Return of the Border Warrior

by Blythe Gifford

‘Why didn’t he make you the warden?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want it.’ Did not want to be trapped here in this land he had left behind long ago.

  But the truth was that the king had never asked him to take the post. And for the first time, he wondered why.

  ‘It would have done your family good,’ she said. ‘Would have made us the most powerful family in the March.’

  ‘Go to sleep,’ he said, lying down again.

  But as he lay there, searching for stars behind the clouds, an unpleasant truth crept over him. He had cared for the king like a brother, protecting, teaching, treating the boy’s welfare as his own. Creating a family to replace the one that had left him behind.

  The king had not done the same.

  When John had left the court, the king was meeting with the bishops and Lords of Council. He didn’t need a big brother any more.

  So he had sent John back to this lawless, empty land, expecting complete loyalty, never showing the same. And the allegiance John had shown until now would be forgotten if Brunson men did not ride to join the king before the frost.

  * * *

  John must have drifted into sleep, but when he heard a whimper next to him, he woke immediately, ready to ask her what was wrong.

  Cate’s eyes were still closed.

  I had a bad dream, she had told him. Apparently, it was not the first.

  Asleep, she tossed from one side to the other, muttering words he could not hear. Then, she swung her arms, wildly, hitting him in the arm, then nearly missing his eye.

  ‘Cate! Wake up!’

  She sat bolt upright, still fighting frantically, breathing hard. He tried to soothe her without a touch, murmuring words of comfort in her ear, close enough to catch the scent of her, close enough to remember how she tasted...

  He had promised not to touch her, but, realising she was still gripped by her dream, he grabbed her wrists to keep her from hitting him or herself again.

  ‘No!’ Anguish touched her voice. In the dark, away from her haven, she must take him for an attacker. ‘No!’

  In a moment, her men towered over her, swords drawn, ready to use them against him.

  ‘She still sleeps,’ he said, letting go of her arms. ‘Cate! It’s John. You’re safe.’

  At the words, she collapsed, fighting to breathe, gulping air in a sound close to a sob. Then, she went stiff and still. ‘What did I say?’

  What was she afraid she would say? ‘Nothing. Your men are here. And so am I.’

  She looked up at her men, immediately sitting straight. Immediately Braw Cate. ‘You may go. It was just...a dream.’

  She waved them away and he nodded in agreement. They went back to their posts.

  The new day was threatening. To the east, a pale light showed through a tear in the grey clouds.

  Cate reached out, patting the earth, searching. ‘Where is Belde?’

  ‘We left him behind. Do you remember?’ He regretted that now. Seeing her reach for the beast was like seeing her reach for courage.

  Her only answer was a sigh. She stood then, and took a few steps away, as if knowing he had been too close.

  ‘Another bad dream?’ he asked, rising to follow her.

  ‘A dream,’ she whispered, turning away from him. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You cannot stop my dreams.’

  ‘Not just for that. I touched you, but only so you would not hurt yourself.’ He smiled in the direction of her back. ‘Or me.’

  A shrug. A mumble. He could not be sure what he heard. ‘What’s wrong, Cate?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She raised her head. The armour that made her Cate shielded her again. ‘Nothing is wrong. We’re riding on a fool’s journey to put my fate in the hands of a man neither of us knows. What could be wrong with that?’

  ‘You insisted on coming. Next time, stay at home.’ He wanted to grab her arm. He wanted to whirl her around and take her in his arms and kiss her and stroke her hair and tell her—

  She turned and took a step towards him, as if she had heard his thoughts and shared them. But instead of soft lips, he faced hard words. ‘Next time? So you have no faith in him, either.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ He had no other choice. ‘Now lie down and go back to sleep.’ He moved his pallet closer. ‘I’ll be right beside you.’

  He lay down and deliberately turned on his side, back to her, listening for her to lie down again.

  Instead, he heard only stillness. Finally, he sat up.

  She was still standing, wide awake, arms crossed, looking up into the hills as if watching for a band of Storwicks to sweep down on them.

