Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (33 page)

“No, sir, but I have no need to do that. Recall that you made Sir Walter’s men swear to serve me before you freed them. I command them now to arrest Simon and Tom for trying to seize Hermitage Castle from its rightful owner.”

“There is no rightful owner,” Simon said. “This will become a royal castle.”

“What do you mean?” Meg demanded. “Hermitage belongs to the Douglas.”

“Aye, it did, but he is most likely dead by now,” Simon said.

“That’s true, he is,” Wat said grimly, eliciting a gasp from Meg and a wide-eyed look of shock from Sir Iagan. “He died a great hero in a battle that routed Hotspur’s army and sent them running home. And Hotspur is a captive in the hands of the Douglases, who are now marching to Melrose Abbey to see to Jamie’s burial. Soon there will be a new Earl of Douglas, though, and Hermitage will pass to him. But I’d like very much to know how you learned of Douglas’s death.”

“That is no concern of yours,” Simon said. “What may be of more concern is that my lord Fife is on his way here now with a great army. He’ll take Hermitage and not care if Douglas is dead or not. Nor will he allow you to keep me prisoner.”

“You overestimate Fife’s power in the Borders,” Wat said calmly. “Recall that in Scotland, unlike England, even a royal Stewart commands only his own vassals and those of other noblemen willing to support him. Fife’s present army, however large, is not his own. Indeed, Douglases comprise the bulk of it. If you think they will support him whilst he takes Hermitage, you are much mistaken. I begin to suspect that Fife may have anticipated Douglas’s death.”

“Aye, well, believe what you like. It will not matter in the end.”

“It will matter,” Meg said clearly. “For one thing, the Countess of Douglas had her own suspicions about what has been going on and has doubtless warned Carrick that a trap may await him here. Be it your plan or Fife’s, Simon, it has failed. Seize them, lads!”

Snirk Rabbie and the others quickly disarmed the Murray brothers.

Meg looked at her father. “I’m sorry if you do not like what I’ve done here, sir, or think it disloyal to our family name. But I am a Scott now. My loyalty lies with them and their allies, although I mean no disrespect to you. Indeed, I hope that one day you may become one of those allies.”

“Sakes, lass,” Sir Iagan said. “If your lady mother and I tried to teach your brothers anything, it was to steer clear of political mischief. What comes of it will come, but likely ye’ll take your own road, and your sisters will, as well.”

“I expect we will, sir, but I’m glad you are not vexed with me.”

Wat smiled at her, and she smiled back.

Sir Iagan, looking from one to the other, said, “Lassie, I never thought I’d see a man look at ye the way he does. Nor did I ever expect to see ye look at a man the way you look at him. But by the Rood, I see now that when I arranged your wedding, I did a gey fine thing!”

Chapter 21

So Wat took Meg to the forest sae fair And they lived a most happy and peaceable life . . .

B
efore leaving Hermitage, Wat had discussed things with Sir Ralph Lindsay and Sir Iagan. The latter seemed oddly unconcerned to see his sons held prisoner there.

Questioned, he said, “Had they been doing as apparently Tom thought he was, and aiding the Percies, I could understand it better. Their mother, bless her, has told them since they were bairns how fine her English kinsmen are. But to have enmeshed themselves in Fife’s affairs was nobbut daft. I doubt even Simon kens the full extent of that scoundrel’s predilection for mischief.”

“Still, you cannot wish to see them hang, sir. Much as I dislike what they did to Meg and Amalie, and their attempt to seize Hermitage, I don’t want to see that. Meg will be distressed to realize she had aught to do with such a fate for them.”

“Tell her not to fash herself,” Sir Iagan recommended. “Fife will see to Simon, I warrant, and Tom did nowt against Border law that anyone can prove.”

“He misrepresented himself to the Countess of Douglas,” Wat reminded him.

“Aye, sure, but with a beautiful lass like that one, any handsome young man may be forgiven. Moreover, if Simon did not do whatever he did under Fife’s orders, I’ll be astonished, and Fife protects his own. His minions will not betray him. Simon won’t, I promise ye, and he’ll see that Tom does nowt that’s daft.”

