Upstairs, Raven wondered what was keeping Heath so long. She buried her nose in the sleeve of his bed robe to inhale his scent. She sighed with appreciation and moved restlessly to the window. When she saw men moving about the bailey with great purpose, she knew they were preparing to leave. She ran to the fireguard to feel her garments. They were still somewhat damp, but she asked herself what choice she had. She dressed quickly, tossed her disheveled hair back over her shoulders, and ran down to the hall. Her steps faltered as she saw Heath in conversation with a rough-looking, unkempt Borderer.
The unsavory devil looked up at her as she approached, and she recognized that it was the brute Heath had taken prisoner the day he had captured her and Chris Dacre near Bewcastle. She watched Heath give him a silver coin, and her eyes widened in amazement as the unpalatable devil winked at her, then scurried off like a rat.
Heath closed the distance between them and placed his hands on Raven's shoulders. “Sim brought us confirmation of the plot. He claims the royal party is to arrive at Hawick tonight under cover of dark. Cavers Castle is less than ten miles from England if they go through the Border Forest. Gavin and I are taking the Douglas moss-troopers to Hawick to lay in wait for them.”
“I'm coming too.”
“Raven, you are not coming. You will remain at Eskdale, where you will be safe.”
“Heath, I never want to be separated from you again!”
He pushed the black hair back from her cheek with a tender hand. “Sweetheart, those are the loveliest words I've ever heard, but you cannot come with me.”
“But you will need a woman,” she argued. “The little king is not yet three; he will be terrified by so many rough men.”
“We are not so many, Raven—little more than a score of moss-troopers—and God knows how many armed guards Archibald and Margaret will have with them.”
“You are Borderers, each worth three of any other fighting men!”
“You cannot get around me by flattery, Raven. If you want to help, you will remain here out of harm's way,” he said firmly.
She dug her hands into her hips. “Well, I won't stay here! The minute you leave, I shall follow you!”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. “If you do such a reckless thing, you will drive me to violence,” he threatened. “I will give your arse such a tanning, you won't be able to sit for a week nor ride for a month!” He turned her around, gave her a stinging slap across her buttocks, and pushed her toward the stairs. “You think that because I laid my heart at your feet and told you I loved you, you have me wrapped about your fingers. Well, I am not one of your falcons, Raven, and I will never wear jesses. A woman who won't obey is not worth having!”
Something inside Raven responded to the dominant male who stood resolute, issuing his orders, telling her what she could and could not do. She looked back over her shoulder and was about to beg him to take care of himself and come back to her safely.
“Get the hell up to the tower. If you want to be of use, you can wait for me in bed!”
Raven's temper exploded. She ran up the stairs and slammed the tower door. “You went too far that time, Heath bloody Kennedy!”
CHAPTER 28
When Ram Douglas arrived in Edinburgh, along with Jock, his second-in-command, and a score of Douglas mosstroopers, he went directly to Edinburgh Castle. There he found Lord Alexander Hume and Lord David Maxwell, who also had received letters from John Douglas, Duke of Albany, about his imminent arrival. Conspicuous by their absence, however, were Archibald, Margaret, and little King Jamie.
“Where is the royal court?” Ramsay asked Lord Hume in alarm.
Hume waved a negligent hand. “Margaret an' her English courtiers are soft; they prefer the comforts of Holyrood Palace.”
“I warrant they prefer by far the comforts of Westminster Palace!” Ram immediately dispatched Jock to ride to the bottom of the royal mile to see if King Jamie and the court were actually in residence at Holyrood. Then Ram proceeded to inform Maxwell and Hume about the suspected plot to deliver Scotland's child king into the hands of England's ruthless Henry Tudor.
“The Duke of Albany's ship was sighted this afternoon an' should be in Leith by mornin'. He will effectively crush any plot tae depose Scotland's rightful king. John Stewart makes no secret of the fact that he intends tae take over the regency. All in Scotland will support the late king's brother over English Margaret Tudor.”
