Taken by the Border Rebel

  They halted, equidistant from the King’s men and the Brunsons.

  ‘Now,’ the King began again. ‘I come to enforce the laws.’

  ‘If this is to be a Truce Day, then we must put aside the weapons,’ Carwell called out.

  No one made a move to lay down arms.

  ‘And I come,’ the English warden said, ‘with a warrant for Rob Brunson, head of the clan.’

  ‘What are the charges?’

  ‘The unlawful killing of Willie Storwick.’

  Carwell exchanged a glance with Johnnie. ‘It would have been a lawful killing if he had not been snatched away from Truce Day justice.’

  ‘Does he not want our heads for the raiding or the burning?’ Johnnie said to the two men beside him. ‘Or for taking their head man captive?’

  ‘Storwicks have done the same. Too bad this killing was the one even Hobbes Storwick forgave.’

  ‘So, Rob Brunson,’ Acre continued. ‘Either surrender, or give us the man responsible for the killing of Willie Storwick.’

  Johnnie smiled and gathered his reins. ‘Tell Cate I love her.’

  Rob held up an arm to stop him.

  Suddenly, from high on the tower’s wall, came Cate’s voice, clear and proud. ‘Then you’ll have to take me. I killed Willie Storwick.’

  Johnnie looked up at his wife, fear and anger mixed on his face. Then, he turned back to the King. ‘I killed Willie Storwick,’ he roared.

  ‘Nay. I killed Willie Storwick.’ His sister’s voice.

  Beside him, Carwell shook his head in disgust, but he added his voice, unwilling to let his wife stand alone. ‘‘Twas none of them. I killed Willie Storwick.’

  And then, the air was crowded with confessions. One by one, the men lining the barmkin wall joined their voices, glad to claim they had killed a man who deserved to die. Even Belde howled in chorus.

  And then, as the voices died down and quiet took the valley again, Rob could hear a horse approach from behind and he heard the last and most surprising voice of all.

  ‘It was none of them,’ it called out, loud and clear. ‘‘Twas I, Stella Storwick, who killed Scarred Willie.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Stella saw Rob’s shoulders stiffen with shock before he twisted in his saddle to stare as she rode up to stand her horse between him and Thomas Carwell.

  She knew Carwell to be a man who seldom spoke an unconsidered word. She hoped he wouldn’t find one too soon, for if he tried to save her, everything she was trying to do would be for naught.

  And Rob? Well, she’d glimpsed unguarded joy on his face. His grin was warring with the angry frown of frustration that she’d not stayed safely where he put her.

  Well, he would become accustomed to that.

  When she had left the Abbey, she’d no more of a plan than the day she’d come to spy, but God seemed to have delivered her just in time. Her sudden appearance and her confession had struck both sides dumb. The English Warden put his head together with her Storwick cousins, who were staring and pointing as if they had seen someone raised from the dead.

  And then, she looked to the King.

  He looked perplexed, but not the way her cousins did. He looked as if he knew exactly what she had done and was now trying to work out his best response.

  Even a hot-tempered king of Scotland who would summarily hang a reiver would think twice before doing the same to her. She might have confessed to a killing, but she was a woman and an English subject who had killed another English subject. King Henry would not take kindly to King James’s interference.

  ‘You see,’ she called out, now that she had their attention, ‘it was Black Rob Brunson who discovered the truth of it.’ She risked a glance, then. One that warned him. ‘‘Tis why I sit before you a captive.’

  ‘She did not kill him!’ Oswyn near sputtered with frustration. ‘I killed him! Punish me instead!’

  ‘You didn’t kill him,’ Humphrey countered, apparently unwilling to let Oswyn lay down his life to save Stella’s. ‘I killed him!’

  She choked back a happy laugh. On either side of her, Rob and Thomas disguised smiles. Humphrey and Oswyn had opened their mouths once too often.

  Now Rob lifted his voice. ‘So you claim she lies?’

  The cousins’ jaws sagged. Murderer or liar, they could not call her either and expect a marriage to elevate them to lead the family.

  Besides, they both had just confessed to murder.

