After Flodden (37 page)

Crozier smiled. ‘He’ll be half the lord he is without it.’

Louise could not imagine the Borderer wearing such a thing. There was a self-importance about the jewel that did not fit into these surroundings. Crozier’s authority and power came from
strength of mind and body, not pomp.

They placed the ring in a box, but Louise could not forget it. It was like a never-sleeping eye – Gabriel’s eye – watching everything they did, and she could not wait to be rid
of it.

Since Crozier’s recovery, her thoughts had returned to her brother, and she knew she must very soon visit her mother and find out if there was any news of Benoit. She did not like to
contemplate what she would do if there had been no word from him.

Louise and Crozier had been married a week. There were knowing nudges and smiles behind their backs as they went about the keep, wrapped in a dreamy world of their own. ‘They’ll be
returned to earth soon enough,’ said Mother Crozier with unusual forbearance, when Tom complained that they had eyes for no-one but each other. ‘Let them have this time. God knows,
they’ve earned it.’

One afternoon, Louise sat down to write to her mother and tell her of her marriage, but as she began to scratch out the words, it was not her husband’s face that filled her mind, but
Gabriel’s. She put down the pen. A sense of cold calm came over her. She took the ring out of its box and thought back to the night Gabriel had found her and Hob in the wood.
‘I’ve been riding since dawn,’ he had said.

At the time, she had been too relieved at the sight of a welcome face to question why a man barely known to her family would have left at an ungodly hour to find her as a favour to a woman he
was no more than civil with. Setting off to track her down and at such speed was no act of honour or kindness. Nor of lust. Even his obvious interest in her did not explain his headlong pursuit.
Knowing him as she did, he was not the sort of man to be swept away by desire.

But one thing she now recognised: it had been pursuit. She stared at the ring. For the duration of their journey, from when he had crept up on them in the terrifying dark until he flung her
across the forest path and rode off into the night, Gabriel had kept as close to her as if he had been wrapped around her finger, the sort of ring that slowly bites into the flesh. As she recalled
his eagerness to help her find Benoit, his behaviour took on a sickening meaning. Could it be he had been using her simply to reach her brother for his own purposes?

Her hand closed over the ring, gripping it so tightly it hurt. If that were so, then he must have private business with Benoit. That would certainly explain his insistence on going into Durham
castle on his own. His ferocity as he turned down Crozier’s assistance had startled her even then, when she had had no suspicion over his motives. Now, it looked like dreadful proof of an
alliance.

Slowly, the truth took shape. If he and Benoit were secretly in partnership, then they must both be spies. There was no other explanation. The thought made the room turn dim and for a long time
she sat, wide-eyed but seeing nothing. First her father, then her brother, and now Gabriel too. She had been surrounded by lies, all her life. Slowly, the half-written letter grew wet with tears,
the words trickling off the paper as if they knew they were not wanted. Only the thought of her husband, whose face finally came between her and her grief, gave her strength. Wiping her eyes, she
screwed up the ruined letter. She would write it tomorrow.

It was a subdued dinner that night. Crozier put his arm around his wife, and asked if she was feeling unwell. Louise shook her head. The horror of her brother’s treachery was too raw to
speak of now. She would tell him, but not until later, when they were alone.

But her suspicions were to be forced from her sooner than that. Dinner was eaten, and the table cleared, when Murdo birled into the keep, forgetting to remove his spurs, and earning a sharp
rebuke from Mother Crozier as he scraped over the flagstones. ‘I ken, I ken,’ he said testily, ‘but this is urgent.’

‘What news?’ asked Crozier, who was seated by the fire, a hand on Louise’s shoulder as she stirred the logs.

‘An odd thing,’ said Murdo, looking troubled. ‘I don’t know if it’s something or nothing, but it doesn’t smell right.’

Murdo’s conversation was like a panner’s sieve; much silt had to be sifted to reach a nugget of gold. ‘My mate Todd in the village, the blacksmith, was out checking his snares
this morning. Up beyond Whitberry Law, ken, where there’s a good field for hares and the like.’

Crozier waited with rare patience.

‘He says he saw your golden-haired visitor, the courtier, riding down the road Hawick way.’

Husband and wife sat up. ‘Gabriel?’ asked Louise. ‘Here?’

‘Uhuh. He swears to it. Says he would never forget the man’s yellow hair, but more than that, he recognised his horse, which he shod for him while he was here, if you recall.
There’s no beasts as fine as that in these parts, as you know.’

