In the shadows by the arrow-slit windows he could see two sentries, one to the east and one to the west. Round a sturdy wooden table sat a group of burly men, saying little but staring suspiciously at the newcomer. Wavering light from large candles cast pools of brightness into the gloom, and at the far end of the large room, a matronly woman stood by the stone fireplace, tending a large metal pot.
When she spotted Alexandra she set down her spoon and hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron. "What's happened to my wee lamb?"
Michael didn't think the strong-minded Alexandra would appreciate being called a lamb, but he kept that thought to himself. "She fell from her horse. 'Tis my thought that she's broken the long bone at her collar. But she swooned some minutes back and hasnae woken. Mayhap she's injured her head also."
The older woman fetched some cold water and pressed a damp cloth to Alexandra's forehead, at which point the gruff leader strode over and confronted Michael.
"Michael Hall, you say? What's your business here?"
A naturally honest man, Michael had always found that if the whole truth couldn't be told, stories as close to the facts as possible were easiest remembered. And easiest defended. "I've a message from the wardens of the Marches to take to the Scots queen, Mary Stuart, at Jedburgh." Michael stood taller. "And who be you, to question the queen's messenger so?"
The man narrowed his eyes, but answered. "Simon Graham, Lord of Kersdale and master of this keep. How came you by the lass?"
If this large man with the craggy face knew how good a rider Alexandra was, he wouldn't believe that she'd merely fallen from her mount.
Again, Michael told the truth. Just not all of it. "Her horse took a tumble and she was thrown to the ground. I was on my way up the valley and came to her aid. I bound her arm," he pointed at the makeshift sling, "and was helping her onto her horse when we spotted a band of reivers in the distance. So she showed me the hiding place behind the grey stone, and we hid from the Armstrongs. We were heading here for safety when she fainted."
For a full minute, the Graham regarded Michael, unsmiling and unspeaking.
Michael resisted the temptation to speak into the silence, standing tall and proud instead, as befitted a messenger to the queen.
It was the old woman who broke the impasse, renewing the cold compress on Alexandra's head and provoking a moan from the injured girl. "Alex, dearie, can you hear me?" she crooned, taking the lass's hand.
Michael's heart lightened. At least Alexandra was recovering, even if she had led him to an enemy stronghold.
"What…where…where am I?" she mumbled, her eyelids flickering but remaining closed.
"Home, dearie. All safe now." The old woman patted Alexandra's hand.
Alexandra blinked several times, then her eyes opened fully and fastened on Michael's. At first her gaze was blank, showing no recognition. And then a pink tinge crept into her cheeks and her eyes spun away.
Aye, she remembers me. Mayhap she remembered their kiss also. Or perhaps it was guilt at some deception? Michael clenched his jaw and resolved to get to the bottom of this—if he could somehow manage to talk his way out of this English enclave.
Seeing his daughter now recovered, Simon Graham seemed to reach a decision. Striding to the doorway, he picked up a sword.
Alex's throat went dry, and her heart began to hammer in her chest.
"I'm grateful for your aid to my daughter," her father said, turning back to Michael, his face hard. "But you are a Scot. And now you know the whereabouts of our safe house, which is a secret from all, save my family and servants." He pulled the weapon from its scabbard then tested its edge with the ball of his thumb. "We can't risk its whereabouts being made known. Peter!" He jerked his chin at a small, solidly-built man with more hair on his chin than his head. "Tie him up and take him outside!"
Standing just a few steps away from Alex's bed, Michael's face turned pale and he tensed, balling his hands into fists, the muscles of his shoulders bunching into knots.
What've I got him into? I must stop this. Despite the ache in her shoulder, Alex pushed herself upright. "Father!" Her voice was higher-pitched then normal and cut through the hubbub in the room. "Have you no mercy? This man saved my life. How can you think to harm him?"
Her father shook his head decisively. "We can't allow him to go free. He could bring great danger to us all!"