  Even from this distance, she could see the King would have gladly murdered the lot of them. She had stopped him from a quick execution of Rob Brunson, but something else would have to stop him now. ‘As you can see, your Grace,’ she called out, ‘even his family members are proud to take credit for his death.’

  ‘And if they killed him,’ Carwell chimed in, having reclaimed his voice, ‘Lord Acre has been complicit for refusing to punish … someone.’

  The King’s face had turned as red as his hair. She could see the man would be dangerous. He had not yet learned to temper his emotions with his mind.

  Rob spoke, finally, his voice clear and calm. ‘But it seems that if your Grace plans to punish a murderer, you’d better know for certain which man, or woman, actually did it.’

  He should be furious with her, Rob told himself. And he would be. Later. As soon as he stopped smiling. Her presence spoke as loudly as the words he’d waited to hear: For ever.

  Aye, mayhap she had been saved for a miracle. For if they all escaped this moment unscathed, that would surely qualify.

  Johnnie and Thomas whispered across him, trying to come up with soothing words that would make the King back down.

  He let them talk. He would be the one to make this decision.

  Not long ago, he would have asked himself two questions first. What would my father do? and What will make me look strong?

  The answer would like as not be: Attack. So he would have charged ahead, relying on his strong arm and his crossbow to conquer any foe, even if he be king.

  But blunt force, he had learned, was not the answer to every problem. Not to Stella. Not even to little Wat.

  And it was not the only sign of strength.

  After all, a man needed a little peace if he was to start a family and raise a son.

  ‘It seems, then,’ he said, finally, ‘that I should continue to hold her until this is resolved.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’ Which one of her cousins said that? Of no more consequence than the squeak of a titling bird.

  ‘Well,’ Rob answered, ‘since you’ve confessed, I could hang you instead.’

  At that, they fell silent.

  Thomas spoke up, the words of a diplomat. ‘As you know, your Grace, Scarred Willie Storwick had been banished from his family. He was a man known for committing wicked acts on both sides of the border. It is possible that God punished him without waiting for earthly justice.’

  ‘He won’t believe that,’ Johnnie muttered under his breath. ‘No more than you did when we told you the same story.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Rob called, loud enough so all could hear, ‘if both Storwicks and Brunsons are happy to claim the honour of killing the man, his death is no loss to mankind.’

  The King frowned, as petulant as Wat when he did not get his way. ‘Even if you and yours did not kill the man, I’m sure there are men you have killed.’

  ‘Only in self-defence.’

  ‘That has a broad meaning on the border,’ the King snarled.

  Rob waited, holding his breath. Silence could be a weapon now.

  Finally, the King spoke again. ‘Will you promise me, Rob Brunson, will you give me your word to obey the Border Laws?’

  ‘I will give you my word to live in peace with the Storwicks,’ he said. ‘If they will promise the same.’

  Lord Acre and the Storwick cousins huddled in whispers.

  Rob tensed, waiting. The soft clop of horses and he realised Bessie and Cate had ridden out to join them. ‘I told you to stay safe within the w
alls.’

  Did no one heed his orders?

  But with Bessie beside her husband and Cate beside hers, he saw the rightness of it. And wished he could take Stella’s hand.

  Finally, Lord Acre faced them. ‘The Storwicks agree.’

  The King turned back to Rob. ‘And in the future, will you answer my summons?’

  Aye, he would serve the King’s interests. Just not in the way the man expected.

  ‘Your Grace, as long as there are Brunsons in Liddesdale, we will defend the land from any who would cross the border to take it.’ His warning was clear. He would keep the peace with the Storwicks. As long as they kept the peace with him. ‘So you need not worry, King James, that your uncle, or any of the English, will steal an inch of Scottish soil.’

  But answer the man’s summons to fight in some strange Scottish valley as if he were a dog called to herd sheep?

  No.

  Even at this distance, he could see the King shake his head. Refusal? Resignation? Or the reaching of a hard decision?

  Stella was beside him. Johnnie and Thomas flanked them on either side, with Cate, fierce Cate, just to Johnnie’s left. And Bessie, showing her state once a man knew where to look, Bessie, on the other side of Thomas, was giving the King a stern look.

