'Let me see,' Hugh's fingers probed my head. 'Nothing seems to be broken. Now we have to try and get out of here.' He stepped away and I heard him sit on the straw. 'You are correct; I have no desire to be hanged by Wild Will and I don't expect you wish to be his guest either.'
'I don't think much of the accommodation,' I said. I did not say that the company was entertaining. I was not that sort of girl. 'You said that you were here because of a woman?'
'That is also correct.' There was rueful humour in Hugh's voice. 'There was a woman who was desperate to ensnare me, and I was equally desperate not to be ensnared.'
'Ensnared?' I asked.
'In the trap of marriage,' my bold Hugh said. 'She was after my lands of course, rather than my not-so-handsome person.'
'Oh of course,' I said, warming to this very modest man. 'And are you not so handsome? I cannot see in the dark.'
'And that is a very good thing,' he said. 'For if you could see me you would immediately now why Meg Turner would not be in the least attracted. I have a face like the wrong end of a bull.'
I laughed out loud. 'I have never heard a man say such things about himself,' I said 'although I have heard many women make such statements – behind the man's back.'
'And quite correctly too, I imagine,' Hugh said.
I began to imagine his face, picturing the hind quarters of a bull and placing it on the shoulders of the man who sat opposite and in such close proximity to me. It was such a ludicrous picture that despite our precarious position, I had to stifle my laughter.
'Are you all right, My Lady Jeannie?'
'I was trying not to laugh,' I told him.
'Keep your laughter,' he said. 'You will need it when we get out of this place and you see what an ugly monster you have shared a dungeon with. It will be a story you can share with your children. All ten of them.'
'I have no children,' I said.
'Not yet,' he told me and relapsed into silence.
'You were telling me about Meg Turner,' I reminded, 'the woman who wished your hand in marriage despite your unfortunate face.'
'That's the one. I refused her kind offer of shackles much like these of Wild Will and she was very quiet for a space, and then she suggested that we meet once more to discuss things. I asked her what there was to discuss and she said she may be able to persuade me.'
'And then?' I tried to hurry the story along, for Hugh seemed prone to linger at the most interesting places.
I could feel his smile even in that dismal place. 'I believed her. Call me stupid or call me simple but I rode along to the old chapel at Laverlaw, where the ghosts are said to flit and the moon pokes white from the blasted oaks…'
'Oh very poetic,' I said. 'You should write that into a ballad.'
'I may do just that,' Hugh told me. 'I have always fancied myself as a balladeer!'
'You met the fair Meg at Laverlaw,' I reminded.
'She was not fair,' he said at once. 'She is dark; very dark; black of hair and black of heart. Remind me never again to walk out with a black haired woman for they have natures to mirror their hair.'
'Oh,' I said. 'I will do that.' I did not tell him that my hair could not be darker. It was the colour of coal and so long that when combed out I could sit on it.
'I rode up to Laverlaw with my heart so innocent that I wondered if I was mistaken,' Hugh said. 'I thought of her wondrous smile and other things about her…'
'I do not need to ask what other things you were thinking about,' I said, once more stifling my laughter.
'No, indeed not. Women will also think about herds of cattle and fertile lands and the merging of properties together.' Hugh was a man of surprises. 'So I was nearly prepared to be nice to her, especially when I saw her standing inside the chapel in a long white dress and with a circlet of flowers in her hair. She was like the Queen of the May.'
'How lovely,' I said. 'And she was equally innocent despite her black hair.'
'That's what I thought!' Hugh said cheerfully. So I dismounted and ran forward, hopeful for… Well just hopeful.'
'I can imagine,' I said.
'Well imagine this,' Hugh said. 'I came forward prepared to be friendly and then two or three or a dozen other women of the Turner family came out of the dark, threw a blanket over my head and trussed me tight as a goose at Christmas. I heard them laughing and within the hour I was handed over to the Armstrongs and here I am, my goose is cooked and the noose awaits its next customer.'
'Unless we can get out of here,' I said.
'That would be the best thing,' Hugh said, 'for I have a score or three to pay off with the Turners.' There was little humour in his voice now, I noted.