"Well, keep him here then. As a prisoner. But don't repay his kindness to your only daughter with barbarity. He could've saved himself and left me to the Armstrongs, but instead he risked his life to save me!" It still felt like someone was banging a drum behind Alex's temples, but she gritted her teeth and ignored the pain. This was more important.
Dark eyebrows knitted over Simon's grey eyes as he regarded his daughter, and a muscle twitched in his jaw.
Good. He's weakening. She tried a different tactic. "We could make him swear an oath. On the life of his queen. Or his god?"
Her father grunted, then swung the sword he carried in a low arc.
Alex's heart stopped.
But Simon merely waved the weapon in his bondman's direction. "Peter, tie him to one of the posts in the barn." He dug the point of the sword into the floor and leaned the heels of his hands on its hilt.
Alex let out a silent breath and glanced quickly at Michael from under her lashes.
His shoulders had visibly relaxed, and he gave her an imperceptible nod, before holding his wrists out for Peter to bind them.
As Michael was led out by Peter, and down the ladder, her father's gruff voice followed them down. "Tell Hob to keep an eye on him. And you can take first watch tonight."
Chapter 9
MICHAEL AWOKE FROM a fitful sleep with a start, every muscle in his body tensed at the feel of the warm hand covering his mouth. It exerted enough pressure to prevent him crying out. Has Lord Kersdale come to finish me off?
Struggling against the bonds that held him, Michael writhed and twisted, trying to free himself from the constricting hand. But his captors had tied him tightly, and he had little range of movement. Otherwise he might've been free before now.
The shadow in front of him moved, and the weak moonlight filtering through the narrow window-slits high in the thick barn walls illuminated the contours of a profile he well recognised. Alexandra! He stopped struggling.
Slowly removing the hand from his mouth, she raised a finger to her lips, then a glint of light caught the edge of a dagger as she moved to work one-handedly on his bonds, her injured arm still bound at her waist.
A minute later he was free, rubbing his wrists to restore the feeling, and walking carefully on feet that were so numb they felt three sizes bigger than normal. Creeping behind Alexandra across the darkness of the barn, he passed warm shapes that munched contentedly on piles of hay, breath steaming slightly in the muggy air. The barn wasn't the most fragrant place he'd ever been, and he was glad when they reached the door and fresh air—stepping over the motionless body of Peter Forster as they did so.
Outside, all was peaceful; the sky cloudless and the half-moon riding high in the infinite blackness of the firmament, stars scattered like diamond dust on dark velvet, a light wind soughing through the shadowy trees edging the hidden bowl they were in.
Taking deep—quiet—breaths of the blessedly clean air, Michael touched Alexandra's arm and gestured enquiringly at Peter's prone form.
She mimed sleep and then a blow to the head.
Michael raised his eyebrows. I must remember me to not get on the wrong side of this one.
Alexandra leaned over to pick something up, then hurried across the enclosure, stopping beside a grazing horse that gleamed silver in the moonlight. Mist. Slipping a bridle over the gelding's head, she threw Michael some pieces of sacking and lengths of rope, pointing at the horse's feet. A job that would need two hands.
Heart in his mouth lest someone hear them, Michael bound the canvas round Mist's hooves then led the horse to the gate, its steps muffled, following
Alexandra.
With a wary glance back at the quiet bastle house, Alexandra unlatched the gate. The faintest of clinks seemed magnified in the noiseless dark, and they both froze.
But there was no movement or shout of alarm from the farmhouse, and after a heart-stopping minute Michael risked a quiet breath before following Alexandra through the gate.
Only once they were some distance away, moving stealthily up the hidden valley, did Michael dare speak. He caught up with Alexandra and took her free hand, pulling her to a stop. "Thank you, lassie," he whispered. "But you shouldn't have risked yourself for me."
Eyes shining bright, she tilted her head towards him, lips curling upwards. "Likewise."
