The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  Taken aback by this blunt statement, but well aware that most folks in the west march saw nothing amiss with “lifting” items, including livestock, that legally belonged to someone else, she said diplomatically, “Then I expect you are right, and they will be looking for you.”

  “Aye, doubtless.”

  “You say you are called Wee Jock of the Wall,” she went on. “Does that mean that your father is Big Jock of the Wall?”

  “He were afore the English killed him,” Wee Jock said. “Now he’s dead.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She died when me brother were born. Him, too.” He grinned again. “So there be nae reason I shouldna walk wi’ ye. Moreover, the pony be stout enough tae carry us both if ye like, or we can take turns.”

  “Did you steal the dog, too?”

  “Nay, he found us yestereve. He looks fierce, though. Belike he’ll scare off them reivers if they try tae take back me pony. So where be we headed?”

  Accepting his assurances both because she would enjoy his company and because he did not seem as if he would accept dismissal, she said, “I want to go to Glasgow by way of Moffat, but the only way I know is through Lockerbie, and I do not want to pass through that village if I need not.”

  “Nay, village folk be too curious about a man’s business,” Jock said, shaking his head. “I ken a wee track up Annandale. It be shorter and less roundabout than the highroad. Steeper, though.”

  It took only a moment’s thought to realize that Patrick would also avoid the highroad and that it would not be long before people began to look for her.

  “Are you sure you know the way?”

  “Oh, aye,” he said blithely. “Tae Moffat, I do, but tae miss Moffat and travel past it without losing ourselves, we’ll ha’ tae stir our brains a bit.”

  “I am looking for a friend who is also traveling north,” she said. “He is big and can help protect us if we find him, but I do not know which way he will go.”

  “We could ask folks we meet if they ha’ seen him,” Jock said doubtfully. “Likely they’ll have seen more than a few big men, though.”

  “He is carrying a hawk,” she said.

  “Folks will remember the hawk.” He gazed at her speculatively, the question clear in his eyes, although he did not ask it.

  She said, “He… he is a friend. I know it is not safe for a woman traveling alone, so I was hoping to catch up with him.”

  “Aye, well, I’ll look after ye now,” Jock said, “but we’ll keep a sharp eye out for this man o’ yours.” He gave her another look. “He won’t be the sort as wants tae tell Jackie and Thunder and me wha’ tae do, will he? Or that we should ha’ grown-ups tae look after us, ’cause we dinna need any o’ that.”

  “How old are you?”

  He shrugged. “Old enough. I were born the year after the King came tae the west march wi’ his army and hanged Johnny Armstrong.”

  She had heard of Johnny Armstrong, a notorious reiver, but she had no idea when his hanging had occurred, so that information was no help. He was small and slight, so she judged him to be about nine or ten years old.

  “Do you not live with anyone?”

  “Nay, I dinna need nae one.”

  When she looked sternly at him, disbelieving that a boy his age could fend entirely for himself, he added, “I did live wi’ me uncle, but he clouted me head too many times, so I left. I wanted tae live wi’ the reivers, but they dinna want me.”

  “Mercy!”

  “Aye, I did think they’d take me on, ’cause I’m no afraid o’ hard work.”

  “But surely boys do not go a-reiving!”

  “I’m old for me age,” he said firmly. “Still, I did think they slept days and spent nights riding about the country looking for beasts tae lift, and that seemed a fine life, but I learned that they dinna go reiving all the time but ha’ tae go home tae their wives in between. I dinna ha’ a wife or a cot,” he added with a sigh, “so I lifted the pony tae carry what I do ha’, and I left them reivers tae seek me fortune.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she said, smiling. “I shall be glad of your company.”

  It occurred to her then that since Maggie Malloch had said she would help when she could, perhaps the little woman had conjured up the odd trio to escort her. In any event, she had spoken the truth when she told Jock she welcomed their company, and by the end of the day, she knew she had judged right.