'We are under the storehouse of the keep,' I said, 'and there seemed to be a great many Armstrongs in the tower.'
'Which tower are we in?' Hugh asked. 'I was covered by a blanket remember. I saw nothing. Are we in Hollows? Mangerton, Whithaugh, Dryhope, Gilnockie?' He rattled off a list of the towers and strongholds of the Armstrongs.
Unseen in the dark, I shook my head. 'None of these,' I told him. 'We are in a huge area of bogland with the ugliest hills I have ever seen. I think it is Tarras Moss.'
'Tarras.' The name sounded flat even in Hugh's musical voice. 'There are only three exits to Tarras and the Armstrongs know all the byways and hidden routes through the bogs and forests. We are in the very heart of the Armstrong lands here.' He was quiet for only a few moments, 'and I still intend to get out. Will you be coming with me?'
About to say 'of course,' I pondered for a moment. I did not know anything about this man except that he was a Veitch with a sense of humour. I did not even know what he looked like, except that he was as ugly as the hind-quarters of a bull. He was only a voice in the dark, a mysterious stranger called Hugh. Could I trust him? If I remained where I was, surely my father would arrange some sort of ransom that would get me free. No! I shook my head; that would not happen. I would escape here with this ugly man who had such a dislike for black-haired women.
'I will come,' I said. 'On one condition.'
'And what is that condition, pray?' He asked.
'That you do not hold my hair against me,' I said, 'for it is black, and there is a lot of it.'
'I will indeed hold your black hair against you,' he said, 'unless you forgive me my face like the wrong end of a bull.'
'I will forgive you that,' I said. 'We have a fine tupping bull in the Lethan herds.'
'Then we have a bargain,' ugly Hugh said. 'Now all we have to do is work out how to get away.'
'That may not be easy,' I told him.
It was at that moment that we heard the trapdoor above us creak as somebody dragged it open.
Chapter Eight
TARRAS MOSS
SEPTEMBER 1585
Have you ever had one of those moments when ideas just come to you? One minute you are sitting there with a slight smile on your face and your mind dull as a November sky, and the next you know exactly what you want to do. Well, that is what happened. I had no sooner told Hugh that it would be difficult to escape than an entire plan unfolded inside my head.
Grey light from above filtered through the trap, showing the feet and legs of a man as he carefully lowered himself down.
'Hugh,' I whispered urgently. 'Get ready to jump on him!' That was all I had time to say before two of the Armstrongs had negotiated the eight feet or so to the floor of the dungeon.
'Jeannie Tweedie!' The first Armstrong said. He was broad shouldered and tough-looking, with a face marked with earlier smallpox. His companion was older, with a neat little beard.
'I am Jeannie Tweedie,' I said at once.
'Get up,' pox-marked ordered. 'Wild Will wants you.'
'I can't' I said. 'I hurt myself when you pushed me down here. You will have to leave me.'
'Come on, you!' As Pock-marked took a handful of my hair I looked up appealingly. Now I have already told you that I was virginal, but that does not mean that I am totally innocent in the w
ays of men. It would be impossible to grow up on the Border without seeing the various mating procedures of animals and people, so I had quickly loosened the top of my dress to expose my cleavage and more than a hint of my breasts for the gratification of the Armstrongs. I was well aware that I was playing with fire and the end result could have been disastrous and horribly unpleasant.
Pock-marked looked down and got an eyeful of untouched womanhood. I saw that his interest was instantly aroused as his attention switched from hauling me to my feet to staring at what I had on display. More out of instinct than calculation, I arched my back, tempting him further, and his friend came over to join him with his eyes as wide as they could open.
'Now, Hugh!' I said.
I need not have bothered. Before the words were uttered, Hugh had risen from his corner of the dungeon and, clever man, swung the chains that had so lately confined his ankles. With the doubled chain in his hands, he crashed the iron manacles onto the head of the bearded Armstrong, knocking him to the ground.