He smiled ruefully. She had him there. "What—"
She put a hand to his lips. "Later," she mouthed, and beckoned him forwards, leading him the remaining distance to the shadowy stone, which gleamed dully in the light of the waxing moon, the flecks of silvery mica bound within the granite reflecting glimmers of pale moonshine filtering through the canopy of trees.
With a few steps they were around the monolith and onto the Kershope track, facing towards Scotland. Michael's heart lightened at the thought of his native land, although he knew they were not yet out of danger. At any time, they could be stumbled on by marauding reivers, or the Grahams could awaken and notice the missing prisoner. But at least now, thanks to Alexandra's brave rescue, he had a chance of making it back to Stobs, and then on to Jedburgh to meet with the queen.
Alexandra halted and pointed at Mist. "You should ride now," she said, her voice low, "and make your escape. I am only sorry I couldn't retrieve your saddle to make the journey more comfortable."
"No matter," Michael said, leaping onto Mist's wide back, "I can manage bareback." He held out an arm to her. "Ride with me?"
She held his eye for a moment, then took his proffered hand and jumped up behind him. "Only to the border," she said, "then I must return and cover our tracks." She wrapped her good arm around his waist.
Michael nodded and urged Mist forward.
He'd forgotten how good it felt to have her next to him, with the faintest scent of lavender and the tantalising warmth of her body. Distracting thoughts filled his brain as Mist plodded up the drove road and it seemed only seconds until they pulled up at the edge of the woods, facing out on the wide Liddesdale glen.
Tinted grey in the moonlight, the flat bottom of the vale was covered with scrubby grass as far as the eye could see, dotted with the occasional black rock or mossy tussock and fringed by the dark shapes of the glowering hills and forests beyond. The murmuring river tickled at the edge of his hearing as he scanned up and down the valley, checking for movement, the glint of a weapon or the hunched shape of a rider.
He twisted round and whispered to Alexandra, "All seems to be quiet." Throwing his right leg up over Mist's neck, he slid to the ground, then turned and lifted his arms to help her off.
She took his left hand and slid off as he had—and into his arms. For a heartbeat they said nothing, their gazes locked.
Illuminated by the moonlight, her eyes glowed with some emotion he couldn't identify, her lips gleamed softly, and her skin looked so smooth and delicate it was almost translucent.
"I owe you my life," he whispered, tracing the outline of her cheek with a finger.
"Likewise," she said with a smile, raising their linked hands and touching his fingers to her lips.
The breath caught in his throat. "Next time we meet, let us have just the simple riding lesson we intended, if you agree? No Armstrongs, no Grahams?"
Her smile widened, and she held his hand to her chest, tilting her chin mischievously. "No falling off."
She has a sense of humour. Unusual for a lady. Every moment he spent with her, she entranced him a little more. Even if she was English and should be out-of-bounds. But now her mouth was close—so close—and so inviting, he couldn't stop himself.
"But perhaps a little of this," he murmured, touching her lips with his, catching the merest hint of mint, and then continuing to brush feather-light kisses along her jawline, then to her earlobe and down her exquisite neck.
This elicited the tiniest of gasps and made his heart beat faster, his lips teasing that delicate spot where her racing pulse showed that she, too, was affected by their embrace. He pulled her tighter into his arms, his ardour growing and wanting her body closer, closer…
At the touch of his lips and the feel of his desire, heat raced down Alex's core, focussing itself into that place of pleasure and making every inch of her skin feel alive and sparkling. Breathing faster than normal, her breasts tightened under the thin cotton of her shift, as if longing for the feel of his kiss. Without really knowing what she was doing, she reached round his strong back and pressed her hips closer to his, so that the hardness of him could meet the aching throb of her.
For a moment they melded together, his mouth searching for hers, the depth of their kiss stealing her breath and chasing every thought from her mind, so that rather than a person, she became a fountain of sensation, wanting and needing more of something she'd never experienced but that she knew he could surely provide. If only…
A groan erupted from somewhere deep inside of him, and he pushed her away. "I cannot," he growled, panting hard. "'Tis no' right."
