The Border Hostage (3 page)

Heath got to his knees, then slowly, without taking his eyes from the rider, he stood up. He knew she saw him, for she suddenly tossed her head and urged her mount to a reckless speed. Her black Border pony was surefooted and bred for stamina, yet the wild gallop to the far end of the beach showed a wanton desire to display her riding skill. The female hardly slowed as she pivoted her pony and rode directly toward him at full gallop.

Heath, who had no intention of moving from her path, planted his feet firmly and laughed at her folly. “Where is the rest of the band camped?” he called.

At the last minute she drew rein and slid down from the pony's back. “What band?” she demanded in a challenging voice.

“The Gypsies. You are a Gypsy, are you not?”

Raven stopped dead, four feet away from him. The features of her beautiful face were frozen in outrage. “A Gypsy?” she repeated in disbelief. “You ignorant swine, I have never been so offended in my life! How dare you offer me such insult?” Raven was stunned that the dark Borderer had mistaken her for a ragtag Gypsy. Her contemptuous glance ran over his bare chest and shoulders with their powerful muscles and corded tendons. He was probably looking for a quick tumble. “I am a
lady!
My father is Sir Lancelot Carleton. We own Rockcliffe Marsh, upon which you, sir, are trespassing!”

Now that Heath saw her close up, he could see that she
was no Gypsy. Her skin was like roses and cream rather than dusky, and her eyes were a startling lavender-blue. He also could see her aura, which was a matching shade of lavender against her black hair. “An
English
lady.” He gave her a mocking bow and winced inwardly at the pain it caused him. “That is too bad.”

Raven's chin went up immediately and her temper flared. “Why so?” she challenged.

“Gypsy girls have fire in their blood—English ladies have ice.”

She dug her fists into her hips. “Well, there is no mistaking what
you
are: an insolent Borderer, most likely a Scot to boot!” Raven was amazed at her own temerity. An aura of danger surrounded the dark man before her, and he exuded a sense of threat.

Her words did not offend him, rather they flattered him. Heath Kennedy was indeed first and foremost a Borderer and a Scot. When she looked at him as if he were the scum of the earth, he smiled inwardly, wondering what she would think if she knew he had a little Gypsy blood mixed in there too.

Raven swallowed her fear of the dark and dangerous man who stood before her and said with bravado, “You had better be off before my brother sets his dogs on you and my father arrests you for trespass!”

Heath smiled wryly. He knew Lance Carleton had once been constable of Carlisle Castle, but thought his years must sit heavily upon him now that he was lame and had been put out to pasture, so to speak. For his service to the Crown, however, he had been appointed an official who sat in judgment at the Border Wardens' Courts, which were held four times a year. “If Sir Lancelot saw you showing off your bare legs so shamefully, he would tan your arse, I warrant.”

Raven could not prevent the blush that rose to her cheeks, because there was truth in his words. This, of course, made her so angry she did not trust herself to
retort. Instead she shot him a look of scorn, turned her back upon him, and remounted her pony.

The blush told him that she was an innocent lass, despite her haughty pride. He felt an instant attraction toward the spirited beauty, in spite of her disdain. Heath allowed her to ride a short distance away from him before he put two fingers to his lips and whistled. Her pony stopped in his tracks, turned, and trotted back toward Heath.

“Sully! Whoa! Whoa, boy! Sully, stop!” Raven cried.

Sully did stop, but not until he stood in front of Heath Kennedy. The bare-chested Borderer reached out a hand and scratched the pony's nose, and Sully moved forward to nudge him.

“What in hell's name are you doing?” Raven demanded furiously, suddenly realizing the danger was real.

Heath's fingers took hold of Sully's bridle. “My dearest lady, I find myself in dire straits this morning. I am in need of a mount, and like an angel of mercy you have delivered one into my hands. I pledge to return him at my first convenient opportunity.”

Raven laughed in his face. “Give you Sully? You must be mad!”

Heath nodded his head. “A mad Borderer, and a Scot to boot! Allow me to help you dismount.”

For the first time Raven's eyes revealed that fear mingled with her fury. She kicked out at him, but he deftly caught her ankle and pulled her from the pony's back. He let go of the reins, and Sully stood obedient to his signal as Heath took Raven firmly by the shoulders and looked down at her. “There is something else that I lust for, my proud beauty.” His fingers deftly unbuttoned her shirt.

