The Border Hostage (8 page)

He fastened the gold cape about her. “I don't want to be with Beth Kennedy, I want to be with you, Raven. Do you know how exciting it is to know that beneath this demure cloak, you are wearing a scarlet Gypsy dress?”

“And beneath that I am wearing black silk stockings? No, I haven't the faintest notion how exciting that is,” she teased.

“Then let me take you out on the balcony and show you.”

“And risk sullying my reputation? I think not, sir.” Though Raven secretly wanted Christopher Dacre to kiss her so that she could compare it with the kiss of the bold Borderer, she was woman enough to know it would be far better to hold him off with one hand while beckoning him with the other. She was in no hurry.

Heath Kennedy returned to the place where he had left his mount, then made his way to where the castle horses were grazing in the broad meadow beyond the walls. His considerable equine affinity had taught him that, like people, horses were clannish. They preferred to gather together in their own herd, which would make tonight's work much easier. He imitated the nasal call of a nightjar and was relieved when he received an answering
peeyah
that told him the Douglas brothers and their crew were waiting.

Heath herded the horses, thankful that the mist and the darkness would conceal all from the eyes of the sentries on the wall. When he reached the men, he did not need to tell them that stealth and speed were necessary. The horses' hooves were silent on the mossy turf as they drove the animals westward toward Carlisle city's Irish Gate. He did not ask whether the Douglases had bribed the guards on the gate or merely rendered them unconscious. All he cared about was getting the horses out of the walled city without setting off a cry of alarm.

The posse herded the animals toward the bluffs that rose above the River Eden, then drove them through a cut in the sandstone to where the two Douglas vessels lay at anchor. The other half of the crew were awaiting them, and in a short time had the horses in the holds and were able to weigh anchor and head toward Solway Firth.

It took only an hour's sail to reach Annan, and before
the red fingers of dawn reached up the sky, the horses had been taken off the ships, none the worse for their short sea journey. Gavin and Cameron Douglas were jubilant at the success of the operation, and Heath's only regret was that his black stallion was still in Christopher Dacre's possession.
That won't be for long!
he vowed.

Gavin Douglas opted to accompany Heath and the herd to Eskdale, while Cameron Douglas would take the ships west and up the River Dee to Castle Douglas, their Border fortress, where Ramsay moored his vessel, the
Revenge.

When Heath returned with the herd of horses he'd been working with for over a month, Ramsay Douglas shook his head in disbelief. “Where the hellfire did ye find them?”

“Carlisle Castle.”

“Bones of Christ! I should have known Dacre was behind this.”

“I caught Dacre's son red-handed riding Blackadder. My stallion is the only one I couldn't retrieve.”

“How the devil did ye manage?” Ram asked.

“I had help. Gavin and Cameron loaded them aboard their ships and we sailed across the Solway to Annan,” Heath explained.

Just then, Gavin rode up grinning from ear to ear and slid from his saddle. Ram looked from one to the other and shook his head again. “Ye're enough alike tae be twins. I warrant there's some truth tae the rumor that Angus was yer grandsire.”

“Speaking of twins, has Tina made us uncles yet?” Heath asked.

Ram shook his head. “I've not left her side. Sometimes I think she'll never foal.”

Gavin laughed. “I would never have credited it if I hadna seen it with my own eyes—Black Ram Douglas domesticated, begod!”

“Your turn will come, laddie,” Heath taunted.

Ram grinned. “He'll never be that lucky. He hasn't the faintest notion what he's missing, poor sod. I have a woman in a million! Tina makes me whole, complete; she fills me with life.”

Gavin winked at Heath. “His brain's gone soft. 'Tis the other way about—he filled
her
with life.”

“We've the best blood in Scotland, 'tis time tae start doubling it, and if ye've no guts fer marriage, I'll do the job myself, two at a time,” Ram jested.

Heath envied Ramsay his marriage, if Gavin did not. He longed for a family of his own, but he resolutely thrust the thought of a wife away, thinking it impossible because of the two great obstacles in his path: Gypsy blood and bastardy.

Heath found his sister Tina reclining against cushions on the window seat overlooking the small lake behind Eskdale Castle. She was raptly watching a pair of swans that had arrived two days ago. As she glanced up, Heath saw her aura clearly against the mullioned windows and was glad that it was both vibrant and clear.