  She had traveled farther by then than she had ever gone on her own before, but her new companions made her feel safe and Jock proved skillful at building a fire and spearing a large trout for their dinner from the burn they had followed for much of the day. She had not thought about how she would stay warm that night or where she would sleep. But Jock speedily made soft beds of sweet-smelling grass, and when she had wrapped herself in her cloak and the boy had done the same with the blanket that had cushioned the pony’s back, and with Thunder stretched warmly between them, the night passed comfortably enough.

  Chapter 11

  Nell and her little party crossed the line at last late Monday morning. Feeling safer on the other side and not trusting Angus to stay in England if he learned she was in Scotland, she urged her companions to greater speed, soon outdistancing the family of refugees who had crossed with them.

  “Where be we headed, mistress,” Jane asked when Nell finally eased the pace enough to allow them to converse without shouting.

  “I must go to James,” Nell said. “We know he has not left Scotland, so he will be either in Edinburgh or Stirling, and the easiest road to both is the main one through Hawick and Selkirk to Galashiels.”

  “I’ve a cousin in Stirling,” Jane said, “but ye’ve kinfolk aplenty in the Borders, madam.”

  “I do,” Nell agreed, “but we’ll not seek their aid. I go to James as the widow of Adam Gordon, Jane, to ask his permission to stay in Scotland. I’ll fare better if no one can say that I consorted with Douglases along the way.”

  Jane sighed. “Then we’ll sleep on the ground again tonight, I expect.”

  “Oh, no, we won’t,” Nell declared. “We’ll find a nice, tidy convent and request hospitality.”

  She hoped Patrick had found comfortable lodgings, wherever he was.

  Patrick had taken care to avoid towns and villages, not wanting to leave a trail the English could follow. Having made camp Sunday night in a narrow dale some distance from the fast-flowing Annan but with a tumbling burn of its own, he decided to spend Monday morning working with Zeus.

  Tying the free end of the long creance to a tree limb, he set the hawk on a makeshift perch nearby, and then walked a short distance up the grassy hillside. Giving his tuneful whistle, he waited patiently while Zeus preened himself. He was about to whistle again when suddenly, with a mighty flapping of wings, Zeus swooped toward him. Patrick raised his gloved fist, but although he was quick, Zeus flew with such speed as to astound him, ignoring the fist and landing on his shoulder, forcing him to turn his head away in self-defense.

  He had trained many birds of prey, but the awesome thrill that exploded in him then was the same as when his first hawk had answered his whistle. Zeus was learning with amazing speed for a goshawk, making him wonder if someone had captured him before and he had escaped before becoming fully trained.

  He waited patiently while Zeus paced down his arm, talons spasmodically gripping the leather sleeve of his jerkin until the hawk reached the gloved fist and pounced on the bit of liver it held. Then, suddenly, Zeus paused, body aquiver, head cocked, to gaze intently downhill. Several seconds passed before Patrick heard the distant, deep-throated bark of a dog.

  Instantly, his senses sharpened, and as the barking continued, he recognized the sound as that of a sleuthhound on a scent. As far north as he was, the likelihood of English searchers was remote, so it was more likely that the animal lived nearby in one of the myriad cottages he had seen along the way.

  The barking drew nearer, and sooner than he had expected, he saw th
e dog, a giant gray deerhound. It seemed to be alone, bounding up the hill toward him. Having no way to know if it was friendly, Patrick drew his sword.

  “Easy, Zeus,” he murmured to the nervous hawk on his left fist.

  To his relief, the dog stopped yards away, cocked its head with its tongue lolling, and wagged its long tail.

  “Good lad,” Patrick said. It was one of the largest dogs he had ever seen, deep-chested and long-legged, its tapered head nearly as high as his waist. He recognized the breed easily, because Mackinnon of Dunakin, a neighbor on the Isle of Skye, owned four and hunted with them regularly. They were valuable animals, he knew, so valuable that by law, only earls, clan chiefs, and men of greater estate could own them. Thus, he wondered what this one was doing running loose.

