The Border Hostage (34 page)

On the fourth day of the Wardens' Court, the Douglas witness was nowhere in evidence. After a lull in the proceedings at midmorning, Lord Ramsay Douglas got to his feet to set forth his accusations. It was not so much his rich attire, decorated by the bleeding heart of Douglas in rubies and diamonds, that drew every eye, as it was his dark, dominant face and deep, powerful voice.

“Gentlemen, we have a traitor in our midst. We have a March Warden who pays an outlawed Scots clan tae reive and murder and maim their own flesh and blood in the Scots Borders. The numbers would astound ye. He can call on a hundred Armstrongs tae destroy their own with fire and sword. 'Tis a shrewd and evil ploy tae make us blame the English and hate them. But it doesn't stop there. He pays an English clan tae wreak havoc in the English Borders, then blame it on the Scots. These numbers are horrific; he has two or three hundred in his pay.”

Sir Richard Graham, one of the English officials, got to his feet. “Such an accusation is preposterous! Englishmen would not stoop to such vile atrocities.”

“ 'Tis strange ye should be the one tae deny it, Sir Richard; the English clan I speak of is Graham!”

A babble of voices filled the air. Though Douglas had not yet accused the Warden he spoke of by name, most men in the hall suspected that he referred to Thomas Dacre. Sir Lancelot Carleton banged his gavel on the table to restore order. “Lord Douglas, the accusation does seem preposterous. English Border Wardens are accountable to the Earl of Surrey, who gets his orders directly from the King of England.”

Douglas nodded to Carleton. “Precisely, Sir Lancelot; ye have just made my point!”

For a full ten minutes, pandemonium reigned, and it took another ten minutes to restore order in the hall. Douglas held up a hand. “Tomorrow I will name names and bring my witness, Sim Armstrong, who will testify tae all this. Tomorrow I will bring ye proof.” Ram knew that Armstrong would not testify, but no one else in the hall except Heath knew this. Douglas sat down, and Kennedy took the floor.

He was garbed in black from head to foot, and the men in the crowded hall craned their necks to get a look at the newcomer. Though more attractive than Douglas, no one doubted that here was another dark, dominant Borderer, cut from the same cloth. Heath raised his head proudly and stared at the officials who sat in judgment. “The name is Kennedy. On Dacre's orders, the Armstrongs raided Eskdale and lifted a dozen breeding mares from me. I took Dacre's son and held him for ransom. My breeding mares were restored and I turned Christopher Dacre over to his father. That should have been the end of the matter, but it was not. In retaliation a Kennedy merchant vessel, with its cargo of wool, was destroyed by fire while it was docked here in Carlisle. Then, only a few days ago, a massive raid was mounted in Kirkcudbright against my brother Donal Kennedy. Cattle and sheep were lifted, the sheds of wool set ablaze, and my brother Donal burned to death. Need I remind you that under Border law, reprisal raids are forbidden, and that Dacre controls the West March?”

Dacre was on his feet denying the accusation before
Heath Kennedy stopped speaking. “These are filthy lies! My son was never taken for ransom by this Kennedy by-blow! The tales of stolen brood mares, fired ships, and Kirkcudbright raids are pure fabrication. He claims Armstrongs raided Eskdale; need I remind you they are Scots, not English, and that Douglas controls the Scottish West March?”

Lancelot Carleton jumped to the defense of the young man who was about to become his son-in-law. “Do you seriously expect us to believe that you held Christopher Dacre ransom for a few mares?”

“I grant you my mares were worth far more than a Dacre, but if you doubt that Dacre's son was my prisoner, I suggest you ask your own son, Heron Carleton.” Heath directed his next words to the three Scottish officials who sat in judgment. “I speak for my father, Rob Kennedy, Lord of Galloway. We ask compensation for livestock lifted and goods destroyed, and we ask that a charge of murder be laid against Lord Thomas Dacre.”

Silence blanketed the hall for one full minute before voices erupted in shouting and cursing. Grim-faced, Heath Kennedy, Ramsay Douglas, and all his men filed from Carlisle's great hall. Outside, Ram Douglas grunted with satisfaction. “We gave the whoreson a one-two punch in the gut. When I purposely didn't name him, Dacre knew I was blackmailin' him. Before the light fully fades from the sky, I wager we'll hear from him.”

Heath grimaced. “I never bet against a sure thing.”

