by Border Lass
“Somehow I don’t imagine you throwing things at him,” Sibylla said dryly.
Despite the turn her thoughts had taken, Amalie could not help smiling. “No, I don’t throw things, but I did hit him once.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did so.”
“Dare I ask what he did?”
“You may ask,” Amalie said, gathering her dignity. “I shan’t tell you.”
Sibylla grinned. “I don’t blame you. Is he still having nightmares?”
“Mercy, I never told you he’d had one. And he certainly did not tell you.”
Sibylla’s grin faded. She said seriously, “You may not admit it, and he did not, but I could tell that one morning that he’d had one. Has he endured others?”
“Everyone has nightmares sometimes.”
Sibylla remained silent, reminding Amalie of Wat Scott by giving her the same feeling Wat did of a willingness to wait all day if necessary. Still, she would not tell her about Garth’s first nightmare, about Will’s death. With a wry smile, she said, “He dreams of webs. Last night, he saw me on a cliff and could not keep me from falling off. Doubtless he will recall that when he learns about our trip today.”
“Webs?”
“Aye,” Amalie said with a sigh. “Sithee, he does not like feeling bound.”
Sibylla’s eyebrows rose. “Faith, is he one who thinks marriage binds a man?”
“He did tell me once that families do bind men. But he seems content enough. Should we not ride faster?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Nay, for ’tis a warm day and we’ve a good distance to travel—four or five hours at least, even if naught goes amiss.”
“How do you know? Have you ridden to Elishaw before?”
“No, I just like to collect facts. One never knows when they’ll be useful.”
“Aye, well,” Amalie said. “Simon and Fife will have taken the Kelso road, so I was going to follow them, because with such a large group, they will be remarked wherever they go.”
“An excellent plan,” Sibylla agreed. “I was concerned about how long it would take us, because the moon will doubtless hide itself again tonight. It is even now drifting to the horizon. The sky is clear, though, so if something does delay us, we should still be able to see the road by starlight.”
Amalie frowned. “We won’t, though, because for the last few miles or so we pass through Wauchope Forest. It is not as dense as Ettrick Forest is, but starlight by itself won’t serve us well there.”
“Then we must take care not to meet with any delay,” Sibylla said.
Amalie sent a prayer aloft then that they would reach Elishaw safely and that Garth would not murder them both for going there.
Garth and his men kept up a steady if not rapid pace and passed Dryburgh Abbey soon after midday. They stopped half an hour later to eat and rest their horses in shade by the frothy waters of a tumbling burn above Longnewton village.
After three more hours of riding, they reached the ancient town of Hawick on a high, narrow ridge of land in the angle formed by the confluence of the river Teviot and Slitrig Water. The sharp angle between the two and the steep banks of both being admirably suited for security and defense, the town had served for many years as a stronghold for Borderers in general and Douglases in particular.
To Garth’s surprise, as they approached from below the stockade entrance at the town’s southwest end, the only direction from which one could enter, he saw no sign that Archie and his army of Douglases had arrived.
Riding up the hill toward the open stockade gate, they commanded a panoramic view of approaches from the south and saw no sign of the Douglas or his usual large contingent. Knowing that Tam would wait for him at the Douglases’ Black Tower just inside the gate, Garth urged his horse to a faster pace.
When he reached the tower, instead of Tam’s huge, easily recognizable form pacing back and forth in front of it, he saw the equally recognizable, redheaded, and much smaller Sym Elliot.
The boy saw him at the same time and dashed toward him as Garth reined in and said, “Any word yet from the Douglas, lad?”
“Aye, he waited for some other Douglases to catch up wi’ him in Langholm,” Sym answered. “But he’ll be here afore dark, his man said. Tam be gone, too, Sir Garth,” he added hastily. “But he left me here to tell ye.”
“Did he go to meet Archie?”
“Nay, he went afore the Douglas’s man came to say he’d been delayed.”
“Then—”
“Sakes, I’m a-trying to tell ye!” Sym said. “There’s been murder done!”
“Murder?”