Louise shivered as if an icy hand had reached out of the forest and touched her. Crozier’s voice was sharp. ‘What could have brought him back?’

Murdo shrugged. ‘I never trusted the man, that’s for sure. I couldnae fathom him while he wis here, so it’s no likely I can read his mind now.’

The Borderer looked at Louise. ‘When he left you, it was to continue the search for Benoit, that’s what you said, isn’t it?’

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Well,’ he continued, ‘he’s obviously learned something to bring him back here. Yet not to the keep. I know you parted from him on bad terms, but we are scarcely enemies.
He too wants to find your brother . . . ’

Louise gave a sob. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘And I think he is a spy.’

‘Who?’ said Crozier, startled. ‘Gabriel?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but Benoit too, just as we feared. I think they’ve been working together.’ The words came out as a wail, and she hid her face in her hands.
Crozier pulled her to him. ‘Come on, now,’ he said. ‘Steady yourself.’ He pressed his cheek to her hair, holding her tight. After a minute her crying ceased, and she looked
up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, to the family, ‘but Benoit is the best, the kindest brother in the world. The thought that he could have done this . . . ’ She brushed away
fresh tears, took a slow breath, and told them what she suspected.

The clan already knew the story of Benoit’s alleged treachery, for she had hidden nothing from them. At that time she had assured them her brother was not a traitor, but it was soon
apparent that they did not care either way. Treason, Old Crozier had informed her, was in the eye of the beholder. ‘The day the royals treat us like citizens rather than vermin is the day we
will fight for them,’ he said. ‘Until then, they are as unwelcome here as foreigners. More so, indeed. Whatever your brother’s done, we don’t care. If he’s anything
like you, lass, he can’t be all bad.’

But tonight, Louise could not agree. If Benoit had indeed betrayed his country, it was the worst deed he could have done, and there was no hiding how she felt.

There was silence when she had finished. When at last Crozier spoke, he sounded grave. ‘It’s bad, but it may not be as terrible as you think.

‘If your supposition is correct – and it does make sense of the way Gabriel has behaved – then he must have reason to believe Benoit is in this neighbourhood. The question is,
why. Or, rather, where.’

He spoke slowly, thinking aloud. ‘But if he were on official business, to capture a traitor, would he not have come with a posse of soldiers from Edinburgh?’ He rubbed a hand over
his beard. ‘That he has come alone gives us some hope.’

He looked at Louise. ‘Don’t you see? It might be that your brother is not a criminal, but that Gabriel wants to make people think he is, and thereby cover his own tracks. That it is
Gabriel, and he alone, who is the spy.’

His expression was grim. ‘But if that is the case, he won’t want Benoit to be taken prisoner alive.’

Louise looked perplexed, and he took her hands between his. ‘The way I see it, there are two possibilities. Either Benoit is indeed acting with Gabriel as you have suggested. Or Gabriel
has some compelling reason to make him the scapegoat. Whatever the truth, the viscount can lead us to him. Because from what we’ve just heard, and everything that’s gone before, he is
out hunting for him.’

The colour left Louise’s face.

‘That being the case,’ Crozier continued, ‘then it would seem your brother is known to be still alive. That there’s real information to suggest that, I mean, unlike the
yarn Gabriel span us after he’d been in Durham castle, which I suspect was nothing but lies. If so, that is good news. Very good news. But if it’s true, then it means we must find
Benoit first. Otherwise, unless he and Gabriel are associates, he could be in desperate danger. And even if they are spies, the pair of them, I am certain Gabriel intends him harm.’

He chafed Louise’s cold fingers. ‘Think, my love. Why would Gabriel be looking for Benoit this far from Flodden? What might your mother have told him? Who does he know that lives in
these parts?’

‘Ella,’ said Louise slowly, to herself. ‘I can’t believe I had not thought of her. I am a fool. How could it never have occurred to me?’ She raised her head, and
her voice. ‘Long before the battle – before even my sister’s death – Benoit fell in love. My mother forbade the relationship, because the girl was one of the Elliot clan,
who our family is at war with.’

‘Her name?’

‘Eleanor Aylewood. Ella. She lived in a village near Jeddart. Benoit never spoke to me about her once Maman made him promise to give her up. I assumed he had obeyed her – it would
have caused a family break-up if he had not. But of course, he didn’t give her up, did he?’ She looked at Crozier, her eyes alight with tears. ‘And that’s where he has been,
all this time, isn’t it?’

