I was nervous as we halted for the night, and can you blame me? One woman alone with a round score of strange, lusty young men? Although I felt that strange trust with the Yorling that allowed me the freedom to lash him with my tongue, I had no such feelings for the rest of his band. I watched with some trepidation as the Yorling selected a place for us to camp.
'This will do,' he said.
We were in a corrie, a small hollow carved out of the side of a hill, with a circle of rocks in front and a small burn chortling at the side. It seemed a bit exposed for an outlaw band. The Yorling was either careless or very confident.
'We'll sleep here,' the Yorling said, 'and we'll be off before first light tomorrow.'
'Off to your secret tower deep in Liddesdale, my birdy friend,' I fished to find his name and where he was from.
'I am no Liddesdale man,' the Yorling said.
'The Debateable Land then,' I said, talking of the chunk of land that both Scotland and England had claimed and in which the worst outlaws and broken men made their homes among the local Graham surname. When either of the countries sent a force to clean it up, the wild men simply crossed the frontier to the neighbouring nation.
'Oh not there,' the Yorling said.
I looked at his men as they dismounted and set about watering the horses and making camp. 'Where shall I sleep?' I voiced the fear that had been uppermost in my mind for some time.
When he looked at me these smoky green eyes were gentle. 'You will not be molested,' he said. 'My men will not touch you, My Lady of Lethan.'
'Who are you?' I asked. I had never known a man be so reticent. The men of the Lethan, and particularly the boys, were never backward in coming forward with tales of their own exploits. Every one of them sought to impress me with their skill in horsemanship and swordsmanship, in their ability to track or fight. Now I was with the most dashing man I had ever met and he told me nothing, not even his own name. I was utterly confused.
'I am the Yorling,' he gestured to his yellow jack.
'You are the most frustrating man that I have ever met,' I told him.
'And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,' his smile had vanished and his eyes were steady. 'And the most loyal.' He did not drop his gaze.
The Yorling hobbled the horses with a cord tied between their front legs so they could graze at will without straying too far from the camp, speared a few trout from the burn and roasted them for supper and ordered two men to stand first watch.
I looked around. We were in the midst of a welter of long bare hills, where patches of mist slithered around the neuks and corries, feathering around the streaks of straggled trees. It was bleak, cool and lonely beyond description, while the oncoming night cast a cloak of darkness over what was in truth a scene of desolation.
'Loyal to whom or what?' I asked as the melancholy of the night entered me.
'You are too loyal to that man Robert,' the Yorling spoke seriously, without a trace of a smile.
'He is my man,' I said.
The Yorling shook his head. 'You ca do better,' he said. 'You need somebody with fire, drive and energy; a vital man to stir your imagination and lead you to new heights. Robert Ferguson is none of these things.'
'He is none of your business,' I said hotly.
I knew that the Yorling was right, God help me. I knew that Robert Ferguson was slow moving and clumsy, used to getting his own way and spoiled. I had seen his mother take care of him all his life. As her first born and her only child, she had protected him from harm and hardship and the result was, well Robert was the result. Yet for all that, I knew that we would be wed and when a woman born at Midnight on midsummer knows, then she knows. There is neither logic nor proof needed. 'He is a good man,' I said, stubbornly.
'He is no man,' the Yorling said softly.
I had head so many people say that it no longer hurt. 'He is a good man.' I repeated.
'He is certainly not a fighting man,' the Yorling was smiling now. 'I bested him on two occasions without breaking sweat.'
I sighed. It had not been good to watch my Robert humiliated in front of the whole valley. 'He stood up to you,' I defended him, as I had done so often before.
'And he lost,' the Yorling said.
A sudden thought struck me. 'You could have killed him,' I said. 'Why did you not kill him?'
'It would have been too easy,' the Yorling said. 'It was more fun to wallop his doup.'
Remembering the contemptuous blow that the Yorling had struck I said nothing. He spoke only the truth.
'What do you intend doing with me?' I asked in a small voice.