“Aye, sir, a farmer from somewheres up near the abbey did send for the monks there, ’cause this morning he found three dead men in one o’ his fields.”
“Very grim, I’m sure, but what has it to do with us?”
Sym grimaced. “I’m no telling it the way the monk did. One o’ them was no dead yet, and he did say he came from Elishaw. Sithee, that be the lady Am—”
“I know that Elishaw is the lady Amalie’s home, lad,” Garth said. He recalled with a chill that Tom Murray had sent two of his men back to Elishaw to warn them that he would be bringing Lady Murray with him when he returned from Scott’s Hall. So he had taken just two men with him to Scott’s Hall. “What else?”
“He said four men had attacked them, and gey well armed they were, wi’ swords and dirks. They didna want nowt, he said. They just cut them down.”
“Anything more?”
“Aye,” Sym said, grimacing. “He recognized one from Sweethope Hill. He didna ken the name, sir, but he said he’d strutted about as if he owned the place.”
Garth could easily picture Boyd from the description but knew that would be useless as evidence against him. Boyd’s supposed trip to Kelso would be easy to disprove if he had not gone, and thus be more useful. However, Boyd’s following and attacking Tom Murray, if that was what he had done, made no sense to him.
“Is that all?” he asked Sym.
“Aye, sir. Only except that Tam rode to the Hall to tell Himself, ’cause we knew, if Tom Murray never went there, no one at the Hall would ken that Sir Iagan be dead as well. D’ye think mayhap someone murdered him, too?”
“Tom Murray said his father died in a fall from a horse,” Garth told him.
“Aye, sure, but Tom Murray doesna always tell the truth,” Sym said with a look so black that Garth was tempted to ask what else Tom had done.
Deciding to ask Amalie first, in case Tom’s previous untruths had also concerned her, he said instead, “How long ago did Tam leave?”
Sym glanced at the sun. “Two hours, mayhap less. He’ll be getting near the Hall by now, sir. It be nobbut eleven miles, and he’ll no ha’ wasted his time.”
“Why did the monk come here to tell you?”
“We told them when we stopped to get summat to eat at the abbey earlier that we’d be going to Hawick. Also, sithee, the dead men did say they was bound for the Hall. What be ye going to do, Sir Garth?”
Garth had been wondering that himself. That Tom Murray was dead did not stir much sympathy in him for Tom Murray, but he had a feeling the man’s death was going to be a sharp blow for Amalie. Still, she was safe enough now at Sweethope Hill, and he’d be riding back himself as soon as he reported to Archie.
He had more to tell him now, but none of it answered the questions that had begun his search. He knew nothing new about James Douglas’s death other than that Isabel’s conviction was even stronger than Archie had led him to believe. As for Will’s murder, although he knew the killer’s name, the culprit still eluded him.
To Sym, he said, “Tam should be back before nightfall then. He would not expect you to return to the Hall alone.”
Sym shrugged. “I’ve done it oft enow, sir. But he did say he’d be back as quick as he could. He didna ken if Himself would be joining the Douglas or no, sithee, on account o’ the wee bairn coming. But Himself will come now, any
road.”
“Why is that?”
“ ’Cause he swore to Sir Iagan Murray when he wed our lady Meg that he’d aid the Murrays whenever they ha’ need o’ him. And if they dinna need him now, I’m thinking, they never will.”
Garth was not as certain that Wat would see Tom’s death, or even Sir Iagan’s, as cause enough to leave his wife on the point of delivering their child. But he did think Wat would ride to Hawick to see Archie. Another thought occurred to him. “Will he not escort Lady Murray home and attend her husband’s burial?”
Sym’s eyes twinkled. “Himself doesna hold wi’ plodding all day to ride only twenty-five miles. But he may tell Tam to see to it, though,” he added, frowning. “And, sithee, they may come this way, too, ’cause the Hawick road be better for her litter than the track we use to Elishaw, through the hills north o’ Hermitage.”
“Elishaw lies southeast of here, does it not?” Garth said.
“It does, aye. From here, I’m thinking it must be about ten miles. Ye’d take the Hobkirk road, then cut down through the hills into the forest.”
