Claimed By a Scottish Lord

by Melody Thomas

  ―Think Hereford‘s men are nervous yet?‖ another said, a tall, bearded clansman as stocky as a rough-hewn log.

  ―Some of us saw Rufus,‖ a man in the back said, and Ruark recognized Angus‘s voice.

  ―Takin‘ a piss at the latrine. Turned and waved to us on the hill afore the Anglish bastard what was guardin‘ him pulled him back inside the tent.‖

  A ripple of laughter followed. All were in rousing fighting spirits.

  Ruark adjusted the dirk at his waist. ―Any word from Duncan?‖

  The men walking with him grew silent. He could feel the air chill, like the draft that twined around his calves as he stopped and faced them. Angus spoke first. ―He‘ll be here with the others,‖ he said, a slight edge to his voice. ―Duncan would no‘ miss this fight.‖

  ―How many men have we?‖

  ―Gavin‘s family came in last night with fifty men. Ninety men now,‖ Angus said. ―We‘ve seen worse.‖

  Ruark looked at each man‘s bearded countenance, knowing they awaited some signal to his mood. He gave Angus a hearty slap on the arm. ― ‘Tis better than forty standing against three hundred, eh?‖

  They all laughed as Ruark turned on his heel, pushed through the doors, and walked out into the pungent dawn mist.

  Smoke and morning fog layered the air like ghostly tentacles stretching out from the fields surrounding the old medieval abbey, an eerie contrast to the serenity of the morning. This was Scotland‘s graveyard. A dozen major battles had been waged over these grounds across the centuries.

  Ruark didn‘t anticipate starting a war today. Nor did he expect Hereford would want to take a chance on losing any monetary gain he hoped to make in this trade, especially if he wanted the Black Dragon. But tension remained high on both sides, and today was as much about show of strength as it was about national pride and a little blowing off steam. He would not want one of Hereford‘s men thinking that just because the Scots were outnumbered on their own green earth that it meant a single one of them was easily defeated.

  Ruark also knew that his own men looked to him for leadership. Allegiance in the Borders was earned, as much by resolve and action as by birthright and sometimes a great deal of gold.

  The three men who had served as witnesses to the consummation of his marriage last night stood uneasily in the open awaiting him. Two were robed clerics, the third, their resident English sympathizer, a dandy this dull morn if Ruark had ever seen one. He wore a lacy jabot and breeches, and brown periwig slightly skewed as if he‘d been dragged from sleep. Next to them, McBain carried a sheaf of folded papers wrapped prettily in red ribbon.

  Ruark thumbed through the contracts and marriage papers. Copies of everything had been made. More formal papers would be delivered by his solicitor later. ―Has someone read these over?‖

  ―Colum did, m‘lord,‖ McBain said.

  Ruark held out his hand. McBain presented a quill as Angus held a small jar of ink.

  ―Which one of you is serving as emissary?‖ he asked the three men without looking up as he scrawled his signature across the bottom of each paper.

  Acute silence answered Ruark. No doubt the three would rather be subjected to a tooth extraction than go down that hill and across that bridge into Hereford‘s camp. White flag or nay, no one wanted the task and didn‘t consider the job part of their original agreement. Unfortunately, for them, Ruark did.

  He raised his eyes and looked at the three, returning the papers to McBain to see that they were properly dried.

  ―I will go down there, my lord,‖ the taller cleric said. ― ‘Tis the least I can do after a rather . invigorating night. Lord Hereford wants confirmation. There will be no denying the truth from my lips.‖

  One corner of Ruark‘s mouth quirked. ―What is your name?‖ He gave the quill over to Angus, who handed the pen and ink to someone else.

  ―Father Samuel. I am English,‖ he said almost defiantly. ―Come to visit my brother.‖

  Ruark drew on his heavy gloves, eyeing him with interest. ―Well, Father Samuel, you have done enough this day, and I have another emissary in mind.‖

  Sensing the bent of Ruark‘s mind, the dandy straightened his brocade waistcoat with a jerk. ―But I don‘t ride a horse,‖ he protested.

