Betrayed (11 page)

Amber’s a selfish vixen accustomed ta playing life ta her own tune, but she isna a hardhearted bitch ta keep Stivin’s death from me. She was a maidenhead away from being my mistress. She wouldna betray me in this.

But he could not escape the evidence of her persistent fleeing. Amber had thrown herself off a thirty-foot wall and risked a night in the dungeon. Such desperation reeked of her knowing the outcome of this exchange.

Krayne’s jaw tensed until it felt locked down in stone.

The Johnstone party watched his return with mixed concern and surprise.

Amber was just as concerned, but not at all surprised that Krayne came back empty handed. Naturally she’d hoped, but in her heart she knew that William would never trade a valuable hostage for the niece he wished dead.

Duncan and Alexander left her side to ride out to meet Krayne, veering sharply when he thundered down the middle of them and came straight at her, stopping alongside at the last possible moment. His expression was black, grim and cold. His stare silently penetrated her composure until she felt dirty and worthless.

She’d failed him as well as Stivin.

He chose that moment to state, “Ye knew.”

The hard tone shredded her guilt. Of course she knew that the exchange was doomed, and she’d said as much to him time and time again. “I tried to tell you.”

“Ye didna try hard enough.” Krayne’s hand shot out with a force that would slap her clear off the horse. At the crucial moment, his arm froze, his open palm halting in midair just inches from her cheek.

Amber went sideways, an involuntary reaction that sent her sliding from the saddle anyway.

Krayne watched in shock as the reins slipped through her tightly gripped fingers. She was halfway to the ground before her grasp retook, before she slowly struggled up again with softly uttered groans. He almost reached out to help, then cursed those foolish sentiments and turned his horse away.

“God’s truth,” shouted Alexander, going after him. “What in hell did that dickless rat say and where is Stivin?”

“Not now,” Krayne told him. “Not here.”

He wanted no hot-headed heroics from his men when they were outmatched ten to one. He also needed time to shut down the buzz in his head. Damn the wench! He thought he’d reined in his anger. Then she’d confessed with those emerald eyes and had the gall to try to talk her way out of it.

When the hell had she tried to tell him that Stivin was dead?

Krayne shook his hand roughly, filled with dread that his strike had almost landed. He could have killed her with that blow. He glanced back to see Duncan had trotted to her side. He gave a foul look to his three men-at-arms, calling harshly, “Bring the Jardin lass. We ride fer Wamphray.”

“At least tell me Stivin is safe,” Alexander snapped.

Krayne breathed deeply. “I canna give ye the reassurances ye seek.”

Before Alexander could question further, Krayne took off at a neck-breaking gallop to leave the stench of Jardin soil behind.

Amber flinched as Duncan loosened her grip from the reins.

“What are you doing?” she asked tentatively when he turned her palms up and examined the leather burns with a gentle touch she had no reason to expect.

Only then did he meet her eyes. “I’ve never seen my brother lift his hand ta a lass before.”

“He never touched me,” she said.

William Jardin had fallen back within the line of trees to watch what Krayne would do, and knew a moment of immense satisfaction when Krayne knocked the girl from the saddle and rode off without looking back.

He turned to the men at his side, men he trusted only so long as he could pay them.

“He’ll take her back ta Wamphray an’ let his men take turns ruttin’ her ta death,” said one.

The other gave a gruff laugh. “And then he’ll use her own entrails ta hang her by the neck.”

William didn’t really give a damn how Krayne killed her, so long as he did. Unfortunately the Grey Wolf wasn’t likely to stop with one Jardin wench when there were other Jardins breathing. “Come, we’ve another black-haired devil ta visit upon this day.”

Krayne and Alexander rode into the bailey well ahead of the others, tossed their leads to Peter as the lad came running up and strode inside before any of the gathering onlookers could barrage them with questions. Alexander grabbed two pitchers of ale as they passed through the great hall to a secluded chamber at the far end.

Krayne closed the door behind them and leant his back against it.

Knowing the laird as well as he did, Alexander shoved a pitcher at him and sent up a silent prayer for Stivin’s soul. Once they’d quenched their thirst, Krayne went to stand in front of the map that hung from one side of the wall to the other, hands behind his back, feet wide apart. The map was a work in progress, drawn by Johnstone hand, and covered most of Annandale from the river head at Moffat to where the waters fed into the Solway.

