Behind and around him were his men; I saw twenty, young and lithe like himself. With the nine-foot long Border lance and with swords and dags, the heavy pistol, at their saddles they looked a handy bunch.
'You are not the Yorling,' Old Martin said loudly. 'You're nothing but a cub!'
'A cub from the lair of a wolf,' the Yorling said cheerfully. 'Open up now before we storm the tower.'
I heard my mother tut in exasperation. 'Be off with you,' she said, and reached for the bow that leaned against the beacon.
'That must be the son of the Yorling,' Old Martin was always good at explaining the obvious for the sake of those of lesser intelligence than himself.
'He will be a dead son in a second,' Mother pulled back the bowstring with as much dexterity as any Ettrick archer. She marked her target and loosed with a single flowing movement and the arrow sped on its way. The dark prevented me from watching its progress. Now, I can ask this without any hope of an answer: why did I hope that the arrow missed its target? This Yorling was threatening Cardrona Tower, our home.
I did not have to hope for long, as the Yorling moved sideways in his saddle so the arrow hissed past to bury itself in the ground behind his horse.
'Ha!' His voice mocked us as he pulled his horse so it pranced on its hind legs. 'If that is your answer then Cardrona is ours!'
I do not know what would have happened next for at that moment Father arrived. I heard his shouting before I saw him.
'A Tweedie! A Tweedie!' And then father led all the men of Lethan in a mad charge into the body of the reivers. I watched in rising excitement as Father rode straight into them, as he had so often told us he had done at Langside battle when he was a young man. I had never quite believed his tales until that moment as he led the attack with a lance under his arm and fire in his voice.
'That's my man!' Mother said and I had never heard such love in her voice, or seen such brightness in her eyes. It was as if she relived her youth as father crashed into the reivers. Unfortunately, as soon as the fighting started, the reivers dropped their torches so I only had intermittent glimpses of what happened as men rode past those torches that had not been doused in the Lethan Water.
I watched eagerly, looking for Robert in the press of horsemen that followed Father. Not all the men were from the Lethan, I realised. I saw Archie Ferguson of Whitecleuch there as well, Robert's father, roaring his head off as if he was twenty and not forty-five with a paunch like a woman near her time. I saw Bailie Marshall of Peebles as well and guessed that father had gathered all the able men of the district to fight off this reiver band. And then I saw Robert.
He was in the middle of the Lethan men, pushing hard to get to the front. I watched him, hoping he could sense my eyes on him. He drew his sword elegantly, hauling the broad blade of the backsword from its scabbard with skill. As he should for we had practiced it often enough on the green slopes of the Hundlestone Heights above Peebles.
I saw him open his mouth in the old Lethan yell, saw him thrust in his spurs as he urged his horse on and I had never seen anything finer in all my days. That was my chosen man charging into battle to fight for our lands and the gear of Lethan.
The Yorling saw him coming and I thought he must have selected him as the most worthy opponent for he turned his great black horse to meet him. I felt my heard race as Robert charged forward, head down and sword outstretched to meet the leader of this outlaw band. The Yorling did not charge but merely trotted, flicked poor Robert's sword aside and smacked his horse on the rump with the flat of his blade so it blundered past, carrying Robert with it. He vanished into the darkness beyond the sputtering light of the torches.
I heard my mother sigh and glanced at her. She was shaking her head sorrowfully.
'Come on Robert.' I breathed. 'Try again. Don't let that Yorling beat you so easily.' Yet even as I said that I could not help but thrill at the skill with which the Yorling turned his horse, dismounted one of our men by casually cutting away one of his stirrups and tipping him out of the saddle, and readying himself to meet Robert's next charge.
'Go on Robert,' I spoke louder, knowing that Mother was also watching, judging my man by his prowess against this vibrant intruder. The rest of the battle mattered nought to me. My entire attention had coalesced to that single encounter between my Robert, broad of shoulder, slow of speech, and the lithe, elegant black haired Yorling with the bright yellow jack and the long sword that he carried with such grace and used with such skill.