Pock-mark turned around more quickly than I had ever seen a man move, dragging out a knife from his belt at the same time. Unbalanced from his first blow, Hugh was at a disadvantage. I kicked upward, hoping to catch Pock-mark in an evil place. He hardly grunted as my boot instead made contact with his thigh but that tiny distraction was all that Hugh needed. Dropping the manacles, he punched upward into Pock-mark's throat.
Pock-mark opened his mouth to try and draw in breath so Hugh punched him on the point of his jaw, knocking him to the wall, where Hugh punched him again. They were good punches that raised a thrill in me. I do like to see a man who knows what to do and does it well, with no wasted effort.
'Is he dead?' I watched Pock-mark slump against the wall.
'No,' Hugh took the man's knife and slipped it inside his own belt. 'Come on Jeannie; time we were out of here before they realise what is happening,'
I nodded: I had never seen such fighting at close quarters before. I could only watch as Hugh jumped to the opening above us and scrambled out. Seconds later he dropped a rope down.
'Take hold,' he ordered. 'I'll pull you up.'
I took hold as instructed but rather than wait to be pulled I climbed hand over hand to the opening. Hugh helped me over the lip and I stood upright, looking around. I had feared that there might be more Armstrongs around but the ground level was free of them, with only horses and various stores, dimly seen in the gloom.
'Can you ride bareback?' Hugh asked me.
'I've never tried,' I said.
'Can you? Yes or no?' I could sense his urgency.
'Yes,' I said quickly.
'Good; choose a horse; quickly!
There were ten horses to choose from, all of the finest stock. Trust the Armstrongs to know the best horseflesh. I chose a fine brown mare while Hugh was making heavy weather of lifting the heavy wooden bar from the door.
'Let me help,' I said, taking some of the weight. He gave me the briefest of nods.
'On the count of three,' Hugh said, 'one two, three!'
Between us we lifted one end of the bar, and then it slipped and fell with an almighty crash on to the floor. The noise might have been heard in Edinburgh or Carlisle; certainly it echoed throughout that isolated tower like the knell of doom on Judgement Day.
Hugh looked at me. 'That will waken the house,' he said. 'Come on Jeannie lass, before the Armstrongs come!'
He hauled the double doors open and we peered outside. There were no guards, nothing except the cloak of night and the sweet perfume of the Tarras Moss.
'Why are there no guards?' I asked.
'The Armstrongs are secure here, in the middle of Tarras. They are the only people who know the routes here, so they are in no fear of attack. Mount and ride, Jeannie; they are coming!'
I heard the noise from above, the harsh shouts of angry men and the clatter of footsteps on stone stairs. I saw Hugh grab a sword from a rack on the wall and then we were hurrying outside with me insecure on my horse without a saddle and the night welcoming us with its dark blanket and a cool smirr of rain.
Without knowing anything about the geography of the Tarras Moss, I could only blindly follow Hugh. Luckily he seemed to know what he was doing as he led at a trot, looking back over his shoulder either to ensure that I was still there or to see if we were being followed, or perhaps both. 'Can you keep up?'
'I'll try,' I said although in truth I found it very difficult to sit astride my mare with neither stirrups or saddle as we jolted through the night. To be honest it was a bit of a nightmare being jiggled up and down on that horse in the black without knowing where I was or where I was going. I wrapped the mane of my horse around my fingers, gritted my teeth and endured the painful bouncing.
'They're following,' Hugh broke a long silence with urgent words. 'Can you walk your horse backward?'
'Walk him backward?' I repeated the words as if I were the class dunce. 'Why ever should I wish to?'
'Yes or no?' Hugh insisted.
'Yes I can,' I said. It was a trick that Robert and I had perfected many years ago when we were very young people without a care in the world.
'Then follow my lead,' Hugh said. He reined up and walked backward, keeping his hooves in line. I followed him, with my nerves screaming at me to kick my heels in and gallop away from the Armstrongs who could not be many hundreds of yards behind us. I could faintly hear their hoarse shouts as they encouraged each other forward and I could feel the vibration of their hooves pounding on the ground.
