Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (23 page)

“We must, aye, but for now we should dress and go down to supper. You must be nigh starving by now.”

“I am, aye, but I don’t want supper,” he said. “I want you.”

He reached for her, and for once she proved entirely obedient.

As Meg watched him ride away the next morning with nearly every man-at-arms whose presence at the tower was not essential, she felt a shiver. She smiled and waved nonetheless, knowing he would not thank her for showing her fear.

“I wish I was a-going,” Sym muttered wistfully beside her.

“A fine thing to wish,” she said, giving him a look. “Who would look after me if you left? What if the English captured you, carried you off to London, and chopped off your head? What would I do then, eh?”

“That would puzzle ye, aye,” he agreed as the pouch attached to his belt wriggled and Pawky stuck her head out with a look at her young master that he easily deciphered. “She wants her dirt pile, so I’ll see to it now if ye dinna mind.”

Telling him to do as he thought best, Meg looked around, pleased to see how tidy the yard looked compared to the way she had first seen it. To be sure, earlier that morning it had been crowded with helmets, armor, weapons, and other gear for the men, but those items had disappeared as the men mounted. Borderers took only what they could carry, and because they traveled light, they also traveled swiftly.

She missed Wat already, although she knew little had changed between them. He still expected her to submit to him in nearly every way.

Some ways were not objectionable, she reminded herself, recalling the previous evening. She had discovered several ways in which she could at least imagine that she was controlling him. But he had made it nonetheless clear that he expected her and Amalie to stay at Raven’s Law until he returned. It did not matter to him that Daft Nebby’s raiders no longer threatened the Forest.

Meg had no wish to go anywhere, but his command still rankled.

For several days, she and Amalie supervised another cleaning of the tower from top to bottom. But although Meg insisted on thoroughness, even that job did not take as long as she had hoped. The tower’s servants had been most diligent.

Sym reported that Lady Scott had departed for Ferniehurst the day after Walter had gone, and that her ladyship had taken a tail of nearly thirty men.

“But our Dod says there still be enough men at the Hall to look after it and see that no English get it. D’ye think they’ll come here, mistress?”

“No,” Meg said. “The Douglas is the greatest warrior Scotland has known. He’ll not let them so much as cross the line.”

“Aye, that be what I were thinking m’self,” he said with a nod.

For the first six, long days, she and Amalie entertained themselves with their needlework and sundry other projects that Meg had been meaning to attend to. On the sixth day, Saturday afternoon, the guard at the gate shouted that a large party of riders was making its way through the cleuch toward Raven’s Law.

“They say them riders be a-flying the Douglas banner,” Sym told her. “But it canna be the Douglas. Besides, them fools be flying the Stewart banner as well.”

“Bless me,” Meg exclaimed, shouting for a chambermaid and hurrying upstairs to find Amalie. “Quickly, love, help me into my green silk and then shout for one of the maidservants to help you change that gown!”

“Mercy, why?”

“’Tis the Countess of Douglas who’s coming. It must be. No one else who might come here would dare fly the Douglas and Stewart banners together.”

“But why would the countess come to see us?”

“Mercy, I don’t know. But I do
not
want to greet her in my shift. Hurry!”

As it was, Meg nearly did not make it to the yard before the party of riders clattered through the gateway. She had never met the Countess of Douglas but had no trouble believing that the elegantly attired woman riding a sleek black gelding at the head of the party was she. Two other ladies on horseback escorted her.

Meg made her curtsy, wishing Amalie would hurry.

A man-at-arms quickly dismounted and went to assist the countess from her horse. She was young and fair. Her blue eyes twinkled as Meg went to greet her.

“Welcome to Raven’s Law, my lady,” Meg said, returning her smile as she curtsied again. “Should we have been expecting you?”

“Nay, for I did not know I was coming here myself until I reached Scott’s Hall to learn that Janet had fled to Ferniehurst,” the countess said with a merry laugh. “I asked if any Scotts of Buccleuch were at hand, and Janet’s very able steward informed me that you were here—with your sister, I believe.”

“That is correct, madam,” Meg said. “My husband is Buccleuch’s son Sir Walter Scott. He left a sennight ago to meet your lord husband at Southdean.”