'Go on Robert!' I shouted the words loudly enough for them to be heard above the noise of the battle so that both participants in my own little duel heard and both glanced up to the head of the tower. I caught Robert's eye and gave him a wave of encouragement, just as the Yorling kicked in his spurs.
'Robert!' I yelled.
He waved and met the Yorling's attack with a wicked swing of his sword that, if it had connected, would have taken that man's head clean off his shoulders. Instead, the Yorling lifted his sword to parry. I heard the clatter of steel quite distinctly from where I stood and saw the Yorling swerve his horse to the side and slice through Robert's stirrups, as he had done to that anonymous Tweedie a few moments before. Robert swayed in the saddle and tried to maintain his balance, until the Yorling closed, put one foot underneath his and tipped him out.
'Robert!' I screamed.
As Robert sprawled face forward, the Yorling lifted his sword and delivered a resounding whack across his rump with the flat of his sword. I heard my mother grunt with either satisfaction or malice or a combination of both, and then the Yorling was raising his sword high in the air as his horse danced on its back hooves.
'For you, my fair Lady of Lethan,' he said, kissed the blade of his sword and saluted us. Or rather, he saluted me for his gaze fixed on me before he gave the most charming of smiles and, shouting to his men, galloped away.
I watched him go, marvelling at his horsemanship as he darted between Father and Archie of Whitecleuch and headed straight up the hillside with his men following, whooping and yelling as if they were demons from the deepest pits of hell that the Reverend Romanes so loves to gabble on about. That man was so thrilling that I watched him long after he disappeared into the dark. I wondered who he was and why he was here and where he was going. I wondered other things as well, but they are for my own private thoughts and should not be allowed out to graze, lest you think more ill of me than you probably already do. I knew that my Mother thought ill of me that September day.
'Well,' Mother broke my thoughts with her usual stern rebuke. 'Are you not going to see if he is injured?' She was watching me, her head to one side and her eyes narrow, wise and all-seeing.
'He is all right,' I stared into the night.
'He is lying there groaning on the ground.' Mother nodded to where Robert lay.
'Oh!' I recollected myself. 'Oh Robert!' And I nearly ran down the stairs in my sudden anxiety to redeem myself. And to ensure that Robert was all right, of course.
Chapter Three
LETHAN VALLEY
SEPTEMBER 1585
'Robert!'
He lay on his face, groaning softly. I put my hands under him and helped haul him upright, with his face twisted in pain and one hand on his haunches. 'Are you badly hurt?'
'Not too bad,' he said, trying to be brave. 'That devil in the yellow jack unhorsed me and landed a foul stroke.'
'I was watching,' I said. 'Luck was not with you.'
I saw Mother embracing Father, both of them chatting noisily, as if they were young people in love and not grey-haired oldsters who should have known better and behaved with more propriety.
'I think he cut me badly,' Robert was rubbing at himself.
'You will have the luck next time,' I wondered if I should offer to check his wounds, decided that I had better not look at that part of him and offered him my arm for support instead.
'He ran too fast for me to catch him,' Robert said. He limped at my side. I saw his father and my mothe
r talking as the men of Lethan dismounted and discussed the late encounter with rough laughter and much exaggeration. To hear them talk you would think they had won a major battle rather than merely chase a bunch of young callants away from the door.
'Come on, Robert,' I knew that Mother and Archie of Whitecleuch were discussing Robert's recent participation in the action. I wished he had acquitted himself better although I knew he had at least tried. He had proved himself to be no coward, even although he had been bested in single combat. I took Robert to one of the chambers upstairs and eased him onto the bed. He lay there, face down and giving the occasional piteous groan. I thought his wound must be causing him considerable pain and wondered what was best to do. I was loath to leave him yet unsure if I could help by remaining.
'Well then!' Mother bustled in, all decision and authority. 'How is he?'
'Not well,' I said, part aggrieved that Mother should interfere and part relieved she was there for if anybody knew what to do, Mother would. 'Robert's wounded,' I said, looking at her hopefully.