It was just at twilight that a messenger came to the tents, asking for Ramsay Douglas. He carried no note, only a verbal message. He cast a wary glance at Heath Kennedy, and they knew he had been told not to speak in front of witnesses. When Heath stepped outside, the messenger said, “Lord Dacre awaits you,
alone
, my lord.”

As Ram Douglas entered Dacre's library, his confidence surged and he decided to up the amount of the bribe he
would demand for withdrawing his charges. But Dacre had a surprise up his sleeve.

“Tell Kennedy that he will have to withdraw the charge of murder against me. His brother Donal is alive.” Dacre's smile was malicious; there were few men he hated more than Ram Douglas.

Ramsay's hope soared. Valentina would be joyous! His pewter-black eyes were hooded, however, his emotions hidden from view. “If ye took Donal Kennedy prisoner, it proves ye were raidin' in Kirkcudbright.”

“Not so. He was raiding across the Border in England and captured in the Debatable Land. A dozen Grahams will swear it.”

Ram was ready to negotiate. “I could be persuaded tae tell the court that my witness is unreliable and that I have no proof of the claims I made today, in exchange fer Donal Kennedy.”

Dacre smiled slowly. “I hold the whip hand, Douglas.”

Ram's dark, forbidding features looked chiseled from stone.

“Unless you tell the court tomorrow that you have no witness, nor proof of your rash claims, and unless you turn Armstrong over to me tonight, your wife's brother Donal will die.”

Ram's eyes bored into his enemy as he weighed the odds of knifing him on the spot. Dacre was a coward and would have guards waiting outside the door to kill him and kill his prisoner, Donal Kennedy. So it was a standoff. Douglas nodded once and turned on his heel.

Back in the tent, he gave Heath Kennedy the news. “Donal is alive; Dacre is holding him prisoner.”

“Thank God!”

“Don't thank him yet. I tried tae negotiate; I offered tae withdraw all claims and charges in exchange fer Donal. Dacre laughed in my face. Unless I agree tae tell the court I have no proof of my rash claims, and unless I turn
Armstrong over tae him tonight, he threatens tae kill Donal. I believe he'll do it.”

“Then we have no choice … I'm sorry.”

“Nay, I have no problem withholdin' the proof that Dacre is payin' the Armstrongs and Grahams. The damage was done when I accused him; all now suspect it is the truth.”

Heath's thoughts raced about, seeking an answer to the dilemma. “Sim Armstrong is
my
prisoner. I'll turn him over to Dacre.”

Ram eyed Heath. “Don't do anythin' reckless. I was tempted, but managed tae curb my blazin' temper.”

Heath nodded curtly and went to Jock's tent, where Armstrong was being heavily guarded. “Come with me,” he told the prisoner, whose arms were trussed behind him.

Sim Armstrong looked terrified and ready to bolt. “Do ye want me tae come with ye?” Jock asked Kennedy.

Heath fingered the handle of his dagger in its sheath and shook his head. “Nay, I think Armstrong and I understand each other.”

It was full dark as the two figures made their way toward the castle. Kennedy walked behind Armstrong, and prodded him with his blade whenever his steps became reluctant. When they reached the shadow of the wall, Heath reached out and cut the rope that bound his prisoner. “Get the hell out of here,” he said low.

It took Sim Armstrong a minute to comprehend his meaning. The next minute, he was gone.

Heath Kennedy concealed his knife in his boot, expecting to be challenged when he walked into Carlisle Castle. “Take me to Lord Dacre; we have business.” Two more guards were posted outside the library door, fully armed with knives and swords. When they knocked, Dacre opened the door himself and admitted Kennedy.

“You are wasting your time; I won't bargain.”

“I think you will.”

Dacre's eyebrows went up in surprise at Kennedy's audacity.

“You and your son would far rather have me for your prisoner than Donal Kennedy. I'll take his place if you will release him.”

Dacre stared hard, wondering if he had heard right, suspicious of some ruse. He went to the door and asked the guard to summon Christopher, never taking his eyes from Kennedy. “Where's Armstrong?” he demanded.

Kennedy spread his palms. “Escaped,” he said blandly.

When Christopher Dacre entered the library and saw who was with his father, his lips curled with hatred. Then he said with relish, “There is no amount of money will ransom your brother.”

Dacre cut in, “He isn't offering money—he's offering himself.”

Chris Dacre's eyes widened with disbelief.

Heath Kennedy repeated his offer. “I'll take Donal's place if you will release him.” He watched the expression in Chris Dacre's eyes change to avidity, and he knew the deal was done. Dacre lusted to have him at his mercy.

