by Amanda Scott
Wat spied a would-be attacker darting toward him from the cottage and shifted position to meet him. But Len Gray stepped out of the building behind the chap and, in two long strides, grabbed him with one hand and slashed his throat with the other.
“Much obliged,” Wat said to him as Len let the man fall and the sounds of battle rapidly diminished. “Did you see Rutherford?”
“Jed has him trussed up in that old barn by now, sir. We hied ourselves down the hill as soon as we knew you understood that her ladyship was in danger.”
“Keep close to me, lass,” Wat said quietly to Molly. “This is nearly over.”
Molly could not see Wat’s face while his gaze shifted from the action in the yard to sweep over the nearest hills and back, so she could not imagine what he was thinking. Nor could she see what he was seeing, because his horse blocked her view. She had not considered before just how big the well-muscled bay was.
Wat still had his sword in hand, but he slipped his dirk into its sheath.
As his gaze swept again toward the hills, Molly heard a cry of rage that she recognized as Tuedy’s. Astonishingly, the big bay’s head ducked toward her just enough to let her see its bared teeth. Before she could react, its menacing head swung back swiftly and hard the other way as it reared, its front hooves lashing out.
She heard a grunt followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground.
The horse steadied, then tossed its head, whuffling, and stood quietly.
Darting forward far enough to see beyond the horse, Molly saw Tuedy lying in the dirt with Ned standing and Will kneeling by him, bloody dirks in hand.
Tuedy lay still.
“Is he dead?” Wat demanded as Ned wiped his dirk through the dry grass.
“He is now,” Will said, straightening and slipping his own dirk into its sheath.
Hearing Molly gasp, Wat said, “You didn’t have to kill him.”
Will’s gaze met his. “Aye, we did,” he said. “Otherwise, he’d ha’ stalked ye and plotted against ye until someone else killed him—or he killed you and our Molly.”
“Sakes, man, you chose him for her husband.”
Will shrugged. “I didna ken then that he were daft. She’s better off wi’ ye.”
“I don’t disagree with you,” Wat said. “But, as keen on the rule of law as Jamie Stewart is, I expect he’ll order a trial when he hears about this.”
“Then dinna tell him.”
“You know that I must. My father was an assistant march warden, Will. Until the King appoints someone new, as I hope he will, I’m obliged to act in his place.”
“D’ye mean to arrest us then?”
Feeling Molly’s anxious gaze on him, Wat said, “I do not, but I want your word as a Borderer that if Jamie does order a trial, you and Ned will present yourselves. If you do that,” he added hastily, seeing refusal leap to Will’s lips, “I will speak for you then.”
When Will hesitated, Molly stepped close to him and said urgently, “Agree to that, Will. You know that Wat’s word is good, and I know that yours is when you give it. And Ned will do whatever you say.”
Wat kept quiet but watched Will closely. The man looked at his own feet for a time and then looked straight at Molly. “I didna ken how mean Ring was, lass. I were thinking only o’ what your marriage to him would mean to us by way o’ keeping them contumacious Tuedys under control. But when ye snuggled up against me today in the midst of all the to-do, ye made me feel like a great gowkish fool for what I did. Do ye think ye’ll ever forgive me?”
“You are my brother, Will. Of course, I forgive you.”
“Good then,” he said, turning to Wat. “I give ye me word as a Borderer that if his grace wants me, I’ll go, and I’ll take Ned wi’ me. Will that suit ye?”
“It will, aye,” Wat said. “It may take me a while to warm up to you, though, after what you put my lady through.”
“Aye, but she’s yours now, withal. Ye should be thanking me.”
Shaking his head, Wat smiled and said, “Likely, you’re right about that.”
Molly had no time to speak privately with Wat, because Sym and Geordie approached them then, and Geordie said, “Do we bury Tuedy here, laird? Or d’ye want us to carry him home to his kinsmen?”
Will said, “Ned and I will see to the dead, Wat.”
