“I'll tend to Elizabeth,” Ada said firmly. “I'm used to her ladyship's temperament.”
Rob Kennedy followed Ada down the gangplank with a sure gait, ready to face whatever awaited him.
“Do you have a secure place where I can put Armstrong?” Heath asked Ram.
“Put him aboard the Revenge; Jock will guard him overnight. We'll have tae sail tae Carlisle in the mornin'; the Border Wardens' Court starts tomorrow, so we'll miss the first day.” Ram hoisted the empty cradle on a broad shoulder and followed his family into the Kennedy tower castle.
Heath turned Armstrong over to Jock, who manacled the prisoner in the hold of the Revenge. “We didna catch any of the English swine, and we have no idea how many sheep and cattle they drove off. All we could do was clean up the mess. Ram brought men from Castle Douglas tae rebuild what's been burned.”
Anger at the English almost choked Heath as he entered the tower castle. He saw Beth Kennedy and Lady Elizabeth sobbing in each other's arms, while Tina was quietly consoling Donal's young wife, Meggie. Ada pulled Beth's arms from around her mother's neck.
“Come on, my lady, let's get you to bed, and I'll have Mr. Burque brew you a posset to comfort you.” Ada led Elizabeth away and a purposeful Rob Kennedy began to follow them.
Suddenly he turned back to speak with Heath. “Will ye represent the Kennedys at the Border Wardens' Court and lay the charge where it belongs for this unspeakable raid?”
“I am honor bound to do so,” Heath pledged.
Rob unclasped his silver dolphin brooch that bore the Kennedy motto and pinned it to Heath's doublet. His arms went around him for one fleeting moment, then the Kennedy patriarch followed Ada.
Ram signaled to Heath and Duncan Kennedy to follow him. “Lady Kennedy and Meggie couldn't bring themselves tae look at the charred bodies. The two of ye will have tae see if ye can identify yer brother Donal.”
The three men went below to the foundations of the tower castle, where the charred bodies lay on sheets. Four hewn wooden coffins stood against the wall waiting to receive the grisly remains. Heath knelt down and peered closely. None of the bodies had hair left, nor faces that could be recognized. One corpse was bigger than the others, and could have been Donal, but Heath's sixth sense told him it was not his brother.
Duncan, however, identified the body as Donal's immediately. “These boots have irons on the soles; Donal wore boots like these.” Though the identification wasn't positive, the men agreed that the bodies should be buried without delay, and Heath said he'd take care of it. The minute Duncan left, Heath told Ram what he had learned from their prisoner. “He told me a hundred Armstrongs would ride if Dacre paid. I asked about other clans; he named the Grahams led by Long Will, who'd raid both sides of the Border.”
Ram whistled. “Christ, that's three or four hundred. Dacre would pay them in sheep or cattle, which explains this Kennedy raid.”
“Only in part; we both know this raid is in retaliation for my taking Christopher Dacre. They won't retaliate against Douglas for fear of exposing a connection between Dacre and Archibald.”
“Well, the whoresons will learn that if they strike a Kennedy, ‘tis the same as striking a Douglas! Do ye think we could sail on the evenin’ tide? Will Rob be all right if ye leave him?”
“My father will be fine; he's suddenly become a well of strength and will soon be back to ruling the Kennedy roost.”
“I'll have a word with Tina, then I'll have my mosstroopers start taking their mounts aboard.”
Ramsay pulled Valentina into an empty chamber next to Meggan's. “It's been like a madhouse here. Will ye be all right if we sail tonight?” He took her in his arms and held her tightly.
She pressed her face against his shoulder, and felt his hand stroking her hair. “Father's taken over, and Mother's finally asleep. Meggie is so diverted by the twins, she has temporarily dried her tears.” She raised her eyes to his. “Was it Donal?”
“Duncan thinks so. … Heath does not.”
“Should I have a look?”
“No, Vixen. Heath will have them buried by now. I want ye tae take the babies and go tae Castle Douglas as soon as ye may. The wagons from Eskdale will be arrivin' tomorrow. Don't let yer family drain all yer strength, love.”
Valentina knew that when her father told his wife and Duncan about Heath, there would be hell to pay. The storm he would unleash would be nothing short of tumultuous. Her mother would be more than hysterical; she would throw a bloody fit, and Duncan would be ready to kill. “Yes.” She smiled gently. “I will go home to Castle Douglas, I promise.”