'I saw,' Mother did not waste time. 'Lie still and let's have a look at you,' she said and without hesitation dragged Robert's breeches down past his knees.
'Mother!' I was not sure whether to be shocked, surprised or something else as I had a sudden look at Robert's haunches all delightfully bare for my inspection. I looked, expecting to see a huge open wound gushing out blood. Instead there was a faint weal, slightly red and with the skin only broken in one place.
'Oh tcha!' Mother tutted. 'Oh your poor wee soul.' She stepped back, shaking her head. 'I am surprised you are able to walk at all after enduring that.' She surprised me with an expansive wink. 'Do you think he will survive?'
'Is it that bad?' Robert spoke over his shoulder, trying to squint backward to view the injured part of him.
'Oh bad!' Mother shook her head again. Suddenly tutting again, she looked at me. 'I've seen worse in an infant! Now get up and get along with you.' She turned away in disgust. 'And you, Jeannie, can see now why Robert Ferguson is not right for you. A woman needs a man, not a greeting little boy.' For one horrible moment I thought that mother was about to slap him as he lay there, but she resisted the obvious temptation and instead hustled me outside the door. 'I do wish you would find a man,' she said.
Tempted to sneak back and watch poor Robert hauling up his breeches, I knew that Mother would not approve and instead walked into what we fondly called the Great Hall, from where a jubilant noise was emanating.
In case you have never been in the great hall of a border tower, pray allow me to describe it for you. As I have already explained, Cardrona Tower was no larger than many others in the Borders, a solid, four storey, whinstone built lump of masonry that would withstand the wind and weather for many centuries unless the English or some reiving band took crowbars or cannon to it. With walls some five feet thick, the interior was necessarily cramped, making the great hall a little less than great although it did extend the full width and length of the building.
With a vaulted ceiling above and straw covering the slabbed floor below, logs crackling in the fireplace and tapestries on the walls, the room was packed with men and women, children and dogs, all laughing at their victory over the raiders and lauding their own parts in the proceedings. A piper enlivened the proceedings with his Border pipes until Mother sent him on his way with a cuff to the back of his head.
'It is surprising that with all that gallantry,' Mother said caustically, 'nobody got hurt. You did not kill a single one of the attackers and only one of us was in any way injured.'
'Who was hurt?' Father sounded strangely surprised. Did he think that such a victory could be obtained without blood being spilled? I thought he knew better than that.
'Young Robert of Whitecleuch,' Mother explained his extensive injuries to the now hushed room, leaving them laughing hard. When Robert walked in the merriment increased, with the children demanding to see his battle wounds and Archie Ferguson scowling in embarrassment for his son. I sat in a corner, red faced, wishing that anything had happened except what had actually occurred. I hardly heard Archie's near-casual statement: 'we captured one of them.'
'You captured one? I did not know that.' Again my father sounded surprised. 'Where is he now?'
'In the black hole of your keep,' Archie said.
'Bring him here,' Father ordered. 'I want to see him.'
The prisoner was little more than a boy. He was about sixteen, straight- backed with a shock of fair hair and an expression of utter disdain as a brace of servants dragged him into the centre of the floor. We watched him with a mixture of amusement and trepidation. Was this an example of the reivers that scared us so much?
'He doesn't look much does he?' Old Martin said. 'A callant at most. What's your name, boy?'
'That's my business,' the boy said boldly.
'That is a brave answer when you are surrounded by men you were so recently inclined to rob,' Old Martin told him and repeated. 'What's your name, boy?'
The boy pressed his lips together and said nothing.
'He's harmless,' Father said. When he pointed, firelight caught the heavy ring he wore on his pinkie-finger. 'Put him back in the black hole, or kick him out into the night and let him find his own way back.'
'Hand me that poker,' Old Martin said. He pressed it deep into the fire. 'When it is hot enough, we will ask you again and this time you will tell us.'
I had known Old Martin all my life. I knew he had ridden with my father when they were younger; much younger, and I had never seen him cruel before. I stepped forward.