Disappointment suffused her, the fire inside glowing and licking at her skin, bright embers ignited where he had touched—or where she'd wished him to touch.
Tilting her chin with his fingers, he looked deep into her eyes. "Know that I want to. So very much. I want you. So much." Grazing her lips with his, he ran his hands from her shoulders to her elbows, sending shivers down her spine. "I want ye so much that I mayn't be able to walk properly for days."
At this, she laughed, and it broke the spell he'd woven over her. "Will you be able to ride?" she asked teasingly.
His mouth twisted into a crooked smile. "I may have to sit me in the cold stream over there, first."
She snorted. "You make me laugh."
"Likewise," he replied, with a glint in his eye, catching her into his arms again and planting a quick kiss on her lips. "Now, if I can comport myself properly and sit astride my horse without thinking of you, I'll away to Jedburgh and deliver my message to the queen." He glanced into the woods behind her. "Will you keep to the side of the path, and listen for any riders so you've time to hide if need be?"
She nodded.
"And will you be able to make it right with your father? Will he know it was you who helped me escape?"
Placing a finger on his lips, she whispered, "So many questions! Don't worry. I shall make it right with him. I am his only child and heir, and he can't be angry with me for long."
Whilst that was true, Michael's question gave Alex pause. She'd been so focussed on helping him escape, on getting him safely out of the barn, that she hadn't thought how to explain her absence—or the unconscious guard—to her father. I will think on it later. There will be a way.
Michael caught her hand in his, kissing the palm and raising it to his cheek, where she could feel the rasp of stubble on the planes of his jaw.
"Be careful, lassie," he breathed, and kissed her on the lips, tenderly this time, pulling her close to his strong chest and tangling a hand in her hair. "And dinna forget me," he added, kissing the tip of her nose.
"Likewise," she replied, chewing her lip to stop from laughing.
As he turned to his horse, his grin was so wide she could see his teeth gleam in the moonlight. "I may be some time in Jedburgh—I canna tell how long I'll have to wait before Her Grace will give me audience. But I dinna think it will be safe to send a messenger to ye. And your father may kill me if he sees me again," he added ruefully.
"I'll work on him," she said, moving to the front of his horse so she could see him as he mounted. "But know that every day around noon I shall be training Duke on the meadow here," she gestured at the flat grass beyond the Liddel Water, "and waiting to give you your riding l
esson."
He nodded and bent down from the back of his horse to give her one more kiss. "Know that I will come. Even if it takes a week, or a month, or—pity forbid—a year. And know that I'll think of you every day, every hour, even every moment until we meet again."
She smiled up at him, and this time they said it together:
"Likewise."
Chapter 10
ALEX WATCHED FROM the edge of the wood as the grey splashed through the stream and into Scotland.
With a farewell raise of his arm, Michael cantered off north-east up the valley, where after some miles he would skirt the hamlet of Castleton, pass the forbidding Hermitage Castle, seat of the Earl of Bothwell, and then travel north to Stobs Castle—his castle—a ride of around twelve miles.
From Stobs it was another twelve or thirteen miles to Jedburgh, where he was to meet the Queen of Scots, but Alex was unsure of the exact details of that journey, never having ridden as far as Jedburgh on her forays into Scotland.
She had visited Carlisle, the walled English town dominated by its stone fortress, and Berwick—similarly walled and fortified—with her father to sell horses, but never Jedburgh. Was it a fine town, she wondered? It must be, if the queen visits.
From the stories Alex had heard about Elizabeth their English queen, royalty seemed to prefer living in luxury in their palaces, where they would partake in courtly intrigue and aristocratic scandal. The world of kings and queens was a far cry from the simpler life of their subjects in the border lands, who spent their summers living with their sheep and cattle in roughly-built shielings in the high pastures, and winters in their peel towers or fortified houses, rearing livestock—or reiving those reared by others…
A Love Divided: A Scottish Historical Romance (The Reivers Book 1) Page 4