'Holding you in my own tower,' the Yorling replied. 'You have had a long day and there is a hard ride tomorrow. Get some sleep, Lady of the Lethan. You will need it.'
He was right. I did need it although not for the reasons that he supposed. My dashing Yorling's plans were about to be throw into total confusion in a manner that he had never dreamed.
Chapter Six
ETTRICK AND TARRAS
SEPTEMBER 1585
I heard the drumbeats of hooves and wakened from what had been an exhausted slumber. I sat up quickly, opened my mouth to shout a warning and closed it again very quickly. Thinking that might be Father, or even Robert I lay still with my eyes open in hope.
That was perhaps the worst decision I had ever made in my life; or perhaps the best.
The horsemen came onto the sleeping camp like a torrent. They did not say a word until they were amongst us and then they gave a series of co-ordinated yells that raised the small hairs on the back of my head.
'An Armstrong! An Armstrong!'
There was instant consternation in the camp as the youths rose to meet this threat. I saw the Yorling raise his sword, to be instantly knocked to the ground; I saw the young boy who was saved from the hangman's noose bowled right over and others brushed aside as if they were stalks of barley falling before the reaper's hook.
'An Armstrong! An Armstrong!'
The cry rose like the thunder of battle, deep-throated, menacing like no other. Of course I knew all about the Armstrongs, the most dangerous riding family in all the Borderland. Based in Liddesdale, that cockpit for half the trouble in Scotland, at their height they could raise three thousand lances and their towers and strongholds nailed Liddesdale to the blood-soaked ground. They terrorised their neighbours and raided from a few miles outside the royal castle of Edinburgh to deep inside England. Of all the reivers, they were the most notorious and the most dangerous. And now they were upon us on that exposed hillside deep in the Ettrick Forest.
'Horses!' A deep voice roared and some of the Armstrongs veered off to round up the Yorling's small herd. By that time I had scrambled to my feet, staring. Things were happening so quickly that I could not make any sense of them. I saw the Armstrongs, tough, mature men, scattering the Yorling's young callants, slashing at them with swords and thrusting at them with lances.
The Yorling was lying still, bleeding from a wound in his head. Although it was he who had snatched me from the Lethan, I still felt that strange bond. I ran to his side, hoping to help. To do so I had to pass one of the Armstrong riders and he saw me right away.
'A woman!' He shouted, 'I have a woman!'
For the second time in two days I was hoisted off my feet and plumped over the back of a horse.
'Stop!' I yelled, uselessly, and was rewarded with a hard crack on the back of my head that temporarily knocked all the fight out of me. I lay across the horse seeing nothing but stars as the Armstrong who had grabbed me kicked in his spurs and sped across that night-dark hill.
Only half conscious, I cannot say how long we travelled for. It may have been one hour and it may have been twelve hours. I only know that I was aching in every muscle, hungry, parched with thirst and totally exhausted when the Armstrongs finally stopped their mad canter across the bleak moors and hills.
'Get off.' The words were abrupt, and followed by a rough shake that rattled my teeth
inside my head.
'Who are you?' I asked.
'You'll know me,' the man said and tipped me roughly onto the ground. 'Or you know of me.'
I lay there, dazed and sick, wondering who he was until a hard foot dug into my ribs. 'Up!'
I tried to rise, but too slowly for my captor, who grabbed a handful of my hair and raised me to my feet. 'I said up!' He back-handed me hard across my face, drawing blood. 'Who are you?'
I looked around, desperate for hope. Instead I experienced nothing but despair. We were outside a tower that could have been the image of Lethan, except for the armed men who lounged outside and the situation. While the hills of the Lethan Valley were cultivated and green, dotted with sheep and smeared with patches of purple heather, the hills I now saw in the background were dark with menace, scattered with grey granite rocks and reamed with the gulleys of intermittent burns. There was no beauty here, only grim rock and uncultivated moorland, with the tower in the midst of extensive moss. I knew without asking that this was the Tarras Moss, the last refuge of the Armstrongs and a place whose secret paths were known to none other.