Molly saw then that some of Wat’s men had prisoners, among which stood the false monk she had noticed earlier. “Walter, that man yonder killed Father Eamon and helped Tuedy abduct me. Tuedy k-killed poor Emma himself.”
Wat dismounted then, opened his arms, and she walked into them.
“Ah, lassie,” he murmured, tucking her head under his chin and stroking her hair. “Emma will be fine. She held her breath to make them think she was dead.”
Molly’s heart leaped, but she said, “Art sure, sir? There was so much blood!”
“Head wounds often bleed profusely,” he said. “Emma even managed to follow your trail for a time before the others arrived to help her. As for that chap yonder, he and the others will go to Melrose and face the hangman for all they have done.”
“Laird,” Geordie said. “Jed has Rutherford ready to travel when we are.”
“Then you and the lads can take him and these others to Melrose and present them to his grace with my compliments. I shall expect you to make our capture of the infamous reiver sound spectacular enough to win me a knighthood.”
“Aye, sure, laird,” Geordie said doubtfully. “Ye’ll no be going with us?”
Holding Molly so closely that she could hear his heart thumping, Wat said firmly, “Tell his grace for me that I shall see him anon and will present my lady wife to him then. But since Rutherford interrupted my wedding night, you may also tell his grace that I must finish what I’d begun before the interruption. Since Jamie is also married to the woman he loves, I warrant he’ll understand.”
“Sakes, laird, I canna tell him any o’ that,” Geordie protested.
“Then take Sym with you,” Wat said. “He’ll tell Jamie all of it.”
“I would, and I’d tell it well, too,” Sym said. “But Herself—”
“I’ll attend to Herself,” Wat said. “You go with Geordie. Leave Jed and Len Gray to see us back to the Hall but collect our other lads, their prisoners, and any other louts you find along the way. And, Sym, see that Rutherford does not escape before you present him and our other prisoners to Jamie. When that is all done, you may come home again.”
To Molly’s astonishment, Sym said, “Aye, m’lord. It shall be as ye wish.”
After seeing the others on their way, Wat helped Molly find her horse and mount it, and they set out for the Hall. Their two guardians followed them.
“You have scarcely said a word since we left that place,” she said after a time. “Art vexed with me, sir?”
“Nay,” Wat said, surprised. “How could I be? None of it was your fault.”
“I know it wasn’t my fault that the false monks fooled Father Eamon into believing my father would meet with me at the kirk or that those dreadful men killed him.” She hesitated, biting her lower lip.
“Then, what is it, lass?” Wat asked quietly. “Something is troubling you.”
“Only that when Lady Rosalie and Janet suggested that we ride outside the wall, I thought you might not like it. You had said I was not to go dashing out into the woods whilst you were away. And if we had not gone…”
“I see,” Wat said when she paused. “If you had not gone, Father Eamon and our two grooms would still be alive. Is that what you were thinking?”
“Aye,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Would they not?”
“Neither of us knows the answer to that, Molly. Likewise, neither of us killed them. Tuedy and the one you called a false monk did that, and they are dead, too. But we are alive, and when we get home, I’ll show you how alive I feel right now.”
Her beautiful eyes widened, and roses bloomed in her satin cheeks, but she did not comment.
“Do you recall what you said to me as I was leaving?” he asked softly.
She nodded, the roses in her cheeks darkening considerably.
He reached to lay a gentle hand on her knee. “Tell me,” he said.
“I told you to come home to me.”
“There was more to it than that, I think.”
He loved seeing her blush. Sakes, he knew now that he loved everything about her. Recalling that he had often felt as if his father could hear his thoughts, Wat hoped that Robert could hear them now and would know that he had selected exactly the right wife for him. Surely, heaven allowed such things, especially to the newly deceased whose kin had been unable to say good-bye.
She was still blushing.
“Molly?”
“Of course I remember what I said. I said I wanted to learn more, and I meant it. I still want that.”
“You said ‘much more,’ as I recall.”