  ‘Your men are near,’ he said, ‘if anyone comes.’

  ‘It was like this,’ she whispered, as if to herself. ‘The night they came. Damp and clouded, the smell of heather strong enough to choke you.’ She shivered. ‘I hate that smell.’

  The thought shook him as he realised he had been savouring that smell, hungry for the scent of home.

  And that he had associated it with her.

  She shuddered, looking suddenly small and frail.

  Over and over the same bad dream. Was it of her father’s death? Or something else? Something, for a woman, worse? Red anger boiled at the thought.

  ‘What happened that night, Cate?’

  Immediately, she armoured her eyes. ‘Willie Storwick and his men attacked us and killed my father and his men.’

  Yet the fear she carried, the fear she tried so desperately to hide, was personal, almost as if... ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘It isn’t enough for you to be so afraid.’

  She froze then, as if he had called her a coward. ‘That is all,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘And that is enough. I was only frightened in the dream and I only dreamed because I was outside and smelled the heather.’

  Braw Cate, the Cate she showed the world, was fearless. And who was he to know or judge how frightened she should be at the memory of a sudden raid and her father’s murder? Perhaps that was, indeed, enough.

  ‘Nothing will happen to you,’ he said finally.

  She turned, her smile sad. ‘Do you promise?’

  Promises, promises. One atop the next. ‘I want to,’ he said, surprised that it was true.

  ‘But you are too honest a man for that.’

  ‘I’ve promised not to touch you. I’ve sworn to bring Scarred Willie to the warden’s justice. I’ve promised to pursue him myself if he does not bring it about. Those are things I can promise because they are things I can do.’

  She picked up the thread. ‘But you can’t promise that nothing bad will ever happen to me because the world is wide, life is long, and God as capricious as the west wind.’

  She knelt beside him then, and put a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he felt the heat of it through the wool of his shirt.

  ‘Make me no more promises, Johnnie Brunson,’ she said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘For my heart will break when they do.’

  He reached to cover her hand with his, stopping just in time. So easy to break a promise. So hard to keep one.

  Her smile told him she was not surprised. Told him she had no faith he’d keep any of them.

  He drew his hand away. ‘Come. Sleep another hour. I’ll stay awake and watch for Storwicks.’

  She lay down again and, at last, he heard the even breath of sleep. And as he sat, awake, watching the sun rise behind Tarras Moss, he made another promise.

  That he would do all in his power to protect her.

  Chapter Eight

  Thomas Carwell, John was pleased to see, let them enter on the name of the king.

  But then, three men and a woman posed no threat to Carwell Castle, even from the inside. Surrounded by a moat, guarded by a looming gatehouse as large as the Brunson tower, it was grander than any he had seen except the king’s.

  The day’s ride had been long, but the land was flat and the trip easier than the day before. Carw
ell had greeted them hospitably and, as soon as they had been given rooms for the night, John insisted on a private meeting.

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ Cate whispered as they followed one of Carwell’s men through the darkening halls.

  ‘You don’t even know him,’ John answered, though he could not say he knew the man, either. Their paths had crossed at court, but only briefly.

  Carwell was a little older than Rob, but he had the smoothness of one who had spent time at court. Reason enough for Cate to doubt him.

  But as they entered his solar, the man’s narrowed eyes had the guarded look of suspicion. Carwell took John’s offered hand and they shook, clasping each other’s arms.

  He wondered whether the man meant it.

  ‘You say the king sent you,’ he began after offering them ale. ‘To do what?’

  Wary, then. As he should be. ‘He’s thrown off his guardian. It’s his personal rule now.’

  The man nodded. ‘We heard.’

  John struggled not to look surprised. Carwell, it seemed, still had connections at court who kept him informed.

  ‘And he wants peace in the Borders.’

  King’s man or no, Carwell’s lips twitched. ‘Does he now? And when does he plan to stretch out his hand from on high and make this happen?’

  ‘Now. And he’s expecting your help.’

  ‘And what does he expect me to do that I could not do last week or last month or last year?’