“Wauchope Forest?”
“Aye. Were ye thinking o’ going there yourself?”
Garth grimaced. Impulse and instinct both urged him to go, to confront Boyd and see what he could learn from the man. However, Boyd was with Fife, not to mention Fife’s large contingent of men-at-arms and Simon of Elishaw. Simon had his own men at the castle and would doubtless bar the gates to him.
In any event, he had to wait for Archie and for Wat, if Wat was coming. And Tam would expect him to be there if he did return by nightfall.
“I’ll wait for the others,” he said. “Mayhap you can show me where the Douglas will set up his encampment.”
“Aye, sure,” Sym said. “He’s been here afore, sithee.”
“You seem to know much for a lad your age.”
Sym shrugged. “I used to follow me brother and his lads sometimes when they went a-reiving. It be good, I think, for a man to ken the land around him.”
“I think so, too,” Garth said, remembering his own rambles as a lad. He had known every inch of land for miles around Westruther.
Wishing he knew the land around Hawick as well, he resigned himself to patience and settled down to wait with Sym for Archie, Wat, or Tam to arrive.
The first rider to come seeking him, however, came from Sweethope Hill.
Amalie and Sibylla reached the outskirts of Wauchope Forest while the sun was still some distance above the western horizon. Both were weary from the long ride, and Amalie suspected their horses were weary, too. But they were Border bred and strong. They would carry them all the way without difficulty.
“Is there a track through the forest?” Sibylla asked as they entered the woodland, following what appeared to be a faint deer trail.
“Not from here, but I know this area,” Amalie said. “We are about two or three miles from Elishaw. See those two craggy peaks yonder through the trees?” she asked, pointing. “If we head right between them, we’ll soon come to the castle.”
Looking toward the sun, Sibylla eyed its position skeptically. “I hope you know what you are doing. After sunset, we’ll have less than an hour of light—less than that in these woods. Faith, what if they won’t let us in?”
Amalie made a wry face. “I’m more worried that Simon will let us in and that then . . .” She shrugged, not wanting to put into words any of the unpleasant images that had been teasing her mind for the past few miles.
“What will you tell him?”
“I haven’t a notion,” she admitted. “Much depends on our reception. I’ll wager that Fife will be nice at first, even charming. We’ve both seen him act so.”
“Aye, we have,” Sibylla said. “But his charm is wayward, and he currently has no reason to treat us well.”
“He has no cause to treat you badly,” Amalie said. “Or does he?”
“Nay, I’ve not crossed him—that he knows of—unless he decides I have just by accompanying you today. But if you are right about his intent, he will find us very much in the way. And when people get in his way . . .”
“Sakes, he cannot murder a whole castleful of witnesses,” Amalie protested. “I just want to keep him from murdering Simon and taking Elishaw. He has done as much, after all, when he wanted other estates—or so people say.”
“He cannot gain Elishaw just by murdering Simon,” Sibylla said dryly. “You have two adult brothers, after all, and doubtless other close male kinsmen.”
“Aye, although I’d as lief keep Fife from murdering Tom, too,” Amalie muttered, thinking of a time when she’d happily have done that herself. “Moreover, many of our close kinsmen are English Percies, which may not count in Scotland.”
“It would likely be a Murray, aye, who would inherit Elishaw,” Sibylla said.
Conversation languished then, because Amalie fell prey to her own thoughts and Sibylla remained silent. By the time Elishaw’s walls and tower hove into view, Amalie had begun to feel utterly inadequate to the task she had set herself.
Simon might just lock her in her old bedchamber and refuse to listen to a word she said to him. But what, a disturbing demon in her mind whispered, if he treated her as Garth had after she had hit him?
Instead of increasing her depression, the image of Garth grew larger and steadied her until she decided she could deal with ten Simons.
Garth recognized the rider as one of Sweethope’s stable lads but thought idly that Isabel must have sent a message for him to relay to Douglas.
“You must have left soon after we did,” he said as the lad flung himself from the saddle and threw his reins to the waiting Sym.