‘It might just be,’ he said, giving her hands a squeeze before standing up. ‘But if Gabriel is on his trail, he is already well ahead of us. We must set out first thing
tomorrow. We should pack now, for the road.’ He looked to Tom. ‘You and I will go.’ Tom nodded, and also stood.

Louise put a hand on Crozier’s arm. ‘What about me?’

‘It’s too dangerous for you.’

‘I see,’ she said. ‘You and Tom will knock on Ella’s door and tell her you are Benoit’s friends. And my brother, who’s been in hiding for weeks now, and has
never heard of you, will jump up and come back to your castle, just because you ask him to? How’s he to know you’re not in league with Gabriel, or – if he too is a spy – the
government?’

‘You could write him a note?’

‘But you might be a kidnapper, and have forced me to write it at knifepoint.’ Louise’s eyes glittered.

Crozier looked at his brother, who bit back a smile. Mother Crozier nodded, as did his uncle.

He sighed, shaking his head. ‘I cannot put you in such danger.’

‘You cannot stop me.’ They looked at each other, a hard, searching stare in which more was said than if they had spoken.

The Borderer sighed. ‘Very well. Join us if you insist. But I am not happy about this.’

‘Nor am I,’ she retorted, ‘what with you not long out of your sick bed. I can find my brother alone, if I must. I didn’t marry you to gain a personal guard.’

‘You are a besom,’ he said, with a bark of laughter. ‘God knows, you set my head spinning at times. But come what may, between the three of us – one of us a weakling, one
of us a woman – we will manage.’

Louise put her hand in his. ‘We must.’

*    *    *

Unaware he had been observed, Gabriel spent that night in a roadside inn where the alewife’s daughter chased away the chill of his winter bed and gave him an appetite for
breakfast. In the morning, he continued on his drear road. Other than the previous night’s entertainment, he had had little luck on this journey. He would happily have set light to the
Borders and seen it all consumed, English soil as well as Scots. He loathed the place. Its mud clung to his boots, its grit scratched his eyes. He had ridden countless miles, back and forth like a
piece on a chessboard, yet he was no closer to finding Benoit and his mistress.

He was beginning to wonder if Madame Brenier had deliberately misled him. In the bleak heathland village of Bellscleugh, where the hovels as well as its people were gnarled by perpetual gales,
nobody had heard of a silversmith called Elliot. He was lucky if a door was answered to his knock, and when he had posed his question, it was shut almost before the words ‘never heard
o’ him,’ or ‘cannae help ye’ were uttered. Some didn’t bother to speak, before dropping the latch or sending their dog out to chase him off.

In the end, he had to resort to measures he despised. On his way out of the village, he rode past an old shepherd, corralling a flock of goats whose ragged coats matched that of their herder.
Gabriel dismounted and had the man by the throat before he could scream. ‘There used to be a silversmith lived around here,’ he hissed, shoving the shepherd against a tree.
‘People tell me they’ve never heard of him. Elliot is his name. Somehow I don’t believe them. He has a lovely daughter, girl called Ella. The kind of wench a man like you has
dreams about. Does that ring any bells?’

He tightened his hold. Terrified, the shepherd nodded, but the courtier’s grip choked him too tight for words. Gabriel relaxed his collar, but kept him pinned against the tree. ‘As I
thought,’ he said. ‘So go on then, speak, man.’

The shepherd swallowed. ‘Moved, he did, some time back, took all the family.’

‘Where?’

‘Along the border, I was telt. To the Elliots’ lands, near Hermitage.’

Gabriel examined the man through narrowed eyes. Was he lying? There was no knowing. He took out his knife, and the shepherd’s eyes widened in fear. ‘That’s God’s own
truth, I swear. They went tae Hermitage, cos a’ their ain folk is aroon there. Said he could tell trouble wis comin.’

Gabriel kept the knife pressed to his chin a moment longer before he sheathed it and let him go. He was far down the road on his stallion, no more than a black speck on the hill, before the
shepherd was steady enough to walk. His goats bleated, their bells tinkling as they nudged him onwards, back to their shed. He patted their heads and thanked the Virgin Mary for his narrow escape.
There’d been no Elliots in this village since he was a lad, although there had been a silversmith, some time back. But why would he have told him that? It was none of his business.