  ―Then get the man a cart,‖ Ruark told Angus.

  Angus shouted across the yard for a cart. The call went down the line of men saddling horses until the order reached the stable.

  ―But my lord . ‖ the man rasped, justifiably terrified. ―What if Lord Hereford makes me swear to something that is not true?‖

  ―Then we will have a problem.‖

  On this precariously diplomatic note, the cart arrived, equipped with a white piece of linen tied to a hoe but no place to put the pole. Angus drew his dagger with a flourish, cut a piece of rope and bound the hoe to the wooden bench. In just as efficient a manner, he lifted their emissary into the cart. Before Ruark made the suggestion, the second cleric volunteered to accompany the man, and he too made his way onto the bench beside the first. The man holding the pony‘s halter walked the cart and riders to the hill‘s edge to await the signal from the other side of the river.

  They would meet Hereford‘s representative on the arched stone bridge, exchange the necessary words and agreements as came with such dialogue, and then Ruark and Hereford would meet. Ruark would give Hereford the signed documents. In return, Jamie, Rufus and Gavin would be allowed to go free. Such was the way of negotiations.

  Loki was brought forward. Ruark stepped into the stirrup and swung a leg over the saddle. He tossed a bag of gold to Father Samuel. ―When the other two return, you will be free to go as well. I will trust you to share equally.‖

  McBain approached and returned the papers to Ruark, once again bound in red ribbon. ―I do no‘ think ‘tis right ye sending me away,‖ he groused. ―Ye may have need of another sword.‖

  ―If we do, one more will make no difference.‖

  Ruark told him it was time to take Rose and leave. ―Tell Colum he is not to allow her from his sight. Now go.‖

  Watching him hurry away, Ruark shoved the papers in his shirt.

  ―I‘m tellin‘ ye it makes no sense,‖ Angus said a moment later, coming along beside him and riding a large black barb. ―Duncan . he‘d no‘ turn from a fight. Not this fight.‖

  A breeze stirred the grass. The morning sky had begun to lighten and as the last shining star in the northern sky faded, Ruark‘s gaze slipped past the stone walls overgrown with larkspur, beyond the chapel to the stables, where dozens had followed his lead and mounted. He rode his horse to the highest point overlooking the river, where the men began to line both banks, their accoutrements winking in the sunlight. Firelight dotted the landscape, and in the awakening light of dawn, he saw Jamie across the river. The boy sat on a roan next to Hereford‘s large barb.

  It was the first time Ruark had ever glimpsed his younger brother. His hair was not dark, like Ruark‘s or their father‘s as he‘d expected, but the bright blond color of Julia‘s. He was not large, but fine boned.

  Loki restlessly curveted beneath Ruark.

  ―He looks well,‖ someone beside him remarked, swinging the glass in his hands and noting that Rufus and Gavin did not look nearly as pampered, but at least they were walking on their own volition as they were led from a tent.

  Their long tangled hair looked as if it had not seen a comb in months. They wore no boots. Their trews, and what once had been white homespun shirts, were torn and ragged beneath old plaid rags. Then they raised their chained hands and a cheer suddenly went up in the crowd, followed by another that began farther down the river near the watch. Like everyone else, Ruark turned his head and looked west. A low grumble strengthened in the earth beneath him, the thunder growing louder as a line of mounted men roared over the distant hill.

  Four hundred men exploded into view and across the rise. They were a wild-looking bunch, bearded, hair long and unkempt, fearless, enough to dampen the enthusias
m of even the most confident enemy.

  Duncan rode at its head. Seeing Ruark, he broke ranks and turned his horse up the hill to where Ruark reined Loki around to meet him.

  Raucous cheers continued to greet the newcomers as they jostled for space beside those already lining the riverbank. Heckles and jeers on the other side followed and soon swords were raised as taunts were lobbed from both sides. This went on up and down the river for as long as it took Duncan‘s men to move their lathered horses into place.