“They are in England now, I expect, and I hope they will remain there yet another sennight, for I have much to do before they return,” she said with another laugh. “But do call me Isabel, for I am sure we will become fast friends. Indeed, I hope we will, because I had counted on Janet. What do I call you?”

“My friends call me Meg,” Meg said with a smile.

“Then so shall I, Meg. See you, I am going to Hermitage, and I had hoped Janet would go with me. But I came here from my lord husband’s castle of Dalkeith, and Ferniehurst is too far out of the way to fetch her now.”

“Is Dalkeith far from here?”

“Near Edinburgh. So you see, if I were to tell anyone I visited here first, then went to Ferniehurst, and then to Hermitage on my way home . . . If we had a map, I could show you how absurd a tale that would be. As it is, I am risking my hide by going to Hermitage at all in my lord’s absence. But once I learned that my brother John—Carrick, that is—is to visit there, I could not stay away. He is the only one of my brothers I can stand to be with for longer than a few minutes, and I know from what my lord husband tells me that Hermitage is
not
what Carrick is accustomed to.”

“So you mean to make it more comfortable for him,” Meg said, recalling as the countess nodded that Walter had mentioned that the heir to the Scottish crown meant to visit Hermitage, and also that Sir Iagan was to return Walter’s livestock and see to her dowry before then. Remembering her manners, she said, “But won’t you come inside, madam, where we may be comfortable?”

“It is Isabel, please,” the countess insisted again. “And I will go in, because I’d like to see this tower. But I shan’t stay to sup with you, because they are expecting me back at the Hall.”

“Are they?”

“Oh, yes, for I knew that Janet would insist, and Buccleuch as well, if they knew I had come. Janet and I are kinswomen by marriage, you see, for she was born a Douglas. And she is quite the kindest, most generous woman I know.”

She continued to chatter as they went up the stairs with her ladies padding behind them. Amalie was in the hall by then and came forward to make her curtsy.

Meg introduced her. Then, calling for bread and wine, she invited Isabel and her two silent ladies to sit at the dais table.

“It was kind of you to pay us this visit, madam,” Amalie said after they had discussed the cleuch and family connections for some time.

“It was nowt of the sort,” the countess said with a smile. “I came with a purpose, although one is always curious about other people’s homes, is one not?”

“Aye, sure,” Amalie said with a doubtful look at Meg.

Intercepting it, Isabel said, “I came because, Janet having failed me, I had hoped you two would go with me to Hermitage. As I told Meg, I mean to set everyone there to making the place comfortable for my brother Carrick when he comes. I cannot let him suffer such a Spartan place without someone he knows other than his horrid courtiers to talk with him. They are all in my brother Fife’s pay, of course, just as our father’s people are.”

Meg opened her mouth to comment but could think of nothing to say that would not be rude or overly inquisitive. She need not have worried, however.

Isabel laughed and said, “I’ll wager you’ve heard of my brother Fife. They say he and my husband mean to join Carrick at Hermitage after defeating the English.”

“Then surely, the Douglas will have put things in order there,” Meg said.

“Jamie did assure me that he would see everything done as it should be,” the countess said, clearly comfortable enough now to speak less formally with them. “But, sithee, he does not care about such things for himself. Only if he thinks someone has slighted him by
not
recognizing his worth does he bristle. One would expect him to understand about others’ reacting the same way, but he has no respect for the men in my family. Therefore, I must see to this matter myself.”

“How angry will he be?” Meg asked, thinking of her own husband.

“Livid,” Isabel said. “Jamie has a famous temper, but I adore him. So I don’t mind when he rages. Sithee, so firm is he about keeping me safe whilst he protects Scotland’s freedom that if I did not confront him now and again, years could pass without my seeing him. When he is busy with forays and such, I think he forgets he
has
a wife. However, expecting Carrick’s visit as he is, I warrant this venture will be no more than a swift, punishing run into England and a merry dash out again.”

“Then, might they not return sooner than you expect?”

