Border Storm

by Amanda Scott

  May’s trembling increased. She could not seem to stop, nor did she look up. Her voice shook as she muttered to Laurie, “He abducted me so that I could not appear at the Truce Day and tell them he murdered his wives. He is horrid!”

  Loder snapped, “Move away from her, May Halliot, and look at me!”

  “Leave her alone,” Laurie said.

  “You’re very fierce for one who is about to die, lass.”

  “And you are very brave for one who threatens defenseless women,” she replied. Looking around at the gape-jawed men, she said, “I suppose that all these brave lads will cheer you on. Just look at them. A pretty set you make, all of you.”

  She heard grumbling, but she was too numb now to fear them. She wanted only to help May, and she hoped that if Loder’s louts could see themselves as they really were, they would at least feel some shame. Then, perhaps, they would not be too quick to support their brutal master.

  He still held the whip, and when he reached out with it, putting its point under her chin, she stood still. Her gaze locked with his.

  “You’ve more spirit than our May,” he said with a leer. “I thought she was the one with spirit, but she don’t hold a candle to you, lass. I threatened to keep you here just to stir coals with our Hugh here, but perhaps I’ll keep you, after all. You and May can take turns amusing me whilst I school the pair of you to my ways.”

  “Stand away from her, you bastard!”

  Startled by the sound of Hugh’s voice, Laurie saw him surge away from his captors and stride toward her, although his hands still were tied behind him.

  “Leave him,” Loder ordered curtly when the two guards leapt forward to grab Hugh again. “If he is so anxious to meet his death, let him.”

  With dismay, Laurie saw that Loder had drawn his sword and had tucked the whip handle into the sword’s scabbard.

  “May,” she muttered, “collect yourself. He is going to kill Sir Hugh.”

  Looking up, May said in a quavering voice, “Please, sir, punish me if you must, but do not kill them like this. “’Tis murder, clear and plain.”

  “Hold your tongue, damn you,” he snapped. “I’ll tend to you after I deal with him. Come ahead, Hugh Graham. I’ll spit you here and now.”

  “Put a sword in my hand, and we’ll see who spits what,” Hugh said.

  “Aye, you’d like that, would you not? But I wonder how well you will enjoy dying like the traitor cur you are. You betrayed England when you gave your sister to Buccleuch’s cousin. You gave aid to our enemies at Carlisle, and you continued to aid them when you joined in handfast with this brazen Scotswoman.”

  “None of that is true,” Hugh said steadily. “I had little to say in my sister’s marriage, because Jamie and Elizabeth arranged it between them through the offices of Scrope and Buccleuch. My blessing was naught but a formality. As to our handfasting, your so-called death had more to do with that than I did.”

  “Aye, well, perhaps I did have summat to do with that, since you took the wench as hostage first and wife second. But she’ll not be counted your wife when she’s dead, only as the sister of a murderess, murdered herself by her own people. After I’ve spitted you, my men will take you out onto the fells and someone—perhaps Comus Grant—will claim to have seen Rabbie Redcloak kill you in cold blood. No one will be able to prove otherwise, either, since the bloody Scots still refuse to admit that the damned reiver even exists.”

  “You’ll be quite a hero then, won’t you?” Hugh said. Raising his voice so that everyone in the hall could hear, he added, “My lass is right, Loder, and your lads all know it. You’re naught but a coward who makes war on defenseless women and bound men. God’s wounds, man, you don’t even have the courage to do your thieving in the open. You had to pretend to be dead before you dared go a-reiving. Even then, you borrowed another man’s name and reputation to conceal your deeds. We all should have known Rabbie Redcloak wasn’t the villain. He always shows himself and shouts his name for all to hear. Now, there’s a man with courage!”

  Loder’s face reddened with rage, and he lunged, his sword pointed directly at Hugh, who had little room to move, let alone to defend himself.

  Before Laurie could do more than gasp in shock, May leapt between the two men, arms extended to push Loder away, and his blade pierced her just below her right breast. She collapsed without a word, and so shocked was Loder that he snatched his hand away from his sword and stood gaping down at her as the color drained from his face.