  Loki, perhaps sensing Ruark‘s mood, sidled away as Duncan‘s arrival was met with jovial backslapping by those on the hill. Duncan looked at Ruark. Scraping a hand across his bearded jaw, he leaned slightly in the saddle. ―Sorry we are late, nephew. Nothing occurred while I was gone?‖ His gaze swept the gathering troops across the river. ―I would hate to have missed the excitement.‖

  Showing yesterday when expected would not have had the same dramatic effect on the clan and its foes as his arrival this morning. No doubt, Duncan preferred the more substantial role as this day‘s hero, especially considering the part he‘d played bringing about these events in the first place. In some way, whether advertent or not, he had played a part in all the events, including yesterday‘s events that led up to Ruark‘s marriage to Rose. Had Duncan arrived as planned, the proceedings might not have progressed as far as they had, and Rose might not now be his wife.

  But the effect of Duncan‘s arrival on morale was palpable.

  ―Your presence is welcomed, Duncan,‖ Ruark said.

  It seemed appropriate that he should smile.

  The first time Rose heard the raucous voices raised in cheer had been shortly after the carriage left the market square north of the abbey. The coach had not stopped but continued to careen over cobbled streets as if the devil himself were on their tails. But now the black coach came to a grating standstill in the middle of an ill-maintained road five miles outside Jedburgh. In the silence that followed their unexpected halt, Rose heard the faint crack of musket fire.

  She moved aside the heavy curtain and peered outside, unable to see any part of the outskirts of the town through the dull gray mists. McBain climbed down from the coachmen‘s roost to join Colum, who had dismounted and walked off the road away from the clank and creak of the coach as it settled. The ten outriders, the coachmen, Rose, and Anaya all bent their attention apprehensively toward the sounds floating faintly across the valley on the awakening breeze.

  Without waiting for the step to be lowered, she swept aside her heavy skirt and exited the coach to go and stand beside McBain.

  ―Were those shots fired?‖ Rose asked, hoping he would tell her this was a positive sign that everything had gone to plan and not the bloodcurdling sounds that preceded battle and the spilling of blood.

  Anaya was leaning her head out the window. ―Aye, mum,‖ she said.

  McBain exchanged a telling glance with Colum that she did not understand. ―Does this mean the trade is completed?‖ Rose asked.

  The fact that no one could answer her only added fuel to an already heated temper. Then Colum pointed his finger. Rose followed his gaze. She felt the low reverberations beneath her feet just as she watched riders materialize from the mists. They were miles away and would pass them at a distance. But the sight was impressive as the mass continued to grow into hundreds strung out along the rustic river valley, high spirits all. She would not have wanted to be in their path.

  ―Duncan must have arrived with the men just after we left,‖ Colum said.

  ―Aye, he‘ll fancy himself the hero this day to be sure,‖ McBain replied.

  Rose cared little who was the hero this day as the thunder of their passing faded, leaving only a handful of slower riders, their horses following at an unhurried lope as if they knew the others would have to eventually slow. Halfway across the valley they stopped and seemed to look in Rose‘s direction. One rider broke away and turned his horse toward her. She did not have to recognize Loki‘s deep red coat to recognize his rider.

  She started to follow Colum and McBain down the rocky incline to meet him, but he was not looking at her as he reined in the horse in front of the two men. Dust darkened his handsome countenance.

  ―Is the boy well?‖ McBain asked cautiously.

  ―Aye, he will do fine for now. He has gone on ahead with Duncan.‖

  ―You would let Duncan arrive at Stonehaven in your stead?‖ McBain asked. Again, Rose was reminded of the earlier look he had exchanged with Colum.

  Ruark laughed. Leaning forward with one forearm on his thigh, he said, ― ‘Tis a day‘s ride to Stonehaven. I have no doubt I will catch up to him in a few hours.‖

  Then his head lifted and his eyes found her. She was standing some distance away. But not so far that she couldn‘t hear every word he spoke or feel his gaze touch her. ―Would you care to join me, Lady Roxburghe?‖

  Indeed, she had more than earned her place to ride to Stonehaven at his side.

