Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (17 page)

He eased off her, kissed her, and said, “We’ve much to do before I leave to attend the wardens’ meeting. But I may have to depart again soon afterward, and I want to accomplish as much here as we can before then. So we’d better get up a bit earlier than usual these next few days.”

She agreed with a small sigh, and the next thing she knew, he was asleep.

The next four days passed swiftly in a flurry of activity, because Walter put everyone to work, clearing, cleaning, scouring, polishing, repairing, and organizing.

Meg and Amalie learned much more about Raven’s Law—more, Amalie said after a particularly long day as she collapsed onto cushions in the hall window embrasure, than she had ever wanted to know.

Meg enjoyed the activity. She enjoyed even more working alongside Walter and learning from him. She learned that he was stubborn and could be peremptory, that he liked doing things his own way or the way the Scotts had always done them, and that he would quickly stifle dispute. But she learned, too, that if she was tactful, he would listen. And several times, he had adopted her suggestions.

She recalled those moments as she watched him ride away on Wednesday morning, and realized that she was rapidly growing very fond of her husband.

Even as tired as they both were by each day’s end, they had coupled more nights than not, albeit briefly and without his providing as much pleasure as she had enjoyed the night before he had left for Elishaw or the night of his return.

Recalling his suggestion the first of those nights that he had been punishing her for needing lessons in obedience, she smiled. Whatever he chose to call it, they had enjoyed it, and she had hoped they would do so again before he had to leave.

They had not, but he would be no farther away than Hermitage this time. And he would return in just three or four days.

Chapter 12

With that a wee fellow came puffing and blawin’, Warn well, and arm well, or else ye’re undone!

T
wenty miles southeast of Buccleuch, at the southern end of the Cheviot Hills, Hermitage Castle dominated an isolated side glen of upper Liddesdale.

Built on the site of some ancient saint’s lonely sanctuary, the castle stood on raised ground a quarter-mile uphill from where Whitrope Burn and sundry sikes—or rills, as the English called them—joined the tumbling flow called Hermitage Water.

The castle’s location made it nearly impossible for anyone to attack it except from the wild, broken country of lofty hills and boggy marshland to the northwest, an area not only all but impenetrable for any who did not know it well but also populated with folks who acknowledged little or no authority but lance or sword.

Hermitage Water and deep ditches all around the castle added to its defenses.

Wat and his father, followed by Buccleuch’s usual tail of two dozen armed men and Wat’s six, arrived at Hermitage late Wednesday afternoon, having followed a track they knew through that ungoverned countryside. They crested the last hilltop to look down on the west-facing front of the castle.

From behind them, the sun lit the tall, pointed arch by the west entrance and sparkled on the wide, tree-lined ribbon of Hermitage Water as it tumbled down the hill before them and flowed past the castle just south of the rise on which it stood.

As always, the castle gave Wat a sense of awe, because beginning nearly twenty years before, the first Earl of Douglas had turned it into a fortress of massive strength to withstand siege. Oblong in shape, its main block boasted projecting square towers at the corners, connected by tall archways on its east and west fronts.

At present, the towers were of equal dimension, but Wat knew that Douglas planned to enlarge the gate tower at the southwest corner, now housing the kitchen and bakehouse. Despite the earl’s comments to the contrary, Wat knew his intention was to add chambers to house his family and important guests on the upper floors.

He knew the history of Hermitage well, because the castle was the most important of the Border strongholds. Men on both sides of the line had talked about and fought over possession of Hermitage for the entire century of its existence.

Men-at-arms camped already in the foreclosure and near the chapel. The latter stood separately on the western slope between them and the castle. As more arrived, Wat knew such encampments would cover the surrounding countryside.

Because he and Buccleuch were expected and flew the Scott banner, the heavy timber drawbridge spanning the deep, water-filled ditch in front of the entrance came down as they approached. They clattered across it and dismounted. Leaving their horses with men who would see to them, Wat followed Buccleuch up the steep timber forestair to the main entrance, on the next level of the gate tower.

Two well-armed guardsmen flanked the opening. In the passageway ceiling beyond them, Wat saw tips of two iron portcullises, one ten feet behind the other.

Both were up in welcome, but he knew that with just a shout, a simple maneuver by the men in the portcullis chamber above could bring both gates crashing down. They could easily trap an unwary enemy between the two.

The guards nodded as Wat and his father entered the passageway. Even so, and not for the first time, Wat felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he walked under the hanging iron gates.

The lower hall, for use by the rank and file, lay beyond an archway at the end of the passage. The great hall, where the elite gathered, stood on the floor above.