“Stivin is dead,” Krayne said. The words were a dull echo in his hollow voice. “Jardin would have it as an accident.”

Alexander swallowed a lump of grief at the confirmation. Stivin was an enigma he’d never attempted to understand. The lad preferred a good book to a good alehouse and never attended practice in the fields. But Stivin was kin and he’d liked him well enough.

“Ye believe him?”

“Aye.” Krayne repeated Jardin’s story, omitting only the accusation that Amber had known the truth all along. That specific betrayal was personal and would be dealt with as such, when he had the time.

“There was naught ye couldha done,” Alexander said. “Ye were still at Stirling when Stivin drew his last breath. What will ye do with the lass?”

Krayne stared at the map instead of answering.

“I know yer mind, Krayne, fer it reflects my own,” Alexander persisted. “She wears too much blame ta walk free.”

“Ye’d have me hang her?” Krayne demanded, turning on him. “Pierce my sword through her gut? Mayhap pike her head on the battlement wall?”

“Of course not.”

Krayne felt suddenly weary to his soul. “I’ll deal with Amber.”

“Then let’s talk strategy.” Alexander stepped up to the map. “Do we go in the dark or wait fer mornin’?”

“Jardin is expecting me before sundown.”

Alexander swung about to give him a dark look. “Ye warned the worthless bastard.”

Krayne met him with a darker look. “I’ll not sneak in the back door under the guise of night. This is not another raid.”

Suddenly Alexander understood. “Ye’ve declared war.”

“Not yet,” Krayne said and went on to divulge his plan.

When Duncan’s voice was heard outside, the men broke off their discussion.

“Call all able men ta the hall,” Krayne told his captain. “I’ll see ta Amber and break the news ta Duncan.”

Duncan was impatient to find out what the hell was going on, but didn’t object when Krayne beckoned him inside the conference chamber and promised to return promptly.

Krayne took one look at Amber and kept his distance, well aware that the iron grip leashing his emotions seemed to crumble in her presence.

“Upstairs,” he ordered.

To his relief, she went without further prodding. He put her in the chamber she’d prepared for herself the day before, his mind beyond dwelling on the great expectations he’d once had for that room. He didn’t cross the threshold, couldn’t, but reached inside to pull the door closed. When her hand landed on his arm, he jumped back as if burned.

“Please…” Her green eyes were so damn huge, innocent, appealing. He hoped to God she wasn’t about to apologise. “What—what will you do about Stivin?”

No sympathetic dribble? No false condolences? He didn’t want them, yet found himself feeling cheated out of cutting her short with scathing contempt.

Instead she sought assurances that she was safe from his revenge. Assurances Krayne had no intention of giving.

“My plans are made and do not concern ye,” he said coldly, reaching for the door again.

This time she stopped him with words. “How can you be so cruel? Stivin—”

“Enough.” He decided he didn’t like the way Stivin’s name trembled on her treacherous lips and added, “If ye ever speak Stivin’s name ta me again, I’ll change my mind and have yer head piked fer Johnstone amusement.”

She paled so quickly, he thought she’d drop into a faint. He didn’t care. Krayne yanked the door closed, locked it and returned downstairs.

Dealing with his brother was a lesson in sainthood.

Duncan cursed William Jardin from Lockerbie to Moffat, and then Duncan started on him. “Yer self-importance is outshined only by yer gutless yellow cowardice. Jardin shits in yer face an’ ye step daintily ta the left. He farts in yer mouth an’ ye jump ta the—” Krayne’s fist connected beneath his jaw, spinning him off his feet and flat onto his back.

Blood dribbling down his chin, Duncan picked himself up and advanced on Krayne with a mutinous glare.

“God’s truth, Duncan. Dinna force me ta blacken both yer eyes. We ride fer Spedlin within the hour and I need ye at my side.”

Duncan stopped short.

“Jardin claimed ta have fifty men crawling in the forest,” Krayne went on. “I know better than ta throw red meat ta a pup in a cage o’ lions. If I’d told ye about Stivin back there, ye’d have charged the bastard and drawn his bloody mercenaries ta ye like filings ta a lodestone. I’m no coward, but I am responsible fer my men as well as yer scrawny arse.”

