Moonlight Raider

by Amanda Scott

  “Why do you want me?” she asked bluntly.

  “Sakes, ye be the only woman I’ve met that I do want. There’s aye the land your da promised as your marriage portion, too. A man wi’ four brothers…” He shrugged.

  “But your marriage to me was unlawful, and mine to Walter Scott is legal. He has already… that is, we are truly man and wife. You and I are not.”

  He shook his head again. “If ye mean to say that ye’ve lain with him, I’ll no hold that against ye, though I’ll enjoy making ye a wee bit sorry for it when I claim ye for m’self. Ye’ll no be thinking o’ him after I’m done wi’ ye. I promise ye that.”

  “He will kill you,” she muttered.

  Tuedy laughed and said, “I’ll welcome him an he tries. Now, come and I’ll show ye where I mean to keep ye whilst I’m awa’.” His bruising grip on her arm reminded her that she would be wise to obey him until she escaped.

  Then, I vow, Ring Tuedy, if no one else kills you, I’ll do it myself.

  Wat and his men met Geordie and his lads soon after dark at the northwestern side of a vast, cleuch-ridden circuit of hills southeast of Denholm, cresting in the thousand-foot peak known as Black Law. Shortly afterward, two more of Geordie’s lads rejoined them, reporting that Rutherford was making camp on the south bank of a steep-sided, burn-fed cleuch descending eastward from the summit.

  Wat quickly gave his orders: “We’ll flank them, Geordie. We’ll send men ahead now in pairs to locate their watchers. Then you’ll take the north side of the cleuch, so keep your lads as quiet as mice in a mill as they near that encampment.”

  “Aye, laird, I ken what to do.”

  “I know you do. But wait until they’ve had their heads down for a time. Then come down into the cleuch on foot. The less noise we make the better, so await my signal before you ford that burn unless one of Rutherford’s men raises the alarm.”

  “And if one does?”

  “We’ll descend on them like banshee warriors,” Wat said with a grin. “But with luck, we’ll have them surrounded and helpless before anyone wakes up.”

  With only scattered starlight to guide them, he left Geordie and his men to find their way over the nearby hills and took his own men to skirt the wooded hills south of the peak. One- and two-man scouting parties cleared the way for both groups. Men and horses all moved in well-practiced silence.

  Topping the forested slope on the south side of the cleuch, Wat reined in well within the trees. Peering down into the deep valley below, he breathed a sigh of satisfaction. Even by cloudy starlight, his night vision was keen enough to make out shapes of men sleeping in a clearing on the south side of the burn, nearer the woods than the water, their horses grazing or dozing a short distance away.

  To Jed, he murmured, “We’ve taken out their watchers, but I doubt this lot has had their heads down longer than an hour, so some may yet be wakeful. The wee burn’s babble would aid us more had they slept closer to it, but Rutherford’s too canny for that. We’ll go afoot, though. I want to get close enough to surround them without waking them before we’re ready.”

  Giving the dismount signal to the rest of the men, he tethered his horse to a nearby branch. Then he and his men made their way cautiously down the hill.

  Jed murmured, “Their ponies be as used to keeping quiet as ours be, sir. I’m thinking I could slip down and move ’em right out o’ their reach.”

  “Nay, we’ll want those horses after we capture the men. We’re nobbut ten or twelve miles from Melrose, so we’ll take them straight to Jamie. If he’s left the abbey, we’ll deliver Rutherford to him wherever he’s gone.”

  Jed nodded, and they continued in silence.

  Wat noted that he could hear only an occasional soft rustle behind him. When he and Jed neared the clearing, he paused again, trying to discern movement beyond the burn. At first, he feared that Geordie’s men were not yet in position. Then he detected a moving shape on the ground, creeping toward the burn.

  To Jed, Wat whispered, “You have your horn, aye?”

  “Aye, sure,” Jed hissed back, his toothy grin barely visible.

  “Good, then pass the word back that when I raise my hand, the lads must creep close enough to form a line around the reivers, with their weapons ready. Once they’re in place, blow your horn.”

