The Tweedie Passion (4 page)

ETTRICK FOREST
SEPTEMBER 1585

Now, you may wonder what I thought and how I felt as I bounced down the valley with my face to the ground, my bottom sticking up and my legs kicking like an upended sheep on the heather hills. Well to tell the truth I had so many thoughts racing through my head that I would find it difficult to put them in any sort of order. Perhaps the first was surprise. I had never been in that situation before and it was not one that I had ever contemplated. The second was the sheer discomfort of it all. I mean, my whole weight was pressing against my tummy and the blood was rushing to my head. I was not a happy girl. The third was embarrassment. What sort of view did the Yorling have of me if he looked down? I had not chosen my clothes with any care that day so they were old and worn, hopefully not too threadbare in any too prominent place, and the Yorling would see a very prominent part of me right in front of his face.

There was no fear.

Why was there no fear?

I do not know. I have already mentioned that I felt a strange sort of attachment to this Yorling man. Now I was his prisoner as we galloped down my own Lethan Valley with his wild riders all around, whooping and yelling as they passed all the old familiar landmarks, which I was aware of but of course could not see in my head- down position.

I shouted out in protest, kicking my legs and trying to punch at the Yorling as he guided his horse with consummate skill.

'Keep quiet, My Lady!' He gave me a smack on the rump that made me gasp.

I called him a name that should have made him blush. Instead he laughed.

'That is no language for the Lady of the Lethan to use,' his voice was deep, musical and strangely familiar. I felt as if I had known this man for years, although I had only heard of him very recently. It was the strangest of feelings, but one which did not in the slightest prevent me from telling him exactly what I thought of him, his actions, his behaviour, his morals and even, may God forgive me, his parentage or lack thereof.

And to all of that he replied with laughter, or short comments such as 'is that so, My Lady?' or 'I have heard that before, My Lady foul mouth.' He did not attempt to slap me after that first time.

I could not upset that man in the slightest, which was unusual for me as even my mother had often told me that I was the most irritating girl in the world.

'Here will do.' The Yorling said.

We stopped and I was helped to the ground with more gentleness than I had expected. I stood there, stamping my feet, with my face flushed, sorting out my disarranged clothing and looking around at this outlaw band that had grabbed me in such an outrageous fashion.

I was very surprised how young they were. I doubted if any of them was over twenty-five years old and most would be younger. They formed a circle around me grinning or just staring as the Yorling himself slowly removed his helmet and shook his head so the long hair rippled around his shoulders.

I took a deep breath. He was tall, taller than any of his men, and slender, with a long face and quite a prominent nose. His eyes were not as hard as most men I knew; they had a strange, near magnetic quality. Was he handsome? Yes, I suppose that he was but it was something else that attracted me. I did not know what it was and I certainly could not explain it, but there was that something about this man that immediately made me trust him. I have mentioned that before, I know.

'So my Lady Lethan,' the Yorling gave a great sweeping bow, throwing out his right hand to the side and bending his knee. 'Here we are.'

'Indeed we are.' I did not do him the honour of a curtsey. I said that I trusted him. I did not say that I was inclined to be pleasant to him. 'So what happens now?'

He smiled, showing white teeth. 'Now, my foul-mouthed lady, I take you to my little home in the hills.'

'Oh?' I was very aware of all the eyes staring at me. Now, I quite enjoy being the centre of attraction so I straightened the mess that my hair was in – hanging upside down over the neck of a horse does terrible things to your coiffure, you know - and faced him. 'And what happens when we get to this little home in the hills?'

'That is for me to know and you to find out,' my charming black-haired thief told me. His eyes were the brightest, smokiest green that I have ever seen. They held my attention as I tried my best to unsettle him.

'You are the one they call the Yorling, I presume?' I tossed my hair; I may have mentioned that I have black hair, and long. Tossing it always worked with the young lads in the Lethan. It did not work with this man.

'I am that one,' the Yorling agreed. He stood three feet in front of me with a broad smile on his lips and his hands on his hips.

