Cate parted her lips and Stella held her breath. ‘Did Rob not tell you?’
Should she lie? No. She’d be too easily discovered. She shook her head.
But the Warrior Woman was Brunson before all. ‘Then neither will I.’ She turned for the door.
‘Please—’
‘I lost my father to Willie Storwick. I cannot forgive that.’
‘But my father tried to stop him. Punished him. Banned him from the family. And I want to see my father, before …’
Before he is as dead as yours.
Stella held her breath, suddenly realising what she had done.
Too late to hide her parentage now.
And all for naught, for Cate was shaking her head. ‘I will tell you this. Rob sent word to your family that you are here.’
‘Thank you for telling me.’ Relief. The ransom must be on the way. Rob Brunson would no doubt be glad to wash his hands of her. ‘When will I be going home?’
Cate looked away. ‘Rob will have to tell you.’
The door closed and Stella sank on to the stool. Soon. Soon she would be away from every one of the Brunsons.
Johnnie returned with the news that Carwell had sent word of Stella Storwick’s capture to the English warden.
‘And?’ Rob asked.
Johnnie shook his head. ‘Nothing. The English warden said he informed them, but there was no demand we release her. No offer of ransom. Not even a threat to attack.’
Rob turned it over in his mind. More than strange. No Borderer worth his salt would let such an affront lie.
‘All they said was that “in consideration of who she was, they hoped we would treat her kindly.”’
‘Who she is? She’s a Storwick. I’ve treated her more kindly than she deserved.’ He tried to puzzle it out. ‘The message sounds the same as the one they sent when we told them we held Hobbes. Did they say nothing more of him?’
Johnnie shook his head. ‘What’s worse,’ he added, ‘is that the man cannot rise from his bed.’
‘A wound?’ Rob tried to remember the battle.
His brother shook his head.
‘Then what ails him?’
Johnnie shrugged. They knew naught of medicine and Aberdeen was far away. ‘Thomas and Bessie have tried to make him comfortable, but …’
Cruel of his kin, to leave him in the care of the enemy. ‘Who leads them now?’ A new man? An untried son afraid to act?
‘Thomas isn’t sure. Storwick has no sons. Only a daughter.’
Rob shook his head. ‘A bad situation.’ Without a clear leader, a clan could disintegrate. Infighting, squabbles, no decisions, no one to follow. Bad for the Storwicks if true.
But for the Brunsons? Well, it could be equally so.
He looked at his brother and tried to be sure he heard rightly. ‘So the Storwicks do not demand the return of either prisoner?’
‘Impossible to believe, but true.’
He had assumed he would be rid of the lass soon and richer for it. What would he do if they didn’t want her? He certainly couldn’t just let her go. He knew how to confront, how to fight. He knew how to defend the tower if they came after her. But this …
‘Perhaps they plan a raid and think to trick us.’ He was relieved to speak his thoughts aloud to his brother. When a head man spoke, he must be certain.
But there was something there. Some reason for the silence. Some reason strong enough to send Stella Storwick across the border.
‘Have you told him the important news?’ Cate walked in, her smile all at odds with talk of war.
Johnnie caught her hand, his face a mirror of her delight.
Rob felt a moment’s pang. What would it be like to share a smile with someone who knew your thoughts without words?
He’d never know.
Cate’s smile expanded. ‘Bessie’s to be a mother.’
‘And Thomas a father,’ Johnnie said, smiling at her.
Rob struggled to smile, but it felt as if his sister had betrayed him. Or that he had failed. Neither he nor Johnnie had fathered a Brunson babe. Now, the youngest of them all would be the first to spawn the next generation. ‘When?’
‘In the autumn, she thinks.’ Cate was the one to answer. Johnnie deferred to her, silent, as if everything to do with birthing was women’s work.
Rob caught Johnnie’s eye. No Brunson woman had ever died giving birth, and yet …
‘I’ll be with her,’ Cate said, as if she had heard his thoughts. She did not ask permission.
He nodded, as if he were giving it anyway. Then he closed the door on his thoughts. The Storwicks, including Stella, were his immediate problem.
‘How does the Storwick lass?’ Johnnie asked.
The delight on Cate’s face died. ‘Living like royalty, I’d say.’ She looked at Rob, as if the fault were his.
It was. Treat her kindly indeed. He had treated her too kindly.
‘And where do we sleep tonight?’ Cate added.
When they were at the tower, John and Cate shared Bessie’s old room. The one he had kindly given to Stella Storwick.
‘Take mine,’ he said. ‘I’ll not be sleeping much tonight.’ He rose. ‘We ride tomorrow.’
Johnnie looked to Cate and then back at Rob. ‘Where?’
His smile was grim. ‘Let’s just say I’ve a taste for fish.’
‘So now you’re going fishing so Hobbes Storwick’s daughter can feast on salmon?’
Stella. In consideration of who she was … Hobbes Storwick, who had no sons, but only a daughter.
Only a daughter …
A daughter who must have laughed at him for being more simple than Wat Gregor.
But a daughter who, for some reason, they would leave with him.
He rose and left the room without a word.