  ‘He’s expecting you to enforce the laws.’ John handed him the king’s proclamation. ‘He’s named you Warden of the March.’

  Carwell took it, eyes wide for a moment, but an unreadable expression quickly replaced the surprise. He unrolled the gilded signet letter until the king’s black seal dangled free at the bottom. A folded parchment fell on to the table. Breaking the seal, Carwell leaned close to his candle to read.

  Somewhere beyond the window, in the dark, waves broke on the shore, as tireless as the wind sweeping across the hills.

  Finally, Carwell leaned away from the candle. Shadows disguised any emotion in his eyes.

  ‘What was the other message?’ John asked. The king had told him of nothing but the appointment.

  Carwell waved his hand. ‘Personal congratulations.’ He sighed. ‘Would that my father had lived to see the wardenship rightfully returned to our family.’

  ‘A Carwell may have been warden in the past,’ Cate said, as if she, too, wore the king’s badge, ‘but what is returned must also be earned.’

  This was why she had come, John thought. He would let her have her say.

  Carwell raised his brows and looked at her. ‘You’re to tell me how I must earn it?’

  A sceptical tone, John noted, but not a disdainful one.

  Cate was quick to answer. ‘You must hang Scarred Willie Storwick.’

  ‘Must I now?’ he answered. He did not smile when he said it. ‘The man has enemies from here to Jedburgh. What is your complaint?’

  John felt her tense beside him. For a moment, he was not sure she would be able to speak.

  ‘Murder,’ she said finally. ‘He murdered my father.’

  So they told him of the raid, the escape and of the previous warden’s refusal to act. And when they had finished, the new Warden of the March nodded. ‘I’ll send word to the English Warden tomorrow. Storwick will appear at the next Truce Day to answer for his crimes.’

  Cate relaxed into a smile, the first he’d seen since they left home.

  ‘It must be soon,’ John said. ‘No more than a fortnight.’

  Carwell crossed his arms. ‘I see that the two of you will be doing the warden’s job without any help from me.’

  Johnnie smiled to soften his tone. ‘It must be settled before we send Brunson men to join the king.’

  Because I promised Cate. That, he would not share.

  ‘He asks for mine as well,’ Carwell said, nodding towards the king’s letter. ‘They’ll escort you home, then ride on to meet the king.’

  ‘Without you?’ Even a warden would be expected to answer the king’s summons.

  He waved the ‘personal’ note. ‘The king asks that I deal with some administrative matters here.’

  Yes, Carwell, too, was a king’s man, but as he and Cate left the chamber, John wondered whether their interests truly converged.

  * * *

  Home again, after Belde sniffed both of them to discover where they had been and with whom, John and Cate gathered in the hall to give Rob and Bessie their report.

  ‘So it is settled,’ John said. ‘Storwick will be punished.’

  And John’s promise kept. He looked to Cate for confirmation.

  She shrugged. ‘He’ll be summoned. He must still appear.’

  John swallowed. That, he could not promise.

  Rob’s scowl reflected Cate’s doubt, but his tone was surprisingly jovial. ‘So we have a fortnight until Truce Day.’

  ‘Aye. He and the English Warden will agree on the date and then the families will be notified.’

  ‘Then we’ll ride the day after tomorrow.’

  An unpleasant prickle touched the back of John’s neck. ‘Ride where?’

  ‘On a little jaunt over the mountains,’ he said with a smile.

  If this was what it took to make Black Rob smile, John would prefer that he sulk. ‘You said you would wait for the warden to act.’

  ‘I said I would let him punish Scarred Willie,’ he answered. ‘Our little foray has nothing to do with him, although it might involve some Storwick cattle.’ Rob’s smile dissolved into a grim, determined set of his lips. ‘Yes, in just a few days, the moon will be new, the sky fair and the wind at our backs on the trip home.’

  Peace on the Borders, he had told Carwell. Now the Brunsons the first to break it. ‘You say you must steal or starve, but there’s no shortage in the larder today.’ John looked at Bessie. ‘Is there?’