“I didna think—”

“Ye never do,” Krayne said softly.

“Ye treat me like an untried boy,” Duncan flared again.

Krayne didn’t trust himself to respond to that. “I want ye fully armed and in the hall without delay. With Jamie’s new parliamentary laws, our actions today may well get us outlawed. Each man must be made aware of the consequences and make his own decision.”

Duncan nodded, turned stiffly and walked out the door.

Krayne went to stand before the map wall. His gaze fell on the scattered dots. If he waited a day, he could call on Johnstones from Carnsalloch, Craigieburn, Elsieshields, Fairholm, Fingland, Howgill, Marjoribanks, Millbank, Newton and Poldean.

He never once considered it.

Jamie’s wrath would ripple through the dale if he suspected a rebellious spider web threading the Johnstone families together rather than the isolated insolence of one wayward laird.

The view from Amber’s window to the bailey below was obscured by the wide rampart that ran the length of all the chambers this side of the tower house. If the window had been large enough to climb through, Amber would have risked the guards to see the spectacle for herself.

The clatter of a hundred hooves rumbled in the background of the timbered roar of discordant male voices rising as one. Her clipped view of the gateway showed the dust kicked up and an occasional glimpse of horse as Johnstone moss-troopers poured from the castle. Amber drew away from the window, her breaths sharp and uneasy.

They rode for Spedlin.

Where else?

Did that mean that Krayne had refused to meet the ransom demands William must have named in her place? Amber marched to the bed, then back to the window.
Of course he had refused.
The ruckus below was a small army on the move, not a handful of Johnstones off to rustle cattle for Stivin’s ransom.

The noise level outside dimmed and she guessed the cavalcade had turned into the softer sands at the confluence of Lemoir Burn and Wamphray Water. While a part of her wanted to scream after them, condemning the useless waste of life, she couldn’t deny her envy. At least they were doing something.

Why were women always left behind to wait and accept?

Twirling from the window to fling herself across the downy bed, she refused to dwell on what she was waiting for. Krayne was furious. Hard, cold and deadly. Whatever she’d taken for anger before, she now reclassified as a mild bout of irritation.

She thought of Krayne’s threat to pike her head. The man hadn’t even been able to slap her cheek. Although he had tried. She wondered if he always chose violence over negotiation.

Still, he wouldn’t kill her, and he certainly wouldn’t pike her head.

Of course, there were things worse than death…

The band of men crossing back onto Johnstone land was outwardly subdued. On the inside, seething fury and blood thirst spiralled through their veins.

Krayne led the horse that carried his cousin’s body across the Black Burn and up to higher ground. He rode past the thickets of hard bush and scrubby trees and on to the open moor, then turned to wait for all his men to cross the water and follow the rut grooved into the deep valley. The natural track led them a merry westward path from their true direction but could not be avoided without dismounting to climb the steep incline.

He’d reclaimed Stivin, but he’d misjudged Jardin and vengeance was still to be had. The lowlife had taken his mercenaries and run. And Krayne knew exactly where he’d run to.

Twenty-eight moss-troopers formed a double row before Krayne, while Alexander came alongside him. Krayne and Alexander had put their heads together for the short ride back from Spedlin, and both agreed the new plan was sound.

Krayne addressed the men loudly and clearly, “Jardin has a couple of hours on us. Ta reach King Jamie at Stirling, he’ll detour west as far as Dumfries rather than cross hostile Johnstone land. We’ll reach the Glasgow road with plenty of time ta set our ambush.”

He pranced Cronus in a tight manoeuvre up and down the line to look each man in the eye. “If possible, I’d still remove Jardin from his men and force the coward ta draw swords with me. With Jardin turning tail on his honour, however, battle is less unavoidable. If word reaches the king, all named will be outlawed.” A fate Krayne immensely preferred to what awaited him afterward, rotting in an Edinburgh dungeon, but he’d not make Adam vulnerable by running away. “No man here will suffer in any way fer turning home—”

A roar went up to swallow the remainder of his words. Krayne’s gaze darkened to pewter and he grinned hard at the enthusiasm and loyalty of his men. Many had lost loved ones to a Jardin over the years. Kinship and loyalty aside, this fight was personal to each man.