  Sword in hand now, Wat moved toward the reivers. He heard one softly snoring and counted sixteen men in a semicircle, its flat side facing the water.

  Unable to discern any of the sleeping men’s features in such darkness, Wat tried to imagine where their leader would most likely sleep. His own men having scoured the woods, he was sure that Rutherford must lie near his men.

  Wat raised his arm then. Ghostly figures crept up silently behind, beside, and beyond him, until his men and Geordie’s encircled the reivers. With swords and dirks drawn, they would easily prevent any escape to the woods or the water.

  Noting that Jed was back in place on his right, Wat nodded to him.

  Jed put the horn to his lips.

  Its clarion blast seemed almost to levitate the sleeping men, startling them all into scrambling for weapons.

  Pricking the man before him with his sword point, Wat shouted, “We surround you, and we’re twice your number. Leave your weapons on the ground!”

  A deeper voice roared, “Dinna heed the man! At them, lads!”

  But splashing and shouting from the burn drowned out his words to all save a few. Most of the reivers stayed where they were.

  Those who did not quickly learned their error.

  “That chap,” Wat muttered to Jed. The one standing alone amidst those others still sitting. I’m nearly certain he is the one who shouted.”

  “Aye, laird, me, too,” Jed said. “I’ll just ha’ a look.”

  With a smile, Wat watched Jed walk through a group of the raiders as Geordie’s men secured them and say casually, “I think ye dropped this, Gil.”

  When the man turned, saying, “What did ye find?” Jed deftly secured him.

  The difference between the two men in size was significant. As Wat watched them, he heard Geordie say with a chuckle, “I told ye he were a puny one, laird.”

  Their success in capturing the reiver was cheering, but Geordie’s next words were not. “One o’ me lads said he’d seen two riders coming down yon hill behind us, laird, afore we crossed the burn. When they saw us attack, he said they whipped round and vanished in the darkness. He and another lad chased ’em but didna find nowt.”

  Summoning Jed, Wat told him what Geordie’s men had seen, “Find out where they saw those riders, and see if you can find tracks enough to follow them.”

  “Aye, laird. Where will ye be if chance be that we can?”

  Wat said, “Right here, I expect. I don’t want to try moving this lot before the moon rises… and, with these clouds, likely not until dawn breaks.”

  Chapter 18

  Molly had no sense of what time it was because her current quarters had no window and thus no light. She was sure, though, that she had been there for hours.

  Too tired to think after Tuedy left her there, she had wrapped herself in her cloak and dozed but had no idea for how long. The only good thing about her situation was that Tuedy had not yet made good his threat to claim her for himself.

  Either he had not finished his supper or he had forgotten her. She heard frequent shouts of male laughter.

  At Henderland such laughter would mean that the men were drinking more than they were eating. If she was lucky, Tuedy would drink himself senseless.

  If not, she would be in more danger than ever.

  Although she wished she could make herself believe that he had forgotten her, she knew it was more likely that he just wanted to let her fear of him increase. Moreover, if she kept thinking about him, that was exactly what would happen.

  Knowing no more than that he had locked her in a windowless, pantrylike storage area, she decided to focus her thoughts on learning all she could about the place and
finding some sort of weapon.

  Her sense of touch told her that the walls were stone, likely up to the thatch, which was out of her reach. The floor was hard-packed dirt. The shelves, built of roughhewn boards, stood free and were wobbly enough to fall on her if she tried to climb them. The only possible weapon she found was a long-handled wooden spoon called a spurtle, customarily used to flip oatcakes or stir big pots of porridge.

  She couldn’t imagine Tuedy making porridge, but the thought made her wonder if a servant might come in by day when he stayed there. That tiny flame of hope died quickly though. If one did come, she could be sure that he, or even an unlikely she, would either be too fiercely loyal or too terrified of Tuedy to aid her.

  Feeling her way blindly around the small room, Molly discovered two loose stones in its walls. Both formed part of what she believed must be the outer wall, but when she tried to wriggle the first one loose, she could not.

  The door of the room had opened outward, and she had seen the slotted steel hasp and staple now holding it shut. After Tuedy locked her in, she had tried to move the door but could not budge it. She was also unlikely to dislodge whatever he’d inserted through the staple to keep the hasp in place. Nothing had even rattled.