“Ye’d been gone a good two hours by then, sir, but the lady Sibylla said I ought to catch ye well afore nightfall, and so I have. It be a gey good thing ye told folks which way ye’d be coming.”
Garth frowned as a prickle of unease stirred. “What was the hurry?”
“The lady Amalie, sir . . .” He hesitated, doubtless, Garth thought grimly, because his own fierce frown put the lad off whatever he’d been about to say.
Or because the lad feared the news would put him in a flaming temper.
“Tell ’im, ye dafty,” Sym said sharply, although the other lad was years older than he was. “What be amiss then?”
Garth bit his lip, both to keep from speaking even more sharply and to avoid smiling at Sym’s taking charge as naturally as one who did so all the time.
The messenger said, “Lady Sibylla said to tell ye the lady Amalie be riding to Elishaw, Sir Garth. She said ye’d want to know as soon as I could tell ye.”
Suppressing a chill of fear, he said evenly, “She was right, but surely she was mistaken about the lady Amalie, lad. She would not ride such a distance by herself. And to what purpose?”
“I dinna ken her purpose,” the lad said. “But the lady Sibylla did say to tell ye that she’d be going with her, and taking two lads from the stable, as well.”
“What the devil was she thinking to let her leave?” Garth demanded.
The lad’s eyes widened. “I dinna ken that neither, sir. She told me what to do afore she joined the lady Amalie in the yard.”
Garth pressed his lips together, unable to express his immediate thoughts either to the stable lad or to Sym Elliot.
Sym was under no such restraint. “Take yourself off now,” he said. “Ye can tell them lads yonder to give ye summat to eat if ye’re hungry. But go on to them afore ye say summat here to set the man right off.”
As Garth got to his feet, he realized that Sym sounded exactly as Wat Scott did when he was fast losing patience.
“Where be ye a-going, sir?” Sym asked as if he already knew.
“I’m going to take my men and ride to Elishaw,” Garth said. “You tell the Douglas I had pressing business and ask him to join me there as soon as he can. If Buccleuch comes, tell him the same.”
“Aye, well, he’ll follow straightaway, Himself will, being he�
��s promised. The lady Amalie counts as a Murray, as much as any. My lady Meg would surely say so. But ye shouldna leave me to take your words to the Douglas. He’d heed one o’ them men-at-arms o’ yours afore he’d listen to me.”
“He’ll listen to you,” Garth said firmly. “And I’ll need my men.”
“Likely, ye’re right,” Sym said, giving the men a black look. “But do any o’ them ken the forest? Sithee, sir, it be full o’ bracken, scrub, and treacherous bogs. Them lads dinna look like Wauchope lads to me.”
“They are not. Do you mean to say you know the forest well enough to guide me and my men safely through it to Elishaw?”
“Aye, sure, and do it even in the dark o’ night as I’ll have to by the look o’ things,” Sym said confidently. “Sakes, but I have done it in the dark! However, ye’d best be sending one o’ them others to meet the Douglas, and yet another to meet Himself and Tam, because I canna be in two places at once,” he added.
Garth eyed him sternly. “You make a good argument, my lad, but you’d do well to mind your tongue unless you are burning to set me right off.”
“Aye, well, I’ll mind it then. At least ye listen to a man.”
Garth summoned his men and gave them their orders. Then, noticing the lad from Sweethope, whose presence had slipped his mind, he told him to wait until the Douglas or Buccleuch arrived to give him further instructions.
“Tell them I said you should rest here in Hawick and ride back tomorrow.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I could ride with ye, sir. I’m no so tired as that.”
“I thank you, but no,” Garth said. Having one youngster along was more than he wanted, but Sym’s argument was persuasive. It would do them no good to have to flounder their way through the forest.
“What’ll ye do when we get there?” Sym asked as they rode down the hill from Hawick.
“I haven’t a notion yet,” Garth admitted.
“Aye, well, ye’ll think o’ summat afore then,” Sym said. “Or I will.”
Murray men-at-arms that manned the tall, sturdy gates at Elishaw opened them when Amalie shouted her name. If they looked stunned to see two unexpected women ride into the bailey, escorted only by grooms, they did not question them.