A Rough Wooing (3 page)

That night at dinner, Douglas counted two
dozen extra men, all Elliots and Grahams who lived along the River
Esk. She noticed that Gavin kept an eye on the ale that was served.
He allowed them enough to give them courage, but not an excess that
would make them intoxicated.

After dinner, they stretched out on the
flagstones of the hall, casting dice, and passing the time until
the moon rose. Douglas yawned and bade them all goodnight. She
dished out a plate of treacle pudding and carried it upstairs with
her. She sat down on her bed to eat it and fortify herself against
the cold ride through the dark fells. She shivered with excitement
as she braided her long hair and wrapped the plaits around her
head. She changed into the breeks and leather jack, knowing that
this would be the sort of night that would make her glad she was
alive.

From her window she could watch the rising
moon, and when she saw the shadowy figures of the men silently
heading toward the stables, excitement ran along her veins as she
anticipated the raid that lay ahead. Her plan was to wait until
they had all gone. It would be easy to catch up with them and ride
at the back of the pack.

She opened a dresser drawer and took out a
beaver bonnet. She pulled it on her head and tucked in her plaits,
then she went to her mirror to make sure there were no telltale red
tendrils sticking out. As she examined her reflection, she saw the
image of Lance Greystoke in its silver depths. His dark eyes were
accusing, and she glanced away quickly, determined to banish the
English noble from her thoughts.

When she approached the stables, all was
silent. A stable lad approached, and she waved him off with a
masculine gesture. She saddled her Border pony, mounted, and
trotted out into the castle bailey. She hugged the mare with her
knees and pulled up the collar of her leather jack to keep out the
wind. It was a cold night, but as she galloped along the river, the
excitement of her adventure kept her warm, and she stifled the urge
to throw back her head and laugh with glee.

It didn’t take her long to catch up with the
others. Their hoofbeats were muffled by the grass, but the
silhouettes of the thirty-odd riders were visible in the moonlit
shadows.

She caught up with them and rode beside her
brother Rob until they got near the English Border. Finally, he
recognized her pony. “Christ, Douglas, what the hell are ye
about?”

“I scouted the horses at Beaumont. It was my
idea to take them before anybody else made off with them. I’m an
Elliot. There’s no way I’d let you leave me behind.”

“Best keep yer mouth shut. If Gavin finds
out, he’ll give ye a thrashin’.”

The riders slowed their pace as they spotted
about a hundred mounted men ahead of them. “That’ll be the
Johnstons on their way to Cargo. Best not let them see us, if we
don’t want the Beaumont thoroughbreds snatched from under our
noses.”

She nodded and drew rein until the Johnstons
put some distance between them. Her heart began to pound from the
heightened danger of the raid now that they were about to cross
over into England.
What if Greystoke is at Beaumont defending
his property?
A goose walked over her grave and she shivered.
“Rob, promise me you won’t use your pistol!”

“Not unless I have to,” he said with a
grin.

They crossed the Border, and left the River
Esk behind. When they got to the River Eden, the pale moonlight
touched everything with silver and shadow. They arrived at
Greystoke’s property of Beaumont, and Gavin gave the orders to fire
all the hayricks in the pasture. This would draw the men at the
stables guarding the thoroughbreds out into the pasture to put out
the fires, leaving the horses unprotected long enough to be
snatched away, and driven north.

Douglas parted ways from the others, and
guided her pony to the back of the hall. There was only one thing
she was after, and she focused on its shiny image in her mind’s
eye. She dismounted and silently crept along the outside wall,
looking into windows until she found the library. She made out the
shape of the oak desk, and knew exactly where the priceless
artefact lay. She bent down and picked up a rock from the garden,
then drew back her arm and smashed out the glass in the window.

She climbed up and was straddling the
windowsill when a feeling of foreboding came over her. She
hesitated for long minutes. The thing that stayed her had nothing
to do with conscience, it was a strong sense of inner preservation.
If I steal the mirror pendant, Lance Greystoke will guess it was
me. He knew how much I coveted it when I held it in my hand. He’ll
immediately know I had a hand in the missing thoroughbreds and will
come after us. If he just finds the horses gone, he won’t connect
me in any way. Hundreds of Scots reivers are pillaging
tonight.