  “May?” he murmured. “Oh, my foolish lass, what have you done?”

  Laurie flung herself to the floor beside May, trying to stanch the blood flowing from her wound. “May, dearest one, don’t die! May, speak to me!”

  May’s eyelids fluttered, and one hand clutched weakly at Laurie’s arm.

  Bending to put her ear near May’s lips, Laurie said, “What is it, love?”

  “Take… take the dagger,” May gasped, the words barely audible. “In… in my girdle. I was going to kill him, but… I did not get the chance. St-stop him, or he’ll make you take my…”

  “May?” Turning her head to see why there was no answer, Laurie felt suddenly as if she and her sister were alone. She could scarcely breathe.

  May’s eyelids fluttered one last time.

  Still hunched over her, Laurie did not move. Tears welled into her eyes, but she squeezed them tightly shut, trying to stem the flow. She knew that May was gone, but she could not react. She had to think.

  The sword, Loder’s sword, was still stuck in May’s body, leaning crazily with blood still oozing around its point from the wound. Even if she could have forced herself to yank it free, she knew that she could not do so without Loder and everyone else seeing her.

  The hall was deadly still and time seemed to have stopped, but she knew that she had scant seconds left to do anything. Loder meant to kill Hugh and to do unconscionable things to her. His men would not lift a finger to stop him.

  Her fingers were already moving at May’s waist, touching the items on her belt. She wondered how on earth May had come by a dagger. For a moment, she feared that her sister had made it up. Then she found it and could have wept, for it was small with a jeweled handle, no more than a woman’s eating knife. Nevertheless, she swiftly concealed it in her sleeve and sat back on her heels, looking up at the men who had gathered around her.

  “She’s gone,” she said sadly. “You killed her, Martin Loder, and whatever happens next, you will answer to God for it. He will see you punished.”

  “Aye, perhaps,” he said, looking strangely deflated, “but God should know, if anyone does, that it was her fault. She ran in front of my sword, the witless wench. She should have known better.”

  He straightened, drawing a deep breath and visibly shrugging off whatever feelings he had for May, like a dog shaking water from its back. “Now, lads,” he said briskly, “as to the matter at hand, it will be better, I think, if we just take them out onto the fells and kill them there. It will be more convincing with their blood spattered all about.”

  Laurie had gotten slowly to her feet as Loder spoke, and now she edged closer to Hugh, as if to take shelter behind him.

  He stood straight, looking Loder in the eye, and Loder seemed to take pleasure from glowering back at him.

  Certain that the men’s attention was diverted from her, she slid the little dagger into her hand and began to saw at the cords binding Hugh’s wrists. The knife was surprisingly sharp, but the cords were taut and tough.

  Hearing a shout from the rear of the hall, she sawed faster, fearing that someone had seen what she was doing. With her attention so firmly riveted to her task, it was a moment before any words penetrated. Then, as men leapt to their feet and snatched up arms, she realized that several were shouting, “Raiders!”

  Hugh wrenched his wrists apart and yanked the sword from May’s body just as Loder lunged to do the same.

  Loder froze, hands spread, staring at him.

  “Find anot
her sword,” Hugh said. “We’ll finish this here and now.”

  The hall was clearing swiftly, but several of Loder’s men paused when they realized what had happened.

  “One of you, throw me a sword,” Loder snapped. “Then get outside and take care of those damned raiders, whoever they be!”

  One of the men stepped forward to hand Loder a sword, keeping a watchful eye on Hugh. “Mayhap a few of us should stay, master,” the man said.

  “Do you think I cannot best this cur?” Loder demanded.

  “I dinna doubt it,” the man said. “I just thought ’twould be safer all round if ye had a man or two at your side to make sure.”

  “He’s learned your ways well,” Hugh said gently, “but it will make no difference to you in the end, Loder. Choose how!”

  Two other men drew their swords.

  From behind him, Hugh heard Laurie say quietly, “I swear I will shoot anyone who tries to interfere. This will be a fair fight.”