They left the castle in Sir Ralph Lindsay’s control with as many of Buccleuch’s men as they could spare to aid him. Even Murray offered to leave some, but Sir Ralph politely declined, and Wat did not blame him.

Then, with Meg seeing to Amalie, and Wat preparing for their departure and having to keep an eye on his father as they traveled as well as help get everyone settled at Scott’s Hall after they arrived, they had little time to talk privately.

Meg had told him only that Amalie had recovered sufficiently from her injury to insist on riding and did not want to talk to anyone, especially her father.

Wat had assumed that Tom must have slapped the lass and given her a bloody nose, which would account for the blood on Meg’s skirt. He had also noted a lump on Amalie’s forehead, though, and now suspected Tom had done more. He would have asked Meg to explain it all, but no sooner did they take to their beds that night than they both fell fast asleep, exhausted by the activities of the past few days.

Janet Scott arrived before noon the next day, having set out before dawn, and found Wat and Meg together in the great chamber.

“I’m glad you sent for me so quickly,” she said, hugging Wat. “Where is he?”

“Where should he be, madam, but in his wee room, poring over some documents that he says he must see to before day’s end?”

“Oh, does he?” she said. “I’ll just see about that.”

Wat put his arm around Meg’s shoulders as Janet bustled away to deal with Buccleuch, and smiled when Meg looked at him, her beautiful eyes soft with affection, or, he dared to hope, with love.

“Didst miss me, lass?” he asked, turning her to face him.

“More than you can imagine,” she said, raising his hand to her cheek. “I was so glad to see you there beside my father. Then, when he reminded you of your oath to him, I knew just what to do. I was not sure you would approve, but I had to try, if only to startle Simon and Tom into dropping their guard before someone got hurt.”

He would not spoil the moment by telling her that his men had control of the castle by then, thanks to Nebby’s lot outside with Buccleuch and his own inside with her father’s men. To be sure, Simon or Tom might have been injured, or been able to injure someone else before they submitted, but they would have submitted.

“Of course I approved,” he said. “Not only have I learned to appreciate your good sense, but I was proud of you for thinking so quickly. You disarmed them, and I think you astonished your father. He was proud of you, too. He must have asked me six or seven times afterward if I’d ever seen the like. ‘To throw me own words in me face like that,’ he told me. ‘She’s the very spit of her mother.’”

“He never said any such thing!” she exclaimed, looking horrified.

“He did, aye, and what’s more, from him that’s a compliment, my love.”

“Oh, what did you call me?”

“You heard me,” he said, pulling her closer and kissing her.

She glowed, and the slow smile that he’d been waiting for appeared. “Do you really love me?”

“Sakes, do I have to prove it? Come up to my chamber, sweetheart, and I’ll demonstrate my feelings for you until you squeal for mercy.”

“I won’t squeal. When did you know?”

“You tell me first.”

“Tell you when
you
knew or when I did?”

“You.”

“When I faced my dilemma.”

Bewildered, he said, “What dilemma?”

“Sithee, I had given Tom my word that I’d tell no one who he was or what he was doing at Hermitage. I ken fine that you hold your word of honor dear, and I did not want to disappoint you by failing to keep mine. So I promised Tom I’d keep his secret, but that was before I learned that he had raped Amalie.”

“He’s the one? He
deserves
to hang,” Wat said curtly.

“Aye, perhaps. I had always thought family was the most important tie, but honor matters little to my brothers and my father. I have heard them brag of tricking others by lying to them, just as Simon did with Nebby Duffin and his men.”

“So how did you decide?” he asked, putting an arm around her again, this time so that he could gently steer her toward the stairway.

“As I tried to decide what to do, I came to realize that you were no longer a husband forced on me, or I the wife that my father had forced to marry you. You
are
my family now. I had thought of little but you since the morning you rode away to join Douglas. And every time I’d think of you, my heart warmed all through.”

He hugged her but kept her moving. “Did you break your word then?”

She hesitated, but he waited patiently. “I did not exactly break it, because I did not tell anyone who he was or why he’d said he was there. I did tell Countess Isabel to go to Dryburgh and persuade Carrick to go with her to Dalkeith or Tantallon.” She stopped in her tracks. “Faith, who will tell her about Douglas’s death?”

