“I’ll pull his house down around his ears until I have my wife back!” Malcolm Scott said.
“Hmmmm,” Robert Ferguson said. “How is the house defended?”
“I don’t know,” the laird said irritably.
“How many men does he have?”
“I don’t know,” the laird said again. “But I do recall Alix saying there were not many tenants, for the land was poor and not particularly arable.”
“Hmmmm,” Robert Ferguson considered further, but he could think of no other questions to ask his nephew. “Well, then,” he said, “I suppose the first thing is to find Wulfborn. Unless the house is well defended we should be able to take it without sustaining serious losses, laddie. Will you kill the Englishman?”
“Only if I have to,” the laird said grimly.
Robert Ferguson removed the last hard-boiled egg from the bowl before him, and after peeling it, neatly popped it into his mouth. “Well, then,” he said as he chewed it, “I suppose we must ride. We’ve still got several hours of daylight before us.”
After giving his housekeeper explicit instructions, and promising his daughter to return with Alix, the Laird of Dunglais, in the company of his uncle of Drumcairn, left his hall. Going into the courtyard of his keep, he mounted the large stallion he favored. Next to him Robert Ferguson had climbed atop his own horse. Raising his hand, the laird signaled his men to move forward, and they rode forth from the keep in a double line. Fiona and Fenella watched them from one of the keep’s two towers.
“He will bring Alix home, won’t he?” the little girl asked the woman by her side.
“Aye, he’ll bring her home, lass,” Fenella assured the child.
“I’ve lost one mother,” Fiona said. “I do not want to lose another. This one loves me while the other did not.”
“Whoever told you such a thing?” Fenella wanted to know. It might be the truth, but it wasn’t a truth a child should be aware of, she thought angrily.
“I hear things,” Fiona said, noting that the housekeeper did not try to tell her it wasn’t so. “People do not pay a great deal of attention to me when they are involved in their own purposes, Fenella. She who birthed me did not love me. I tell everyone she loved my father, but if she did not love me how could she love him?”
Fenella pressed her lips together. How could she admit to the truth of what little Fiona was saying? She would not hurt this child, though it would appear Fiona Scott was wise beyond her years. “Let the past lie, my bairn,” she told the girl. “Your father loves your stepmother, and your stepmother loves you both. It is far more than most people get in this life.”
“I will only marry for love,” Fiona responded.
“Neither your da nor Alix would ever force you into a marriage that did not please you,” Fenella assured her young companion. “But you are just going to be eight in a few weeks, my bairn. There is more than enough time for marriage.”
The day was gray and the air about them still as they stood watching the laird, his uncle, and the fifty men with them ride over the hill and out of sight.
“Will they be gone long?” Fiona wondered.
“A few days, certainly no more,” Fenella said, and hoped it would be so. “Your da will send to us if ’tis to be longer. Now, is it not time for you to go to Father Donald for your Latin lesson, Fiona Scott? Just because your mam isn’t here does not mean you can shirk your duties. With Martinmas near, I am going to teach you how to salt meat today. Bacon does not appear magically upon the high board.” And Fenella led her charge from the tower top back down into the hall of Dunglais Keep.
Chapter 11
The clansmen followed the track they had followed several days previously, turning south this time where the raiding party had split in two. They moved along at a steady pace, stopping to rest their horses briefly and take a few moments of ease. They carried with them oatcakes, which they ate a-saddle when hungry. Each man’s flask held his own personal preference for liquid refreshment. When the short autumn day began to wane they found shelter by an ancient cairn of stones. Gathering wood for a fire, they soon had one going. Others among them went on foot onto the moor and trapped several rabbits and two game birds, which were dispatched quickly to be brought back for supper. The creatures were swiftly skinned, the birds plucked. Then they were put on spits to be roasted over the open fire.
When the game was nicely cooked it was portioned out among the men to eat with their oatcakes. Afterwards a watch was set for the night, and those who could, slept. The skies had cleared near sunset. As he lay upon his back staring up at the night sky admiring the bright stars, Malcolm Scott considered that it had been a very long time since he had gone raiding. The borders were not always as quiet as they had been of recent years, but then the English had had—still had—problems with their monarchs. Everyone chose sides, and they had been so busy fighting amongst themselves that there had been no time to fight with the Scots.
He wasn’t certain as he lay there that he didn’t miss the excitement of the raiding that had gone back and forth during the previous years. It wasn’t over yet, of course. It would never be over. He expected that once England settled down with this new king of theirs and the matter of poor mad Henry VI was concluded, the raiding would begin anew. He smiled in the darkness thinking of how he would take his sons with him and teach them how a border lord went raiding. He would show them there was a time for harshness and a time for mercy. That cattle, horses, and sheep, not women, were the best part of a raid, for they added to a man’s wealth. But, of course, first he had to regain his wife from that stubborn fool of an Englishman who thought that Alix was his.
He awoke when his uncle shook his shoulder. It was still dark, but the darkness was lightening, and the distant horizon was beginning to hint at morning. Around him the men were gathering up the horses that had been grazing and resting during the night. After watering the horses at a nearby stream, the men were now preparing to ride.
“Mount up!” the laird called to them as he sprang into his saddle.
The borderers moved slowly off from their encampment. The air was distinctly colder this morning, but as the sun slowly began to rise, the dampness eased. With more light the horses picked up the pace as they rode south. In late morning, close to the noon hour, they had the good fortune to come upon a small three-wagon caravan of tinkers who were also traveling south to find a milder winter. The wagons stopped as the laird and his troop came upon them.
“Good morrow, my lords,” the obvious leader said, bowing nervously as he waited to learn the fate God had decided for him and his family. He was a swarthy man, but roughly dressed. From the wagons about him children peeped out curiously. There was no sign of women, only other men with faces that said nothing.
“Do you know of a place called Wulfborn Hall?” the laird asked pleasantly.
“Wulfborn Hall?” The tinker considered carefully, and then he saw the gleam of silver in the laird’s fingers. “You are quite near it, my lord,” he said quickly.