  The second loose stone she found moved more easily than the first. It was no bigger than her two hands together, but she hoped that if she could wiggle it free, others would come out more easily. Testing that hope would at least fill her time.

  Tuedy had assured her that no rescue would come, and she believed him. But she had escaped him by herself before. With luck, she would do it again.

  The spurtle’s bowl was too large and its end too rounded to make it a useful tool for digging. But the tip of its handle fit into a crack between the loose stone and one next to it. Taking care not to break the handle, Molly scraped bits of rubble away, working by touch and smoothing the debris across the dirt floor.

  When she tired of digging, she searched from shelf to shelf, trying to guess what things were by their feel. The only useful items she found were a basket of apples and two candles, tallow ones by their noxious odor.

  It had not occurred to Tuedy to search her, other than to take her eating knife from its sheath on the leather girdle Janet had given her. So she still had her tinderbox and flint, her needle case, and her wee sewing scissors.

  As she went back to work, her thoughts jumped to Wat. Was he safe? Had he caught Rutherford? Did he know yet what had happened to her?

  Knowing that she was more likely on her own, she gave herself a mental shake and reminded herself that she was comfortable enough for the time being. Finding the candles had given her hope, although she could not imagine why it should.

  The thatch might burn, but as damp as it had been of late, it was unlikely, even if she could reach it. Stone walls would not burn. And, even if she could burn the wooden shelves or the door, a fire would just fill the room with smoke.

  However, if the darkness became too much to bear, or if she wanted to judge what progress she made with the stones, she could light a candle with her flint and the tinderbox. If the stirring of hope came only from that small fact, so be it.

  Deciding at last that Tuedy and the others must have fallen asleep, she lay down, covered herself with her cloak, and dozed again only to wake abruptly and in dread at the noise of male voices excitedly—nay, angrily—raised.

  She could not discern many words, and the ones she did hear told her nothing until she heard the name Rutherford. That voice was not Tuedy’s, nor did Molly recognize it. Getting up, she put an ear to the door, hoping to hear more.

  She heard Tuedy say, “Snirk, ye’ll go to Scott’s Hall, so saddle a pony. I’ll tell ye what to say after ye’ve done that. They’ll do nowt to harm ye or keep ye, so take young Jack if ye want him. Make haste, though. We’ve nae time to spare.”

  If the man, Snirk, responded, Molly did not hear him.

  “You lot,” Tuedy went on, “pack up what’s left from our supper to take with us. I’ll settle the lass in a twink, and then we’ll ride.”

  Hastily stepping away from the door and feeling her way back to her cloak, Molly lay down and shut her eyes, hoping Tuedy would not hear her fast-thumping heart. What had he meant by ‘settle the lass in a twink’?

  She heard metal scrape against metal as he released the hasp.

  The door swung open.

  Blinking, and trying to do so as one normally did when rudely awakened, Molly sat up and pushed her hair out of her eyes.

  Tuedy filled the doorway, the golden light of candles or cressets behind him making him look like a giant black shadow looming there. He held a large bundle under one arm and a jug in his free hand.

  “I’ve brung ye some oatcakes, a jug o’ water, and a pallet for the night, lass,” he said, dropping the bundle to the floor. “I’m leaving now, for I’ve business I must see to. Just use yon pail in the corner when ye need to relieve yourself.”

  “I heard the name Rutherford,” she said impulsively. “Do you know him?”

  “Aye, sure, everyone kens Gil Rutherford.”

  “But do you know him yourself?” she persisted. “I heard he’s the most successful raider in Scotland. Do you ride with him?”

  “Everyone goes a-raiding,” Tuedy said, reaching to set the jug on a shelf and extracting three oatcakes from inside his jack to set beside it.

  “Mercy, do my brothers ride, too?”

  “Ye must ken fine that they do. Gil Rutherford be the king o’ raiders, but your brother Will has a long reputation, too.”

  “I meant does he ride with Rutherford? Does Ned?”

  “Now ye’re asking too many questions. If ye want t’ ken what your brothers get up to, ask them.”