“They might, aye, but then I shall see him the sooner. You will come, won’t you?” she said, leaning forward to lay a slender hand atop Meg’s. Earnestly, she said, “You must, for although I brought any number of things with me to make the place more what Carrick expects, I’ll need help to persuade any men my lord left behind to scrub or sweep, let alone to collect and scatter fresh rushes for the hall floors.”

Hoping she did not expect her or Amalie to scrub, Meg said, “We should not, because my husband will be as angry with me as yours will be with you if we do.”

“He won’t, I swear, because Wat will know that I persuaded you. You need only recall that I am a royal princess, although everyone says I rarely act the part. Still, Wat will understand that you could not oppose me.”

The message was clear, so Meg smiled, and said, “Then of course we will go, madam. In troth, we should like to very much.”

“Bless you,” Isabel said. “I shall rest tonight and tomorrow at the Hall, and we can depart Monday morning as early as you can join me. Do not worry about bringing fine clothing. We are dressing to work, not to impress anyone.”

“We’ll be ready,” Meg assured her.

Adding that they need bring as few or as many of their own men with them as they liked, and assuring them that she could easily provide others to see them safely home if necessary, the countess returned to Scott’s Hall.

Meg stood silently in the yard beside Amalie and watched until the last of the party had passed through the gate.

“Mercy,” Amalie said then. “Are we really going to Hermitage Castle?”

“We are,” Meg said.

Her pulse pounded as she wondered if Walter might return early. She would have to tell Dod Elliot where they were going, and why, because it would not do for Walter—or Wat, as even the countess called him—to come home and find her gone.

It would be bad enough if he found her still at Hermitage, but she did not think he would beat her in front of Douglas or his countess.

In truth, she agreed with Isabel. She would endure Wat’s anger just to see him and know he was safe. She wondered where he was and what he was doing.

Newcastle, England

After a week of stirring trouble throughout Redesdale in Northumberland, the Earl of Douglas’s mounted army of nearly eight hundred had found Sir Harry “Hotspur” Percy at Newcastle, dangerously deep in England.

They had left two thousand foot soldiers under Buccleuch and Gordon of Huntly in the vale of the Wansbeck to guard their line of retreat. But the entire three thousand had harried much of the English countryside, lifting cattle and otherwise annoying folks in their path, so their position at Newcastle was most precarious.

Their encampment lay outside the town. Inside it, Hotspur, having declined a meeting with Douglas on the excuse that he needed rest after enduring his own long journey to get there, ordered the city entrances blocked with items ranging from carts and casks to herds of cattle. For nearly two days, amid flurries of arrows and skirmishing, Douglas had sent frequent messages, each more taunting than the last.

Gibbie was one of the messengers and gleefully described the reaction of Hotspur’s men to a message just taken. “The Douglas challenged Sir Harry to meet in single combat to decide the whole! Their fight could be on horseback or afoot, the Douglas said, and I was to say he’d sworn to take every care not to tire Sir Harry, so he’d no overtax his strength again, being as how Sir Harry be getting along in his years and all. He even gave Sir Harry the choice o’ weapons.”

Wat laughed. “As hot tempered as Harry is, I wager it won’t be long now.”

Nor was it. Hotspur sent his acceptance Sunday morning and chose the lance and sword as weapons. At the news, a shiver of unease slid up Wat’s spine. The two men would fight until one of them yielded or was carried off the field.

Douglas was a valiant warrior, the best that Scotland had seen, but Hotspur’s reputation was as great. And for all that Douglas had taunted Harry about his age, Harry was the younger. Wat knew even a year could make the difference. Still, both were chivalrous men, respected for their sense of honor. The match would be fair.

The day shifted abruptly from one of war to a near holiday atmosphere as men from both camps hurried to clear a large space outside the west gate of the city.

Earlier taunts and grimness gave way to laughter and shouted wagers. But while many moods shifted, Wat grew tenser.

Douglas was unworried, as usual, even eager for the fight. But Wat knew the fast-growing crowd’s boisterous mood could instantly alter to violence.

Chapter 16

But I canna tell Whether ’tis truth or a lie . . .

M
oving among his men, Wat ordered them to stay near him, lest things turn violent again. Neb Duffin passed the word to his erstwhile raiders, and Wat watched, impressed to see that they responded as quickly as his own men did.

