The Lost Boys of London by Mary Lawrence

The Lost Boys of London by Mary Lawrence

Author:Mary Lawrence [Lawrence, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781734736106
Publisher: Red Puddle Print
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


Chapter 20

Ancrum, Scotland

It would be wrong to think that a Scot would let his family’s tombs be desecrated without a fight. While Sir Euce boasted of his land acquisitions, the man from whom he’d taken the land quietly amassed an army with the help of a former rival, the Earl of Arran. There was no shortage of volunteers. They came from Fife and the borderlands. They brought their bows, their arquebuses, and their pikes. One quarter of them were mounted. Though they lacked the number of their enemy’s forces, their determination made up for their lack of men.

After Melrose Abbey, the king’s army, lazy with plunder, retired south towards Jedburgh. They set up camp near the village of Ancrum.

John had removed his jack and was repairing a loose plate when he caught sight of Glann McDonogh returning from the latrine. His friend looked as pale as frost on a shepherd’s purse. He waved him over.

McDonogh shambled towards John and dropped himself on the ground next to him. He immediately laid back and closed his eyes.

“You look poor, my friend. What ails you?”

“The flux.” He threw his arm over his eyes.

“Be it bloody?”

“Nay, it be much.”

John dug into his sack, rooting around the bottom to pull out a stoppered jar. He opened it and took out a pinch of something waxy. “Here, take this with a drink of ale. It may do you well.”

McDonogh didn’t bother sitting up, but reached out his open palm. “Is it poison? I hope it be.”

“It is my wife’s concoction. She insisted I take some of her medicinals.”

“She be a witch?”

“Nay,” said John. “She be a white witch.” It was easier to call her that than explain Bianca’s deviant obsession.

“If it should work, then I shall name my first born after her.”

“And if you have a son?”

McDonogh propped himself on an elbow and smiled. “I shall call him…a miracle. There is little chance a maid will submit to me long enough to sire a child.”

“You are not so ugly that there isn’t a woman who would have you.”

Glann motioned for John’s flask of ale and washed down his medicine.

“Assuredly you are not such the licentious villain as yonder Roger,” said John, tipping his chin at the repugnant archer slapping knees with his like-minded cohorts.

John took umbrage with Roger. He’d seen the swasher infected with the remorseless fever born from pillaging and laying waste to a village and its people. Not only did he revel in the destruction but Roger had taken pleasure with maids and mothers alike. Odious behavior was expected—indeed, it was encouraged—but John only kept his sights on the enemy in front of him. Not his enemy’s women.

McDonogh looked over at the archers, and unfortunately made eye contact with one of them. Their jesting aside, they saw fit to take issue with the lowly billman and sallied over. Glann moaned and laid his head back, dreading the impending confrontation.

Roger spoke first. “Did I hear my name?” he asked.

“If your name be villain,” answered John.

Roger’s cohorts let out a long, sarky whistle.



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