Susan Johnson (15 page)

“Of course, John,” she dulcetly replied, the sound of his invitation more pleasing.
“Whatever
I can do … I’ll do.”

“I came to ask you something of the Countess of Kilmarnock, who’s in trouble with the law,” he quickly
added to deter the scowl forming on her porcelain white forehead. “She was under house arrest for harboring the young Carre—”

“Good for you,” Catherine tartly said. “Throw her in prison.”

Her need to inflict punishment was so blatant, he knew he’d come to the right person. “As a matter of fact, while she deserves exactly that, unfortunately she’s escaped.”

“The bitch! It was Robbie Carre who liberated her, you can be sure.”

“Do you think so?” he politely noted, not sharing her opinion. None of his spies had reported parties of significant numbers riding out of the city tonight. And Robbie Carre wasn’t in Edinburgh without a substantial bodyguard. “What I hoped you might be able to help me with,” he tactfully went on, “was the possible location of any friend or acquaintance of the countess’s on the Jedburgh road.”

“Her mother was from Lauderdale.”

He could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. “Where, exactly?”

“I’m not sure … but if I find out,” she murmured with a coquettish giggle, “would that entitle me to some of your undivided attention?”

“Definitely.” He forced himself to smile. He’d sleep with old Haddock himself if it got him the information he needed.

Having won the prize she’d so long sought, Lady Haddock turned ingratiatingly helpful. “I’m sure Janet knows. She grew up in the same dismal little place. I’ll ask her and be
right
back,” she added in a velvety murmur.

Who would have ever thought of some small parish so far off the beaten track? he reflected. No wonder Roxane ran there. It sounded as though the village was incredibly remote. Itching to get on her trail, he forced himself to an appearance of calmness when Catherine returned.

She blew him a kiss from the doorway. “Ill expect you to devote a great deal of time to me now. I
have
your information.”

“Youll have my utmost devotion, my dear, I assure you.” He’d spoken to the queen, once his demands had been met, in like fashion, and had meant it as little.

“Roxane’s mother grew up in Edgarhope Wood, and Janet says while the country house is in ruins because of a fire several years ago, the dowager cottage is still in good repair. Aren’t you pleased with little old me?” she inquired with an affectation of demureness. And holding her arms open, she lifted her mouth for a kiss.

There was nothing for it but that he must kiss her in her pose of mannered innocence, and so he did. But he felt nothing, his mind already contemplating the road south. Gently uncoiling her arms from around his neck a moment later, he set her away with as much courtesy as he could muster in his impetuous need to be gone. “I thank you most kindly.”

“Thank me when you return, John, in a decidedly more intimate way,” she replied, simpering.

One would have to be very drunk, he thought, to climb into bed with her. But smiling politely, he replied, “I certainly will,” and quickly bowing, escaped.

M
RS. BEATTIE HAD ASKED GEILLIS SIMILAR QUESTIONS
for Robbie, his queries having to do not only with possible sanctuaries, but whether Argyll might have spirited her away.

“My cousin Geillis doesn’t think so, my lord,” Mrs. Beattie reported to Robbie, back from Kilmarnock House with additional information. “Argyll was right angry, Geillis maintains. His men fair tore the house apart, she said, and there wasn’t need for that if he had her. She said they were all threatened with the Tol-booth, too, unless they gave him her direction.”

Robbie silently thanked all the benevolent gods. At least Roxane wasn’t with Argyll, which partially explained why the Campbell troops were being readied for a night ride. His scouts had just come in with the information. “Thank you, Mrs. Beattie, for all your help,” Robbie said. “And thank your cousin as well.”

“I hope you find her first,” his housekeeper asserted, having taken note of all the preparations for departure.

“I intend to. We can’t have her falling into Argyll’s hands when she’s managed to elude him thus far.”

“The men are all saddled up, sir,” Holmes declared, walking in, the light metallic jingle of his spurs and sword resonating in the quiet. He’d fought in the Dutch wars and carried himself with the vigor of a trained soldier. “They’re awaiting your orders.”

“We’ll move out quietly and stay well back of Argyll’s rear guard,” Robbie declared, pulling on his gloves. “And if Argyll knows where the countess went, we’ll find out soon enough. If not, at least she’s safe from him.”

“And we’re no worse off for a night ride,” Holmes said with a smile.

“I only hope she’s far away”

“For now, perhaps,” Holmes noted. “But Argyll’s army of spies told him something.”

“So we presume. Make sure everyone’s well armed,” Robbie briskly charged, flexing his fingers in his soft leather gloves. “How many men do we have?”

“Just over a hundred since morning.”

“And Argyll?”

“A few more in his troop.”

“How many?”

“Three hundred.”

Robbie smiled faintly. “We should manage. The Borderers could always outfight the Campbells.”

“Aye, sir,” Holmes replied with a grin.

I
N A SUITABLE, TIMELY FASHION, THE CARRES FOLLOWED
the Campbells out of Edinburgh on that moonlit night, the two large cavalry units passing by in such close proximity, the inhabitants on the road to Jedburgh were wakened from their sleep.

Argyll was up to no good, muttered those who recognized the standards of the commissioner’s troops, peering out their windows. But their spirits rose when the Carre reivers thundered by in the Campbell’s wake. Some Scots loyal to their country were going to teach the hated Campbells a lesson or two, it seemed.