The horses the two opponents would ride were not heavy destriers of the tiltyard, nor was the men’s armor of that ilk.

Douglas rode his favorite mount, the lithe bay with the lightning-shaped blaze on its face. He wore chain mail with a cuirass of plate back and front, steel gauntlets and knee guards, and his customary Borderer’s steel bonnet.

Hotspur, being over six feet tall, rode a larger horse by necessity, which Wat believed was why he had chosen to fight on horseback. He wore the black, light plate armor he usually wore in battle.

Both men carried war lances, shorter and sharper than the long, blunt-ended ones used in jousting. Each man wore his sword.

Exchanging laughing taunts, they took their places, Douglas at the east end of the field and Hotspur at the west. Hotspur had a more powerful horse, a longer reach, and more armor. Douglas would have the sun in his eyes, but he had not objected to Hotspur’s loudly voiced decision to ride from west to east.

When a long blast from a horn signaled the start, the two spurred their mounts. Watching, Wat hardly dared to breathe.

They were but a few yards apart when the earl jerked the bay’s head hard to the right. At such speed, the animal nearly tripped over its own forefeet, and only Douglas’s remarkable balance and agility kept him in his saddle.

For an instant the bay was right in front of Hotspur’s gray, rendering the Douglas’s lance, in his right hand, useless. Percy, clearly unprepared for such a rash maneuver, made a wild thrust, but it went askew.

Douglas plunged past him, then reined in and wrenched his mount around again. White-stockinged forelegs pawing air, the bay wheeled on its hind legs.

The earl spurred it to a gallop again, pounding after Hotspur, who clearly had expected, just as he would have in the tiltyard, that each man would ride to the end of the field, turn, and await the next blast of the horn before making a second pass.

The Scots howled with mirth at the sight of Hotspur fleeing from Douglas.

Belatedly realizing what had happened, Percy turned his big horse almost as deftly as Douglas had. But Percy had the sun in his eyes now and was nearly at a standstill, whereas Douglas was approaching him at top speed.

Barely a dozen yards apart, it was too late for the Englishman to do more than aim his lance at Douglas’s chest and furiously spur the big gray.

It barely reached a trot before the two met with a resounding crash, as each lance-point struck the other’s shield. Percy’s set the Douglas back hard on his saddle, but with the added advantage of much greater speed, the Douglas’s lance smashed Percy right off of his. Lance flying, Hotspur fell backward to the ground with a resounding crash of armor and lay still.

“Sakes,” Tam exclaimed, “is he dead?”

“Nay, only stunned,” Wat said as Hotspur’s men ran to his side and Douglas paused nearby. “I wish my father were here to see this.”

“Ye willna be wishin’ it so hard if we have to run,” Tam said with a chuckle. “All them men the laird has afoot would just slow us down.”

Douglas had turned the bay toward his cousin, Sir Hugh Montgomery, whose men had gathered near Wat’s, so Wat and Tam began walking toward them.

As they did, the men with Hotspur lifted him and hurried toward the town gate, as if they feared the Scots would attack.

So quickly did they go that Hotspur’s helmet fell off and rolled aside, but a young man-at-arms snatched it up and dashed after the others.

The crowd soon divided into English and Scot again as the former hurried after Hotspur’s bearers, back to the safety of the walled town.

Watching them, Wat said to Tam, “Something came off Hotspur’s helmet when it fell, and that lad left it lying there. Let’s see what it is.”

The two threaded their way through the now mostly Scottish crowd to have a look. To Wat’s surprise, a pair of gauntlets lay on the ground, one atop the other.

Of dainty size, fringed with filigree work of silver, and clearly feminine, they bore the Percy lion embroidered in seed pearls.

“Undoubtedly
un gage d’amour,
” he said, picking them up to examine them.

“Aye, for he must have tucked them behind his crest,” Tam agreed.

Wat took the gloves to Douglas and explained where they had found them.

Douglas grinned. “They’ll prove useful, I think. I’ve heard that the Bishop of Durham is bringing a thousand men to join Hotspur’s army, so we must go. But we’ve time to do so with dignity. Look yonder,” he added, nodding toward the town.