“By the time Albany arrives tomorrow, little Jamie Stewart could have been spirited away and halfway tae England!” Ram warned.
When Jock arrived back at Edinburgh Castle and informed Ramsay that the royal court was not at Holyrood but was reportedly in residence at Craigmillar Castle, little more than five miles off, Hume was still not alarmed. Lord Maxwell, however, did not wish to face the Duke of Albany if the little bird had flown.
“I'm ridin' south,” Ram Douglas declared. “They've had a head start, but I know which castles Archibald will seek out.”
“I'm ridin' with ye,” Maxwell declared. “A passel of English courtiers should no' be difficult tae catch.”
It turned out to be more difficult than they imagined, however, for when they rode to Craigmillar, they learned that the royal court had departed three nights before.
Ram Douglas and David Maxwell rode hell-for-leather at the head of their moss-troopers, expecting to find the royal party at Crighton Castle, but when they arrived, they discovered their prey was long gone. While they took time to water their horses, Maxwell questioned Douglas about their route.
“The shortest route tae the Border is by way of Thirlstane Castle, then Roxborough Castle.”
“Ye're right, but Archie Douglas is being aided and abetted by Dacre. They will head straight for Hawick, and if they reach it, they will be safe. Dacre will pay the Armstrongs tae get them tae the English Border. Bewcastle is impregnable!”
“The only castle between here an' Hawick is Newark.”
Ram nodded grimly. “Newark is our last chance!”
* * *
At Eskdale, Raven stood at the high window of the tower to watch Heath Kennedy and the moss-troopers depart for Hawick. It was a thrilling spectacle of dark, powerful Borderers, armed to the teeth and mounted on their sturdy garrons. She could hear both their laughter and their curses as they turned their weather-beaten faces into the wind and rode from the bailey.
Raven waited a full half hour before she opened the wardrobe and took one of Heath's dark cloaks, then made her way to the stables. She ignored the young stableboys who had been left behind, and walked a direct path to Sully. When she saw him, a wave of guilt washed over her, and she knew she could not saddle him again when she had ridden him all night.
Instead she took her own saddle and put it on one of the Douglas garrons. A stableboy came forward to help her with the bit and bridle, and she rewarded him with a radiant smile. Then, wrapped in Heath's dark cloak, she mounted and rode from the bailey. She stayed far behind the men who rode ahead of her. It was still daylight and she had made this journey before up through the beautiful Teviot valley to Cavers Castle in Hawick. She was extremely cautious about the riders ahead of her, making sure they did not detect they were being followed. But Raven's purpose was so intent, she did not realize that she herself was being followed.
The unsavory male licked cracked lips as his shabby pony followed in the footsteps of the sturdy garron that carried the dark beauty. This woman was a coveted prize indeed. Two men hated each other and had become bitter enemies because of her. Each wanted her and would pay any price to keep her from the arms, and the bed, of the other. Sim Armstrong shook his head in disbelief, then he laughed at such folly, revealing black and broken teeth.
As he cautiously stalked her he amused himself by deciding which man would pay the most for her. It was an easy decision: Christopher Dacre had gold aplenty from an indulgent father. With grimy fingers, Armstrong fondled the length of rope he carried. He would never be without r
ope again. Nothing compared with rope for trussing up a prisoner, as he'd learned to his cost from Heath Kennedy. He pictured how helpless a woman would be if she were secured by a rope; there would be nothing a man couldn't do to her. Rope was indeed a wondrous weapon!
When Heath Kennedy, Gavin Douglas, and the mosstroopers rode into the bailey of Cavers Castle, the sun was starting to set. The tower castle was a Douglas holding with only a skeleton staff of retainers. Gavin spoke to the steward who came out to meet them, telling him that they were there to thwart an attempt to kidnap the young king and take him across the Border into England. He warned the steward that they could have a skirmish and a bloody fight on their hands and told him to keep the servants inside. The man waved them into the stables, then hurried back to the castle to see what food supplies he had on hand.