  Hugh kept his eyes on Loder, but he saw the others look toward her, their shock as plain as if a flagstone from the floor had risen to bite one of them.

  “Where the devil did you get that pistol?” Loder demanded.

  “I found it on the bench yonder,” she said. “One of your men must have left it behind in his rush to get outside.”

  “If someone left it behind, it is not loaded.”

  “Oh, yes, it is. I looked, and I know how to tell. It is a wheel-lock, and the mechanism is wound. If you are wondering whether I know how to fire it—”

  “I’ve no doubt that you do,” he said. “You and your sister are both damned unnatural women. Get out now, you lot,” he added with a glance at his two men. “They need you outside more than I do here, although they’re likely facing no more than the few Hugh left at Brackengill whilst he kept watch over Tarras Wood. If you’re going to shoot me with that thing, lass, you’d best make your shot count.”

  “I’d like to shoot you,” Laurie replied, and Hugh nearly grinned at her wistful tone. She paused as if she were considering her options.

  They were not safe yet, and he had yet to learn if he could hold his own against Loder. He was hardly at his best, but he would soon have support if the raiders outside the walls could breach them, and he knew that he was a better swordsman now than he had been the last time he had engaged in such a fight.

  “Keep the pistol aimed at him, lass,” he said. “We’ll play by his rules, though. If he should happen to win this fight, then you can shoot him.”

  “I will,” she said, her voice admirably steady.

  “Very pretty behavior,” Loder said with a sneer. “I should have known that your principles would prove no stronger than any other man’s. A typical Graham, that’s what you are.”

  “Thank you, but don’t waste wit or energy on talk,” Hugh told him. “Use them for fighting. You’ve naught to fear if you leave her alone, but she will keep the weapon to defend herself if your men win the battle outside. She’ll take at least one down before the rest can grab her, and if that one chances to be you, so be it.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Loder said, lunging suddenly.

  Hugh had expected the move and was prepared for it. In moments, he was sending silent thanks to Sir Quinton Scott for stirring him to practice more with his weapons. Despite his sore head and a certain amount of weakness from not having eaten since leaving Corbies Nest, his earlier dizziness was gone.

  His arms and legs felt strong, and his feet moved nimbly. Catching Loder’s blade on his, he deftly parried the first stroke, and then went on the attack, forcing Loder back and away from the narrow opening between the tables. There was barely enough room to fight cleanly, but he did not expect Loder to do that. He would just have to watch his step, conserve his energy, and hope for the best.

  Laurie realized that she had been holding her breath and forced herself to exhale. She could not bear to watch, and she could not bear to look away.

  Realizing that she still held the pistol and fearing that she might set it off with an involuntary twitch of a finger, she lowered it and held it loosely by the grip. Despite her bold words to Loder, she was not certain that it was loaded or that the mechanism had been wound all the way. She hoped that she had only to pull the trigger, but she did not want to find out by shooting it accidentally and startling Hugh. He would need all his concentration to win this fight.

  She could hear clanging of weapons outside in the yard now, and she knew that the wall had been breached and the fighting was in full sway. She hoped Rabbie’s Bairns were out there, because she could be confident that they would win, but she did not know who it was. Raiders could come from anywhere.

  She was grateful to them if only for drawing Loder’s men out of the hall to fight. She had not even tried to keep the two who had lingered from joining the others, fearing that she would either betray her lack of confidence in her weapon or that one of them would succeed in snatching it from her. She had no illusions about what would have happened then.

  But for Hugh’s taunting, she believed that Loder would have demanded a pistol instead of a sword and that he would have shot Hugh dead on the spot. Even now, she could not be certain that Hugh would survive the sword fight.

  Every time Loder’s blade darted near him, she flinched, and she had to exert the strongest control over herself to keep from crying out when once it flashed between Hugh’s arm and his side, narrowly missing his chest.

  At first, Hugh seemed to attack, forcing Loder back toward the high table; but once they reached the open space that separated the dais from the two long tables, he eased up, letting Loder lunge back toward him.

  Their pace increased.

