Tempted (9 page)

“Ye scurvy, uncouth bastard, how dare ye act like an uncivilized savage afore a lady?” Hamilton demanded, drawing his rapier. “This is a godly household!”

“Man, yer so self-righteous, I wonder it doesna choke ye!” spat Ramsay. Both men stepped into the hall to give them more room for their quarrel. “Join yer fearsome partners in crime. They fair had me quaking in my boots,” invited Douglas.

Hamilton gazed about the room in disbelief. “Where are yer men?” he demanded.

“I came alone,” the Black Ram said insolently.

“Yer vaunty boasting makes me spew!” roared Hamilton.

“Ye need guts before ye can spew!” taunted Douglas.

“It will give me pleasure tae rid the world o’ one more maggot-blown Douglas,” snarled Hamilton.

“Ye crawling louse—I ha’ better things than ye crawling in ma body hair!” spat Douglas.

Valentina had followed the two men inside. She ran to Donal with her heart in her throat, thinking him dead. When she saw he was unconscious, she was angry and assumed he’d drunken himself into oblivion just when Doon needed defending.

Duncan, covered with blood, was still trying to stanch the flow of the severed artery in his tongue. Tina ran to David’s side. He too was bleeding from a gash on the head. “Let me help you, Davie!” she cried.

“Get the hell away from me!” he snarled, shamed that she treated him like a puling bairn.

She stared about the hall at the servants and the Kennedy clansmen and wondered wildly why they did naught,
save watch and listen to Patrick Hamilton and Ramsay Douglas circle each other exchanging insults. Her pulses raced, her heartbeats quickened. Suddenly she felt no fear, only a mounting excitement that she was witness to the confrontation of two deadly enemies. As they circled each other warily, she saw how proud Patrick Hamilton looked garbed in elegant black with the white linen ruffle at his throat. He was tall and slim and moved with the grace of a black panther His deadly rapier blade glinted in the torchlight, and she knew his reach was longer than that of Douglas.

Then her eyes were drawn to the Black Ram. She had never seen a naked man before. His plaid did little to cover his nakedness. Instead it revealed and emphasized his magnificent torso. He was not as tall as Patrick, but his shoulders were broader by far, with the powerful, sleek strength of a swordsman.

Her mind flashed about like quicksilver. Part of her felt guilty because she was enjoying the spectacle. Then she saw with disbelief that the two men were smiling, and she realized with a shock that they were relishing it more than she. She caught her breath on a half sob as the two enemies lunged at each other, but instead of the blood she expected she saw the double-edged Douglas sword snatch the deadly rapier from Hamilton’s grip. It flipped into the air, and Douglas neatly caught it in his left hand

Hamilton, unarmed, tore off his doublet and challenged Douglas. “Throw aside yer weapons and fight me wi’ yer fists!”

Douglas was guilty of many things, but stupidity was not one of them. Unarmed he would have been jumped by a score of Kennedys. He slammed his broadsword into its scabbard and advanced upon Hamilton with the man’s own rapier. Patrick had the good sense to back away.

“Bad enough
ye
raided my cattle, but tae aid an’ abet the Kennedys tae do likewise, lured on by yon red-haired bitch in heat, is unconscionable, Patrick man.”

His foul accusation was totally unfounded, but when Tina tried to defend Patrick, both men totally ignored her. Douglas backed his prey clean across the hall, then with a swift downward slash he slit the white linen shirt and carved a crude letter D on Hamilton’s breast.

“You swine!” screamed Tina. “You’re doing this because I bested you. How did you learn my name?”

“‘Twas a simple thing tae sniff out—yer reputation as a wanton stinks to high heaven.”

Patrick Hamilton tried to control her, but she’d heed no man at this moment. “Before I’m done, I’ll see you in hellfire!” she screamed.

“Most likely,” Ram acknowledged with a courteous bow. Then he dismissed her and swept Hamilton and the Kennedy men with a look of blackest contempt “Yer no’ fit tae clean the shit off ma boots.” He strode from the hall looking to neither right nor left. Turning his back on all that company showed he was fearless.