  One king against six Brunsons? Truly, Rob felt sorry for the man.

  Then, King James raised his voice and looked to Johnnie, the man who had been like an older brother to him.

  ‘You told me, Johnnie Brunson, that you came from stubborn stock. And you, Bessie Brunson, you told me that when a Brunson had a choice to make, he asked only what would be best for the family.’ He sighed. ‘A king must think of all Scotland as his family. And Scotland is composed of many families. A king must balance the needs of all of them.’

  He brought his gaze back to Rob.

  Well, now it comes. Whether I’ve done good or ill.

  He looked at Stella and, in the smile they shared, he knew if the King decided to kill him, he would die happy.

  ‘But any king,’ King James continued, ‘would be fortunate indeed to have such a bulwark on his border.’

  He did not repeat his requirement that Brunsons answer his summons, which showed him Rob’s outright refusal.

  ‘I think,’ Thomas whispered, ‘that means he will let you keep your head.’

  Rob growled, a vain attempt to hide a smile. ‘Then I’ll let him do the same.’

  The King gathered his reins and looked to the lords who rode with him. ‘So, Carwell, as my Warden of the March, can you work with this Brunson man?’

  Rob watched Carwell, whose face revealed nothing. The man had disobeyed the King’s direct orders. Yet James was offering him the chance to stay in his service. ‘Yes, your Grace. And on the Borders, a Warden who can work with the Brunsons will ultimately do you well.’

  ‘Well, I won’t!’ The English Warden’s howl echoed across the field. ‘Your Warden was the one who violated the Truce Day you promised England in your treaty.’

  Carwell’s expression was grim. Rob did not know all that had passed between those two men, but he knew each had been guilty of betrayal. ‘You’re not one to speak of violations of Truce Day, Acre.’

  But the man was not to be stopped. ‘Instead of carrying out the king’s justice, he and these rogue raiders snatched Hobbes Storwick away and our head man is now dead at their hands! They have killed more than one Storwick.’

  ‘Not true!’ Stella’s voice floated from beside him. ‘My father died of the wasting sickness.

  And he died regretting there was no one trustworthy left to lead the family.’

  A quarrel broke out among the English and even the King’s men started talking and pointing, each pressing the King to listen to his opinion.

  ‘Maybe you should not have listened to me, Rob.’ Carwell’s smile was rueful. ‘Maybe we should have kept the Truce Day.’

  Rob shook his head. He had not truly trusted the man then, but now? Yes. Carwell was a Brunson, too. ‘If we had gone, we would have been ambushed and ended up at the end of a rope.’

  ‘We still may.’ Johnnie nodded towards the King. ‘I know that look. He’s not a happy man.’

  King James waved the rest to quiet. ‘Johnnie Brunson. Ride to meet me over there.’ He pointed to a clump of grass in the middle of the valley. ‘Alone. Just you and me.’

  This was how it had all begun, months ago. Johnnie had come home bearing the King’s orders. Rob had refused them. And Johnnie had gone from being the King’s best friend to being a mortal enemy. ‘Don’t do it, Johnnie.’

  His brother, still, always, smiling. ‘I’ll be all right. Just don’t shoot the King.’

  Rob gripped his crossbow. ‘Only if I must.’

  He watched his brother ride to the centre of the empty space and stroked the trigger of his crossbow.

  ‘Careful of your finger.’ Carwell’s voice was tight.

  ‘I’ll be as careful as the King with his dagger.’

  He watched them speak a few words. Both tall, lean, red-haired. Then the King clasped Johnnie’s hand and his arm. A brother’s gesture. And one of farewell.

  The King rode to his men and Johnnie came back to them.

  ‘Well?’ When had his brother’s face ever been so unreadable?

  The King exchanged a few words with his men.

  Suddenly, Acre was surrounded.

  ‘Come with me to Edinburgh, Lord Acre,’ they could hear the King say. ‘Enjoy my hospitality. And I’ll enjoy telling my uncle, King Henry, that you were the one who let Willie Storwick ride free instead of trying him as justice demanded.’

