Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (36 page)

He would have liked to discuss his thoughts with Sibylla, because he had formed a deep respect for the wide range of knowledge her years with Isabel had gained her. He had a feeling, though, that she would say he was just coming around to what she had understood from the minute they reached Elishaw.

Faith, but she had made him angry! Having prided himself on learning to control his temper—indeed, to control all his emotions and thus avoid giving any man the satisfaction of disconcerting him—he found it especially irritating that she could stir his temper with just a look, a word, or a tone of voice.

That she could stir other emotions and sensations as easily was a different matter and one he was willing to explore further. True amusement stirred then, and he realized he already missed her.

She could make him laugh, and it had been too long since anyone else had, but she did it easily. She was an excellent listener, and knowing that she was at Elishaw, he looked forward more than he had in years to going home again.

He felt guilty about letting his temper keep him from easing her concern about Kit, and for failing to explain clearly that Fife’s delight in their marriage had not meant he’d had anything to do with it. He hoped she did know that but wanted to be sure. Moreover, he had not spent nearly enough time in bed with her.

“Laird!”

Torn from his musing by the shout, he saw the two lads he had sent ahead riding toward him hard. Motioning his men to rein in, he continued toward the two.

“Laird, there be a large force o’ men just over yon hill,” one of the riders shouted as soon as they were within earshot.

“How many?”

“Three score or more, laird,” the man said as they reined in.

“Longbows?”

Both men shook their heads, as the spokesman said, “We saw nae longbows, sir, but they be armed, o’ course. And they be flying the Percys’ blue lion.”

Simon frowned. If Cecil Percy had wanted to draw him into ambush, surely he’d have found a simpler way. And why would he do it at all? Other Percys might be up to mischief, but the whole situation irritated Simon.

With a truce in force and his innocence and Percy kinsmanship to protect him, there was one sure way to find out if they were friendly. As he waved the rest of his men forward, he told the two with him to stay put.

“Conceal yourselves well and see what occurs,” he said. “Don’t show yourselves unless you hear battle raging or fail to hear from me within the hour. In either event, make haste for home and tell them the Percys attacked us. Then tell my lady wife to send for the Douglas and tell him what happened here.”

Watching the two men vanish into a nearby thicket, he said to his standard bearer, “You and I will ride ahead of the others, Rab. Recall that we are at truce and stay calm. You others will follow at a distance—not too near, nor yet too far. I don’t want to look like an army. Sithee, we merely follow cousins who paid us a too-short visit and then apparently missed their way to the Edinburgh road.”

One of the men stifled a snort, and Simon ignored it, turning his horse and urging it toward the hilltop.

From there, he could see the men-at-arms and horses below. It was a large contingent, but no one was mounted, and they gave no appearance of lying in wait.

“Wait here until we’ve ridden about halfway down to them and then follow slowly,” he said just loudly enough for the lads behind him to hear.

“Laird, that banner be a different color blue than the one our visitors had,” Rab said quietly. “The other was gey lighter, sir. And from here, it looks as if the lion on that one yonder be lying down. The other stood wi’ his forepaws high.”

“Hand me the pennant, Rab,” Simon said. “You fall back with the others.”

“But, laird—”

“Do as I bid you, lad,” Simon said.

As he rode slowly downhill, he heard a voice below shout, “There be those damned raiders now! Have at them, men!”

Ignoring the shout, Simon kept to his steady pace, eyeing the Percy banner. It looked just like one his mother had stitched on a cushion in her solar. She had also stitched cushions with the Murray crest, as well as Buccleuch’s and Westruther’s.

When a helmeted man whose bearing and light armor declared his nobility snatched up the Percy flag, flung himself on a horse, and rode alone toward Simon, Simon shifted his reins to the hand holding his own banner and took off his helmet.

Seeing the rest of the Percy men snatch up arms and run to their horses, he felt his stomach tighten and wondered if he was being a damned fool.

“The line lies just yonder, m’lady, ’twixt them two boulders,” Hodge said gruffly. “I’m thinking we should no cross it.”

“Sakes—” Willy began, only to stop when the larger man scowled at him.