I edged slightly further away. I hoped that I might be able to find a space between two of his callants and run for the hills. I knew the Lethan Valley and its surroundings as well as anybody, man, woman, boy or girl and I was sure that once I got away from these reivers I could lose them in the tangle of hills that surrounded the Valley. Perhaps sensing my intention, the reivers tightened the circle around me.

'Why that name?' I asked, still trying to unsettle him. 'A yorling is a bird, a yellow headed finch that is no good to anybody. Are you a small bird?' I flapped my arms and made what I hoped were chirping noises.

The Yorling glanced down at the yellow jack. 'I am named after my jack,' he said, 'and after my father, who was also called the Yorling.'

'A whole family of birds,' I mocked. I took a casual step backward. 'Before your feathered father kicked you out of the nest did he give you another name as well as Yorling?'

'Not one that I will tell you,' my enigmatic captor said. 'We have ten minutes here and then we are off. Is there anything you wish to do?' He asked the question with such innocence that I was not sure what he meant.

'No,' I said, 'except return home.'

'As you wish,' the Yorling said. 'You may wish to avert your eyes while I and my men use this time.'

'Oh!' I belatedly understood as he fiddled with the drawstring of his trousers. 'Oh you dirty devil!'

I turned away to avoid the sight, only to see all the young men performing a similar act, luckily all facing away from me. I must have blushed crimson. I certainly felt extremely foolish to be surrounded by a circle of men all answering a call of nature. Naturally I became equally affected.

'I will have to join you,' I said at last.

'Feel free,' the Yorling did not hide his smile. 'Don't let me stop you.'

Now my face felt as hot as any winter fire. 'I need privacy,' I said.

His smile grew broader. 'I will take you somewhere private,' he said, 'as soon as you ask me politely.'

I am sure that I stamped my foot with annoyance. 'You are nothing but a yellow devil!'

'I know,' he said, chuckling. 'Now: will you ask nicely? Or will my lads and I all stand and watch?'

I heard the ripple of laughter from his followers and knew there was no help for it. Swallowing my pride I said, 'please may I have a few moment's privacy, Mr Yorling?'

'Why?' He assumed a face of utter innocence.

'You know very well why,' I did not like playing his little game.

'I will come with you,' he decided.

'You had better not!' I was becoming flustered now as my need became desperate and the circle of young men were smiling, nudging each other and making suggestions that were a little too rude for me to hear.

'Don't be too hard on her.' I was surprised to hear one of the Yorling's followers coming to my help and looked around to see the young boy who should by rights have been hanged.

'And who are you to object?' the Yorling asked.

'She tried to save my life,' the youngster said. 'You must not treat her so.'

'Oh?' The Yorling seemed amused. 'I think I have the right with my own captive.'

'I have an idea,' the boy said. Before I could move he had taken the reins from a spare horse and had looped them around my arm in a slip-knot. He pulled them tight and handed the loose end to the Yorling. 'Now she can shelter behind a tree and you will still hold her safe.'

I did not thank him for his kindness. Instead I slunk through the laughing circle of men and found a convenient sheltered spot. I tugged at the reins around my arm to find that the Yorling held them tight. 'If you look…' I began, and stopped. He already had his back turned.

We rode on a few moments later. They sat me on a spare horse with my feet securely tied beneath and a rider on each side. Although I could not escape, my tongue was free and I made the most of it. I lambasted the Yorling and all his companions for as long as my breath held out.

'I don't know what you want,' I said, more than a few times. 'I do know that you won't get it. My father will lead all the men in the Lethan after you. He will be organising a hot trod right at this minute, if he is not already on his way.' A hot trod, in case you are unaware, is an immediate pursuit of reivers. A cold trod is a more measured chase that takes place a day or more later. 'My father will hunt you down and hang you like a dog.'

'Is that what will happen?' the Yorling sounded amused.

'That is exactly what will happen,' I told him. 'And my man Robert will be with him.'

'Oh?' the Yorling spoke over his shoulder, still smiling, still amused. 'Who is your man Robert?'