Hotspur stood atop the wall with several others. When the encampment fell silent at the sight of him, he shouted, “We’ll fight again, Douglas!”

“We will, aye,” Douglas shouted back. “I am glad to see you so quickly recovered, but next time I hope you’ll give better sport!”

“Just wait, damn you! I’ll show you!”

“Not today,” the earl yelled. “I want you at your best.” He held up the gauntlets. “Mayhap you’ll want to claim these that you left on the field. I must go now, but I’ll go slowly and not cross the line till Thursday morning. If you don’t claim these dainties by then, I’ll hang them at Dalkeith as my victory banner.”

“Nay, then, you won’t take them out of England!” Hotspur cried.

“I will! Until then, I’ll hang them from my tent,” Douglas yelled. “Claim them if you dare, or tell your lady you have lost her favor!”

Chuckling, Wat exchanged a look with Tam and said, “I fear our two great warriors sound more like a pair of bairns fratching over a ball.”

Nevertheless, he had no doubt that Hotspur would soon follow them.

Monday afternoon, as Meg viewed Hermitage from the ridge above it, she realized that although they had passed near the formidable castle on their way to Rankilburn, she had not enjoyed such a fine view of it then.

The castle sat starkly in open ground. A webbing of water-filled ditches surrounded it, and the tree-lined ribbon of Hermitage Water flowed past it just a short distance away. Hermitage looked smaller from the ridge but even more imposing than it had looked as they’d passed below it on the main track through Liddesdale.

Astride his pony beside her, Sym said, “Yon’s a big place.”

“That’s Hermitage Castle,” she said. “It is where we are going.”

“Then I’ll keep a close eye on Pawky,” he said, patting the pouch at his belt.

On the earlier journey, because of Walter’s hurry to reach Scott’s Hall and avoid the obstacle course of ditches at Hermitage, they had skirted the castle to the north as they negotiated the steep hills out of Liddesdale into Ewesdale. Today, from the ridge between the two, they had followed the course of Hermitage Water.

Now the captain of the countess’s men and the two bearing her banners led the way to the castle’s main entrance.

The sun was hot and beat down on them. Breezes they had enjoyed on the ridge tops and the coolness of the forests in Rankilburn and Ewesdale had given way to scattered woods and much more open country in Liddesdale.

As they approached the drawbridge, Meg exchanged a look with Amalie.

Countess Isabel said with strong feeling, “Sakes, but this place is even bleaker and less welcoming than I’d expected. I can already smell the cesspits.”

“Have you not been here before, madam?” Amalie asked.

Isabel shook her head. “Nay, for Jamie thinks it a poor place for a lady. I have told him I can make it more comfortable for everyone, but he insists it ought not to be so. He says such a fortress should be a rugged place for rugged men.”

“But you disagree, and thus you dare to defy him,” Meg said, remembering a similar discussion with her own husband.

Isabel’s smile turned wistful. “It is not really defiance, although I know he will be angry, and I do not like him to be. But Jamie must not offend Carrick, because that could lead to consequences dire to us both. There will come a time, sithee, after my father dies and Carrick succeeds him as King of Scots, when Carrick will be all that stands between Jamie and my brother Fife. My father loves me and looks forward to being grandsire to the next Earl of Douglas, if I ever do bear a son for Jamie, so he will protect me and mine. But to Fife I am naught.”

“I hope you will forgive my saying this,” Meg said. “But men say Carrick cannot stand against Fife, that he lacks the spirit to do so—and the King likewise.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she recalled Sym’s presence. He had let his pony fall back a little, but she was sure he could hear their conversation. Like many other nobles, the countess spoke in front of servants as if they were furniture, so Meg decided she would have to have a talk with him, to make sure he understood that he must not repeat anything he overheard to anyone else.

Isabel seemed unaware of him and likewise unaware of the two ladies riding at her other side, and the captain and banner carriers riding just ahead of them.

“You may say what you like to me, Meg,” she said. “But in this instance, what others say is sadly true. My father still issues royal commands when he wants to and occasionally still listens to men besides Fife. And sometimes one can also persuade Carrick to stand against Fife to defend a special cause, but only for a short time.”