When Heath took Blackadder from the hold of the Kennedy vessel, he mounted him and gave him a run along the banks of the River Dee, before he loaded him onto the other ship. Heath's eyes avidly scanned the land across the river, knowing that somewhere out there lay his hundred acres. He didn't have time to explore them today, but he promised himself that he would bring his mares to graze on his own acres as soon as it was feasible. It was the first land he had ever owned, and it meant more to him than he could put into words.
That night the wind was with the Revenge as it sailed up the Solway, and the pink dawn had just begun to lighten the sky as the vessel entered the mouth of the River Eden. They anchored close to Carlisle and rode into the city, which overflowed with both English and Scottish Border Wardens and their men, who had come to attend the Wardens' Court. It was being held in the great hall at Carlisle Castle, and the streets that ran north from the market cross to the massive red fortress were clogged.
“Way fer a Douglas!” Jock shouted as Ram and his moss-troopers trotted their sturdy garrons over the cobblestones. They were all in Douglas colors today, with their badges displayed proudly on their sleeves. Ramsay was garbed as befitted the wealthiest lord in the realm. Riding beside him, Heath Kennedy, wearing black to signify mourning, rubbed his sleeve over his silver dolphin brooch.
It took the better part of an hour before they dismounted at the castle stables and turned their mounts over to the waiting grooms. Ram dispatched half a dozen mosstroopers to set up tents on the meadow below the castle, as was the custom. Heath's heart missed a beat as he recognized Heron Carleton in the bailey close by the stables. He knew Heron must be here with his father, who was an official of the court. Without hesitation, Heath strode across the courtyard to greet him.
“Is Raven here?” Heath asked hopefully.
“Yes, but—” Heron looked uncomfortable.
“But what?”
“Raven just became betrothed to Christopher Dacre. They are to wed when the Border Wardens' Court ends.”
Heath's face hardened. The granitelike mask hid the scalding fury that ripped through him. So, the blood-proud beauty had made her choice. She had sold herself to the highest bidder, the one who could give her wealth and a title. I curse Dacre to hellfire!
CHAPTER 23
The Border Wardens' Court met four times a year, alternating between the two largest Border cities, Berwick in the east and Carlisle in the west. Ostensibly, this was where the English met their Scots counterparts so that disputes could be discussed and resolved. The English officials who sat in judgment were Sir Robert Carey, Sir Richard Graham, and Sir Lancelot Carleton; the Scots were James Elliot, David Gilchrist, and Dand Kerr.
Lord Thomas Dacre, Head Warden of the English Marches, lost no time taking the offensive. “Since spring, seven hundred cattle belonging to Dacre tenants have been taken in Scottish raids in the Middle March alone!”
Alexander Hume, Lord Warden General of the Scottish Marches, was on his feet immediately. “They were lifted orderly, accordin' tae the custom of the Borders. An' I warrant fer every beast taken, the English lifted one hundred!”
In an aside, Ram said to Heath, “These two hate each other like poison. At Flodden, Hume kept his Borderers clear of the fightin', then pillaged and plundered the victorious English of their baggage and horses.”
“Your Border Wardens turn a blind eye to
thieving and raiding, Hume. As Warden General your job is to control your Wardens,” Dacre pointed out indignantly.
“Control the likes of Johnnie Maxwell an' Black Ram Douglas? Their idea of law enforcement is three feet of steel, an' a bloody good job it is, when we have tae deal wi' the English, who are all disobedients filled wi' dishonor!”
“Hume, you are the last man on earth who should be speaking of dishonor!” Dacre shouted with indignation.
Ram Douglas was on his feet, looking directly at Dacre. “Nay, that distinction goes to an Englishman,” he said bluntly.
Dacre stared at Douglas, waiting for an accusation, but Douglas sat back down and stared back. The cat-and-mouse game went on all day, but Douglas bided his time. A dozen cases of blackmail, kidnapping, wounding, and raiding were heard, defenses offered, judgments made, and penalties decided. The punishments varied from prison to compensation, unless the offenses were committed in the Debatable Land, which was disputed territory. These culprits were let off “scot-free,” because neither country would take responsibility for acts committed there.
