And who be you?”
“I am Adair Radcliffe, the lady of Stanton,” Adair responded. “I assume you have come for my cattle, sir.
Please take them and leave us in peace.”
“Your cattle, your grain, now that you have so nicely threshed and stored it, and captives, lady,” William Douglas answered pleasantly. “While the cattle have more value, of course, there is a good market for slaves at the Michaelmas fair in the borders. I will, of course, be happy to accept a ransom for you, if you will direct me to where I may apply for one, lady. Where is your husband?”
“Dead,” Adair said. “But recently.”
“And your bairns?”
“We were not wed long enough,” she replied.
“Your parents?”
“On the hillside, sir,” Adair answered.
“And your relations?”
“Alas, I have none living, sir,” she told him.
“Have you gold hidden away that can buy your free -
dom?” he inquired politely.
“If I had gold hidden away, sir, and I do not, what would my guarantee be that you would take it, and leave us all be?” she asked him.
“I am a man of my word, lady,” he told her with the utmost seriousness, “but if you have no gold then I have no choice but to take you with me and sell you at the Michaelmas fair. I am a poor borderer, and must make my living where and when I can.”
“Sir, I beg you, leave us be,” Adair said softly.
William Douglas smiled gently at her. His face, in contrast with his white hair, was a youngish one. Tipping her chin up, he met her gaze. “Madam,” he said, “I regret I must refuse someone as fair as you are, but I must.”
His blue eyes were as cold as ice. Turning away from her, he said to Jock, “Are we ready to go?”
“Aye, milord, we are,” Jock replied. “I’ll signal for thecarts to be brought. It’s a good haul of strong women and younglings. You’ll make a pretty profit on this lot.”
Hearing the tall borderer, Adair thought to herself,Why am I standing here letting this happen to us?She bolted from the group and dashed up the village street.
“Run!”she shouted to her Stanton folk.“Run!”Behind her she heard the others scattering, the Scots swearing, and then a great deal of shrieking. Where were the men? she wondered. Why hadn’t they come to her aid?
She heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her as she reached Margery’s cottage. She screamed as she was scooped up and deposited across William Douglas’s saddle.
Then, to her dismay, Beiste came forth from the cottage with a fierce roar. He leaped for the horse’s throat, but he was old and missed the mark. Still, his devotion to Adair bade him act to save her. But as he jumped again at the horse, William Douglas severed Beiste’s head from his shoulders with a single clean stroke.
Adair caught but a glimpse of her dog, dead in the street, as William Douglas rode back with her to where the three wagons were now being filled with sobbing women and older children of both sexes. Unceremoni-ously he dumped her into a wagon, and suddenly, to the Stanton folks’ amazement, Adair began to cry. Astonished, they could but gape as she sobbed, not understanding this sudden outpouring of great grief on her part.
They could not have comprehended that Adair wept not because all of their lives were about to be turned upside down. She wept for everything that had happened to her in the last fifteen years. For her mother and father murdered so cruelly, and a childhood cut too short. For Richard of Gloucester, her beloved Uncle Dickon, who had loved her. For Andrew, the husband she had accepted and come to love. Aye, even for poor FitzTudor, whose young life had been cut short by these damned Scots. And for Beiste, her beloved wolfhound,who had died not gently on a warm hearth, as he had deserved to do, but in a gallant attempt to save her.
The carts began to rumble away from Stanton. Ahead of them was a great cloud of dust being kicked up by Adair’s herds, which were being driven off. The herds were followed by several carts carrying Stanton’s grain, stolen from her granaries. The raid had been well thought out and well planned. As they passed by the orchard a great cry went up from the women. The Stanton men had been slain, and lay among the trees where they had fallen.
Elsbeth stuffed her hand in her mouth to keep from shrieking when she saw Albert’s body lying by a basket of apples. She could not crumble. She must be strong now for Adair, who was finally doing what she should have done years ago—weeping for the loss of those she loved.
Elsbeth put a comforting arm about her mistress.
“There, now, lass, weep,” she said softly. “God only knows what is to become of us now.”
Chapter 9