Valentina looked down at her white gown and saw it spattered with Patrick’s blood and smeared with David’s. In that moment she knew a need to see Douglas blood spilled. She cried out to the men in the room, but they were already screaming abuse at one another and exchanging brutal blows. Heedlessly, she ran outside after Black Ram Douglas His hand was about to untether his devil-horse. “Coward! Whoreson coward!” she cried.

He turned to face her, his eyes raking her from breast to hip. “Ye mistake, mistress. ‘Tis all Kennedy men who are cowards, just as all Kennedy women are whores!”

She flew at him and struck him full in the face. Her breasts heaved wildly with her agitation as she screamed, “You don’t have the guts to strike me back! You don’t have the guts to defend yourself against a woman. You don’t have the guts to lay a finger on me!”

A muscular bare leg shot out and knocked her to the ground. Then Lady Valentina Kennedy found herself in a shameful position she’d never experienced before in her
life. Ram Douglas was on top of her, imprisoning her body between his muscular thighs. As she struggled wildly, her hands came in contact with his massive hirsute chest, and her eyes saw clearly his shameful male parts. As he straddled her they were shamelessly displayed only inches from her face. She was acutely aware of the heady, disgraceful, masculine scent of him.

He clenched his fist on a handful of turf and was sorely tempted to grind the dirt into her beautiful face. He mastered the impulse as beneath his dignity He did not need to use his brawn on the little wanton. His contempt would show his superiority. “How many men have ye rolled in the grass?” Ram Douglas got to his feet. He was secretly impressed that she had shown more courage than the Kennedy men. He hid his response to her passion and fire behind a contemptuous look of scorn to show he despised her He drew away from her as if contact would contaminate him. He gave her one last insolent look that almost scorched her skin, then vaulted onto the back of his black devil-horse.

Tina struggled to her feet, impotence feeding the fires of her anger and hatred. She cried out into the night, “I swear that someday the positions will be reversed! I shall be armed, and you will be weaponless, but I vow to you that I shall use my weapon!”

When Tina went back inside, she saw Patrick and the clansman who had attended him exchanging blows Ada looked on helplessly. She’d spent a most rewarding evening with the Hamilton moss-trooper in the privacy of her cozy chamber and wondered why men always ended up shouting and brawling by midnight.

Donal was staggering about. Though now conscious, he was still groggy and very much confused about what had taken place at Doon tonight. Tina’s eyes caught sight of her pretty lute smashed to smithereens, and suddenly she was overwhelmed. She picked up the forlorn neck with its dangling strings and broke down in tears. She brushed
them away impatiently with unclean hands, smearing dirty rivulets across her cheeks. “Why do they ruin and destroy everything they touch?” whispered Valentina.

“Because they’re men,” explained Ada, ushering her off to bed.

The moment she was alone in her chamber she remembered Old Meg’s tarot cards.

She had met The Emperor, the dark man of authority who sat upon the throne decorated by ram’s heads. She saw the Five of Swords in her mind’s eye. Just as Meg had foretold, he had come with his swords and defeated all. Her mind refused to go further. It was all ridiculous nonsense. Her future could not possibly be affected by some silly pasteboards laid out by an old Gypsy!

During the following week the Kennedys of Newark, Dunure, and Carrick were raided, along with the Hamiltons of Lanark, Dunbar, and Midlothian. Naturally Black Ram Douglas was the prime suspect, but there were many who doubted that it was possible for one man to hit so many far-flung castles within the same week.

Ramsay Douglas had decided to join in the game and to teach the other players how to go about the thing with a vengeance. When he hit, he hit hard, and he hit where he knew it would stir up a stink as foul as a cesspool. At each of the Kennedy holdings he left cattle that belonged to the Hamiltons, and likewise he deposited the famous Kennedy sheep upon Hamilton property.