A fist bludgeoned Stella’s door and she rose, but Rob did not wait for permission to enter.
‘They know you’re here.’
‘My family?’ A smile burst forth. No matter who knew her family now. ‘When do I go home?’
He said nothing, but stared at her face, as if searching for a secret message.
She tried again. ‘When will I be ransomed?’
His black expression shifted, slightly, and she thought she saw a sneer. And then, just for a moment, perhaps it was pity.
‘It seems you are not so special after all,’ he said.
A chill, though the air was cool. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean no one wants to pay a penny for you.’
‘That can’t be.’ Although she knew it could. Her mother might argue, but Humphrey and Oswyn were locked in an irreconcilable battle. What one wanted, the other opposed, and neither was strong enough now to sway the rest of the family to his side.
She looked at Rob again and forced herself to assume a disdainful expression. There had to be another explanation.
‘Or if it is,’ she continued, ‘it’s because they won’t pay your blackmail. They’ll come and get me instead.’
‘Will they now? Then why haven’t they come after Hobbes Storwick in all these months?’
Because they were hoping he would die first.
The words seared themselves into her brain, coming so quick and sure that she knew, finally, they were true. Yes, she and her mother had mourned and fretted at her father’s absence. Her cousins had not. Mayhap that was why they had delayed and dithered so long in the first place. All they had to do was wait. The black bile would kill him and they’d be left to deal only with each other.
And how special will you be then? something whispered.
There would be no special place for Stella when they took over. What could she do then? Join a convent and mutter perpetual prayers? That was not the life she wanted. She wanted what ordinary people had. Children.
A husband.
‘They haven’t come for him because they are abiding by the laws of the borders, unlike you godforsaken Brunsons.’ She could let him think nothing else.
> ‘They did express concern for your safety.’
‘They said nothing of … nothing more?’ She had kept her secret from the Brunsons, and for a few days, she had enjoyed the anonymity she craved. No one had stared at her, as if at any moment she would wave her hand and multiply the loaves and fishes.
But no one had given her privileges, either.
‘They did express concern for your safety,’ he repeated, ‘and asked that I treat you kindly, in consideration of who you are.’ He leaned forwards, looming over her, cutting off escape just as surely as he had that first day in the hills. With each step, she had to move back, until the bed pressed against her legs and the mattress gave way behind her.
He took a deep breath, and she felt herself struggle for air. ‘Who are you, Stella Storwick?’
She matched him, now, standing as tall as she could, though that brought her head only as high as his chin. For the last few days, she had been ignored, even disrespected as never in her life.
She took a deep breath. She had suffered his food, his insults and his disdain. It was past time he realised who she was. ‘I’m Hobbes Storwick’s only child.’
His expression did not alter. ‘Aye.’
‘That’s all you have to say?’ She had expected … something more.
‘You tell me nothing I don’t know.’
Aye, a moment’s confession to Cate had overcome her careful omission. ‘And still you treat me this way?’
‘What way is that, pretty Stella? What did you expect?’
Ah, that was the question of her life. What did her parents expect of her? What miracle was God waiting for her to perform? ‘Respect.’
‘Respect? I’ve given you a room and food and when you insisted on floundering in Liddel Water like a trout on a line, I let you do that, too. I’ve given you near the treatment I’d offer an honoured guest. What more do you want?’
How could she explain? She didn’t even know. But at home, she was special. Here, she was …
She turned her back on him. She couldn’t think when his breath brushed against her cheek.
From behind her, he leaned against the mattress, trapping her, his arms as unyielding as if she had been behind the bars of an iron yett. ‘What would have happened to me,’ he began, ‘if I’d been the one captured wandering alone too close to Storwick land?’
His hands moved to cup her shoulders. His breath burned her ear. She could not think, yet she did not feel fear, but connection. One she didn’t want.
She turned, breaking his hold. ‘With honour.’
‘Honour? This from a family of one of the most dishonourable rogues who ever drew breath on either side of the border! From a family that violated the very sanctity of Truce Day? Don’t speak of honour to me, Stella Storwick.’
‘My father disowned Willie.’ Such a cut was unheard of, but sometimes, she wondered whether he should have done more. After what the man had done …
‘Strange to disown a man and then put us to the torch to avenge his death.’
‘That is honour, is it not? The standing up for family, even when they are wrong?’
She could see by the look in his eyes she had given him pause.
But it no longer mattered. None of that mattered. ‘So you know who I am and it seems I will not be going back to my family soon.’ She turned away, hunching in on herself. ‘Could I see him? Would you take me to where he is?’
‘Why?’
She turned back, no longer able to hide the tears. ‘Because …’ she swallowed ‘… he is dying.’
Chapter Six
The pain on her face hit him like a blow.
Bad enough to die in your bed, as his father had. Worse to die in an enemy’s.
No man should leave his kin to that fate.
Not rising from his bed Johnnie had said. And she knew. Or was it a trick? Did she lie? ‘What is his sickness?’
She kept her arms crossed, as if trying to hold something inside. ‘The wasting disease. He’s … It started near Yuletide.’