It seemed to take a long time for the guards to produce Donal Kennedy, and Heath surmised that was because he was imprisoned deep in the bowels of the castle. When he was brought into the library, Heath saw that there was blood on his clothes and that he had a decided limp, but at least he was upright and could walk.

When Donal saw his half-brother, Heath, he could not hide his surprise. “You ransomed me?”

“I did,” Heath answered quickly, before anyone else could speak. “You will find the tents of Ram Douglas and his men in the meadow, set up next to the Maxwells.”

“You are free to go,” Dacre informed Donal. “Tell Douglas that I am holding his wife's brother until he withdraws all claims before the Wardens' Court tomorrow.”

Donal Kennedy seemed to be in a daze, but when a
guard opened the door for him, he went through it as quickly as he could.

Chris Dacre ordered the guards to seize Heath Kennedy, but his father uttered a quick warning. “Search him first. He would not come here without a concealed weapon.” When they discovered the knife in his boot, Chris Dacre held out his hand. “I'll take that.” Then he made a mocking bow. “After you, gentlemen.”

With a guard on either side holding his arms and Chris Dacre following behind, Heath was taken to a dank prison cell beneath Carlisle Castle. He marked the winding passages down which he was dragged and knew he was being lodged in the most ancient, seldom-used part of the fortress.

Dacre lit a torch so that the guards could shackle his prisoner's arms in metal wall rings.

Heath cursed silently, knowing he would not be able to lie down. Then he laughed at his own folly, for of a certainty he had not expected to be treated in a civilized manner.

When Dacre was certain Kennedy was fully secured, he told the guards, “Leave us!” He lifted the torch so that the light shone on his prisoner's face, and suddenly Kennedy's proud, dark beauty filled him with fury. “You arrogant bastard! You are nothing but a Gypsy by-blow, yet still you stand there looking down on me!”

“Look down on you? You should be honored I'm looking at all.”

Dacre's fist slammed into Kennedy's face. “I'll be back tomorrow night. We'll see how arrogant you are after you've been standing for twenty-four hours.”

Heath licked his split lip and tasted his own salty blood with perverse satisfaction.

Ram Douglas was quaffing a jar of ale when Donal Kennedy limped in. He set the ale down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “How the hell did Heath gain yer
release when I failed?” Suddenly comprehension dawned. “Christ's holy wounds, he took yer place!”

Donal nodded. “How did ye guess?”

“The reckless fool did it for me once.”

“Dacre says he'll hold him until ye withdraw all claims before the Border Wardens' Court tomorrow.”

Ram knew Dacre's word meant nothing, but once he had withdrawn the claims, Ram could think of no reason for Dacre to hold Heath Kennedy indefinitely. Moreover, Dacre knew that if aught befell Kennedy, Douglas would avenge him. Ram threw up his hands at his friend's brash courage. “We'll get ye home tomorrow. 'Tis not only yer women who will weep tears of joy. Yer father will kill the fatted calf when ye return!”

At Carlisle Castle, Heron Carleton's father was in a less jubilant mood. Sir Lancelot summoned his son to his chamber. “I did not see you in court today.”

“No, Father. Raven was being fitted for her wedding gown, and Lady Rosalind and Mother set me a dozen tasks, not the least of which was measuring the length of the aisle in Carlisle Cathedral.”

Lance Carleton was not diverted. “If you had sat in on the session, you would have witnessed Heath Kennedy accuse the Dacres of deadly reprisals because he had held Chris Dacre for ransom of some mares. When I challenged him, asking if he expected us to believe such a thing, the arrogant devil suggested that if I didn't believe it, to ask my own son!”

Heron licked dry lips. “Mmn, yes, Christopher did mention something about a kidnapping for ransom.” Heron was torn. He wanted to tell his father that he believed the Dacres had raided in Scotland, but he didn't want to involve Raven.

“How was Heath Kennedy so certain you knew about it? Were you involved in this?”

“No, Father, but I believe it happened. Kennedy is your kin; why would you not believe him?”

“Heath Kennedy is no kin of mine. He has been a thorn in the side of my cousin Elizabeth since her wedding. He is Rob Kennedy's illegitimate son by some Gypsy girl!”

Raven opened the chamber door. “Oh, sorry, Father, I thought you were alone.”

Sir Lancelot stared at her, as he suddenly remembered something she had said a few nights ago.
For argument's sake, let us say I chose to marry a Scot, a Borderer. What if he were illegitimate and had Gypsy blood?
“Come in, Raven, and close the door.”