by Susan King
"Perhaps he forgot, when he was taken for a treasonous spy," Clem said.
"False charges!" Mairi said. "Even crossing the border at night is treason in the Marches. You're guilty of that crime too."
"We boast such treason boldly," Heckie said. "Reivers do not care about such. But Iain's charge is different. They say the council will let the English decide his fate." Heckie looked at Jennet. "Mistress, your husband is gone and you need protection. A beast or two and a few oats is all we ask in exchange for the strength o' our lances. Paid each week. Or we can take the goods from you."
Jennet looked at Mairi. "A fair price to buy their departure."
"Iain never paid their blackmail," Mairi said. "You do not have to do this."
"What shall we tell Heckie?"
"Let me," Mairi said, and turned. "Be gone from here now, Heckie Elliot, or I shall speak to the warden about your visit. Leave now, we will say naught of it."
"Simon Kerr favors that lass," Clem told his brother. "He would not be pleased."
"Simon Kerr cannot stop us," Heckie growled.
"Taking black rent from good folk is wrong," Jennet said.
"Are you the kirk minister now? Well, I do not listen to him, either. Do not refuse me, mistress. Your man will be hung, and then you will want our help!"
"Iain will soon be free," Mairi said. "And he will come looking for you with Kerrs and Armstrongs at his back."
"Scotts too, I wager," Heckie drawled. "Pay us, lassies, or lose your cattle and your gear. We do not want to hurt you, but it could come to that. What do you say?"
"Get out," Mairi said firmly.
Heckie turned and beckoned, and one of the men rode forward. "This is Thomas Storey," Heckie explained. "We call him Thomas the Merchant. He handles our accounts. He'll help you count how many beasts you'll give us."
Thomas Storey, whom Mairi had heard was an Englishman in league with Heckie's lot, rode toward Jennet. The horse's steps forced her to move back until she met the stone wall of the house. Thomas drew his sword.
Mairi's temper flared. She ran forward, yanking Jennet free, then turned to glare up at Thomas. "Are you a lackwit to harm the mother of a newborn son?"
His horse whickered and Thomas stepped it back. Mairi turned toward Heckie, her breath heaving. "Heckie Elliot, I hear your own wife has a bairn at her breast. The Crown would declare fire and sword on your heads if you harm this woman!"
Heckie swore, and gestured to the other men. Some of them leaped down from their horses, shouldering past Mairi and Jennet to enter the house. Mairi heard thuds and scrapes as furniture was knocked over and chests and cupboards were thrown open. Bluebell barked, then growled and snarled. The babe inside began to whimper and cry.
Jennet gasped and moved forward, but Mairi caught her arm as two men stepped their horses in front of the women.
Two other reivers went to the barn, a wattle structure attached to the side of the house, quickly breaking the iron lock off the door. Going inside, they came back leading two horses.
Heckie, still in his saddle, rode forward to look down at Mairi and Jennet. "Stay where you stand!"
"My child—have you no heart, sir!" Jennet cried.
"Fetch it quick," Heckie snapped, and Jennet ran into the house.
"You swore we would not be harmed," Mairi said. "A Borderer's word is his life. You've broken it."
"You are not harmed," Heckie grunted. "And you have seen my honor for the last time. Next time, do you refuse to pay, we'll put a firebrand to the roof. Worse than that may come to you as well. And neither a nursling nor its mam, nor a bonny Hieland lass, will stop us." He called to his men.
They emerged from the house carrying sacks of grain, curtains, even cooking pots. One man stopped to pat the dog, circling nervously, no longer barking—useless Bluebell, Mairi thought. Then they mounted and rode out, a few of the men herding with them two horses, four cows, and several bleating, confused sheep.
Jennet joined Mairi, sobbing as she held her swaddled son in her arms. As the child began to wail, Jennet turned to go back into the house, while Mairi ran toward the barn to close the door and keep the remaining animals inside–another six cattle and about a dozen sheep, as well as her own horse. But they had lost a sturdy workhorse, as well as Christie's stallion.
The lad would be furious about that. Earlier, he had befriended Rowan Scott's sleek bay horse, and had ridden it back to Lincraig Castle.