There was a solitary dry patch immediately in front of the tower, with a piece of rising ground off to the right, where the Armstrongs were driving their stolen cattle.
The scarred man poked a hard finger into my ribs. 'I asked you a question.'
I felt inside my mouth with my tongue, searching for loose teeth. 'I am Jean Tweedie of the Lethan,' I told him, hoping that the name would put some manners into him. I may as well have asked to ride to the moon.
He grunted. 'You're a Tweedie then. Why were you with the Grahams?'
I did not wish to tell him that I did not know I had been with the Grahams. 'That is not your concern,' I replied, and yelled as he backhanded me again. I fell on the ground, dazed. He picked me up again with his hand twisted in my hair and pulled me close. I stared into the most evil face I had ever seen in my life. The farm boys and middle aged men of the Lethan were tough as nails and hardy as anybody, yet compared to the viciousness in this man's face they were soft-hearted innocents.
'Why were you with the Grahams?' He repeated the same question, drawing back his hand to hit me again. Now I know that I am stubborn but I am not stupid enough to allow myself to be beaten to a pulp merely for the sake of it.
'I don't know,' I flinched, expecting another blow. 'They grabbed me as I was outside the tower and carried me away. They did not tell me why.'
The Armstrong nodded. 'Ransom.' He growled and looked closer. 'That's not their normal practise.'
I could not answer. I did not know their normal practise.
'It's a long way to come from the Debatable Land to grab a woman. You must be more important than you look.' He twisted my head back for a closer inspection. 'How many?'
'How many what?' I was aware of the other Armstrongs gathering round. Some looked curiously at me, others barely spared me a glance as they busied themselves with counting cattle and horses, the spoil of their raid.
'How many horses? How many cattle? What were the Grahams after when they took you?' He pulled me closer to him with each question so I was pressed right against that wicked, flint-eyed face with the livid white scar that ran from the outside of his right eye to his chin and which writhed with every word he spoke.
'I don't know!' The panic in my voice must have been evident for the Armstrong merely grunted and threw me back to the ground.
'We'll find out.' He raised his head, 'take this woman to the dungeon until we see if she's worth keeping.'
'No…' I knew enough about dungeons to not wish to visit one. Cardrona Tower had its Black Hole which was a small space underneath the store room. I soon discovered that it was a palace compared to the dungeon in which I was cast.
Ignoring all my protests, two of the Armstrongs grabbed hold of me by the arms and hauled me inside the gateway of the tower. I looked around, seeing a handful of slatternly women huddled around what I took to be a well and a stall of well-cared for horses along the wall.
There was a trap door in the ground, which two of the women opened and I was tossed down, head first.
'You'll be in here until Wild Will decides what to do with you,' one of the woman said, and the trap-door slammed shut leaving me alone in the dark with my thoughts and my fears.
Wild Will. I repeated the name in my head; Wild Will Armstrong, the worst of the worst, and I was in his power.
I looked around me as my eyes gradually accustomed themselves to the dark. I had expected the dungeon to be something like the Black Hole in Cardrona but it was fouler. There was a thin scattering of straw on the ground, enough to cushion my fall but not enough to give even a small measure of comfort. I heard the faint rustling and knew I was not alone.
'Whose there?' I tried to quell the faint quaver in my voice. 'Speak to me.'
Chapter Seven
TARRAS MOSS
SEPTEMBER 1585
'Good evening to you. Who are you?' The voice was deep and rich, with an accent I could not place.
'I am Jeannie Tweedie of Cardrona in the Lethan,' I did not keep the pride from my voice.
'Well met Jeannie Tweedie. I am Hugh Veitch of Faladale, although I do have other names.' The rustling increased. 'Why are you held here?'
'Veitch!' I snapped out the name. 'You are a Veitch?' I pulled back in what space that horrendous dungeon afforded.
'And proud of it,' the answer came cheerfully back. 'As you should be of the Tweedies.'
I swallowed hard. Here I was a prisoner in a filthy dungeon, and my only cell mate was a Veitch. 'We are enemies,' I said.