  As he waited, letting the hawk grow accustomed to its presence, and to see if it would come nearer, he became aware of movement below. Two people emerged from the thicket of trees flanking the burn, the smaller one leading a sumpter pony.

  Deciding they were travelers like himself, he watched them warily until he recognized the lass. His body’s strong sensual awareness made him certain that it was Elspeth, and when he realized that the boy was not anyone he had seen before, his temper stirred much the same way it would have had Elspeth been his sister.

  No, he decided, drawing breath, he was angrier than he would be with Bab.

  Zeus flapped his wings, and Patrick gave a slight flick of his wrist to induce him to grip the glove again instead of bating. Realizing that the hawk was reacting to his temper, he drew another, deeper breath and sheathed his sword.

  She was smiling! Had she no sense of the risk she had taken or the danger she stood in now? She should be grateful that he had to consider the hawk and could not grab her by her shoulders and shake her until she saw the error of her ways.

  He strode to meet her, depending on his quick strides and the bird’s need to grip tightly to keep it on his fist, only to come up short when he realized that the creance would reach no farther. Frustrated, he stood and waited for her.

  “You shaved off your beard,” she said when she was near enough to hear.

  “What the devil are you doing alone so far from home?”

  The expression on her face changed from delight to wariness, and she glanced at her young companion.

  The lad rolled his eyes and muttered something to her.

  She shook her head, frowning, and although Patrick had not heard what the lad said, he did hear her. “You stay here,” she said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Nay, ye will not!” the boy protested. “He looks fierce enough tae eat ye, and he’s no even looked at our Thunder, so the great dog’ll be nae use tae ye.”

  “I am not any more afraid of him than I am of Thunder, Jock. Stay here.”

  “Do as she says, lad,” Patrick commanded.

  The boy looked at him, seemed to weigh the risk of disobeying, and made his choice. “I said I’d protect her, mister,” he said. “D’ye lay a hand on her, I’ll set the dog on ye. He’ll rip your arms off, both of ’em, and he’ll eat ’em for ’is supper!”

  Patrick snapped his fingers. “Come,” he said.

  The dog loped to him, wagging its tail.

  “Lie down, sir!”

  The dog flopped to the ground, its tongue lolling from the side of its mouth, its bright dark eyes fixed on Patrick’s face, waiting for the next command.

  “Now, then,” Patrick said, looking sternly at the lad, “I’ve some things to say to this lass, and they are not for you to hear.”

  “Aye, sir,” the lad said, finally accepting superior authority. With a rueful glance at the lass, he stayed where he was.

  The chestnut pony dropped its head to graze.

  “Come here to me and explain this madness,” Patrick said to Elspeth.

  When she hesitated, looking thoughtful, he wondered if he had frightened her. He hadn’t meant to, but just as he thought that perhaps he ought to gentle his tone, she said, “It is unfair to scold me when it was your idea that I leave.”

  “Don’t be daft,” he said, his temper leaping again as much out of his awareness that he had suggested it as from his knowledge of the dangers she might have met. “It was never my intention that you should travel alone, unprotected.”

  “Here now,” the lad said indignantly. “She ain’t unprotected. She’s had me and Thunder tae look after her!”

  “You are not supposed to be listening,” Patrick reminded him.

  “Aye, well, but I canna help it when ye bellow like a boar in rut.”

  “Like a—! Now, see here, my lad—”

  “Oh, please don’t scold him anymore,” she said, shaking her head and clearly suppressing amusement. “If only you could see your face!”

  “Do you dare to laugh at me?”

  “I am trying very hard not to laugh,” she said. “Jock is only a boy, but he has looked after me very well.”

  “But what madness sent you after me on your own?” he demanded, horrified at the thought of her traveling so far without proper protection. A thought occurred to him. “Did those harpies do something horrid to you?”