Running toward a low hill, Mairi climbed it, clutching her plaid around her in the whipping wind, watching as the reivers faded into the distance and the darkness.
Soon she heard the thunder of other horses, and turned to another direction to see a few riders galloping over the moor in pursuit of the reivers.
One horseman angled away from the rest and cantered toward Mairi, halting to look down at her in the moonlight. She recognized Simon Kerr, the warden of the Scottish Middle March.
"Are you harmed, Mairi?" he asked.
"I am fine, Simon Kerr," she answered. "As is Jennet, but not so for her house or her beasts."
Sitting his tall English horse, the warden looked equally as frightening as the reivers. A breastplate of Spanish steel encircled his torso; his coarse features were shadowed beneath the wide rim of his peaked helmet.
"I've been trodding after that band o' scoundrels all this night," he said. "Heckie's Bairns—riding together and taking what they please. Sure you're all right, then?"
"Aye. But they took some of Jennet's things, along with cattle and sheep, and two of our horses."
"They raided Willie Nicksoun's house tonight and stole ten o' his cattle. Burned his byre to the ground when he refused to pay blackmail to them. Did they ask blackmail from Mistress Jennet?" When Mairi nodded, Simon Kerr swore. "I swear to you, I will arrest that Heckie Elliot. He deserves to be hanged."
"Not all of your prisoners deserve that," Mairi said.
"Holding a wardenry is not easy, lass. Just this night I've chased English reivers back into their own March. And I'm still searching for that wild Alec Scott, and no trace of the rascal. And we've been trodding after Heckie and his lot the past hour."
"So many brigands, and yet my brother is not one," Mairi said bitterly.
Simon glanced down at her. "I do my best to keep the law here, Mairi Macrae, and I've watched after your safety too. My nephew Johnny loved you well. What must I do to please you?"
"Release my brother, Jennet's husband."
"I'm sorry for your troubles, lass. Will you like me for it?"
"Help Iain, and I may like you a bit better."
He grinned. "A bold lassie, like a hot pepper spice in my stew. We could be a fine match together, you and me."
"In hell!" she burst out.
He laughed and lifted a gloved hand. "Peace. You and your brother were fostered by Kerrs, and you were betrothed to my nephew. But I cannot release Iain, and you know it."
"I thought Borderers always protect their own."
"I am the warden. But this time the council and the English wardens are watching me close. Iain was caught in the red hand that night. He and Alec Scott were coming back over from England with a herd o' cattle and a sack o' goods. That alone is March treason."
"Iain is innocent."
"Do you know it for certain? He should ken better than to ride wi' Alec Scott, who left your brother to be caught out alone. That Spanish gold he carried proves he has some part in this spy chain that both governments are looking for."
"I do not believe that," she said.
"Then I am sorry for you." He stared down at her.
She tipped up her chin. "Alec Scott is your spy and your scoundrel. Capture him before you condemn my brother."
"They are both involved. A shame your brother took up wi' that lad. Those Blackdrummond Scotts are all scoundrels. They ride wi' the devil."
Mairi was silent—remembering vividly the laird of Blackdrummond in her very keeping, the dark, lean, handsome man now in the dungeon at Lincraig. The only de
vil with that Blackdrummond Scott was his guard, young Devil's Christie.
"We will soon have more trouble from that quarter," Simon was saying.
She glanced at him quickly. "What quarter?"
"I received word that the privy council is sending me a new deputy. Rowan Scott—Alec's own brother."
Mairi started, gripping her shawl. "R-Rowan Scott?"
"Aye. He should have arrived by now. Where he is I do not ken—wenching and drunk in some inn, I trow. When he finally shows, we will see more o' the devil at night than we have ever seen afore. The Black Laird, they call him. He was always the first to ride reiving when the moon was high, and the last to return when the sun rose. Devil indeed."
Mairi gave him a beatific smile, though her heart slammed. "But—he is a deputy, and will keep the peace—"
"Hah," he grunted.
"Will... Rowan Scott go after his own brother?"
"He will. That family is all rufflers and scoundrels, from the Auld Laird down to his two grandsons. Should you meet this Rowan Scott, be wary, lass."