Heath saw that there were only two stalls that held horses. “The stable is near empty; this is a good place to conceal ourselves and our mounts. I think we should await them here.”
Gavin nodded. “They will ride right into the bailey, never expecting a surprise attack.”
The men tended their mounts, then made themselves comfortable in the straw-filled stalls. They left the doors open to provide light until dusk descended; though there were lanterns, they would not light them unless it became necessary.
Raven, filled with relief that she had arrived at Cavers without incident, rode into the deserted bailey. For the last hour she had been having second thoughts about the wisdom of following Heath when he had forbidden her to do so. She had been ready to obey him, until his infuriating male arrogance had goaded her. She glanced up at the lit windows of the tower castle, knowing she would have to do battle with Heath when he discovered that she was here. Still, it was a battle she would win, for she knew that he would never order her to ride back to Eskdale in the dark.
Totally unaware of what awaited her, Raven urged her mount through the doors of the stable. Immediately a dozen rough hands reached for her and dragged her from the saddle. Her cry of alarm froze in her throat as she lay on the floor and stared up at a circle of men who towered above her with their long daggers drawn.
“Raven! You willful little bitch! You could have gotten yourself killed a dozen times over!” Heath grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to her feet. “Are you alone?” he demanded.
In the face of his violent anger, she could not speak, she could only nod her head, but when she heard laughter she became painfully aware of how much her actions must be humiliating him before the other men.
“Come!” The terse order made her jump, and she imagined Heath did not trust himself to say more than one word to her. With her arm in a viselike grip he quick-marched her from the stables up to the castle. When she staggered on her legs, he swept her up in his arms with a foul curse and ran up the stone steps to the first floor of the tower castle. He deposited her on a wooden settle beside the fireplace and glared down at her. “Can you stay put?” he demanded.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to humiliate you,” she whispered.
“Humiliate?” he repeated with disbelief. His gut was still in a knot with fear of what he had almost done to her, and she was worried about humiliating him?
As she gazed up at him she saw that the blood had drained from his face, and she realized it was concern for her safety that had affected him so profoundly. He showed anger because he could not show fear. In that moment it was brought home to her how much he loved her. Raven reached up and kissed him. I love you, Heath! She watched the color come back into his face, and as his eyes searched hers she wondered if he was reading her mind. She watched his anger melt to mere exasperation.
“If you think a kiss exonerates you from punishment, you had better think again.” He removed her arms from around his neck. “I know I told you that you would come running after me, and that you would have to do the wooing, but not here, Raven, not now!”
The dark devil had a wicked sense of humor, but Raven did not dare show that she was amused. “I'll stay put,” she promised solemnly. After he left, she removed his cloak and laid it on the settle, then she went to find the steward. She found him in the kitchens, having an altercation with the cook, who was roasting a haunch of mutton on a spit.
“ 'Tis the King of Scotland we're expectin', ye daft clod. Kings don't eat lashings of mutton, they have refined palates. Don't ye recall when the royal courtiers came fer the weddin' they dined on pheasant an' peacock?”
“Aye, I recall. I also recall they brought their own fancy bloody chefs! I say if he's Scots, he'll eat mutton.”
“An' I say yer a daft prick!”
The cook presented the steward with his long fork and jerked his thumb at the haunch of meat. “Prick that!”
“Gentlemen,” Raven said, using the term loosely, “if you are preparing food for the little king, I think you have forgotten that Jamie Stewart is only two years old.”
They looked at her blankly, clearly requiring her guidance.
“He will need something to warm him, and soothe him, and help him to sleep,” she offered. “Whisky?” they asked in unison.
“I was thinking perhaps soup, laced with heavy cream.”
“Why didn't ye think of that?”
“Me?” The steward returned the fork. “Ye're the bloody cook!” He turned back to Raven. “May I get ye some wine, mistress?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She took the wine back to the settle and sipped it reflectively as she gazed into the fire.