'He is big,' I said, 'Robert Ferguson of Whitecleuch…'

The Yorling's laugh stopped me. 'I unhorsed him already,' he said. 'He is no man for you, My Lady of Lethan.' He turned away, kicked in his heels and increased the pace. I had no option except to come along. We forded the River Tweed in a spectacular shower of water and headed west and south into the Ettrick Forest, a tangle of bare-headed hills where patches of mist haunted the slopes and small woods of scrubby Scots Pine trees braved the never-ending winds, where deer floated away before us and burns seared the hill-flanks and formed barriers to free passage. I did not know this country, and soon stilled my tongue as I tried to follow the route so I could come back if I managed to escape.

I was nervous as we halted for the night, and can you blame me? One woman alone with a round score of strange, lusty young men? Although I felt that strange trust with the Yorling that allowed me the freedom to lash him with my tongue, I had no such feelings for the rest of his band. I watched with some trepidation as the Yorling selected a place for us to camp.

'This will do,' he said.

We were in a corrie, a small hollow carved out of the side of a hill, with a circle of rocks in front and a small burn chortling at the side. It seemed a bit exposed for an outlaw band. The Yorling was either careless or very confident.

'We'll sleep here,' the Yorling said, 'and we'll be off before first light tomorrow.'

'Off to your secret tower deep in Liddesdale, my birdy friend,' I fished to find his name and where he was from.

'I am no Liddesdale man,' the Yorling said.

'The Debateable Land then,' I said, talking of the chunk of land that both Scotland and England had claimed and in which the worst outlaws and broken men made their homes among the local Graham surname. When either of the countries sent a force to clean it up, the wild men simply crossed the frontier to the neighbouring nation.

'Oh not there,' the Yorling said.

I looked at his men as they dismounted and set about watering the horses and making camp. 'Where shall I sleep?' I voiced the fear that had been uppermost in my mind for some time.

When he looked at me these smoky green eyes were gentle. 'You will not be molested,' he said. 'My men will not touch you, My Lady of Lethan.'

'Who are you?' I asked. I had never known a man be so reticent. The men of the Lethan, and particularly the boys, were never backward in coming forward with tales of their own exploits. Every one of them sought to impress me with their skill in horsemanship and swordsmanship, in their ability to track or fight. Now I was with the most dashing man I had ever met and he told me nothing, not even his own name. I was utterly confused.

'I am the Yorling,' he gestured to his yellow jack.

'You are the most frustrating man that I have ever met,' I told him.

'And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,' his smile had vanished and his eyes were steady. 'And the most loyal.' He did not drop his gaze.

The Yorling hobbled the horses with a cord tied between their front legs so they could graze at will without straying too far from the camp, speared a few trout from the burn and roasted them for supper and ordered two men to stand first watch.

I looked around. We were in the midst of a welter of long bare hills, where patches of mist slithered around the neuks and corries, feathering around the streaks of straggled trees. It was bleak, cool and lonely beyond description, while the oncoming night cast a cloak of darkness over what was in truth a scene of desolation.

'Loyal to whom or what?' I asked as the melancholy of the night entered me.

'You are too loyal to that man Robert,' the Yorling spoke seriously, without a trace of a smile.

'He is my man,' I said.

The Yorling shook his head. 'You ca do better,' he said. 'You need somebody with fire, drive and energy; a vital man to stir your imagination and lead you to new heights. Robert Ferguson is none of these things.'

'He is none of your business,' I said hotly.

I knew that the Yorling was right, God help me. I knew that Robert Ferguson was slow moving and clumsy, used to getting his own way and spoiled. I had seen his mother take care of him all his life. As her first born and her only child, she had protected him from harm and hardship and the result was, well Robert was the result. Yet for all that, I knew that we would be wed and when a woman born at Midnight on midsummer knows, then she knows. There is neither logic nor proof needed. 'He is a good man,' I said, stubbornly.

'He is no man,' the Yorling said softly.

I had head so many people say that it no longer hurt. 'He is a good man.' I repeated.

'He is certainly not a fighting man,' the Yorling was smiling now. 'I bested him on two occasions without breaking sweat.'