The upper levels held smaller chambers for the earl and his guests. But although both halls and the earl’s chamber boasted large fireplaces, little else had been done to provide any comfort. Even a visiting earl might find himself with a pallet to sleep on if he did not think to provide his own bedding, although Wat doubted that Douglas intended to treat the Earl of Fife so shabbily.

Near the archway, they came to the main stairway leading down to the kitchens as well as to the upper floors. He heard laughter, music, and conversation in the lower hall and could just barely smell roasting mutton from below over less welcome scents of cesspits and unwashed men.

The worst of the smells faded before they reached the upper hall. A murmur of conversation greeted them but stopped when Buccleuch crossed the threshold.

As Wat followed him in, he heard Douglas call cheerfully, “Welcome! I trust
you
two will not complain about the accommodations here.”

“If they don’t suit us, my lord, we’ll go home,” Buccleuch said with a chuckle. “Who dares to complain to you?”

“Need you ask?” Douglas said as he strode forward to shake hands with them. “Our self-professed Guardian of the Realm arrived an hour ago from Stirling and clearly expected to enjoy his customary amenities. But after all the improvements he has installed at Stirling Castle, Fife of all people ought to understand that when one is still building, even one’s most noble guests must expect some disorder.”

“You should have let your countess arrange for his comfort when she suggested doing so,” Buccleuch said, still grinning. “She kens his ways fine.”

James gave him a wry look. “Sakes, sir, you know as well as I do that Isabel loathes Fife. The only one of her royal brothers she can tolerate is Carrick, because he is kind to her. She’d have put Fife in a temper within an hour of his arrival.”

“I thought Fife was not coming until tomorrow,” Wat said.

Douglas gave him the look he had given Buccleuch. “It seems he learned that others would arrive today. Being so untrustworthy himself, the man is obsessively distrustful. I warrant he could not bear thinking that we might conspire against him.”

As Douglas’s plan had been to discuss certain matters privately with his most trusted followers before discussing them openly with Fife and men most loyal to him, Wat thought it best not to comment.

“Where is Fife now?” Buccleuch asked.

“Gone to have a word with his squire and a few of his lads, doubtless to order them to make his chamber more habitable before he sleeps there,” Douglas said. “I’ve given him my own mattress and fresh bedding. Sithee, I’ve not done that for anyone else, but doubtless he expected myriad servants. I have scullions and gillies but no maidservants or personal attendants except my own.”

“I’m sure his people will see to his needs.”

“So I told him, aye,” Douglas said. “The good news is that he will support my plan to stop Hotspur and Richard Plantagenet inside England. Moreover, he has brought a letter from the King saying his grace will support it, too. We failed to stop the villains three years ago, but I
will
stop them this time, and before they can cross over the line. Speaking of villains,” he added, looking at Wat, “I hear that Murray of Elishaw claimed to be under siege last week and sent for you.”

“Aye, God rot him, he did. There was no siege, as mayhap you already know. He just wanted to see if my word was good. However, whilst I was away, the raiders struck the Forest again. So I’m wondering if he had aught to do with that.”

“’Tis possible he sent them, but I doubt it,” Douglas said. “I’ve had reports of such activity from all three of the Scottish marches. In nearly every case, the raiders claimed that I’d sent them or had given them permission to take whatever they were caught taking. I’m thinking someone may be seeking to undermine my authority.”

“The one most likely to do that is Fife,” Wat said. “We know he’s declared numerous times, both in Parliament and elsewhere, that you’ve acquired too much power, and we know that he resents it. However, Murray’s eldest son, Simon,
is
in Fife’s service,” he added, only to wish that he had not the moment the words were out. Meg would not thank him for suggesting that her brother was in league with Fife against Douglas, and that perhaps her father was as well. He stopped short of suggesting that Simon Murray might be acting on his own just to impress Fife.

“I don’t know Simon Murray, but I do know Fife,” Douglas said. “I’ll own, he is my chief suspect whenever mischief strikes hereabouts, but I did order Murray to attend the wardens’ meeting on Friday to show cause why we should not resolve your grievances against him as you requested. If his son is in Fife’s train, Murray will doubtless be kind enough, knowingly or otherwise, to point him out to us.”

With that, Wat had to be content, although he still suspected Murray.

When he and his father adjourned to the small room allotted them, to refresh themselves for supper, he returned to something else Douglas had said, which had puzzled him, “Why would the King support a border crossing and a confrontation inside England, sir? I thought he was for peace at any cost. Carrick, too.”