'This way,' Hugh said suddenly and broke off the path to the side. I followed with my heart pounding and my nerves jangling as I expected my mount to founder into a patch of bogland with every step. That is the nature of the Tarras Moss you see; it has hidden stretches of deep peat-bog and sudden patches of forest so impenetrable that Jesus himself would struggle to find even the narrowest of straight paths.
'Keep in sight of me.' Hugh whispered, 'and keep silent.'
'It is you who is doing the talking,' I told him, more tartly than I intended as my mare slipped and banged me down rather sharply on his back. I gasped and rubbed at myself, wondering if I should have stayed put in the dungeon.
We moved on, with the horses picking their way slowly along the treacherous ground as the rain hissed down cold and penetrating. That rain may have saved us, uncomfortable though it was, for within a very few minutes it would obscure any trail we left.
I do not know for how long we rode. I only know that grey dawn was cracking the black of the night when Hugh next spoke. 'We will halt soon,' he said. 'There is a patch of woodland where we will spend the day.'
I eased myself on my uncomfortable perch and rubbed pointlessly at some of my aches. 'Would we not be better riding by day?' I asked, 'when we can see our way?'
'This is still Armstrong land,' Hugh explained patiently. 'We are on the bounds of Liddesdale. Do you know which families are there?'
'Of course I do,' I said, testy because of my myriad aches, particularly the major one on which I sat. 'As well as the Armstrongs there are Elliots, Croziers, Nixons, Turnbulls, Rutherfords, Laidlaws, Halls and Robsons.'
'Aye, and they are all allied and related to each other; the most predatory riding families in Scotland.' I could sense Hugh looking at me although I was unable to make out his features in the dullness of that bleak dawn. 'Do you really think we would be able to ride through them unchallenged in the full light of day? One man and one maid, on horses without saddle or stirrups and with Wild Will looking for us?'
I knew he was right although I did not like to admit it. I was stubborn that way. I am still stubborn that way, as any who know me will bear witness to, but that is to jump my story and leave out far too much. 'No,' I said, shortly.
'Then we do as I say.' There was no triumph in his voice, for which I was grateful. Tired and aching as I was I could not have stood any gloating from a man who had bested me in an argument. I would have burst into tears, or perhaps slapped his face for him
. Probably the latter.
The patch of forest land was open at the edges and became denser the further in we pushed. The light of day was strengthening as we entered yet within a very few moments it was hard to see where we were going, so close-packed were the trees.
'Dismount,' Hugh ordered, as if he was the Captain of a troop of the King's Horse and I was one of his soldiers. He watched as I very gingerly lifted my leg over the rump of the horse and slid to the ground. My legs wobbled when my feet touched the thick leaf mould, but it was that other much more prominent part of me that was causing me most grief at that time, and I was disinclined to rub there with a man watching.
I had no need to worry. Reaching behind him, Hugh furiously massaged his behind. 'I don't know about you,' he said with a grin that I could see even in the shade of the forest, 'but riding bareback really makes me sore.'
'Me too,' I found it easy to match his grin, 'I don't think I will sit comfortably for a week.'
There was something very reassuring about being with a man who was open about his weaknesses and I was much more relaxed about rubbing my own tender parts. 'I will wager that I have matching bruises on both sides,' I said more than I intended, and far more than my mother would ever have approved.
Hugh cut off his laugh. 'I will be the same' he said. Mercifully he did not ask if he could check, as some of the boys of the Lethan would have, nor look the other way in tongue-tied embarrassment as Robert would do.
'Now,' he cut lengths of grass, tied them together and created effective hobbles for the horses. 'We will let them graze and hope that if they are seen they look like wild beasts rather than Armstrong mounts.' He smiled. 'They were probably stolen from somewhere else in the first place.'
'I will call mine Kailzie,' I said, 'after a place I know well.'
'Kailzie she is, now and henceforth,' Hugh agreed solemnly.
I watched him work. The morning light was strengthening but in the gloom between these thick trees I still had no clear idea about his looks. I wished to see this man who was so ugly that he thought women would only speak to him because they wanted his lands.
The Tweedie Passion Page 6