She kept her gaze calm. "Why would the council make such a man a deputy?"
Simon leaned forward. "To catch the highway thieves that ride out near Lincraig," he growled.
"Th—thieves?"
"The Lincraig riders, the ones who've taken down the council's messengers of late. I wrote to the council regarding the trouble they've caused here. So what does the council do? Sends me another deputy, and a bigger troublemaker than those petty thieves." He spat. "I have a deputy already, and three land sergeants, and a host o' troopers inside my tower walls. Christ hisself! I coulda used wheel-lock pistols and powder shot, and a small cannon. But I get another ruffling Scott." He swore under his breath.
"The council must have their reasons," she said.
"The council are madmen, to send a Blackdrummond to depute here, where his kin feud with my own kin. But I hear he's knowledgeable about laws—hah, outlaws too—and if he comes here, I will find a use for him."
"You will—send him after the highway riders, then?"
"Aye. But I cannot send him after his brother. Alec Scott will scheme a new scheme and win Rowan back. There's devilish charm in those Blackdrummond rascals. You be wary, lass, should you meet him," he warned again.
Mairi nodded, grateful for the darkness. An idea, risky and dangerous, began to form. If this Black Laird, Rowan Scott, went after the Lincraig riders, she and Christie were doomed.
But Christie was only seventeen, too young for prison. And despite all they had done, their efforts to help Iain had failed miserably. She could not let Christie be brought down too.
Christie was conalready convinced that Rowan Scott would toss them into a cell as soon as he could. They would both fry in their own fat, as the saying went. And Iain would have no hope at all short of escape or an unlikely pardon.
But she had one last chance, one mad thing to try.
As she stood in the darkness, listening to Simon's mutterings, she made her decision. She would offer herself in Iain's place as a pledge.
As a warden, Simon knew the rules regarding pledges, and might allow it. Iain could return to his family, even flee with them into the Highlands, where he might never be found.
Taking a human pledge as a promise of another's good behavior was common practice in Scots law. Her own father had served as a pledge for the good behavior of the Fra on ser clan during their feud with the MacDonalds. He had nearly lost his life—but Mairi, a woman, would face less risk. Simon might treat her hospitably, even release her within a few weeks.
She drew a breath. "Simon—"
"There'll be rain again tonight," Simon said, looking up. "What a bad year for storms. Jehovah's breath, they say. Wrathful omens. A dangerous time." He glanced down. "Mind you stay in your house at night."
"Oh, I will," she said, a touch too brightly.
"Hey. Where is that Armstrong lad, Devil's Christie?"
Startled, she looked around. "He's here. Somewhere."
"Tell him I said he's to stay here and protect you. There's more than storms riding these moors." He gathered his reins. "I best get after Heckie and his gang."
"Simon, wait! Will—will this new deputy bring word from the council about Iain?" She had been unable to read the rain-soaked page that Scott had carried.
"I do expect a warrant from Edinburgh," Simon admitted.
"No orders as yet from the council?" She clutched her plaid shawl tightly at her throat.
"Some messages are missing, no thanks to those cursed Lincraig riders," Simon said. "I need a warrant from the council before the next appointed day o' truce. Iain is to be handed over to the English then when we wardens meet that day."
"He will go to English custody?"
"Aye, once I have the warrant."
"Can we see him before then?" She was unable to keep a plaintive tremor out of her voice.
"Come to the truce day meeting. You can see him then."
Impulsively she grabbed his sleeve, damp, cool leather. "Simon. Listen to me. I will act as pledge for Iain."
Simon stared at her. "Are you daft?"
"Please," she said. "You must let me do this."
He reached down and tipped up her chin, his glove cold on her skin. "How far would you go to save him, hey?" he asked in a low voice.
Something prickled along her spine. His hand moved to squeeze her shoulder.
"Iain should not die for what Alec Scott has done. I will pledge for him. 'Tis simple, and legal."
"A nice enough pledge," he said. "I am tempted. But 'tis nae simple at all." The cold glove moved to her cheek. "How much value do you place on your brother's life?" he murmured.
"Priceless." She stepped away. "I would pledge honorably."