Raven's eyes widened in shock. “You would ravish me?”

“Another time, perhaps, my lady. Today I only desire the shirt off your back.”

Raven's mouth fell open as he plucked the shirt from her, leaving her clad in only her feminine undergarment.
She began to pant with rage. “You filthy Scots bastard, stealing horses is a hanging offense, and you will swing, so help me God!”

Heath mounted Sully. “I will not cavil at ‘bastard,’ but I do object to the word ‘filthy.’ I bathed in the River Eden last night. I bid you adieu, until we meet again.”

Though Heath Kennedy would have liked to ride straight back to Eskdale Castle and his sister Tina, he realized one man would be of little aid. Instead, he must find Ram Douglas and tell him what had happened. Ramsay was the Warden of the West Scottish March, with a force of fifty moss-troopers to do his bidding, and at the moment they were patrolling the county of Dumfrieshire. Heath crossed the border and headed west, thankful that his worst injury was no more than a cracked rib. He patted the neck of the sturdy animal he rode, gritting his teeth against the jarring pain, but adding it to the score he would settle with the evil son of a bitch behind the plot to kill Ram Douglas.

The memory of the dark beauty with the fiery temper was far more pleasant to think about. Heath understood that all young creatures had a need to be wild and free. Most respectable young women had it stifled out of them by the time they left childhood, but a few, like his sister Valentina, remained free spirits all their lives. Tina was the only one in the family with whom Heath had ever felt close. He was a by-blow of Rob Kennedy, Lord of Galloway, and his father's legitimate family considered him an outcast, all except Tina. She had married powerful Lord Ramsay Douglas, and as a result, he and Ram had become fast friends.

Heath thought of them now and marveled at what a perfect match they were for each other. Though Tina and Ram had started out as enemies, they had fallen so deeply in love, they were mated for life, and Black Ram Douglas
worshipped the ground Tina walked on. They were about to have their first child, and Heath envied them, longing for a family of his own. Then he laughed at his own folly. Before he could have a family, he needed a wife. Heath had no trouble attracting females, but a wife was another matter entirely. Gypsy girls were amoral and did not interest him beyond sex, and any self-respecting young woman, be she English or Scot, would never marry a landless bastard, especially one with Gypsy blood.

Heath rode only a dozen miles before he found Douglas and his men at Annan. The smell of wood smoke was thick in the air, and he could see that the town had been burned. The Douglas men had put out the fires and were now busy tending burns.

“Whoreson English!” Ram cursed. “We got here too late tae catch them. They set fire tae a dozen small villages as well as Annan.” Ram took a good look at Heath and demanded, “What's amiss? Something has happened tae Tina!”

“When I left, Tina was all right,” Heath assured him quickly, then went on to tell Ramsay how the raiders had dragged him from Eskdale Castle, thinking he was Lord Douglas.

“Whoreson English!” Ram repeated. “Greedy fer ransom.”

“They did not want ransom, they wanted you dead! And I'm not convinced they were English; I have a suspicion they were Scots!”

Ram's heavy black brows drew down in a frown. King James had outlawed clan feuds and put an end to them by bonds of blood and marriage. Cattle were still lifted, but Scots no longer killed each other. “Nay, man, yer wrong! Douglas power is a threat tae the English throne. We need tae get word tae Archie Douglas tae watch his back. The new Earl of Angus will be the next target. By now they may have sniffed out the secret that he intends tae wed our late king's widow, Margaret Tudor.” Marriage with James
IV's widow would make Archibald Douglas the ruling Regent of Scotland, because King James V was a two-year-old infant.

“I'll need a fresh mount,” Heath said. “I don't want to harm this Border pony.”

“That's not all ye need by the look of ye.” Ram examined Heath, saw the bruised ribs, and used the linen shirt Heath had worn to bind him tightly. Ram gave him a horse and a leather jack, then called his men together. “We are for Eskdale, lads; we've done all we can here.”

As the riders crossed from Annandale into Eskdale, Heath said ruefully, “The filthy swine stole all the horses, except for Tina's Indigo. I had her safe in the pasture by the river.”

Ram nodded knowingly. “No cattle or sheep; the beasts would slow them down too much, and the horses have more value.”

“I intend to get them back,” Heath said implacably.