In the stables the men settled to their vigil as full darkness descended. Outside, the bailey remained still and quiet as minutes lengthened into hours and crept toward midnight. The waiting was tedious, since they had no light and could not while away the hours with dice. Yet there was too much tension in the air for them to doze; they did not know the size of the royal party and could not afford to be caught unaware.
About an hour past midnight, they became aware of galloping hooves pounding the ground. Borderers were expert at gauging the size of their enemy by the sound of their horses, and every man in the stable knew the party that approached was a small one. Though they cautioned themselves that a larger force could be following, their confidence soared.
As the riders galloped into the courtyard and drew rein, the racket they made was considerable. It was clear that they were making no effort to approach quietly, for the four people who had ridden into the bailey made enough noise to raise the dead. Heath Kennedy, who had stationed himself by the stable door, saw that they were dismounting outside. He gave the signal, and the Douglas mosstroopers quickly surrounded the horses with weapons drawn.
The four made no effort to fight back or even defend themselves; instead they cried and pleaded and begged for succor. By the sound of their voices, Heath Kennedy realized their captives were female, or very young males. When they herded them into the stable and lit a lantern, it revealed a distraught Margaret Tudor, accompanied by one lady and two young grooms.
Margaret recognized Heath Kennedy. “Help me, help me, I pray you!” she cried desperately.
“Where is your son, and where is Archibald Douglas?” he demanded.
“Attacked! Attacked at Newark! Terrible fighting … bloodshed. It was Black Ram Douglas, my husband's own cousin!” she cried with disbelief.
“Get yer horses, we're ridin' tae Newark!” Gavin ordered.
Heath swung Margaret up in his arms and carried her to the castle; her terrified attendants followed meekly.
Upstairs, Raven, who had been close to falling asleep, was roused by the racket below in the bailey. With her heart in her throat, she jumped up from the settle and ran to the window. She could make out very little other than men swarming about and pale moonlight glinting off their drawn swords. The steward came running. “Summat's happenin',” he shouted. “Is it the king? Should I go down?”
Raven blinked at him. “No, no, I think you should remain in the castle. We'll know soon enough who it is.” She had the urge to go
down herself because of her fierce desire to be at Heath's side whenever he faced danger, yet she had little fear for him. She had complete faith in his ability to vanquish any foe. She went to the top of the stairs and peered down into the darkness, then suddenly, as if she had conjured him, Heath appeared carrying a woman.
As he reached the top step he said, “It's the queen.” He strode past her and sat Margaret down on the settle that Raven had vacated. Margaret moaned, then began to retch.
Raven's eyes sought Heath's. “Is she hurt?”
“No. She fled from Newark; she's had a hard ride. Will you look after her?”
“Of course,” Raven assured him. “Where is the child?”
“Ram Douglas caught up with them at Newark. We are off to join him in case he needs aid, but I warrant little Jamie Stewart is safe by now. I'll be back, Raven.”
She watched him go, then turned her attention to the woman before her. Margaret was deathly pale, and her brassy yellow hair hung in shags about her face. Her purple velvet cape had fallen open to reveal her belly, swollen with child, and Raven's heart turned over with pity as the queen vomited again upon the floor. Her woman stood by wringing her hands, and the two young grooms were busy warming themselves at the fire.
Raven sat down beside Margaret and took her hand. “I am going to the kitchen to get you something for your nausea. Try to close your eyes and rest.” She looked at the two young men. “You! Come with me.” Her order was so direct, they obeyed her.
The cook and another servant were in the kitchen. “Give these boys a bucket of water and some cloths. They have vomit to clean up, and the poor lady may not be done yet.” Raven addressed the cook. “What do you have for nausea?” When he shook his head helplessly, she took matters into her own hands and searched the kitchen and pantry herself. When she found a bunch of mint, she closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks.
The steward came into the kitchen. “What can I do?” he asked.
“I will need some dry biscuits and watered wine, if I can ever get the retching stopped.” She found a clean kitchen towel and dipped one end of it in warm water, then she returned to Margaret.
The Border Hostage Page 32