  When Loder grabbed a pewter pitcher from the high table and flung it at Hugh, she clapped her free hand over her mouth. She wanted to shut her eyes, but she couldn’t. The pitcher clattered to the stone floor, spilling a river of golden ale.

  Sword clashed against sword, flashing high and then low, in and out, slipping, gnashing, and twanging as the two men leapt agilely back and forth. Loder began dancing backward again, and Laurie thought that perhaps Hugh had taken the upper hand at last. Then she realized that Loder had maneuvered Hugh into turning his back on the spilled ale.

  “Look out, Hugh!” she cried.

  At the same moment, Loder lunged and Hugh leapt back as he parried. His rear foot slipped when it touched the wet stones, and as he struggled to retain his balance, Loder darted in for the kill.

  Laurie screamed and raised the pistol, pulling the trigger. The explosion was louder than she had expected, and with amazing force, the pistol flew up, twisted out of her hand, and crashed to the floor. It all happened quickly but diverted her attention from the men. She looked back to see both of them lying on the floor.

  As she stepped forward with a cry, terrified that both were dead, she saw that both were still breathing.

  Hugh sat up, sword in hand. He touched its point against Loder’s throat.

  “We’re done, Loder,” he said. “You’ve committed enough crimes to assure your hanging, and I’ve a mind to see you swing from the gallows. Get up now, and do it slowly. Lass, are you all right? I feared that you had shot yourself.”

  “I meant to shoot him,” Laurie said. “Are you not going to kill him?”

  “We’ll hang him instead,” Hugh said, adding when Loder twisted to get his legs under him again, “Move slowly, Loder. Don’t do anything foolhardy.”

  Hearing only silence outside, Laurie said, “Listen.”

  Automatically, he glanced toward the two high windows that apparently overlooked the yard. “The fighting’s stopped,” he said.

  She nodded, and just then, Loder moved.

  “Hugh, look out!”

  Loder had uncoiled, and now he sprang at Hugh with a dagger murderously outstretched, which his clothing had concealed.

  Hugh reacted instantly, parrying the dagger thrust with a deft upward arc of his sword and then whipping his point
back to center.

  Loder launched himself at Hugh. As though he knew that he had lost, he did not even try to avoid the sword and, to Laurie’s shock, impaled himself upon it.

  Hugh snatched it free as the man fell, then knelt swiftly at his side.

  Loder was still breathing, but his breath came in ragged gasps, and he did not try to speak. Blood trickled from his mouth, and the harsh gasping ceased.

  Laurie said quietly, “Is he dead?”

  “Aye, lass, and ’tis sorry I am for it, too. I wanted to see the bastard hang for all he’s done. I wanted him to see the gallows and the hangman, and to make his penance before God. He got off too easily.”

  “It is just as well,” said a voice from the doorway.

  They turned, and Laurie saw a slim man of ordinary height standing at the threshold with a number of men looking over his shoulder.

  Meggie’s Andrew slipped under his arm, his pistol at the ready, his eyes wide and worried until his gaze found Laurie and Hugh. He lowered the pistol and glanced up at the man beside him.

  “They’re safe, laird.”

  “Aye, so it seems,” the man said.

  Hugh got to his feet with a wry grimace. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see you, Buccleuch. You’ve won the day, I trust.”

  “Faith, did you think I would not, against such scrofulous vermin?”

  “You must forgive me. I did not know that you had returned from Berwick.”

  “Then I’ll excuse your lack of faith this time,” the Laird of Buccleuch said magnanimously. “Quin’s outside with Hob the Mouse and young Gil Scott, clearing away the mess. Unfortunately, we’ve had to take a few prisoners. Always a damned nuisance, prisoners are.”

  “At this point, I’m inclined to sympathize with the prisoners,” Hugh said, reaching to heft a pitcher that sat on the nearest long table. Apparently finding its weight satisfactory, he raised it to his lips and drank thirstily.

  “We are very grateful to see you, sir,” Laurie said solemnly to Buccleuch, “but the news is not good, I’m afraid. My sister, May, lies dead on the floor between those tables yonder. She was killed saving Sir Hugh.”