A Rough Wooing Page 2

  Fondest love,

  Katherine Douglas Elliot.

  Douglas set the letter down and gazed across the room. Her vivid imagination conjured images of the English palaces her mother mentioned. One sentence stood out from all the rest: Your chances of making a good marriage will be expanded a thousandfold if you will take advantage of this splendid opportunity that now presents itself.

  Douglas smiled knowingly. Her mother’s words had been carefully chosen to lure her to Queen Anne’s Court. She had visited twice, but had not pursued the opportunity to become a lady-in-waiting. The petty rivalry between the queen’s Danish attendants and her Scottish ladies made a post at Court unappealing to Douglas. But the real reason she had stayed away from Court was to avoid the advances of Alex Hume, the young brother of Lord George Hume, the king’s Treasurer. Since Douglas’s father died while she was still a child, she was technically a ward of the Crown and would need the King’s consent to marry until she came of age. She did not care for the foppish Alex Hume and feared he would influence the king in consenting to their marriage.

  She looked down at the letter and read again: Your chances of making a good marriage will be expanded a thousandfold. Douglas bit her lip. She is talking about marriage to an English noble. Such an idea would have been anathema to Mother only a week ago. The thought is abhorrent to me.

  Unbidden, a vision came to her of Sir Lancelot Greystoke, and suddenly the thought of a noble English husband did not seem quite as abhorrent. Since childhood she had been taught to speak in a more refined manner than her brothers, who spoke with the same brogue as their moss troopers. She would not be so out of place as the wife of an Englishman.

  Douglas felt torn. She did have a love of adventure. Experiencing new places, customs, and people offered challenges that were hard to resist. But she knew that her personality was one part confidence and one part bold bravado—a good deal of her bravery was pretense.

  She dipped her pen and answered her mother’s letter.

  Dear Mother,

  Your momentous news that King James is now King of England and Scotland stunned everyone at Castle Elliot. As I write, I can still hear everyone below in the hall rejoicing over such good fortune.

  You are absolutely right that great changes will take place and there will be many opportunities for Scots to improve our circumstances. I think you have made the right decision to join the Royal Court and travel to London with Queen Anne, and I thank you for your generous invitation to join you. Your tempting offer has given me much food for thought. I shall consider it carefully and let you know when I have made my decision.

  Douglas raised her pen as she sought the words that would buy her time and pacify her mother until she had time to weigh the advantages against the disadvantages and come to a decision that would undoubtedly affect the rest of her life. She lowered the pen and wrote:

  If I am to join the Royal Court, my wardrobe will need much refurbishing. I will be a laughing stock if I wear my doublets and riding boots in the elegant English palaces of which you speak. In the meantime, say hello to Jock and tell him that all is well at Castle Elliot.

  I hope to see you soon.

  All my love. Douglas.

  ~~~

  Downstairs, she handed the letter to her brother Jock’s lieutenant, and gave him a ravishing smile. “Thank you for being my messenger, Will. I’m so sorry you cannot stay longer, and must return to Edinburgh tomorrow. Take care of yourself.”

  ~~~

  In the Scottish Borders the news coursed like the rushing waters of a spring thaw. It made the inhabitants giddy with the thought of their good fortune and the wealth of opportunities that presented themselves. The phrase on every man’s lips was repeated over and over: There will be moonlight again!

  The Great Hall at Castle Elliot was filled with Borderers, and the number swelled with every passing hour. Johnstons and Maxwells rubbed shoulders with Elliots and Grahams. The ale flowed as they celebrated. Talk flowed just as freely as they made grandiose plans, and it was easy to guess the same scene was being repeated at every other castle and abode in the Scottish Marches.

  The following day their visitors departed and the inhabitants of Castle Elliot had a chance to talk together alone. They sat at the long trestle table before the fire in the hall.

  Gavin spoke first. “Johnny Maxwell plans on leading 200 riders deep into the English Borders. He says they’ll skirt Carlisle and head down to Penrith.”

  Neil Graham frowned. “Penrith is fifty miles from Castle Maxwell. There and back would be a hundred. That’s a hell of a long way.”

  Gavin nodded. “Butch Johnston intends to mount a raid on the village of Cargo, near Carlisle. He says he’ll lead a hundred riders.”

  “That makes more sense,” Rob Elliot said. “The ride to Cargo is practically spitting distance. The Johnstons will be there and back in their beds before the alarm is raised. The English won’t know what hit ‘em.”

  “Where are we going?” Douglas asked avidly.

  All the men threw her a look of disbelief. Most Scots females knew how to keep their place and hold their silence when men were discussing business. “You are going nowhere,” Gavin stated firmly. “Keep yer nose out of men’s affairs.”

  Douglas recanted immediately. “Of course I’m not going, but I know where you should go. It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Gavin. The thoroughbred horses at Beaumont Hall are there for the taking. If you don’t snatch them, others will.”

  Neil Graham rubbed the bristles on his chin. “We’re short on numbers. Half our moss-troopers are in Edinburgh with Jock.”

  Gavin raised a dismissive hand. “There’s plenty of Elliots and Grahams in Eskdale who’d pledge their right hands for a chance to ride with us.”

  Rob Elliot warned, “Beaumont Hall belongs to a Border Warden, who’s also Cumberland’s nephew.”

  “With so many families riding into England, the warden will have his hands full. And you’ll have the element of surprise on your side,” Douglas pointed out. “Fortune favors the bold. You could sell the horses in Langholm and get rid of the evidence.”

  Gavin looked at Neil. “You go and feel out the Grahams, and I’ll have a word with the Elliots. We’ve no time to waste. Tomorrow night there’ll be moonlight.”

  ~~~

  Douglas waited until her younger brother Rob went off to the stables, then she went to his chamber and took from a trunk a pair of breeches and an old leather jack he had outgrown. She bundled them up and hid them beneath her bed. She was an Elliot to her very bones, and she had made up her mind that if they went on a raid across the Border tonight, she would be riding with them.

  To pass the time until dark descended, Douglas took herself off to the kitchen. The aroma of baking bread filled the air, and she decided that she would make a treacle pudding. Meg, the rosy-cheeked cook handed her a pot of lard, a lump of suet, a sack of flour, and a rolling pin. When Meg went to the pantry to find a jar of treacle, Douglas slipped a sharp kitchen knife down her boot.

  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 anticipat
ed 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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “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 iss
ued 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.”