“Recall it as you like, sir. I mean to have a bath when we get home.”
“I love hearing you call the Hall ‘home,’ sweetheart.”
“I love you,” she murmured so quietly that he nearly failed to hear her.
“Say that again,” he said. “Louder.”
She looked at him speculatively.
He grinned. “Say it.”
“Very well. I love you, Walter Scott. I missed you dreadfully and I wanted to feel your arms around me. But I still mean to have a bath when we get home.”
“Aye, sure,” he replied cheerfully. “I’ll wash you myself.”
Her mouth fell agape, and he chuckled.
Then his cock stirred and a craving unlike any he had felt before flamed through the rest of his body, making him wonder if she would get her bath.
Watching him, Molly wondered about that bath, too. Twice, they met men who had been searching for her, but no one delayed them for long. Wat simply told the curious that she was safe and to let other searchers know as much.
It was as well that naught detained them, Molly thought, because she was aching to get home and find out what he meant to do with her.
She had thought about him incessantly throughout her ordeal, and had often recalled the sense of safety he had given her. Just thinking of his quiet strength and soothing gentleness had calmed her then, making those traits seem most important. She had fled Henderland seeking shelter, after all, and Wat had provided it.
He had provided much more than that, too, in bed with her.
Now, riding safely beside him, she hungered for his touch and to feel his naked body against hers again. Even the brief pain he had caused her had promised something more. She could almost smell the spicy aroma of his skin and feel the hardness of his muscles and the possessive way he had held her. Just the thought of how easily he had stirred her senses made the heat flow through her again.
He said something then, diverting her thoughts, and they talked desultorily until they reached the Hall. She was astonished to discover how little time the journey took. She had thought that Tuedy had taken her miles and miles away.
At least one of the searchers must have raced ahead of them with the news, because the family was waiting when they entered the great hall. But, after hugs and greetings, Wat dealt summarily with them, too, and ushered her upstairs.
When Jed would have followed them, Wat told him to see to himself and continued up the stairway, only to meet another manservant at his door.
“Ye’re to take the master’s chambers now, laird,” the man said. “Your lady mother arranged it all whilst ye were awa’. She said it were only rightful that ye and your lady should ha’ the rooms. Also, Herself ordered bathwater for ye there as soon as we heard ye was coming. They’ve just took it up for ye, so it’ll be hot.”
“Bless them all,” Molly murmured as they turned away from the man. “The way you’ve been looking, I feared you wouldn’t give me time to get clean.”
“I might not,” he muttered back.
Stopping on the next step, she looked solemnly back at him. “Tuedy did me little harm,” she said. “But just being near him, and in that horrid room, made me feel unclean. I want a bath, sir, and I think I’d like you to wash me.”
“Then make haste up those stairs, sweetheart,” he said, grinning. “I’ll do my best to serve your every desire.”
He made good on that promise, not only scrubbing her clean but making her laugh in the process. Then he helped her dry herself, wrapped her in a robe that someone had left on the bed for her, and told her to get under the covers.
“But I want to wash you, too.”
“Next time you may,” he said. “But I can do it more quickly, and the water is rapidly chilling. Get warm now, so you can warm me up if I get cold.”
“Make haste, sir,” she said. “Your impatience is contagious.”
Minutes later, almost dry, Wat climbed into bed and drew her into his arms. Although he was aching for her again by then, he was still a man who preferred the long view over the short. He took his time, kissing and caressing her all over, determined to show her many more of the treats that her body, and his skill, had in store for her. Then he took some time to show her how she could pleasure him, too.
To his delight, she proved as eager to please him as he was to please her, a treat that he had not enjoyed before.
When she began moaning and arcing to meet his teasing hands and fingers, he spread her legs and eased his way into her. If she felt any pain, she showed no sign of it. Still, he compelled himself to be as gentle as he could until his own body began torturing him in its eagerness to claim her.
Then, nature took its course.