Douglas withdrew her leg from the library
windowsill. She got back on her pony and caught up with the rest of
the riders as they were about to drive the stolen horses across the
Scottish Border.
Thank God I came to my senses in time. Lance
Greystoke won’t have a clue who snatched his horses.

Douglas heaved a sigh of relief as they
neared Castle Elliot. “We’ll be safe in our beds before dawn
breaks.”

Rob shook his head. “Gavin arranged to
deliver the horses to Sim Armstrong in Langholm. Prize
thoroughbreds on Elliot land would raise too many questions.”

“I hope Gavin didn’t sell them cheap. These
horses are worth a fortune.”

“Keep yer nose out of men’s affairs,
especially Gavin’s. The less you know, the better. Get yerself to
bed, and none will suspect yer reckless behavior.”

Douglas nodded. She knew Rob wouldn’t tell
Gavin for fear he would get the blame for allowing her to go on the
raid.

“I’ve been braced for trouble. I have watches
posted along the Border, and they report that there’s a hundred
riding on Cargo,” Greystoke informed the Earl of Cumberland in the
Great Hall of Carlisle Castle. “The guard atop the ramparts has
just spotted double that number riding south.”

“Uncivilized, thieving bastards!” Cumberland
cursed. “Penrith is their likely target. They are reckless fools to
raid that deep into England. I’ll take my men and stop them. You
head toward Cargo. If you catch any Scots stealing cattle, shoot
them dead. Arrest any you find riding abroad—we’ll hang them
later.”

Greystoke gave his fifty troopers their
orders. “Cargo is too bloody close to Beaumont for comfort. Arrest
all looters—English or Scot—and bring them back to Carlisle for
interrogation. We want the names of all the clans involved. King
James has promised Cumberland that he’ll mete out justice against
his fellow Scots, if it’s justified.”

Which I will only believe when I see it with
my own eyes.

When they arrived at Cargo, the village had
already been raided and the cattle driven off. Greystoke ordered
his men to take chase and to retrieve as much livestock as they
could. Lance could see fire lighting the sky from Beaumont. He
cursed the Scots with a string of foul oaths, and headed to his
home, riding hell for leather.

When he arrived at the stables, he learned
the hay had been burned and the horses stolen, but he was thankful
none of his stablemen or household servants were dead. He learned
his thoroughbreds had been taken by a small gang of about thirty
riders, and he vowed to track them down and take back what was
his.

By the time Greystoke joined his men, they
had crossed over into Scotland. Before they had ridden five miles
they were gaining on the reivers, and suddenly the Scots abandoned
about two hundred cattle they’d been driving, and took off to the
west.

“Don’t take chase!” he ordered. “If they’re
heading west, they are likely Johnstons. We’ll herd these cows back
to Cargo, and tomorrow we’ll come back and arrest as many Johnstons
as we can find.”

~~~

For an entire week the Scots raided every
night across the Border into England. All along the frontier they
looted, burned, and plundered anything of value they could lay
their hands on.

The Earl of Cumberland, Greystoke, and the
rest of the English Border Wardens were kept busy retrieving stolen
animals, and capturing Scots marauders, imprisoning them in
Carlisle Castle, the massive English Border stronghold to await
trial.

~~~

It took King James only nine days after he
learned of Queen Elizabeth’s death to reach Berwick, the first stop
of his journey south to claim the Crown of England. When he learned
from Cumberland the extent of the outbreak of thieving and violence
by the Scots Borderers, he was incensed. The wild rides of his
countrymen’s forays into England, marred the solemnity of his entry
into his new kingdom.

“The
lion
will lie down with the
unicorn
. I want England and Scotland cemented together into
one country and all barriers will be obliterated!” James Stuart
vowed. “Any who resist will go to the gallows, or into exile!”