“Don’t be foolish, Hodge,” Sibylla said with an understanding smile. “We’ve come this far, so the laird will be furious no matter what we do. But ’tis gey strange, I’ll admit. Why
would
someone stay overnight at Elishaw, saying he’d come from England, only to return to England?”

“I dinna ken, m’lady, but it canna be for any good purpose.”

“Just so,” she said. “And we may be the only help at hand. If the laird has ridden into a trap, we must learn how far he got and how many attacked him.”

Hodge did not argue, leaving her with her thoughts, which were of no comfort. Not only was Simon at risk, but she was sure now that Kit and the castle were in danger, too. And she still felt that, somehow, Fife lay behind it all.

She knew she might be putting her own life at risk by crossing into England. But, with the truce in place, she did not think any Englishman would harm a woman riding with two armed escorts, or consider her a threat to English peace.

Indeed, she thought with a wry smile, she might be safer meeting an Englishman than meeting her husband.

Simon was going to take a much dimmer view of her actions.

One thing was certain, and that was that the Douglas could not possibly arrive in time to be of use. The messengers Jed Hay had sent could not even have reached Ha-wick yet. Bitterly, she recalled the many times people had named her witch just for knowing something they thought she ought not to know.

She only wished she were one.

Her fear for Simon had increased with each mile and was much the same as his would doubtless be for her. But men who charged into danger without thought or care for consequence scolded their womenfolk just for putting a foot wrong.

The thought that someone might kill him before she could see him again—no matter how angry he was— terrified her. Telling herself she’d feel the same about anyone who might die in such a case did not help. Simon’s safety was an altogether more important matter than anyone else’s.

Examining these unfamiliar feelings, she muttered, “Faith, but I’ve fallen in love with the arrogant creature!”

“What’s that, m’lady?” Hodge said. “Beg pardon, but I were keeping a keen eye on them tracks ahead and I didna hear ye properly.”

“Is there something amiss with those tracks?” she asked, having no wish at all to repeat to him what she had muttered.

“I’m thinking those riders stopped here and bided a wee time,” he said. “Ye can see how the ground be churned up.”

“But they rode on.”

“Aye, yonder up that hillside,” he agreed, pointing. “Then we must go, too, and quickly,” she said, spurring her mount and trying to ignore the wave of anxiety sweeping through her.

The sun was setting, and from the crest of the hill, all she could make out milling round its base were men and horses, a large contingent of mounted, armed men flying a Percy banner. Then, riding toward them, she saw a lone rider carrying the Murray banner, with fewer than a dozen horsemen following him.

A half mile to the west, in a thickly wooded area beyond sight of the men below, she saw more mounted menat-arms—many more than she could count.

“Hodge, they’re going to attack him, just as we’d feared!” she cried. “Willy, blow your horn. If you care for the laird, make us sound like the King’s whole army!”

Willy put the horn to his lips.

Simon watched the man riding toward him and searched in the increasingly uncertain light for some hint of his identity other than the banner he carried. Not until the other reached up and swept the helmet from his head to reveal a weathered face, tousled coppery hair, and graying sideburns did Simon relax.

He waited for the older man to draw rein, letting him set the distance between them. Then he reined in his own horse.

“Identify yourself, sir,” the other snapped.

“Simon Murray of Elishaw, sir. Are you Cecil Percy of Dour Hill?”

“I am, though I own, I’m astonished you’d guess it. If you are indeed Simon Murray, you’ve not clapped eyes on me for nearly a decade.”

“No, sir, I have not,” Simon said. He eased his mount forward. Noting the other man’s increased tension, he added coolly, “The last time I saw you, I believe, we were both at Alnwick during a brief truce. Your hair was redder then. That is the only time my lady mother has visited Alnwick—or I, come to that. You bear a strong resemblance to her.”

Cecil Percy rode closer then, but his stern look did not alter. “What the devil have you been up to, cousin, leading raids against honest English landowners?”

“That boot’s on the other foot, sir,” Simon said. “My people have suffered many losses since the snows began to melt. We suspect English raiders, Percys.”