  “No, sir, not really, and you may well call this madness,” she said. “I am not going to try to explain it to you when I am not sure I understand it myself. I expect the sad truth is that I’d had my fill of Drusilla and Jelyan even before you found me that day in the woods. Ever since, however, my envy of your freedom to do as you please has nearly eaten me alive. Though it pains me to admit it, every chore has seemed more onerous, every command more arbitrary and unfair. Therefore, when Drusilla slapped me—”

  “Slapped you! Again? She did not dare!”

  “Aye, of course she did, and not for the first time, as you know. But this time it angered me so much that I actually raised my hand. I do not know that I would have had the nerve to strike back, but it is just as well that Lady Farnsworth entered the room just then.”

  “Somehow I do not think you ran away to avoid punishment.”

  “No, of course not. I’m afraid I had already given more thought than I should to the notion of going away with you, but until then it had felt wicked and wanton. Indeed, it feels so again now,” she added in a small voice.

  “Pay those feelings no heed,” he said firmly. “You are safe with me.”

  She eyed him with wary amusement. “Am I?” she asked. “Forgive me if I seem cautious, but I do recall what happened in the darkness the other night.”

  “I did not press you when you refused,” he reminded her, shooting an oblique look at the boy, who was still listening with undisguised curiosity.

  “I know you did not,” she said, “but you seem to think I am experienced in the ways of men. Many young women in my position do know about such matters, I believe, more than they should, but I have never done such a thing as this before. Still, I did it, so I expect my good character is lost forever.”

  He had suggested that she accompany him because she attracted him and because he had hoped she would provide amusement along the way. Aware that his reasons were boorish and that he had known she was naive, he was surprised to realize that the emotion uppermost in his awareness just then was guilt.

  He was delighted to see her, but he was dismayed that she had run away, and he realized that he bore much of the responsibility for her decision. Recognizing that such responsibility placed a burden on him to protect her, he was willing to do so, but he wondered what on earth he would do with her and her three odd companions when they reached Stirling. Clearly, she had not thought that far ahead.

  “I hope you do not mean to scold anymore,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I was just wondering what I will do with you.”

  “You need not concern yourself about that,” she said airily. “Henceforth I am going to make my own decisions. Although I shall be very glad to have your company and protection until we reach Stirling—”

  “You will have more than that, my lass,” h
e interjected as anger stirred again. “You are going to stay with me until I can think what to do with you, and you will obey me—you and your fierce companion both,” he added, looking at the boy.

  She pressed her lips together, telling him as surely as if she had said so that she wanted to argue with him. When she glanced at the lad, he knew she hesitated to do so in front of the boy, and he was glad. He did not want to fight with her.

  “Are you going to introduce your companion?” he asked gently.

  “He is called Wee Jock of the Wall.”

  “What wall?”

  Her eyes began to twinkle. “I don’t know.”

  They both looked at the boy.

  Jock shrugged. “I dunno neither,” he said. “It be me name is all, and the pony be Jackie and the dog be Thunder.”

  “What position does your father hold?” Patrick asked, wondering how the lad had come by a dog that only a man of high estate should own.

  “Me father’s dead. The damned English killed him.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is it possible that he was a gentleman?”

  “Nay, he were a reiver.”

  “I have learned that such an enterprise does not necessarily preclude his having been a gentleman,” Patrick said with a chuckle.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. How did you come by that dog?”

  “I didna come by him. He came by me.”

  “I see.” That was disturbing news, because someone of power and resource would undoubtedly be looking for such a valuable animal.

  “In truth, the pony is what ought to concern you,” the lass said with an undercurrent of amusement in her voice that made him look at her sharply.

  “Why?”

  “Because Jock ‘lifted’ it from a gang of reivers, and he thinks that perhaps they will want it back.”

  Patrick chuckled, then threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve been told I need never seek trouble because it always finds me, and today that is certainly true.”

  “Who said that trouble always finds you?”