The seven-night orgy of thieving indulged by
the Scots Borderers was referred to as
ill week.
The queen’s
death had been a heaven-sent opportunity to cut loose in search of
plunder, but the new King of England swore his unruly Border clans
would be brought to justice. A crackdown of the Border Wardens
followed in both the English and the Scottish marches, and arrest
warrants were issued for members of every riding family.

~~~

Sir Lancelot Greystoke’s first order of
business was finding his prize thoroughbreds.

Cumberland has often spoken with envy of the
fertile land in the Scottish Borders along the River Esk. I’ve also
heard that the town of Langholm is known for its horse races, so
that’s where I’ll start.

Most of his troopers were occupied patrolling
the English Borders and arresting marauders but he knew it would be
foolhardy to cross into Scotland without an escort of armed men. He
selected half-a-dozen and they set out from Carlisle Castle on a
fine April morning. Greystoke had ridden the Scots Marches many
times, but seldom in broad daylight. He marveled at how splendid
these lands truly were. The rolling fells that bordered the River
Esk were lush with brilliant green grass and spring
wildflowers.

They were dotted with sheep and grazing
cattle, and he had no doubt that some of the livestock had been
stolen in raids on England.

They passed two castles and many single
abodes as they galloped north, and when they reached the vicinity
of Langholm, Greystoke noticed horses grazing in the fields, though
none of them were his thoroughbreds.

“There’s the race course.” Greystoke drew
rein as he took a moment to admire the six furlough oval, then his
gaze shifted to the adjacent Castle Holm owned by the
Armstrongs.

The castle and race course had numerous
stables and grassy paddocks, and Greystoke’s keen eyes spotted a
pair of his thoroughbreds frolicking in the April sunshine.

He spurred his horse and his men followed him
into the castle yard. When a stableman came forward, Greystoke
demanded, “Who’s in charge here?”

“Sim Armstrong is laird of Castle Holm,” the
man answered warily.

Greystoke bit back the order
Fetch
him.
It would do no good if the stableman alerted the
Armstrongs that trouble brewed. God only knew how many Armstrongs
were in residence. “I’m interested in acquiring a thoroughbred. I’d
appreciate a word with Sim.”

The Scot nodded and crossed the yard to one
of the stables. The minute he left, Greystoke’s men drew and cocked
their pistols and rested them on their saddle mounts.

Sim Armstrong emerged from the barn and
Greystoke urged his horse forward.

“You are in possession of horses stolen from
England that bear my Beaumont brand. In the name of the king, I
order you to submit to arrest.”

Armstrong reached for his pistol, but before
he could take it from its holster, he glanced up to see six pistols
already cocked and aimed at his head. “I’m no’ a thief! I bought
the horses fair an’ square, and paid a high price too.”

“Who sold them to you?” Greystoke
demanded.

Armstrong hesitated.

Greystoke reached into his saddlebag and
pulled out a noose. “The marauding of English livestock is
punishable by death.”

“It were the
Elliots.
The marauders
were the
Elliots
and the
Grahams
.”

Greystoke dismounted. He approached Armstrong
and slipped the noose over his head. “Order your men to fetch my
horses. All of them. We’ll take you with us on a short tether as a
pledge of good conduct for all at Castle Holm.”

“Where are ye taking me?” Armstrong was
quaking in his boots.

“Carlisle Castle. You’ll provide the names of
these thieving Elliots and Grahams, and I’ll issue writs of arrest.
If you are found innocent of theft, I’ll release you.”

When they crossed the English Border,
Greystoke directed half his men to take his horses back to Beaumont
Hall, while the rest accompanied him and Sim Armstrong to Carlisle
Castle.

The Great Hall of the Carlisle fortalice was
crowded with English moss-troopers. Some had brought in Scots
arrested for reiving, while others were on their way out to patrol
Cumberland and Westmoreland.

Greystoke sat down at a table and took up pen
and paper to write out arrest warrants.

“Give me the name of the man who sold you my
thoroughbreds, and all the other Elliots and Grahams you believe
went on this raid.”

“It was Gavin Elliot and his brothers.”

“Give me their names.”

“Let’s see—there’s Jock, Gavin, Douglas, and
Rob Elliot. There’s some Grahams too reside at Castle Elliot.
There’s more Grahams and Elliots live in Eskdale than ticks on a
sheep. I can’t name them all.”