Ram's pewter gaze flicked over him. “They will be miles across the Border by now.”

“Maybe,” Heath conceded, “but maybe not. They looked like Scots Borderers to me.”

Ram shook his head. “Borderers all look alike and sound alike. At the Border Wardens' Court meetings, the only way ye can distinguish English Borderers from Scots is by their clan badges.”

“I'd know these scum anywhere. I'll find them, no matter how long it takes.”

“Ye don't have tae do it alone—it was me they intended tae murder. How many are we after?”

“Only five—I already dispatched two to hell.”

Ram laughed grimly. Heath Kennedy was the only man he had ever met who had more guts than himself.

Raven Carleton was able to reach her bedchamber without anyone seeing her shocking state of undress only
because of the early hour. She knew that if she reported her encounter with the Borderer to her parents, they would forbid her from visiting the Rockcliffe Marsh and no doubt curtail her riding and hawking as well. Raven was still seething with anger at the bold devil who had accosted her and stolen Sully, who was so precious to her. She was furious because he had bested her as well. If her father or Heron asked about Sully, she would have to say that she had left him to graze in the far meadow. But God only knew what lie she would have to concoct to explain Sully's permanent disappearance.

Raven caught sight of herself in the mirror and was shocked at her reflection. Her hair was a mass of wild tangles from her ride, and the ribbon from the bodice of her undergarment had come undone, revealing the swell of her breasts. She lifted her chin and set her hands to her hips, to see what she must have looked like to the Borderer. Suddenly her mischievous eyes filled with laughter. “My God, no wonder he mistook me for a ragtag Gypsy!” She sobered suddenly, realizing how lucky she had been to escape unscathed.

The young lady who sat down to lunch wearing a pristine white dress bore no resemblance to the wild creature who had ridden abroad at dawn. Raven listened politely as her mother instructed her and Lark on table manners, dress code, and the ladylike behavior she expected from them both when they visited the Dacres. “It seems that we are not the only guests who have been invited to Carlisle Castle. Among others, Lady Elizabeth Kennedy, your father's second cousin, will be there. No doubt she will be husband-hunting for her youngest daughter, Beth.” Raven suddenly became more attentive. Sweet, fair-haired Beth Kennedy was formidable competition in the marriage market because of the fact that her father was the Lord of Galloway, Scotland, who owned vast acres covered with sheep, and a fleet of merchant ships to export Kennedy wool.

Kate Carleton handed Raven an invitation that had arrived that morning. “At the end of the week, the Dacres are throwing a ball. What is this word, dear?” she asked, pointing to one of the words on the card. “I am not sure of its meaning.”

“Masquerade,” Raven supplied, knowing her mother had difficulty reading. “It means that the guests wear costumes and masks.”

“A fancy-dress ball. Why the devil doesn't it say so instead of using a daft French word!”

“Oh, what fun! I am so glad Lady Dacre invited us, especially during Carlisle Fair week. May we attend, Mother?” Lark asked eagerly.

“Of course we are going to the fair.” Raven glared at her sister for asking permission.

“Christopher Dacre and your brother may escort you, if you both promise to conduct yourselves with propriety.”

“Raven wants to have her fortune told at the fair.”

“Of course I don't,” Raven denied, aiming a discreet kick at Lark's ankle.

“I should hope not,” Kate Carleton said repressively. “Gypsies cannot be trusted; they are all thieves, liars, or
worse.
“

Raven swiftly changed the subject. “It will be a nice chance for you to visit with your friend Rosalind.”

“Raven told me that when Lord Dacre was young, he kidnapped his bride and carried her off! Is that true?”

Raven aimed another kick at Lark. Why could she not learn to keep her mouth shut?

Katherine pursed her lips together and gave Raven a look of disapproval. “What an exasperating girl you are.” She turned to Lark and explained, “Rosalind Greystokes was a ward of Lord Clifford of Westmorland. Clifford refused Thomas Dacre permission to marry Rosalind, so the reckless young devil carried her off and wed her!”

“What a dreadful, wicked thing to do!” Lark was appalled.

“I think it the most romantic thing I have ever heard!” Raven declared passionately. “Only imagine having a man love you enough to kidnap you!”

Kate gave Raven a quelling glance. “It was indeed dreadful, and caused a horrendous scandal, I can assure you. Poor Rosalind was blameless, but her reputation was ruined.”