will get here is an arrow through your eye or a spear in your stomach!' I hoped that only I could detect the fear in Mother's voice.

  'Who is the Yorling?' I asked urgently. 'I have never heard the name.'

  'Pray to God you never hear it again,' Old Martin spoke through a silver-white beard. 'He is the worst of all of them except Wild Will Armstrong, a wild man from the Debateable Land. I am surprised he still rides.'

  'So am I,' Mother had controlled her nerves as she spoke in a low voice. 'He must be an old man now. 'Let's see him.'

  'If you are the Yorling,' Mother raised her voice again, 'show yourself!'

  'I will do that,' the Yorling replied the instant that Mother finished speaking.

  The sudden flare of torches took me by surprise. One moment the valley was in darkness, the next there was a score of torches flaring around the barmekin walls and down the Lethan Water. The horsemen who carried them were constantly moving, so torchlight reflected from the water and then flickered across the top of the wall. Except for the Yorling, they rode in an ominous silence that made them even more frightening.

  And then I saw him. He was directly in front of the gate, sitting proud on a pure black horse. He was bareheaded, with black hair cascading to his shoulders and overflowing onto the yellow padded jack he wore as protection against swords and arrows.