'I have never met you in my life,' Hugh Veitch sounded remarkably cheerful for a man in a dungeon, and far too friendly to be a Veitch.
'The Tweedies and Veitches have been at feud for generations,' I reminded.
'So I believe,' Hugh Veitch said. 'I came from a different branch of the family, so I know little of affairs in Faladale.'
That was unexpected.
'I can see little profit in arguing about it,' Hugh Veitch said. 'We are both prisoners of the Armstrongs so it would be best if we put our differences aside for the present, don't you think?' He gave a little laugh. 'We can kill each other later, if you wish.'
Remember that I had been brought up with tales of the cruelty and treachery of the Veitches. This reasoned and sensible response was not what I expected. 'Oh,' I said, and relapsed into surprised silence.
'I will take that response as agreement,' Hugh Veitch said. 'How did you come to be in this unfortunate predicament?'
I wondered if I should reply to a Veitch and decided it would probably do no harm. 'I was a prisoner of the Yorling,' I said and 'Wild Will captured me.'
There was silence for a few moments. 'I have never heard of this Yorling,' Hugh said. 'Why did he hold you?'
'I do not know,' I told him. 'He refused to say. Why does Wild Will hold you?'
'Oh I am to be hanged,' Hugh sounded remarkably calm. 'We are at deadly feud apparently, the Veitches and the Armstrongs.'
'I am sorry,' I said.
'No need for sorrow. It is the way of things. It seems that the Veitches are at feud with many people.'
I could imagine his shrug.
'Well I do not wish to be hanged,' I said, 'and neither should you be. Is there a way out of this place?'
His laugh was unexpected. 'If I find one I will let you know, Jeannie.' I heard him move, 'but chained to a staple it is hard to move, yet alone escape.'
'I am not chained,' I said. 'I suppose that Wild Will did not think it worthwhile chaining a mere woman.'
Hugh laughed again. 'I don't think any woman should be called 'mere” he said. 'It was because of a woman that I am here.' I heard the rattle of chains and a subdued curse as he moved again. 'These things are damnably uncomfortable. It will be a relief to be rid of them, even to be hanged.' His laugh was short and not without humour.
'Can I help you?' I stood up, feeling my away along
the roughness of the wall. I had only taken five steps before I stumbled over the top of him, standing on his right foot. 'Oh I do apologise.'
'It is a small matter,' he said. 'I have another foot left.'
I felt around, grabbing hold of a foot and working my way up to an ankle until I found the iron clasp. 'I can free you,' I said. 'It is a simple device,' I drew the pin that held both halves of the machine together. Hugh pulled his foot free.
'Thank you,' he said, as I found the second ankle and released that also. 'Now could you do my wrists as well?'
I fumbled in the dark, following the line of his hard, lean body. His arms were pinioned above his head, with both wrists fastened to staples that had been hammered into the stone walls of the dungeon. The pins were rusty and harder to release so I struggled, gasping with effort as I strained.
'I don't think I have the strength,' I said. 'I have a woman's fingers.'
'And a woman's compassion and determination,' Hugh encouraged me as I worked the pin from side to side within its slot.
'How long have you been chained here for?' I asked.
'I do not know,' Hugh said. 'I lost count of time. You're doing well. Please don't stop now.'
I felt movement with the pin. I pushed and pulled, straining against the stubborn iron, until I pressed my knee against Hugh's shoulders for purchase and gave a final yank. The pin jerked out and I fell backward to land with a crash on the stone floor of that dungeon. I lay still as the pain added to that caused when Wild Will had hit me. The filth and stench on that floor was abominable, as you may imagine.
'Jeannie? Are you all right?' There was concern in Hugh's voice. I heard the slight rasp as he dragged free the final pin holding his other wrist and then he was kneeling by my side. 'Are you hurt?'
'I am all right,' I said.
His hands were on my shoulders, strong and hard as he helped me to a sitting position. 'Thank you.' He said simply. I knew he must be suffering from the return of blood flowing to his arms and hands after being so long in a cramped position but he made no complaint.
The Tweedie Passion Page 5