“Sir Ralph Lindsay knew she had gone to Dryburgh and sent a party of men under his deputy to find her as soon as I told him what had happened. It will be hard for her, but she will be with people who care about her.”

“She adored him, you know,” she said, looking up at him again.

“Aye, and he thought of her at the end,” he said, seeing no reason to mention that Douglas had regretted their lack of a son. At the stairway, he gave her a little nudge, and she went ahead of him, giving him a fine view of her backside as she did.

“I’ve told you much more now than just how I realized I loved you,” she said over her shoulder. “How did
you
know?”

“First, tell me what happened to Amalie at Hermitage,” he said gently.

She hesitated again on the landing outside their bedchamber door, then with a straight look at him, she said, “Come inside first and shut the door.”

He obeyed, moving toward her again when they were alone inside, but she held up a hand, stopping him. “You will say that I ought to have told you before, but I could not, and you must promise to say nothing to my father.”

“That’s easy enough,” he said. “Now, tell me.”

“You already know that Tom raped her. What you don’t know is that she was pregnant. I thought she might be, but we weren’t sure. She had cramping, so we thought her flow was about to begin, but after Tom struck her, the cramps grew much worse. There was blood. Then Sym came, and I sent him for help. He brought Jock’s Wee Tammy.”

“Tam?” He did not try to hide his astonishment.

“Aye, and he knew exactly what to do. He said he helped his sister once.”

“I remember that, but did Amalie not mind? I’d have thought . . .”

“If you’re thinking she’d have preferred my help, you are wrong. She sent me away, said it was easier with Tammy helping her.”

Frowning, he said gently, “Your parents should know of this.”

“Aye, I agree,” she said. “But it is Amalie’s tale to tell, not mine or yours. For now, she won’t speak of it to anyone, and she wants to stay here.”

He nodded. “Of course, she can stay as long as she likes.”

“Now, do you still love me?” she asked with a wry smile.

“Aye, sweetheart, more than ever. Now, come here.”

“Not until you tell me when you first knew.”

He told her what he had dreamed the night the battle began. Then, chuckling at the memory, he said, “Sweetheart, any knight worth his spurs who can dream so deeply with combat near at hand, and who feels as irked as I did at being wakened to find a battle raging all around him, just has to be in love. If he’s not, he’s nobbut a lust-ridden fool. I may be lust-ridden when I’m with you, but I’m no longer a fool.”

“But I’m so plain,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You are not plain, and never say so to me again,” he said, drawing her near and gently stroking her cheek. “This wise and sensible face is just the wall behind which your treasures lie hidden. That few others can see what I see, or know as much about you as I have learned, is a wonder to me. As folks come to know you, they do see much of that, though. So, in time, all who know us will understand that I’ve fallen in love with your goodness of heart, the way you listen with all your mind and soul, your compassion for others, and your obvious deep admiration for me.”

She laughed then. But she reached out a hand to him and said, “I have other treasures you admire almost as much, sir. Perhaps you should do more exploring.”

With alacrity, he accepted her invitation, and . . .

The langer he kend her, he loved her the mair, For a prudent, a virtuous, and sensible wife.

Thus wooed they in the good old days; And, pitying reader, though you stare, The last, the sweetest minstrel says, These lived and died a loving pair.

—Lady Louisa Stuart “Ugly Meg, or The Robber’s Wedding”

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed
Border Wedding.
The character of Wat Scott is based on that of Sir Walter Scott, fourth Lord of [Buccleuch], Rankilburn, and Murthockston (holding that title from 1389 to 1402). He inherited the title from his father, Robert Scott, who was laird (lord) from 1346 to 1389. Sir Walter’s actual wife is unknown.

The reason for the brackets around Buccleuch above is that it is generally left out of fourteenth-century titles but is considered the earliest title of their descendant, the present Duke of Buccleuch and Queensbury. The Buck Cleuch was their holding and the legend about it well known in 1388, so I included that title for my characters.

I based the character Meg Murray on Muckle-mouth Meg, the subject of an old Scott tale that was the basis of James Hogg’s ballad “The Fray of Elibank,
”
as well as Sir Walter Scott’s poem “The Reiver’s Marriage,” the gist of which he shared in letters with Lady Louisa Stuart, who wrote her own comic poem, called “Ugly Meg, or The Robber’s Marriage” as a joke to share with Sir Walter.