“Then we must talk. But if you do not come a-raiding, why
do
you come?”

“To learn why you paid Elishaw such a hasty visit last night.”

Above them on the hill, a horn sounded the royal Stewart call to arms.

Snatching the horn from Willy’s hand, Hodge snapped, “Nay, ye daft fool!”

“But he must frighten off those villains, Hodge,” Sibylla protested.

“Ye told him to make us sound like his grace’s own army, m’lady. He did blow the
Stewart’s
call to arms, and—
Ay de mi,
look yonder!”

Sibylla followed his gaze and saw that instead of turning tail, riders in greater numbers were emerging from the woods to the west. Having thought them ambushers, she recognized the large red heart on the Douglas banner with a huge sense of relief. Then she turned to Hodge and saw that he felt no relief at all.

Reality struck hard when she looked back at all the men below with Simon, and realized how close together the Murray and Percy banners appeared.

“Mercy, but the Douglas cannot have received my message yet,” she exclaimed. “He must think that Simon is conspiring with the Percys.”

“Aye, and wi’ the Governor, too, thanks to Will here,” Hodge snapped.

Willy said indignantly, “But I thought—”

“Give Willy back his horn, Hodge,” Sibylla commanded. To Willy she said urgently, “Blow the Murray notes now, Willy, and keep blowing them.”

Leaning forward, she gave spur to her horse, and without a thought for safety or consequences, urged it headlong down the hill toward the oncoming army.

When she realized it would be a close-run race and that her long cloak might conceal her sex, she flung it back and snatched the netting from her hair, letting the long tresses fly free.

The Douglas banner meant that Archie was leading them. She could only trust that he would not allow his men to ride a woman down.

Simon, hearing the Stewart call to arms, immediately suspected that Fife had followed him or had sent an army of his men to do so. When the notes changed abruptly to the Murray call, he knew not what to think.

“Look yonder, my lord,” one of the Percy men shouted, pointing west.

Simon and Cecil Percy turned as one, to see an army approaching fast.

Percy exclaimed, “The Douglas! In faith, Murray, ye’ve set a trap for me!”

“Not I, cousin, but I begin to think someone has set one for us both.”

Just then, movement above on the hillside diverted his gaze. Seeing one rider with a larger one in pursuit, he exclaimed, “What the devil is this!”

Percy said, “Whoever they are, they’re riding straight at the Douglas.”

“Hold your men here, and tell them to keep their arms sheathed,” Simon ordered savagely, wheeling his horse and spurring hard.

As he did, he was not surprised to hear Percy shout his lads to arms instead. But he could not stay to explain. He had seen the rider, fairly flying down the hill now, snatch off her net and let her hair fly free. The last tiny doubt of her identity, a doubt to which he had clung fiercely, vanished at the sight.

Terror that her horse would stumble and send her crashing to the ground, or that the oncoming army would ride her down, clashed hotly with his own furious determination to get his hands on her himself.

He spurred harder, but he knew already that only God could save her.

The Douglas horns blew, urging the Douglas army forward at speed.

Chapter 20

S
ibylla heard the Douglas horns as she neared the bottom of the hill but kept on toward the enormous army. To her left, she caught a glimpse of the eastern force with a single rider leading it before focusing on the leaders to the west, trying to judge their speed. Her intent was to ride between the two forces if she could do so in time, and try to stop the carnage before it began.

At the bottom of the hill, still some fifty yards from the Douglas’s army, she saw the leader of the Percy lot closing fast on her and spurred harder toward the Douglases. Her swiftly seeking gaze spied Archie the Grim just as he raised a hand.

The notes of the Douglas horns changed abruptly and the horses slowed, but they were near enough that several dashed by on each side of her.

She reined her horse in hard, shut her eyes, and held her breath as the noisy sea of horseflesh and riders flowed around her.

Aside from still-jingling harness and blowing horses, an eerie silence fell.

She opened her eyes to find Archie the Grim, the Black

Douglas, in front of her, his expression revealing just how he had come by both names.

“My lord,” she said hastily, “it is not—”

“Be silent,” Douglas snapped. Then, “Let him through, lads.”