  She sighed. ‘Winter is long,’ she said finally. ‘If there’s no shortage today, there will be tomorrow.’

  John slammed his fist against his palm in frustration. A man with much to prove. That was Rob, now, eager to mount his first raid. The one that would mark his assumption of the title head man.

  ‘Join us, Johnnie,’ Rob said, his voice suddenly alive and urgent. ‘Ride with us.’

  And his first thought was yes.

  Join us, Johnnie. Sweet words he had waited too many years to hear. Was Bessie right? Did Rob want him to stay?

  They all watched him, silent, waiting.

  He shook his head. The king wanted more than men. He wanted allegiance to the crown, not to family feuds. ‘I’ll be no party to it. It’s Scarred Willie I promised to punish. Not his family’s cows.’

  ‘What hurts the Storwicks hurts Willie,’ Rob answered.

  What hurts the Brunsons hurts you, he might have said.

  But he was not a Brunson. Not in the way Rob meant.

  Cate, who had been silent, rose. ‘I must see to my pony before we ride. His leg was scratched as we came across the hill.’

  ‘You’re not going,’ John said, as if he had the right, angry that she would put herself in the path of fear and danger again.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said. ‘And you’re not the one to say me nay.’

  Had she learned nothing from the trip she had just made? ‘You want revenge against anyone named Storwick, don’t you? Whether it gets you closer to Scarred Willie or not.’

  She turned away, not answering. As if she did not expect that he would keep his word and had taken vengeance back upon herself.

  ‘She can ride if she wants,’ Rob said. ‘The decision is hers.’

  But you haven’t seen her, he wanted to shout. You don’t know how frightened she will be. She won’t let you know.

  But he knew.

  ‘If you won’t come with us, Johnnie, can I trust you to keep the tower safe?’

  He didn’t look at his brother. It was not the tower he wanted to keep safe. It was Cate. ‘If she
goes, so will I.’

  Wordless silence as Rob, Bessie and Cate all looked at him. He tried to read Cate’s eyes. Confusion creased her brow.

  Was she glad of him? Or did she care at all?

  ‘And anger your wee king?’ Cate said finally.

  ‘When Rob first rode, he was younger than the king is now, so I’ll hear no more about his age.’ Yet Johnnie had never ridden. Not to this day. It was one more way in which he was no Brunson.

  Perhaps it was time. Perhaps if he understood it, it would be easier to stop. ‘I will go with you to steal a few cattle,’ he said with grim determination, ‘and to keep you from doing worse.’

  To keep worse from happening to Cate.

  Rob nodded slowly. ‘Welcome, then, Johnnie, but there’s a lesson you may learn when you ride with us. On a raid, you don’t always have a choice.’

  * * *

  John followed Cate out of the hall and down the stairs, intending to talk to her, to change her mind, but she stayed ahead of him until they reached the courtyard.

  He resisted the urge to grab her shoulder. Instead, he lengthened his strides until he walked beside her. ‘I’m going with them. Now you don’t have to.’

  She did not stop walking and he kept pace as she strode through the gate and beyond the wall. ‘My vengeance doesn’t belong to you.’

  ‘It does now.’

  She shook her head, doubtful.

  ‘I gave you my word that Scarred Willie would be brought to justice. I won’t let you kill him first.’

  She smothered a smile.

  ‘And neither,’ he continued, ‘will I let him kill you.’

  Her smile disappeared. The set of her lips was grim. ‘If that’s why you are coming, you can stay at home.’

  It was. No need to say it. But something else niggled at him. A tremble of her chin. Eyes too defiant. Something that said—

  ‘You’ve never ridden a raid before.’

  She reached down to stroke the dog, a sure sign she was nervous. ‘Neither have you.’

  ‘You still don’t trust me, do you?’ Even she gave him none of the credence she would give another Brunson. ‘You don’t think I will keep my word. You think you must do it yourself.’

  She stopped walking, then, and turned to face him. They had reached the grove near the stream, the same place where he had watched her train the dog. The