The Kennedys of Doon, however, were not touched, and it was a week before they realized their herds were mysteriously multiplying. The head of the Kennedy clan, Archibald, Earl of Cassillis, was renowned for owning the finest horseflesh in Scotland. Some he bred, others he imported from Ireland, Flanders, Spain, and Morocco. He supplied the royal stables, both at Stirling and Edinburgh, with the very best. Ram Douglas, with his brothers Gavin and Cameron, lifted every horse at Cassillis. It was a major undertaking that required planning, cunning, nerve, and speed. The brothers relayed the horses to their Douglas cousins, Ian, Drummond, and Jamie, who in turn passed them on to Douglas moss-troopers, who planted them in the stables of both the Kennedys and the Hamiltons.

There was one particular mare, however, with which Black Ram Douglas could not bear to part. He had been looking for a worthy dam for Ruffian’s offspring, and the moment he saw the glossy filly, he knew he had found her.

She was tall for a female, with extremely long legs. Her neck also was long and graceful, yet her chest was deep, and he knew instinctively she would prove to have long wind. In the dark she had looked black, but when he examined her more carefully back at Douglas, he saw she was an unbelievable shade of purple damson. Just by looking at her, he could tell her bloodlines were royal and that she was part Barbary or Arabian. Her face was exotic, with large eyes, and if he wasn’t mistaken, she had been bred with one less vertebra, so that her tail went up high at the least excitement.

He tucked her away in a small meadow at Douglas with one of his most trusted herdsman-tenants. Then Ramsay’s perverse humor prompted him to further mischief. It was no secret that the wealthy Kennedys of Doon were thick as thieves with the Campbells of Argyll and that the clans would soon be united in marriage. This was clearly a power-move by the ruthless Argyll. The Campbells already
held and ruled the Northwest, and the Kennedy alliance proved their greedy eyes had turned south.

Douglas knew the Campbells had culled about sixty young bulls from their famous herds of shaggy, short-legged Highland cattle with their great spread of horn and had brought them to the spring cattle auction in Glasgow. Lifting the cattle was child’s play for the Douglas reivers; the tricky part was depositing them on Donal Kennedy’s doorstep without being observed. Black Ram Douglas’s men used the ancient border trick for sneaking undetected upon a castle they covered themselves with cowhides.

By the time the violet fingers of dawn turned the sky an ominous dull pink, panic had set in at Doon. How in the name of all that was holy were the Kennedy brothers to explain their possession of hundreds of cattle and sheep that belonged to their neighbors, to say nothing of their Kennedy chief’s horses and Argyll’s prize bulls?

The scene at Douglas was as different as chalk from cheese. Though the promised storm was gathering by late afternoon, a holiday atmosphere prevailed. By way of celebration for a most successful and satisfying week, the Douglases had invited the Gypsies to their castle to entertain them till dawn.

With his wolfhound at his heels, Ramsay Douglas cantered Ruffian out to the meadow where he had hidden the beautiful new mare. When they came within half a mile, the stallion’s nostrils began to quiver as he scented the female he would serve. Ram had not used him on the raids because a horse that stood nineteen hands high was instantly recognized. As a result, he was difficult and mettlesome. Ram removed his bridle, then sent him thundering into the meadow with a slap across his rump. He secured the tall gate and stood for a few minutes watching the biplay of the two magnificent animals. “Tonight every Douglas celebrates,” he called into the wind. “Wear off some o’ that energy that makes ye so damned bad-tempered.” He laughed as the mare kicked up her heels and
raced about the meadow as if the demon of darkness were after her. Ruffian took up the relentless pursuit, teeth bared and eyes rolling. “I think ye’ve met yer match. By morning, she’ll have ye quivering on yer legs, man.”