“I wish I could find a way to persuade the swans to stay. We've had them before upon occasion, but they always fly away.”

“We could catch them and clip their wings. If they laid eggs and they hatched here, perhaps the cygnets would stay,” Heath said.

“I would never clip anything's wings.”

Heath smiled warmly. “I didn't think so.” He straddled a chair so that he could talk to her. “I spoke with Beth last night.”

“Beth? Where on earth did you run into her?” “As a matter of fact, I danced with her at a masquerade ball in Carlisle Castle, and I swear I'm not making this up.”

Tina's eyes sparkled with amusement. “I'll believe you; thousands wouldn't!”

Mr. Burque, Tina's French chef, joined them, bringing
a cup of chocolate for the mother-to-be. He was accompanied by Ada, who carried a lap robe to tuck about Tina. Heath continued his story, for the four of them kept no secrets from each other. “Beth told me that your mother has left our father and intends to live in the Rickergate house in Carlisle.”

“Well, I'll be damned! How did she ever summon the guts to leave him? If there ever was a crisis when I lived at home, Mother took to her bed and left all in my lap.”

Ada's glance swept over Tina's middle. “No pun intended.”

“Apparently, Lady Elizabeth wants an Englishman for Beth. I can only imagine the shouting and brawling to which our charming father subjected her,” Heath said.

Tina dimpled with amusement and sipped her chocolate with relish. “Does she have a particular Englishman in mind?”

“Thomas Dacre's heir, Christopher.” “Blood of God!” Tina exclaimed. “The crumb de la crumb!” Mr. Burque declared succinctly.

“My mother must be mad. She must know Dacre will forever be my enemy for what he did to Ram!”

Ada said shrewdly, “I know why your mother wants Dacre's son for Beth. She thought Thomas Dacre would ask her to wed him, but instead he carried off Rosalind Greystokes. Elizabeth wed Rob Kennedy just to show everyone she could catch a wealthy husband with a title. You need not worry about Beth. Your father controls the purse strings, and without a dowry for bait, Elizabeth won't hook a Dacre for your sister.”

“And a damn good thing. Young Dacre is no fit mate for Beth,” Heath said grimly. “Beth confided to me that she fancies young Heron Carleton, whose father used to be constable of Carlisle Castle. I told her to go after him.”

“You are the best brother in the world; I am so blessed.”

Heath suddenly felt anger on Valentina's behalf. “Your
mother should be here with
you
at this time, not suck-holing up to Dacre!”

“Blood of God, I don't want my mother descending upon me like a biblical plague. Ada here is worth a thousand Elizabeths.”

Ada winked. “That's what your father used to tell me! God's passion, Tina, you're just like him.”

The four doubled up with laughter, for Rob Kennedy had often said to Tina, “God's passion, but ye get more like me every day.”

“Perhaps Father was right; he always ate enough for three, and now I'm doing the same. What's for dinner, Mr. Burque?”

“Lamb on skewers, the very thing to induce labor, chérie.”

“I hope and pray you mean by eating them, Mr. Burque, and not by using them as probes,” Ada said with a straight face.

Tina, laughing, held her belly. “You are so droll, Ada. If you don't cease and desist, I shall give birth by mirth.”

“Save me some food, Mr. Burque. I intend to start branding the horses I managed to retrieve.”

“Good. D for Douglas!” Tina saluted with her chocolate.

“D for Douglas, or D for death to any who dare reive them ever again,” Heath vowed savagely.

It took two days to brand all the horses. On the third day Heath packed his saddlebags for another journey. When Ram Douglas cocked a dark eyebrow at him, Heath simply replied, “Unfinished business.”

“There's no need tae range alone like a wolf. Ye'll be safer with a dozen moss-troopers at yer back.”

“I'm only going fishing.”

Ram eyed the sword that Heath was wearing. It was one he had won from him in a dice game. “Fishing with a sword?”

“Very handy for gutting and filleting. If I don't return, you can start the search for me at Bewcastle.”

“In the dungeon or the graveyard?” Ram asked tersely.

“If I'm not in one, odds are I'll be in the other.”

“Dacre could have bought the horses legitimately.”