Krayne raised a hand and the noise subsided. “I need a volunteer ta take our Stivin home.”

He knew no one would offer and was grateful for it. He rode up to Duncan and handed over the reins of the horse that carried Stivin’s lifeless body. Duncan’s dark stare flared in outrage. Krayne matched it with one a hundred times more lethal. “’Tis yer cousin, little brother.”

Duncan grabbed the reins and rode off without a word, his back stiff in impotent rage. Krayne watched until his brother had descended the banks of the River Annan and disappeared from view. He suspected Duncan would be Wamphay’s new laird before this day was done and prayed the lad was ready for it.

“Riders,” called Alexander as a band of horsemen broke through the forest of firs to their left.

Everyone turned to confront the threat, hands poised at their swords, more than ready to shed some blood. Moments later, however, the imposing figure of Adam Johnstone astride his magnificent midnight black Barbary took shape, and all hands fell away.

Even so, no one breathed any easier.

Krayne swore loudly. Gut instinct told him that his chief’s arrival was no coincidence. “I’ll deal with Adam. Inform everyone that they may dismount ta eat and drink while we’ve no choice but ta spare the time.”

Alexander kept his face and voice bland. “I reckon we’ve a lot more spare time comin’ than ye ken.”

“Naught has changed.” Krayne’s tone discouraged disagreement. “We ride fer Sterling.”

Alexander gave him a sceptical look, but turned his mount about to give the order.

Krayne spurred his horse into a canter toward the forest and Adam. When Adam raised a hand to call his troops to a halt and rode forward alone, Krayne knew he was in for an upbraiding and cursed his own bad luck. Half an hour’s grace and he’d have been in the dale and beyond Adam’s sight.

“Yer nae ridin’ fer Spedlin,” Adam growled as they brought their horses nose to nose, asserting the depth of his knowledge without giving away his source.

“I’ve just returned from there.”

Adam’s jaw clenched.

Krayne’s clenched harder.

Adam shook his head and his voice was sober. “Tell me ye didna burn that rottin’ pile o’ dun ta the ground.”

“Jardin left behind only children, women and men too old ta lift a sword.” Krayne spat his disgust on the ground. “Aye, and men too
dead
ta lift a sword.”

“Ye know I had a wee soft spot fer Stivin,” Adam said. “I’m truly sorry, Krayne.”

Krayne nodded. The men held eye contact in harsh, masculine sympathy. Stivin’s mother had been the youngest sister and a favourite of their fathers. Adam had felt that the boy would be more comfortable at Wamphray with his younger cousins than in a household of battle-weary old men and his swarm of daughters. Both men felt they’d somehow betrayed Stivin and their aunt’s trust.

“I left Spedlin as I found it,” Krayne said at last. “We met scant resistance and I’ve no taste fer slaughtering defenceless servants.”

Adam’s scowl eased, but there was no such recompense in his tone. “I’ll ride with ye ta Wamphray.”

“Then ye’ll ride alone.” Krayne’s brows knotted. “I’m ta Stirling.”

“That is where yer mistaken, lad.”

Somewhere beneath his steel belt of control, Krayne’s temper soared. He checked it with a deep breath. “Ye know I have ta do this.”

“Hog spittle!” Adam leaned over the saddle to stare his cousin down. Wild black brows formed one continuous pelt above equally black eyes. “No man here will refuse my order ta turn home.”

“Ye’d dare command my men?” Krayne bit out.

“Every last one, if ye give me nae choice.” Adam settled in his saddle again. “Yer a damned fine laird, Krayne, but ye’ve nae inherited my chieftainship yet and until ye do, I stand above ye and yers!”

“Command them,” Krayne said. “I’ll ride on alone.”

“Ye’ll nae defy me!” exploded Adam in a voice that could rival thunder. “Jardin has up o’ fifty men that ride with him. Ye canna take them on alone.”

Krayne’s plans required a little more finesse to isolate Jardin from his pack, but nothing much had changed. “Jardin will meet me once I’ve removed the option of cowering.”