By the time Ram and Boozer walked back to the castle, the Gypsies were setting up their wares in the bailey. The great wolfhound scattered a troupe of trained miniature dogs, then started nipping at the heels of their Welsh ponies until all was pandemonium. With a quiet word Ram brought the wolfhound back to his side and took him upstairs to his chamber. While he bathed and changed into doeskin breeches and linen shirt, the dog rolled on his back in a disgraceful display of love and affection. Ram ruffled the shaggy pewter head. “Yer a fraud Ye think yer quite a perilous character, and ye expect me tae keep yer secret.” The great wolfhound was such a contradiction. Capable of tearing the throat from a man, a soft word from Ram turned him to jelly. “Don’t worry—I’ll keep yer reputation intact,” he promised as he reflected whimsically on whether the dog had taken on his own personality. He’d never know, for there was none to give him a soft word

The Gypsies set up their wares on colored blankets both outside in the bailey and in the great hall. They sold and bartered everything from tawdry paper flowers to knives of finest Toledo steel. They had the knack of being vivid, dramatic, and exotic, and their displays cleverly appealed to all tastes and all ages.

The children were attracted by the straw dolls and tin whistles, the women by the ribbons, beads, and love potions, the men by the leather belts, knives, and luck charms set into amulets. Their love of life and zest for living were infectious. They made their own music with fiddle, tambourine, and lute, which fired the blood and inspired both men and women to set their feet to dancing. Whenever the Gypsies entertained, it was guaranteed the very air would be charged with excitement and laughter.

Ramsay sent the servants scurrying to the cellar for barrels
of ale and kegs of whisky, sniffing the air with appreciation. “Kennedy lamb and Hamilton beef smell better than our own when spitted and roasting,” he told a grinning Gavin. “Let’s bring down old Malcolm,” Ram suggested.

“The mad laird?” asked Colin with disapproval. “He’s better off in bed.”

“The hell he is!” disagreed Ram. “He’s condemned tae that bed fer the rest of his life now his legs are gone. Gavin man, fetch that chair we fixed wheels on last year, an’ I’ll carry him down.”

“‘Tis not just his legs are gone—he’s a ravin’ lunatic. ‘Twould no’ be kind.”

Ram understood how sensitive Colin was because of his own affliction, but he overruled him. “‘Twould no’ be kind tae exclude him like a bloody leper!”

“He won’t thank ye. He never had a kind word for anybody in his life, even before he went off it,” said Cameron.

“He takes his pleasure by cursing everything and everybody, but I know for a fact he wouldna be a Douglas if he didna enjoy the whisky and the Gypsy dancers. Maybe I’ll buy one of the wenches fer his bed tonight,” said Ram.

“Maybe ye’ll buy one fer the cripple while yer at it,” flared Colin. “We all know Black Ram Douglas never had tae pay fer a woman in his life,” he sneered.

Gavin arrived with the old wooden chair. “What the hell’s burnin yer arse?” he asked Colin.

“Flames about this high,” taunted Cameron, holding his hand a scant two feet from the floor.

Colin relented. “I suppose I felt sorry fer myself all week, missin’ the sport.”

Ram thumped his shoulder. “There’s nothing tae stop ye tonight, man. There’s everything from a cockfight tae a knife-throwing contest. Ian, ride down tae Douglas village and tell everyone they’re invited—not just the lasses, mind. Drummond, tell all the kitchen wenches they can have the night off. I’ll go and fetch Mad Malcolm from his tower room.”

There wasn’t a woman at Douglas who didn’t look forward to having her fortune told; there wasn’t a man who didn’t anticipate the late hour when any woman with a shred of respectability retired from the bacchanalia of the hall and the dusky-skinned Gypsy girls danced naked.

Two slim Gypsy youths were performing acrobatic feats on the backs of half a dozen white ponies while the little dogs with ruffs around their necks ran in and out of the riders’ legs. Ram was drawn to them. He was dying to try his own skills. He recalled he’d wasted many an hour of his own youth practicing such daring feats of dexterity. His moss-troopers egged him on, challenging him to duplicate the supple acrobatic leaps of the young Gypsies.