'No!' I said. 'You can't torture him. He is little more than a child!' I felt the boy's gaze on me as I tried to defend him.
'There would be no need if he told us his name and where he came from,' Old Martin seemed amused by my outburst. 'Then we will know if it was only a chance raid or if they intended to return.'
I could see logic in that. 'We need to know your name,' I told the boy. He stared at me through level brown eyes. 'If you don't tell us, that man there,' I pointed to Martin, 'will hurt you sore.'
'I know,' the boy sounded very calm. 'I still won't tell.'
'Western marches,' Old Martin said at once. 'His accent gives him away.' He withdrew the poker from the fire, inspected the end and thrust it back in. 'What are you, son? An Armstrong from Liddesdale? A Graham from the Debateable Lands? A Maxwell from Annandale?' He reeled off some of the most notorious riding families from the western marches of the Border, with the boy standing mute.
'It matters not who he is and where he is from,' Mother took the poker from the fire and clattered it down on the hearth. 'He is a thief and a reiver. We have the power of pit and gallows in our own land. Hang him.'
'Mother!' I knew of course that we had the power to do virtually as we liked to lawbreakers in the Lethan. The Crown had given the Tweedies that power centuries before but to the best of my knowledge we had never exercised it. Certainly I had never seen anything like that in my time.
The boy started and looked at Father, who shook his head slowly. 'Let me think about this,' he said.
'There is nothing to think about,' Mother had made the decision, as she was wont to do. 'He is a thief. Thieves are hanged. So we hang him.' She pushed the boy toward Old Martin. 'Put him back in the Black Hole Martin. We will get rid of him tomorrow.' She clapped her hands. 'The rest of you: get back to bed or to your homes or wherever you should be.' She took hold of my arm as I moved away. 'Not you, Jeannie. We have something to discuss.'
Chapter Four
LETHAN VALLEY
SEPTEMBER 1585
When Mother spoke them, those words always had an ominous sound. On this occasion she virtually dragged me to her private chamber and sat me down with a hard thump on the footstool while she lowered herself onto the chair.
'Now listen to me Jeannie. I had hoped you would be over this silly notion you have for Robert Ferguson.'
Here we go again, I thought. 'It is no silly
notion, Mother.' I said, while wishing he had made a better show of himself. On our Border, a man who cannot fight is of as much use as a man who cannot ride. 'We are for each other.'
'He is not a man,' Mother was surprisingly patient. 'Look, Jeannie. We have been through all this before, time and time again. I am a bit sick of it now.'
'So am I!' I fought to control my temper as my voice rose. 'So am I, Mother,' I said in a more moderate tone. 'We have both said our piece. I am twenty one soon…'
'And still with no more sense than when you were twelve!' Mother butted in, as she had a habit of doing. She stood over me, dominant yet with worry shadowing her eyes. 'Jeannie; you will find that you need more than just a companion as you grow into a full woman.'
I could see that she was struggling to find the right words as she tried to balance her feelings for me as her only daughter with her reluctance to admit that I would have all the aspirations and desires of a woman. Save that crucial one that I seemed to lack. I chose not to help her. 'Robert and I will marry,' I said, 'and there is nothing that you can do about it.'
I saw her stiffen; I thought she was going to slap me. Instead she lowered her voice. 'If that happens,' she said, 'and you will notice that I say if. If that happens then you will be the owners of the whole Lethan Valley. You will have merged two of the most significant families in Peebles-shire.' Her face altered. 'I will not mention the Veitches.'
I nodded. 'I am aware of that.' I could see that she was struggling to keep her temper. Not twenty minutes earlier this woman had ordered the execution of a boy scarcely into his teens. Now she was biting her tongue in her anxiety to ensure that I did not make the wrong choice in a man. I did not then appreciate the depth of her love. I only accepted it.
'You are the only Tweedie of Cardrona and the Lethan,' Mother said bluntly. 'The family, your family, has held this land for nearly three centuries. You have a responsibility to maintain the connection between the land and your blood.'
The Tweedie Passion Page 3