Afterward, gathering her into his arms again, he lay quietly for a time. She, too, was quiet until he said, “Art weary, sweetheart?”
“Nay, just savoring the taste and feel of you,” she murmured. “I feel so contented here with you, in a… a cozy way that I never expected to feel.”
“Ah, sweetheart, I love you, too,” he said, kissing her again.
“Is there much more to learn?” she asked hopefully.
“Much, much more, but not tonight,” he said, grinning but exhausted.
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Moonlight Raider. Readers who were not already acquainted with Lady Meg Scott before reading this book might like to read Border Wedding, the story of Meg and the first Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch and Rankilburn. The book and its two sequels, Border Lass and Border Moonlight, are still in print as I write this and are also available in electronic form, in most formats, from www.Amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com, as well as other sources.
Lady Margaret Cockburn did marry Walter Scott, Lord of Rankilburn. He became the second Sir Walter Scott and the first Lord of Rankilburn to style himself primarily Lord of Buccleuch, taking the name from the family’s first royal landgrant. The present Duke of Buccleuch and Queensbury is his descendant.
As I have mentioned before, there were many Walter Scotts. In fact, there was one in every other generation right down to my own grandfather, although our branch is not that of the famous author and poet. The Walter Scott of Moonlight Raider did capture the notorious reiver Gilbert Rutherford, and that feat did win him his knighthood (albeit not bestowed until the coronation of James II of Scotland).
During Walter Scott’s long lifetime, he acquired much more land than his father had and accomplished many fine deeds. He remained loyal to James I until his grace’s death, and eventually defeated the Douglases to become the most powerful lord of his time in the Scottish Borders. His efforts are often cited as the foundation for what is now Scotland’s most powerful dukedom.
Margaret Cockburn’s eldest brother, William, was an infamous reiver himself and had a son named Gilbert, although there is no evidence whatsoever that William was a cohort of the notorious Gilbert Rutherford. The author simply could not resist the coincidence of William’s younger son’s name. William also named one of his daughters Margaret, after his sister. William Cockburn and his brother
Edward were arrested for and convicted of “the slaughter of Roger (not Ringan) Tuedy” of Drumelzier, but both men were (well after the events portrayed here) pardoned for that crime. No reason for Roger Tuedy’s murder appears in the documentation, so creative license prevailed. I named my villain Ringan just to be fair to Roger.
My primary source for the Cockburns is House of Cockburn by Thomas H. Cockburn-Hood (Edinburgh, 1888).
Other sources include The Scotts of Buccleuch by William Fraser (Edinburgh, 1878), Upper Teviotdale and the Scotts of Buccleuch by J. Rutherford Oliver (Hawick, 1887), Steel Bonnets by George MacDonald Fraser (New York, 1972), The Border Reivers by Godfrey Watson (London, 1975), Border Raids and Reivers by Robert Borland (Dumfries, Thomas Fraser, date unknown), and others.
My primary source for Douglas history is A History of the House of Douglas, vol. I, by the Right Hon. Sir Herbert Maxwell (London, 1902). Another is The Black Douglases by Michael Brown (Scotland, 1998).
I extend a special thanks to Len Gray for the generous donation he made to the St. Andrews Society of Sacramento, which led me to create the character with his name in Moonlight Raider. I hope the result pleases Len and his wife, Nancy.
As always, I’d like to thank my long-suffering agents, Lucy Childs and Aaron Priest, my wonderful new editor Lauren Plude, master copyeditor Sean Devlin, Art Director Diane Luger and Elizabeth Turner (for Moonlight Raider’s terrific cover), Senior Managing Editor and stress-breaker Bob Castillo, Editorial Director Amy Pierpont, Vice President and Editor in Chief Beth de Guzman, and everyone else at Hachette Book Group’s Grand Central Publishing/Forever who contributed to this book.
If you enjoyed Moonlight Raider, please look for Devil’s Moon at your favorite bookstore and online March 31, 2015. Meantime, Suas Alba!
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