The next day, Ram Douglas accused the English of raiding Annan and a dozen smaller villages. He named an astonishing amount of compensation he was claiming, then addressed Dacre. “These raids were made from the English West March, which you, my lord, are supposed to control. Annan and the other villages were burned to the ground, and lives were lost. Only a coward uses fire on women and children.” Douglas did not accuse Dacre directly of mounting the raids, but clearly he was tightening the screws.
The third day, Douglas didn't say a word; he didn't need to. When he and his men entered the great hall, they had Sim Armstrong with them. They sat their witness between Jock and Ram Douglas, with Douglas mosstroopers all around him for safekeeping. All day it was clear that Dacre could not concentrate on the cases before the court, and when he did not refute charges brought against his tenants for illegal pasturing and wounding, the verdicts went against him.
That evening, Ram Douglas made a quick visit to the Carlisle goldsmith with whom Angus had left gold on deposit. When Ram assured the goldsmith that he was happy to leave the funds in Carlisle rather than withdraw them for deposit in Scotland, the man confided in Douglas, telling him about a rumor he had heard which the English goldsmith knew would be of great interest to the Scots lord. Ram thanked the man and told him he would make it worth his while if he remained silent and kept the rumor to himself.
On the fourth day of the Wardens' Court, the Douglas witness was nowhere in evidence. After a lull in the proceedings at midmorning, Lord Ramsay Douglas got to his feet to set forth his accusations. It was not so much his rich attire, decorated by the bleeding heart of Douglas in rubies and diamonds, that drew every eye, as it was his dark, dominant face and deep, powerful voice.
“Gentlemen, we have a traitor in our midst. We have a March Warden who pays an outlawed Scots clan tae reive and murder and maim their own flesh and blood in the Scots Borders. The numbers would astound ye. He can call on a hundred Armstrongs tae destroy their own with fire and sword. 'Tis a shrewd and evil ploy tae make us blame the English and hate them. But it doesn't stop there. He pays an English clan tae wreak havoc in the English Borders, then blame it on the Scots. These numbers are horrific; he has two or three hundred in his pay.”
Sir Richard Graham, one of the English officials, got to his feet. “Such an accusation is preposterous! Englishmen would not stoop to such vile atrocities.”
“ 'Tis strange ye should be the one tae deny it, Sir Richard; the English clan I speak of is Graham!”
A babble of voices filled the air. Though Douglas had not yet accused the Warden he spoke of by name, most men in the hall suspected that he referred to Thomas Dacre. Sir Lancelot Carleton banged his gavel on the table to restore order. “Lord Douglas, the accusation does seem preposterous. English Border Wardens are accountable to the Earl of Surrey, who gets his orders directly from the King of England.”
Douglas nodded to Carleton. “Precisely, Sir Lancelot; ye have just made my point!”
For a full ten minutes, pandemonium reigned, and it took another ten minutes to restore order in the hall. Douglas held up a hand. “Tomorrow I will name names and bring my witness, Sim Armstrong, who will testify tae all this. Tomorrow I will bring ye proof.” Ram knew that Armstrong would not testify, but no one else in the hall except Heath knew this. Douglas sat down, and Kennedy took the floor.
He was garbed in black from head to foot, and the men in the crowded hall craned their necks to get a look at the newcomer. Though more attractive than Douglas, no one doubted that here was another dark, dominant Borderer, cut from the same cloth. Heath raised his head proudly and stared at the officials who sat in judgment. “The name is Kennedy. On Dacre's orders, the Armstrongs raided Eskdale and lifted a dozen breeding mares from me. I took Dacre's son and held him for ransom. My breeding mares were restored and I turned Christopher Dacre over to his father. That should have been the end of the matter, but it was not. In retaliation a Kennedy merchant vessel, with its cargo of wool, was destroyed by fire while it was docked here in Carlisle. Then, only a few days ago, a massive raid was mounted in Kirkcudbright against my brother Donal Kennedy. Cattle and sheep were lifted, the sheds of wool set ablaze, and my brother Donal burned to death. Need I remind you that under Border law, reprisal raids are forbidden, and that Dacre controls the West March?”
Dacre was on his feet denying the accusation before Heath Kennedy stopped speaking. “These are filthy lies! My son was never taken for ransom by this Kennedy by-blow! The tales of stolen brood mares, fired ships, and Kirkcudbright raids are pure fabrication. He claims Armstrongs raided Eskdale; need I remind you they are Scots, not English, and that Douglas controls the Scottish West March?”