  “What about the Elliots?” she asked quietly. “Do any Elliots ride with him?”

  His lips tightened. “I told ye t’ shut your gob,” he said. “All ken fine that Elliots will go a-raiding with anyone. Why would ye ask such a daft question?”

  “Because that lassie you killed in the kirk today was Sym Elliot’s daughter, Emma,” she said, fighting back tears to eye him closely. “Since he is Lady Meg’s Sym, a thousand or more wrathful Elliots and Scotts may be hunting you by now.”

  To her shock and dismay, he just shrugged.

  “Do you want them after you?” Molly demanded.

  “Sakes, lass, by capturing ye, I’ve already invited the wrath o’ the Scotts. A host o’ Elliots willna trouble me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Wat Scott has more to lose. I ken fine that he only married ye to spite me, but he thinks ye’re his now, and he’s a man as would keep what he owns. He’ll soon be thinking o’ nowt save how to get ye back.”

  “He’ll succeed, too,” she said more curtly than she had intended.

  “Nay then, he won’t,” Tuedy said. “I’m no going t’ let ye go. Ye canna get out, and nae one will come to aid ye. I’ll be back afore sundown tomorrow, and if I find that ye’ve tried to escape, ye’ll no ha’ your sorrows to seek, I promise ye.”

  “What if you never come back? What if Wat kills you?”

  “Ye’d best hope he does nowt o’ the sort,” he retorted. “Me lads willna come here without me. And by the time me brothers come, ye’ll ha’ starved to death.”

  Wat awoke to a light touch on his shoulder. The sky was as dark as it had been when he’d shut his eyes. Only the hushing babble of the burn and someone’s uneven snoring disturbed the cleuch’s silence. Jed—his shadowy shape as identifiable to his master in darkness as by daylight—dropped to a knee beside him.

  “Did you learn where those men who ran away are headed?” Wat asked him.

  “Nay, laird,” he murmured grimly. “ ’Twas gey rocky, and torchlight didna help much. We ha’ visitors, though. Me da followed our signs.”

  Wat sat up quickly. “What’s amiss?”

  Jed was silent long enough to make the hairs on Wat’s neck stand up. “Has aught happened to Mam or Gram, w
hat?”

  Bluntly then, Jed said, “ ’Tis Lady Molly, laird. Someone’s taken her.”

  Wat started to speak, only to have the words stick hard in his throat. Pausing to swallow, fighting against clearing his throat lest he waken their captives, he said, “You say Sym brought the news?”

  “Aye, but he says ye’ll want to talk wi’ Len Gray. He’s brung him, too.”

  “Len Gray?”

  “Aye, laird. They be waiting amidst the trees up yonder.”

  “Show me.” Wat got up, grabbed his sword, and flung his cloak over his shoulders. The air was icy, and the chill that had struck him earlier lingered, making him feel even colder. Which of the men that Molly knew had taken her, and how?

  He and Jed moved swiftly but silently up to the tree line. From behind a large oak, Sym’s murmur drifted to Wat’s ears. “Here, laird.”

  Finding him, Wat said as quietly, “Who did it, and how, Sym?”

  “We ken fine who it was,” Sym said. “But it be best that Lady Rosalie’s Len tell ye what happened,” he added, gesturing toward the lean, dark shape beside him.

  Keeping his voice low, Len Gray said, “We rode out this morning, my lord, to visit Rankilburn Kirk and the motte nearby. The ladies Rosalie, Janet, and Molly went, as well as Sym’s Emma. We also took Lady Janet’s groom and two others.”

  “They were armed, aye?” Wat said, certain that Tam would have seen to it.

  “We all were,” Gray said. “Not that it mattered. We met your priest, Father Eamon, and two Cistercian monks near the wee bridge across the burn. The priest told us the Abbot of Melrose had persuaded Lady Molly’s father to let him arrange a meeting with her at Rankilburn Kirk. Father Abbot would be there to—”

  “Father Abbot would have conferred with me first,” Wat interjected with a frown, glancing at Sym. “Also, I doubt he’d send monks to fetch my lady to him.”