A Marcher Lord: a story of the Anglo-Scottish borders (The Borderers Book 1) by Bryant Lynn

Author:Bryant, Lynn [Bryant, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-03-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Crawleigh regarded his cousin in silence for a moment, trying to calm himself. Although he had always had a temper it was seldom that he lost control of it. He had shocked himself with the violence of his fury at Jane. Eventually he took a deep breath and said in something approaching his normal voice:

“You look big with news, Robbie. What is it?”

Robbie crossed the room. “Will, the English have taken Martindale. They’re less than five miles from here.”

His cousin glared at him. “Are you suggesting I send a messenger with terms for surrender, Robbie?”

“Not yet. Merely that you prepare yourself for what might become necessary.”

“I’ll not give up my hall to the English!”

“Christ, Will, don’t be a fool! Mary of Guise will expect you to. Play the waiting game. She knows you’ll not betray her, but she doesn’t want to lose her loyal borderers! If they come, yield. They’ll garrison us for a while, and then move on. Pretty soon we’ll have French troops to back us and we’ll push the bastards back where they belong.”

Crawleigh was silent for a moment. This was not the time for this discussion. Then he said:

“Possibly. Robbie – what you just saw…..”

“Was none of my damned business,” his cousin said quickly. “Except that…..”

“Well?”

“It isn’t like you to be rough with a lassie, Will. Especially one with nobody to defend her.”

“Ouch,” Scott said wryly.

“There’s something you should know, Will. About the girl.”

Crawleigh stared at him with raised brows. “Something you’ve not told me?”

“Something I found out from Jamie, when the lass was taken with the fever. I told you he tried to find out who she was.”

“And discovered nothing, I understood.”

“Nothing to help with her identity, certainly. But she’d a recurring nightmare, Janet Burns says. About a man in the darkness. It’s possible he forced her, Will.”

There was a stunned silence in the room. After a few moments Scott of Crawleigh remembered to breathe again and took a deep, unsteady gulp of air.

“Christ!” he said softly. “Robbie, why did you not tell me this before?”

“Because I doubted the girl would want any soul to know it,” his cousin said bluntly. “At the time I felt Jamie had done the right thing, to have her spied upon so. But since then I’ve come to know her, and to tell you the truth it sits ill with me now. It gave us no clue to who she was and so I’ve told nobody until now. Neither has Jamie. Let the lass keep her dignity if she will.”

Crawleigh walked across to the window and looked out. It was raining, and the wind whipped the spray across the tiny panes. Below him the bleak, unyielding hillsides of his lands stretched into the distance. He could hear the chatter of his men in the yard below, and the distant lowing of the cattle in their winter quarters. There was the clatter of hammers from the village as the new inhabitants worked on their houses. Everything was normal except for the painful thumping of his heart.

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