"I will think on it," Simon stared intently at her, then lifted the reins. "I must catch up to my mosstroopers." He turned the horse, kneed it forward.
Mairi stood watching. The ghost of Simon's heavy touch lingered on her face. She rubbed it away and turned.
Chapter 7
"Thanks for thy kindness, fair my dame,
But I may not stay wi' thee."
—"Lord Maxwell's Goodnight"
Shoving his fingers through his hair, Rowan rose to his feet, setting a hand against the cold wall. The headache had eased and he felt stronger, though some dizziness lingered.
Leaning a shoulder against the wall, he glanced around. For three days at least, he had been locked in this small cell. The tower walls may have crumbled long ago, but the rusty iron lock on the door held fast. He had tested it enough to know.
Silvery daylight filtered through the narrow window. He stretched his hand out to catch the light full on his fingertips. Beyond the aperture, he could see clouds and sunlight.
Blackdrummond Tower was not far from here, and his grandparents would be expecting him to arrive. He had to get out of here.
With a sigh, he sat again, picking up an oatcake from its cloth wrappings, nibbling, setting it down again. He swallowed some water from a flask. The lanky blond lad, Christie, had brought food, broth, fresh water more than once, quickly leaving it and disappearing again.
Rowan touched the bump on his head—the swelling had greatly reduced. He was strong enough now to overpower his young jailers, if they appeared again.
He had not seen the girl lately, though he remembered her soft touch, her dulcet voice, her kindness. He had slept like a babe in her arms, that first night.
And felt the fool for doing so. He should have wrung her pretty neck for putting him here, in this condition.
He stood again, growing restless, prowling the chamber, running his fingers over the stone blocks that formed the walls. A means of escape was not yet clear, but he would find a way.
Rattling the door ring in his hand, he yanked. Rust powdered into his hand, but the lock refused to give.
"D'you want something?" The lad's reedy voice came to him through the thick oak of the old door.
H
earing the door bar slide free and the latch rattle as the key was inserted, Rowan stepped back. When the door swung open, he saw Christie's head poking inside.
"Are you well, Master Scott?" he asked. "Mairi would be angry wi' me if you took bad again."
"I'm fine," Rowan said.
Christie stepped inside, holding a silver-barreled gun in his hand. Rowan tilted a dubious brow at the weapon.
"Pardon." Christie sounded embarrassed. "Mairi would not let me bind your limbs because you had such a crackpate. But I ken your reputation well."
"Best be cautious," Rowan said easily. "You know of the Blackdrummond Scotts? Would I know your kin?"
"They call me Devil's Christie. My Da was—"
"You're Devil Davy Armstrong's lad!" Rowan grinned.
Christie straightened proudly, and Rowan saw the resemblance to the lad's father in the long face and ash-blond hair. But Christie's blue eyes were his mother's. Rowan remembered that handsome redheaded lass fondly.
"Devil Davy was a brave, fine man. I was sorry to hear of his death."
"Kerrs took him down. My da was proud to ride wi' you and your kin, Blackdrummond. Said so to my mother, he did."
"He'd be proud of you, lad," Rowan said. "You and the lass are riding bold, indeed, to go out on the highway as you did." He narrowed his eyes. "Do your kin ride wi' you and Mairi?"
"Just us alone."
"This Highland Mairi, is she your cousin?"
"My sister is wed to Mairi's brother." Christie looked flustered, as if he realized that he had said too much.
Rowan nodded slowly. He could easily overpower the lanky boy, but the weapon, an older matchlock style, was trained quite steadily on him. And Christie looked at him with almost reverence. Rowan respected that weapon and the lad's admiration. He might need that loyalty someday.
"Put down the pistol, lad," he said. "I will not attack you. I assume this is an honorable confinement for ransom?"
Christie shoved the gun into his belt. "Not, uh, quite."
"Then why do you two ride the highway after dark?"
"Christie, do not answer him," a lovely lilting voice said as the door shoved wide. Mairi entered the room.
"Good afternoon." Rowan crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. The girl wore a plain gown of blue-gray wool with a plaid over her shoulders—a change from the black doublet and hose she had worn before.