“They are,” Buccleuch agreed. “But sithee, if Fife wants something signed, the King signs it. And although many believe Fife capable of handing the succession over to the English if they will agree to let him remain in command here, Fife is smart enough to know that is unlikely to happen if England conquers Scotland.”

“Has Fife’s early arrival put an end to the discussions Jamie meant to have with those of us he trusts most?”

“Most likely,” Buccleuch said. “With Fife’s men all over the place, I’m guessing Douglas’s plans will change. I just hope he can avoid a confrontation.”

Supper began smoothly enough with the earl’s minstrel providing fine music that elicited compliments from Fife and others. But Wat, sitting below the dais with other knights who served Douglas, could see that Fife’s suspicions remained strong.

As they took their seats, Wat heard him comment grimly on the many Douglases who had presented themselves a full day earlier than necessary.

The carving of the first haunch had just begun when Fife said, “One would think this a meeting of Douglases to discuss Douglas business, rather than one to discuss our national response to the English threat.”

Nearly everyone there heard him, because he had not bothered to lower his voice. Indeed, he had seemed to raise it, as a challenge.

An instant, angry hum of response began, only to hush just as instantly when the Douglas raised his hand.

Silence followed, the servants moving like wraiths, as Douglas said clearly, without raising his voice, “In the hall of Douglas, all business is Douglas business. Should we ever chance to meet where Stewarts prevail, doubtless all business will be Stewart business. Meantime, our business here is to enjoy our supper and the fine minstrel that my lady wife—your royal sister—has sent to entertain us.”

The silence continued even when Douglas turned from Fife to speak quietly to a Douglas cousin, Archie the Grim, Lord of Galloway.

No one needed a stronger message than that to know that, Guardian of the Realm or not, Fife would be wiser to hold his tongue.

At Hermitage, Douglases not only prevailed, they predominated. Aside from Fife’s own men, any who were not Douglases themselves were either married to Douglases or linked strongly with them by vassalage or long and loyal friendship.

Moreover, despite numerous English invasions over the past century, from the days of Robert the Bruce and before, Douglas power and leadership had kept the invaders from conquering Scotland. Even Fife had to realize that if Jamie Douglas just said the word, there would be no army to stop the English now. As Earl of Douglas and Chief Warden of the Marches, Jamie commanded as many as fifty thousand men. All the Stewarts together would be lucky to raise two thousand.

The minstrel wisely stayed his music until normal discussion began again, but even after lads had cleared the tables, the evening’s discussions dealt for the most part with family and local affairs of various Border factions.

Wat and Buccleuch retired earlier than they had expected and did so gladly.

By late Thursday morning, everyone Douglas had invited to discuss tactics and strategy for his forthcoming sortie into England had arrived, and their discussions began in earnest in the upper hall.

By order, guards would show anyone arriving early for the next day’s wardens’ meeting to the lower hall, or ask them to join the camps outside the castle.

Every powerful Border lord was there, including the lord abbots of Melrose and Dryburgh. Those two great abbeys lay directly in the path of any English army crossing the line at Carter Bar and had suffered grievously during the last invasion. Both abbots, with the power of their own noble families and the Roman Kirk behind them, were able to raise armies of their own or use the power of the Kirk to influence men to join or ignore other leaders, just as the powerful Bishop of Durham was able to provide support for Hotspur and the English king.

Tables below the upper-hall dais had given way to benches, and Wat took his seat on one near the front between two knights he had supped with the night before.

Tammy, acting as his squire, sat on the bench just behind him.

Without objection, Fife claimed the central armchair at the high table. But it was Douglas, on his right, to whom everyone looked to open the proceedings.

When Douglas moved to stand, Fife put out a hand. “I will speak first.”

“Certainly,” Douglas said with a nod.

Fife did not stand, nor did his voice carry as easily as Douglas’s did. Indeed, he had a trick of speaking softly, as if he would make men strain to hear him. He said, “As all here know, I am commander of his grace, the King’s, armed forces. Because we have come to believe that Richard Plantagenet of England means to try yet again to make Scotland an English province, his grace agrees with me that we must exert ourselves to prevent that. To that end, we have asked the Earl of Douglas to bring all Scottish Border leaders together here to determine how we will proceed. Understand me, though. This effort must be made quietly if it is to be successful.”

Voicing aloud Wat’s thoughts of the previous evening, the burly Abbot of Melrose—who like most powerful abbots could produce an army of his own, financed by the Kirk, to support any effort he approved—said mildly, “I am surprised that his grace consents to this venture. He and my lord Carrick have long been men of peace.”