So he was not well enough to go to Truce Day. Instead, he was home when they had attacked, but not well enough to command. Storwick was a worthy opponent. If he had been at his best, the triumph would never have been won so easily. But Rob had little time to ponder the man’s health. He only assumed the old warrior had been injured.
‘Tell me where he is. Pity me at least that much.’
He did pity her. And he didn’t want to.
Rob still mourned the fact that there had been no farewell. One night, they went to bed. The next morning, his father didn’t wake.
Her eyes were on him, expectant.
Rob sighed. ‘He’s at Carwell Castle.’
She swallowed and turned away, covering her lips with her hand. Aye, she knew what that meant. Rescue would be near impossible, even if her kin tried. But for some reason, her kin wanted neither Hobbes nor Stella Storwick to come home.
She turned to face him, arrogant chin and proud eyes firmly in place again. ‘You want me here no more than I want to be here. If they aren’t going to come for either of us, what is the harm of letting me go to him?’
Did she move closer? Or did he?
Her hands touched his chest. She raised her eyes to his. His hands cupped her cheeks and tilted her head, bringing the soft curve of her lower lip close enough to touch his …
Sunlight. Shadow. Thunder. What shook him had no word. No thought. An urge as elemental as battle. But much more dangerous.
Her body pressed against his and his lips pressed against hers, but more gently now. No, not the desire to conquer. The urge to connect, to join …
Their lips parted. She sighed.
The sound restored his senses. He opened his eyes and pulled himself away.
Weak. Weak to be lured by a woman into giving in to her wishes. If he allowed this, she would ask for something else. That might even be part of the plan. If he took her west, beyond the protection of the tower, his men would be open to attack.
But she still stood there, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face, and it took all his strength to speak.
‘No.’
Her eyes fluttered open and he saw her return to reality with a jolt as painful as his. Hate rushed into her narrowed eyes, killing the softness. ‘You are a cruel man, Black Rob Brunson.’
‘I’m a head man. You should understand what that means.’ He turned to leave, hoping to break the spell of her eyes.
‘What happens to me now?’
He wished he could say, but he closed his mind to her question, for he did not know. What kind of family wouldn’t come for its own?
He only knew he did not want her to leave.
He had been too lenient with the woman, Rob decided, the next morning. And now that she knew there would be no ransom, she might try to escape, so he told the guard to let her wander the buildings with Wat, but not to let her leave the courtyard, even to check for fish.
Instead, he took Johnnie down to the stream to check the newly built weir.
It held nary a fin.
His brother was looked from Rob to the dam of sticks and raised an eyebrow.
Rob sighed. ‘Say your piece. You’ve been holding your tongue all morning.’
‘It’s illegal to build one of these without the King’s permission,’ Johnnie began.
Rob let out a bitter laugh. ‘Let the King add this to my list of sins. It won’t be the one he hangs me for.’ He had told Stella he would destroy the Storwicks’ dam. Now was the time. ‘Come. I’ve a plan. When next we check this trap, it will be full of fish.’
Rob took Johnnie and three men with him. Cate had insisted on joining them, saying she could not abide sharing the air with a Storwick.
‘When did you develop a taste for salmon?’ Johnnie asked, after they rode west, following Liddel Water through the valley. Beyond Kershopefoote, the burn formed the boundary between Scotland and England and bordered Storwick land.
That’s where they would have
built the weir.
‘I like it well enough,’ he said, ignoring the fact that he was riding a raid because his captive had a taste for fish. ‘Food hasn’t been the same since Bessie left.’
John nodded, silent. No argument with that.
It was his duty to feed his people.
Duty. Responsibility. Battle. Those were what he knew. If ever peace came, what could he offer those who looked to him then? His father had taught him the hills, the trails, horses and spears and latch arrows. His father had made him more comfortable on a horse than before the fire.
More comfortable in battle than with a woman.
Once, when he was young and his blood ran hot, he had been tempted by a lass. By more than one, if truth be told. He knew no better then, spilling his seed into stable straw, kissing one, two, three women who kissed him back. He never thought to ask why until his father caught him one day and taught him his responsibilities with a leather strap.
‘You’ve no more sense than a sheep.’
He stood straight, ignoring the pain, ready to take his punishment, if only he knew what it was for. ‘There’s plenty of bastard brothers reiving the Borders,’ he said. Plenty of men and women loving where they would. The English remarked on it.
‘Aye. And those girls would love there to be plenty more. Do you think they lie with you only because of your good looks? They want to claim they carry the babe of the son of the head man.’
So then he knew. He had not earned a woman. Not for who he was. Only for what he was. The son of the head man. That was all he was and all he could offer.
If he was not that man, he was nothing at all.
So he became suspicious of women, though many looked at him with smiles in their eyes. Did they smile at him? Or at the head man?
Well, he knew the answer for this woman. Stella Storwick cared nothing for Rob Brunson. It was the head man of the Brunsons she hated and if he could accept the smiles, he must take the curses. That, too, was his duty.
The memories followed him for near ten miles, as they rode close to the water. Some places, they could ride beside the stream. In others, the bank was too narrow and uncertain, so they veered away, peering through the spring green leaves, coming thick on the trees.
Taken by the Border Rebel Page 6