“But does Fife heed them when they stand against him?” Amalie asked.

“Aye, he must if my father issues a royal command or Carrick stands on principle, because Parliament will support them, and Fife holds his power only with parliamentary permission. This expedition into England has Fife’s consent but no royal consent. Either his grace or Carrick could have stopped it had they known of it, but neither does. Carrick thinks he is coming to Hermitage merely to see the famous fortress and meet with certain nobles here. But he is really coming because Fife told him to, which means that Fife is using him for some purpose of his own, doubtless to make it look to others as if Carrick supports this foray into England.”

“I still don’t understand,” Meg said. “Everyone knows that Fife holds the reins now, as Guardian of the Realm, and that few can stand against him.”

“He won’t defy a royal command, though, lest he set a precedent. Sithee, above all, Fife wants to be King of Scots. He won’t want others defying him then, so even he submits to royal commands now. He also knows that Carrick could persuade Parliament to eliminate his position as Guardian of the Realm. It is rare for Carrick to oppose him, though, and will be rarer still after my father dies. That is why I mean to see that Carrick feels welcome here—for whatever good it may do us in the future.”

Meg half-expected Douglas’s guards to forbid their entrance, but when one of them dared to suggest that the countess would be more comfortable elsewhere, the friendly Isabel turned instantly into an imperious Stewart princess. After that, Meg was not surprised to see the men nod and bow as their party dismounted.

Inside, however, even Isabel looked daunted. “Bless us,” she said, surveying the wreckage of the upper hall, where departing men had left unneeded gear amid a tumble of other detritus. “What a mess!”

“It is that,” Sym muttered. “Our tower were in better shape than this.”

Meg agreed. The difference between the disorder of a few men at the tower and that of many more at Hermitage was astonishing. Dogs wandered about, and the place reeked of fouled rushes. Even the high table stood buried in clutter.

A man hurried toward them, straightening his jerkin as he came.

“My lady countess,” he said, sweeping a bow. “I am Ralph Lindsay, captain of the guard, in command during his lordship’s absence. He said nowt of your coming, madam, so you find us ill-prepared. Surely, you’d be more comfortable elsewhere.”

Isabel raised her chin and said coolly, “Sir Ralph, if you wish to retain your position, I would caution you against showing aught but welcome to my ladies and me. If you think my lord husband would thank you for behaving ill toward us, you should reconsider that notion. Recall that my father is the King’s grace.”

“I do, aye, my lady, and offered the suggestion only because this chamber before you is the most welcoming at Hermitage. We have no housekeeper here or maidservants but only rough men-at-arms and a few squires. Indeed, at present everyone is with his lordship except some few left to guard the castle.”

“But you are expecting the Earl of Carrick any day, are you not?”

“On Thursday, aye,” the captain agreed. “He sent to warn us of the day, saying he will spend Wednesday night at Dryburgh Abbey. My lord Douglas gave orders before he left to prepare his own bedchamber to receive the Earl of Carrick.”

“’Tis good we are here then, for Carrick will not come alone,” she said. “I suggest you make arrangements to provide for his considerable entourage as well.”

“Surely they will provide for themselves whilst they are here, madam, as do others who bring their retinues.”

She raised her eyebrows. “My brother is heir to the throne of Scotland. He will have certain expectations. For example, he will seek quiet for contemplation, and he will expect—” She broke off, looking as if one of her own thoughts had startled her. Then, she said, “My husband surely did not take his chaplain, Richard Lundie, to war with him, or his minstrel, Giles Gilpin. Or did he?”

“Lundie is indeed with his lordship,” Captain Lindsay told her. “The minstrel were here this morning, but as I take small note of his activities, I’ve nae notion if he be inside or out now. Doubtless, guards at the entrance will know.”

“Prithee, seek him, for I sent Giles here as a favor to my lord. I want to see him and hear how he fares. As to Lundie, we can do without him, I expect, especially as Carrick will bring his own chaplain with him. Until then, we will say our prayers privately in the chapel. That stone building near the bridge
is
the chapel, is it not?”

“It is, aye, and his lordship does not allow anyone to sleep there, so it is gey tidier than the castle is,” the captain said.