Driven by anger and lust, Argyll led his men at a wicked pace, intent on overtaking Roxane. Robbie Carre and his men maintained his whip-and-spur speed, but at a prudent distance. Hours later, Argyll’s troop took the southeasterly fork at Oxton. Turning to Holmes as they sat on the crest of a hill some miles distant,
Argyll’s troops strung out before them on the road below, Robbie said, “Now why didn’t I think of that? Roxane’s mother was from Edgarhope Wood.”

“It’s a mighty small village for four hundred men, Holmes laconically said”.

“Or even a hundred.” Robbie leaned forward, stretching after hours in the saddle. “I’d say we’ll have to take him on earlier.”

“It would save the lady from danger.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Tell the men we’re cutting cross country at Cleekhimin Bridge. We’ll set up an ambush for the Campbells at Scour Glen.”

O
N THE EAST COAST OF SCOTLAND, IN A SECLUDED
cove north of Dunbar, a ship that had been lying at anchor most of the night let down a longboat carrying a crew and six passengers. The sea was choppy with three-foot waves, and the seamen had to pull hard on their oars to bring the boat slowly to shore.

When the small craft scraped onto the rocky shoals of Margret’s Cove, a tall dark man, his cape whipping in the strong breeze, jumped into the water first and strode through the breaking foam to shore. The other passengers followed, each man moving briskly from the exposed shore to the shadows of the rocky cliffs.

The men climbed quickly and silently, their weapons muffled, only the crunch of their boots against the rough gravel occasionally heard above the soft wailing sound of the wind. A copse of beech and chestnuts stood at the top of the rough path from the sea, and in a few swift strides, the men reached the security of the trees.

“Welcome back.” A tall, tawny-haired man put out his hand.

“It feels good to be in Scotland again.” An errant wisp of breeze found its way into the trees and blew a lock of long black hair across the man’s face. He brushed it away before reaching out and gripping the other man’s hand in a firm handshake.

“Your brother shocked all the spies by showing up at the countess’s house. They hadn’t expected such audacity.”

Johnnie Carre smiled. “He’s still safe, I presume, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“He was when we left Edinburgh.”

“Good, because Elizabeth would have my throat if I let anything happen to him.”

“She sent you, then.”

“I’m here on orders,” the Laird of Ravensby said with a grin.

“I got that impression from the note she sent me, even couched as it was in the bland language necessary to outwit all the spies in this country. She always did know what she wanted,” said the man who had served as her bodyguard for a decade.

“So it seems. I’ve been told it’s up to us, Redmond,” he said, his eyes amused, “to save my brother from his indiscretions.”

“Not so easy a task,” Redmond said, smiling back, “with Argyll and his Campbells in town. And the queen’s commissioner intent on having the fair Roxane for himself.”

“Really,” Johnnie Carre murmured. “An added intricacy.”

“How intricate you can see for yourself in a few
hours. And perhaps talk some sense into your brother.”

Johnnie chuckled. “You
do
have a sense of humor. Had I been able to do that, he’d still be in Holland. You know everyone, don’t you?” the Laird of Ravensby noted, gesturing at his entourage.

“How many men did you bring with you from Three Kings?” inquired Johnnie’s cousin, Munro, reaching for the reins of one of the horses held by Redmond’s cohorts.

“Three hundred, some already in the city.”

“And we can bring together—”

“Five hundred,” Munro finished.

“That should give Argyll pause,” Johnnie said with a smile. “And then we’ll see whether we have to muster more, or if he’s willing to negotiate.”

“Argyll can be bought, or else he wouldn’t be pimping for the English,” Redmond brusquely said.

“My thought exactly,” Johnnie softly murmured. “Are we all ready?”

T
HE CARRE TROOPS FLANKED THE FORD, WAITING
for Argyll’s scouts to appear, the country road no more than a rough track—a decided advantage. Argyll’s men would be strung out thin, the path allowing no more than two horsemen to ride abreast.

“Load pistols.” The order went down the ranks in a murmur, a formality to men who had been trained to battle from childhood. But with the sound of riders carrying into the quiet vale, they checked their weapons one last time. Screened by underbrush and a dense growth of beechwood, Robbie’s forces were drawn up in tight ranks on both stream banks and the border of the road, their vantage ground raised above the rutted path and streambed.

Only a brief, laconic discussion had been necessary to agree on strategy. Familiar with night raids, every man a reiver to the bone, they understood the hit-and-run tactics that allowed for minimum casualties and maximum rewards. And tonight, Argyll was their prize.

No one spoke, their eyes trained on the slight rise over which their enemies would come, night shadows making visibility difficult, the heavily forested glen adding to the gloom. The moon had gone behind
scudding clouds halfway into their ride, and more than one man had muttered about the bad road and smothering darkness.

A glint of metal suddenly gleamed through the murky veil, and hands automatically went to weapons. The Campbell scouts in their breastplates and helmets had crested the rise and were slowly riding down toward the ford, cautiously navigating their way through the treacherous footing. Just as the scouts reached the streambed, the distant glitter of Argyll’s gold-trimmed uniform caught everyone’s attention.

The men in ambush glanced at their neighboring kinsmen, smiled, and nodded. A showy fop like Argyll would make easy picking, even if he were in the center of his ranks. But a degree of patience was required to effectively ambush the large force. Robbie’s troopers quietly waited until half the column had passed over the ford, everyone understanding the necessity of splitting the company in two. Motionless, mute, they bided their time.