  Chapter 17

  By the time the first stop was made at an inn to eat and rest the horses, most of the riders had broken away and pressed onward in different directions. Later the boisterous group passed the outskirts of Hawick and stopped for supper before the last stretch to Stonehaven. The men, bristling with all manner of arms, took over the common room, running off anyone who did not belong to their crowd, and compelling the poor innkeeper and his wife to feed the unruly throng.

  The two rescued Kerr cousins, Rufus and Gavin, found it amusing to have Rose look over their wounds. Since McBain remained in the slow-moving coach, he was not expected back at Stonehaven until tomorrow. So it was left to her to see to the injuries the three incurred while in the warden‘s care. She should not have bothered with concern or kindness, or worried that the injuries already showed signs of corruption, because the two considered them badges of honor to be bragged upon and displayed. Perhaps if they were not so drunk they would have taken her more seriously or felt more pain. She wondered what they would think when a foot or an arm rotted and dropped off.

  Ruark said nothing over his ale as the men backslapped one another and guffawed as if the three-month ordeal had been naught more than a test of their precious Scottish manhood. The young Jamie was now newly initiated among their ranks. Though far less boisterous.

  ―McBain should be here tending you,‖ Rose had said with some asperity, frustrated with their nonsensicality.

  ―But this McBain, he is not here, lass,‖ said the younger of the unruly louts as he attempted to pull her onto his lap, perhaps not fully grasping that she was his laird‘s bride.

  Though Rose understood a person‘s need to release pent-up emotions like a heated tea kettle spouting steam, they also needed baths, haircuts, and someone to shake them.

  One glance at Ruark told her she needed to contain the situation quickly. He seemed to be allowing her to handle it for now, but the last thing she wanted was for Ruark to rescue her from his own family. She snatched her hand from the grip holding hers.

  ―I‘d be careful if I were yournself,‖ Angus said casually from a wooden bench across the planked table from the two cousins. He held a drumstick the size of his fist and ripped at the greasy flesh with his teeth.

  Chewing evenly, he grinned at the pair, who beneath all that black hair were probably only a year or two older than she. ―The lass ‘bout skewered Hereford through the gullet with a claymore.‖ The words were spoken casually with many an ―aye‖ echoing from the crowded tables around them.

  Rose felt her throat tighten, realizing the public comment was as much a declaration of their allegiance to her as it was to protect the lads from their own stupidity and arrogance. Not because she would harm them, but because Ruark would. Of that, she had no doubt.

  Duncan leaned forward on his elbow, the bench creaking beneath his weight. ―Did ye now, lass?‖ he asked, interested. ―Was that before or after ye married our laird?‖

  ―Before.‖ Ruark raised the tumbler of whisky to his lips, his ey
es on the unkempt cousins.

  ―I would have let her split the bastard‘s gullet if he had not had the lot of you in chains.‖

  Sitting beside Duncan, Jamie was watching Ruark cautiously through a lank fringe of blond hair, then he quietly tended to his meal. She had not seen Ruark and his younger brother exchange one word, though Ruark was always near and the boy seemed to steal an occasional glance his way. Rose felt strangely akin to Jamie. Perhaps because he and she both were out of place in this room filled with oafish bewhiskered men. Or perhaps because he seemed a little lost despite the manly show of bravery he‘d exemplified all day. Or maybe in some small way he reminded her of Jack.

  Then, bellies full, they were horseback again.

  A rain-dampened, subdued and smaller group arrived at Stonehaven near midnight. Rose had never been so glad to see a structure as she was to see the old baronial estate. It rose from the sea of fog that hovered over the countryside, a brilliant amber beacon visible only at first as small dots of light through the red ash trees. Lights burned behind every window. Torchlight up and down the drive glowed dimly in the mist.