All three authors believed an anecdote suggesting that Muckle-mouth Meg Murray of Elibank married the heir of an infamous reiver, Auld Wat (Walter) Scott of Harden, near the end of the sixteenth century. Documentary evidence now proves, however, that Wat Scott’s son, William, married a woman named Agnes Murray, not Margaret Murray of Elibank, and the marriage documents show that the negotiations for their marriage were leisurely, friendly, and took months to complete.

One of my hobbies is family history, when I have time for it, and over the years I have encountered many anecdotes that have turned out to apply to ancestors other than the ones named. That experience has taught me that such anecdotes, particularly the really good ones, tend to link themselves over time with the best-known ancestors. Often the names are not even the same, but one can usually track enough of the details to know where the anecdote applies.

I therefore looked back through the family tree and found Sir Walter Scott with no wife known (although he produced legitimate children, including his heir). The general history of the Borders at the time matches much of that of the end of the sixteenth century, Wat of Harden’s time. Strife with England was paramount, and in 1388 a powerful Border lord (the second Earl of Douglas) was trying to keep peace among his own people in order to deal better with the English just as an equally powerful Border lord (a direct descendant of the hero of this book, known as Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch) did at the end of the sixteenth century.

Buck Cleuch (the source of the name Buccleuch), Rankilburn, and Scott’s Hall are all real, although the version of the Hall that I’ve described was in Peebles. The legend of the stag and the title Ranger of Ettrick Forest are real and part of Scott family lore. There was originally a peel tower at Rankilburn, but Raven’s Law and its location in the cleuch sprang from the author’s imagination.

That said, for you who adore words and their origins, “peel” or “pele” in the sense of a peel tower is cognate with “pale” and means “enclosure.” Thus, when one said “beyond the pale,” one originally meant “outside the tower wall.”

The quotations cited as part of the chapter headings come from “The Fray of Elibank” by James Hogg, also known as the Ettrick Shepherd, and from “The Battle of Otterbourne” (
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border
, by Sir Walter Scott).

I did change the words “Ancrum” and “Sowden” (battles fought by the Scotts of Harden) for the heading of Chapter 6 to Durham and Carlisle (battles in which James, second Earl of Douglas, proved his prowess several years before Otterburn). James Douglas was a phenomenal warrior. The mace with which he fought in close quarters was said to be too heavy for two other men to lift—together.

As for the contest between Douglas and Hotspur at Newcastle, the general belief has long been that the item found after Hotspur was carried from the field was the Percy pennon. According to J. Rutherford Oliver (
Upper Teviotdale and The Scotts of Buccleuch
, Hawick, 1887, p. 52), the item “really consisted of a pair of gauntlets, evidently a lady’s, bearing the lion of the Percies . . . and may have been a
gage-de-amour.
They are still in the possession of descendants of the Douglas.”

Sources for the Battle of Otterburn itself are varied and include a number mentioned here, including Oliver and Fraser, as well as
Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads
by Michael Brander (New York, 1975).

According to the chronicler Froissart, “Of all the battles described in history, great and small, that of Otterburn was the best fought and the most severe; for there was not a man, knight, or squire, who did not acquit himself gallantly, hand to hand with the enemy” (cited by Oliver, pp. 50–52). Scottish losses numbered just over a hundred with four times that many wounded, just a few seriously. The English lost more than eighteen hundred dead, with another thousand wounded or taken prisoner, including Hotspur and his brother Sir Ralph Percy.

The postern door at Hermitage does exist but is believed to be a slightly later renovation. I added it to the 1388 castle to give Sym a way inside.

Other sources include
The Scotts of Buccleuch
by William Fraser (Edinburgh, 1878),
Steel Bonnets
by George MacDonald Fraser (New York, 1972),
The Border Reivers
by Godfrey Watson (London, 1975), and
Border Raids and Reivers
by Robert Borland (Dumfries, Thomas Fraser, date unknown).

If you enjoyed
Border Wedding,
please look for Amalie’s story,
Border Lass,
at your favorite bookstore in September 2008. In the meantime,
suas Alba!

Sincerely,
Amanda Scott

http://home.att.net/~amandascott