“You and I are both too cynical to believe that,” Heath said evenly. He touched his knees to the roan gelding and cantered off.

Heath rode the dozen miles to Mangerton at a steady pace, then he slowed the roan to a walk and examined the town, building by building, farm by farm, and concluded that poverty was widespread in the area. He scrutinized the face of every individual he encountered, then he bought a drink at the alehouse and kept his ears open for the name of Mangey. When he made casual inquiries, the people looked afraid. It took most of the day, but he finally learned that a Border clan named Armstrong, outlawed by the late king of Scotland, terrorized the area. When the Armstrongs had been put to the horn, they had become vicious marauders and turned against their own.

Heath rode through the fields on the outskirts of Mangerton looking for signs of a camp. A spiral of smoke above the trees drew him to the edge of the forest. Beneath the oaks he spotted four mares and knew immediately they were his. Caution told him to go no closer. He crushed down curiosity about the men, because it didn't matter whether there were four or forty within the forest; once darkness fell, Heath intended to retrieve his breeding mares.

He looked up at the sky to gauge the time, and knew it was late afternoon because the sun was already setting. He retreated about a mile until he found a stream, then he followed it into the forest, dismounted, and watered his roan. He took a bag of fodder for his mount from his saddlebags, then with his back against the bole of a tree, he sat down to eat a couple of oatcakes.

Heath reflected on the men in the forest. Most likely
they were Armstrongs, and the evidence of their being in possession of his mares condemned them as being the scum who had been paid to murder Ramsay Douglas. He knew he lusted for their death, but struggled with his need for revenge, telling himself it was a luxury he could not indulge this night. Reclaiming his mares must take precedence over vengeance.

The time dragged interminably for Heath, who knew he had to wait beyond darkness, until the raiders slept. The night was unusually warm, and the water of the stream was a potent lure; finally he gave in to the temptation. He unbuckled his sword and laid it on the ground, then he removed his clothes and dropped them atop the weapon. He waded into the water, which came to his knees. It wasn't deep enough for him to swim, but he knelt down and dipped his head in, then let the refreshing water trickle down his body. It felt so good, Heath repeated the motion, but this time when he lifted his head from the water, he was stunned to see four dark, burly Borderers staring at him. Their ugly faces were sickeningly familiar.

Their look of disbelief was accompanied by muttered exchanges. “Christ almighty, Mangey's gone tae collect the money!”

“Don't panic. We'll kill 'im now. Same difference.”

Heath cursed himself for a careless fool. Never had his instincts let him down so badly before. The quartet stood between him and his clothes. He decided there would be no more attempts to drown him, so he stood up to his full height. The water cascaded down his limbs, leaving his dark skin glistening as he walked warily from the stream.

“So, Douglas, ye escaped a watery grave.”

“The name is Kennedy. I assume yours is Armstrong!”

They exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Where is Mangey Armstrong?” Heath asked, seemingly oblivious of his naked, dripping-wet state.

One of the outlaws grimaced with glee. “He's selling
some of your firkin' mares at Kelso horse fair. We'll save you for 'im.”

“Tae lowest hell wi' Mangey,” another Armstrong said. “That pleasure is mine, 'ere and now.” The shaggy-headed brute drew his lips back to expose rotting teeth. “What's more, I'm gonna kill him wi' his own knife!”

S
eemingly, Heath stood mesmerized as the outlaw drew the long knife from his belt, but in truth his rippling muscles were tensing in readiness for the onslaught.

The brute eyed Heath's cock and balls. “I think I'll do a wee bit o' trimmin' before I finish him off. Let's have some fun.”

Heath knew that all he had was a split second before three of them grabbed him and held him down. He rushed at them and rolled to the ground within reach of his discarded clothing. Not quick enough to escape a slash from the knife, but at least the cut was across his shoulder and not his groin.

As Heath grabbed his sword from beneath his pile of clothes, his lust for revenge returned with a rush. His first target was the lout who was in possession of his own knife. Heath blocked the brute's plunging arm with his own solid forearm, then thrust the sword into the Borderer's gut and withdrew it quickly. He raised the bloody sword over his
head, swinging it in a deadly circle to keep the other three at bay. The trio had no weapons; Heath's knife, which lay beside the dying man, was out of their reach.