When they wagered their silver that he would come a cropper and fall off in less than a minute, he had to prove them wrong. He selected his pony carefully, choosing one that was not on too short a rein. He knew that man and beast must not be mismatched. His eye soon singled out the animal with the steadiest rhythm, and vaulting onto its back, he rode astride for a few moments to accustom himself to its gait. Slowly he pulled up his feet until his palms and his soles rested on its broad back; then finally he stood tall with his arms stretched out to the sides and rode with ease, circling the bailey.

The cheers that went up were deafening, not only from his own men but from all the people of Douglas and from the Gypsies themselves. Ram chuckled to himself. There was nothing to it really. It was simply a matter of agility and balance. The trick of course was to summon enough courage to try it. He vaulted to the ground and back up again, then he did the same on the pony’s other side. He reflected that here was the secret of success in any venture, whether it was a small cattle raid or a war battle: the courage to take a chance, while at the same time having confidence in your own ability to accomplish what you set out to do. It worked every time!

Men were setting up a target butt for the knife throwing
when suddenly lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and large raindrops began to spatter the bailey. Everyone dashed inside to the great hall, laughing and jostling one another. The barrels of ale were rolled inside, and six men lifted the heavy wooden butt they’d set up for the knives and carried it indoors. It put an effective stop to the cockfights, but the whole troupe of trained dogs ran inside with the throng, sniffing around the sizzling spits and initiating the legs of the stools.

At first, Mad Malcolm brandished a wicked-looking walking stick at any who approached his chair, but Colin kept his leather horn filled with whisky, and eventually the old laird was seen tapping on the flagstones, keeping time with the music.

Occasionally tempers flared over possession of a castle wench or a Gypsy girl, but the high spirits of the men prevented the scuffles from degenerating into full-scale brawls. Gavin Douglas couldn’t keep his eyes off a beautiful young Gypsy until he noticed with annoyance that Jenna was flirting outrageously with an extremely well-favored Gypsy male. When the knife-throwing contest began, she urged the Gypsy to show off his skills and tossed her tawny head when she saw Gavin was watching her. The men of Douglas and their moss-troopers were trained in the expert use of many different weapons from swords and dirks, bills and spears, to hagbuts and longbows. The Gypsies, however, used only knives and were highly profficient, so there was no shortage of contestants who lined up to pit their skills against the Gypsies.

Not a single contestant from either side missed the target, and there were quite a few men of Douglas who had no trouble hitting the bull’s eye with the same regularity as the Gypsy men. But when the ringed target was removed and replaced by one with small red stars forming intricate patterns, the ranks soon thinned.

Heath had a matching set of eight balanced silver knives that he used on these festive occasions when they earned
money entertaining the nobility. Gavin Douglas was determined to match the Gypsy’s skills and gathered knives from the moss-troopers. Because he had to prove himself to both the beautiful young Gypsy girl and to Jenna, his performance matched Heath’s, and he hit every single red star. He was gratified by the deafening cheers of the men, who all seemed to be pulling for him.

Heath flashed his white teeth in a good-natured grin and held out his hand to the audience. The beautiful young Gypsy girl stepped forward without hesitation, and Heath positioned her before the target, her head high, her arms and legs spread wide. It was an act the couple had performed many times.

Every breath was caught and held as Heath took the first dagger blade in his hand, pointed the hilt toward the unflinching girl, and let it fly through the air. It thunked into the wooden target three inches from her left ear. The crowd gasped as another knife found its mark three inches from her right ear. The next two knifeblades struck the target between the spread fingers of her small brown hands, and the crowd broke into applause. The knives that struck either side of her waist were an inch closer to her body than the others had been, and the crowd roared its approval. The seventh dagger entered between her legs, pinning the scarlet material of her skirt to the target. The knife’s haft protruded from between the girl’s legs like a suggestive phallic symbol, and every male watching achieved an erection. The climax of the performance followed quickly. As Heath’s final knife left his fingers, his beautiful target bent double from the waist and the wide eyes of the audience saw that the last dagger had entered the target exactly where her heart had been.