Lancelot Carleton jumped to the defense of the young man who was about to become his son-in-law. “Do you seriously expect us to believe that you held Christopher Dacre ransom for a few mares?”
“I grant you my mares were worth far more than a Dacre, but if you doubt that Dacre's son was my prisoner, I suggest you ask your own son, Heron Carleton.” Heath directed his next words to the three Scottish officials who sat in judgment. “I speak for my father, Rob Kennedy, Lord of Galloway. We ask compensation for livestock lifted and goods destroyed, and we ask that a charge of murder be laid against Lord Thomas Dacre.”
Silence blanketed the hall for one full minute before voices erupted in shouting and cursing. Grim-faced, Heath Kennedy, Ramsay Douglas, and all his men filed from Carlisle's great hall. Outside, Ram Douglas grunted with satisfaction. “We gave the whoreson a one-two punch in the gut. When I purposely didn't name him, Dacre knew I was blackmailin' him. Before the light fully fades from the sky, I wager we'll hear from him.”
Heath grimaced. “I never bet against a sure thing.”
It was just at twilight that a messenger came to the tents, asking for Ramsay Douglas. He carried no note, only a verbal message. He cast a wary glance at Heath Kennedy, and they knew he had been told not to speak in front of witnesses. When Heath stepped outside, the messenger said, “Lord Dacre awaits you, alone, my lord.”
As Ram Douglas entered Dacre's library, his confidence surged and he decided to up the amount of the bribe he would demand for withdrawing his charges. But Dacre had a surprise up his sleeve.
“Tell Kennedy that he will have to withdraw the charge of murder against me. His brother Donal is alive.” Dacre's smile was malicious; there were few men he hated more than Ram Douglas.
Ramsay's hope soared. Valentina would be joyous! His pewter-black eyes were hooded, however, his emotions hidden from view. “If ye took Donal Kennedy prisoner, it proves ye were raidin' in Kirkcudbright.”
“Not so. He was raiding across the Border in England and captured in the Debatable Land. A dozen Grahams will swear it.”
Ram was ready to negotiate. “I could be persuaded tae tell the court that my witness is unreliable and that I have no proof of the claim
s I made today, in exchange fer Donal Kennedy.”
Dacre smiled slowly. “I hold the whip hand, Douglas.”
Ram's dark, forbidding features looked chiseled from stone.
“Unless you tell the court tomorrow that you have no witness, nor proof of your rash claims, and unless you turn Armstrong over to me tonight, your wife's brother Donal will die.”
Ram's eyes bored into his enemy as he weighed the odds of knifing him on the spot. Dacre was a coward and would have guards waiting outside the door to kill him and kill his prisoner, Donal Kennedy. So it was a standoff. Douglas nodded once and turned on his heel.
Back in the tent, he gave Heath Kennedy the news. “Donal is alive; Dacre is holding him prisoner.”
“Thank God!”
“Don't thank him yet. I tried tae negotiate; I offered tae withdraw all claims and charges in exchange fer Donal. Dacre laughed in my face. Unless I agree tae tell the court I have no proof of my rash claims, and unless I turn Armstrong over tae him tonight, he threatens tae kill Donal. I believe he'll do it.”
“Then we have no choice … I'm sorry.”
“Nay, I have no problem withholdin' the proof that Dacre is payin' the Armstrongs and Grahams. The damage was done when I accused him; all now suspect it is the truth.”
Heath's thoughts raced about, seeking an answer to the dilemma. “Sim Armstrong is my prisoner. I'll turn him over to Dacre.”
Ram eyed Heath. “Don't do anythin' reckless. I was tempted, but managed tae curb my blazin' temper.”
Heath nodded curtly and went to Jock's tent, where Armstrong was being heavily guarded. “Come with me,” he told the prisoner, whose arms were trussed behind him.
Sim Armstrong looked terrified and ready to bolt. “Do ye want me tae come with ye?” Jock asked Kennedy.
Heath fingered the handle of his dagger in its sheath and shook his head. “Nay, I think Armstrong and I understand each other.”
It was full dark as the two figures made their way toward the castle. Kennedy walked behind Armstrong, and prodded him with his blade whenever his steps became reluctant. When they reached the shadow of the wall, Heath reached out and cut the rope that bound his prisoner. “Get the hell out of here,” he said low.
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