  Acre paled, frightened into silence.

  ‘King Henry is not going to like that,’ Rob said, quietly.

  Bessie’s husband grinned. ‘A flurry of diplomatic letters will ensue.’

  Unusual. Carwell never let his feelings show. His history with Acre must go back a long way.

  Rob allowed himself a moment’s regret. The English Warden had, after all, been the one who had let them know that Stella was in danger. For that, he hoped the man might keep his head.

  The King threw one last look, and a wave, to Johnnie, and turned his men to the east.

  ‘We were like brothers, once,’ Johnnie said, watching him go. Then, he turned a smile on Rob. ‘But I’ve my real brother now.’

  ‘Don’t celebrate too soon,’ Rob said, warmed by his words. ‘We’re still facing a brace of armed Storwicks.’

  And with the King gone, there was no buffer between them.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ Stella said. ‘They’ll dither for hours over there, I vow, discussing whether they should attack.’

  Indeed, the shouting and pointing, the babbling and arguing had commenced. Surrounded by his family, Rob had never felt stronger.

  Johnnie’s familiar grin returned. ‘The Storwicks need a new head man. Anyone can see that.’

  ‘Someone strong and stubborn,’ Bessie said.

  ‘Someone who can keep the peace,’ Carwell said.

  ‘And keep a king in check,’ Johnnie said.

  ‘Someone who marries a Storwick would do,’ Cate said.

  ‘Although the King would want to give his approval,’ Johnnie reminded him.

  ‘It’s forbidden to marry across the border,’ Carwell said.

  Enough of his family telling him what to do. Even if it was exactly what he wanted. ‘No king will choose my wife.’ He had agreed to defend the border against invasion. Nothing more.

  Beside him, Stella beamed. He wanted her to look as happy every day of the rest of her life.

  ‘Brunson and Storwick,’ he said. Names still difficult to join. ‘Enough of a miracle for you, my love?’

  ‘The one I was saved for.’ And then she cupped her belly. ‘That, and your child.’

  Only long practice prevented him from whooping with joy. But his family had stood with him through all. ‘The rest of you?’ He looked to Thomas and Bessie, then to Johnnie and Cate. A he
ad man made decisions, yes—but only with the support of his family.

  But it was Stella who asked what must be asked. ‘Cate?’

  He held his breath. She had been wronged by the Storwicks most of all.

  ‘To be sister to the woman who killed Scarred Willie?’ Cate asked. She had learned to smile again. Johnnie had taught her. ‘I could ask no higher honour.’

  Surrounded by a smiling family. Life offered nothing better.

  Stella looked across the field at her family. ‘Shall we invite them to the wedding feast?’

  Rob smiled. ‘If you’ll help Bessie fix it, love.’

  The Storwicks were invited to the feast. More than that: they came.

  Rob heard that Stella’s mother, finally, had brought the rest around. She told them, and he wished he’d been there to see it, that the same angel who had saved Stella from the well had released her from the hut and revealed to her in a vision that her daughter had been saved for exactly this reason: to join with the Brunsons and ally the two families. There was more to the story than that, Stella said. She promised to tell him some day if he promised never to repeat it. She said he’d like it.

  But it seemed her mother had decided it was miracle enough that her daughter would bring peace between the two families.

  At least, peace enough that the shepherds would not lie awake each night listening for hoofbeats.

  He sipped his ale, observing the awkward attempts at conversation. Rob himself was a man of few words under the best of circumstances. Even less to be said to a Storwick. But the women, he noticed, had no such difficulty. A few sips of ale and they started chattering like corbies.

  It was too soon to merge the two families, of course. First, he’d get them to stop throwing spears his way. Later, when Stella’s babe came, there might be something more. Later, when they realised the Storwick family would need a new head man—and who it should be—maybe they would come to believe, in time, that God had saved her for this.

  Would his father have approved? Or hers? It didn’t matter. Rob Brunson was the head man now, for good or ill.

  Wat, who had never seen such excitement, ran round the room with happy shrieks, Stella chasing him as if he were her own. Well, soon, he vowed, she would have all the children she could chase.