“Time to wake, Jennet,” he said as he quickly put on his hose. “’Tis morning, loving.”
“Morning?” The heat of her desire faded swiftly as she looked around and saw all the men preparing for another day of riding. “Oh, sweet God.” She felt her cheeks burn with a deep blush.
“Aye, ye do choose some poor times to assault my person.”
“Iassaultyou?”she cried, glaring at Hacon as she scrambled to her feet.
He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “’Tis all right, dearling. I forgive you.” Still lacing his jupon, he hurried away. “Dinnae tarry. We should see the walls of Ripon by noon.”
Jennet cursed viciously as she packed up her blankets. He had caught her at a weak moment, she told herself, but she found no conviction there. Her weak moments were coming all too often. If the Douglas’s army did not turn back toward Scotland soon, did not head north toward Liddesdale and allow her a chance to flee to her family, she knew she would be lost to Hacon’s seduction.
Smoke curled up from the burning houses within Ripon’s walls. Just as at Boroughbridge two weeks before, a few thatched roofs had been fired in the initial attack. Now, however, the swift raid had slowed to a siege. The summer breeze brought the stench of death to Jennet where she stood on a small rise just north of the town. The people who had survived the first onslaught of the Scots were now barricaded in the holy minster. Although there was an occasional clash of swords as those Englishmen not safe within Ripon’s sturdy minster engaged their enemy, Jennet suspected that confrontation had become negotiation.
She feared she was growing hardened, that she was beginning to consider the raid as merely tedious. They had ridden south from Berwick in early April. April had become May and now May was at an end. One day blended into the next—long days of riding, short nights spent in the sleep of the exhausted, and brief interludes of raping, looting, and battle. She had been horrified to find herself viewing the siege of Ripon with something close to pleasure since it meant that she could stay in one place for a little while.
“Why do ye stand here and watch it if ye hate it so?” asked Ranald, standing next to her.
Jennet sighed. “I truly dinnae ken why. Mayhaps I but try to understand. ’Tis hopeless. I try to grasp at some sense of right, but isnae there.”
“We fight for the Bruce. There is the right of it. He is our king.”
“Why? Because he murdered one of the contenders to the Scots throne on a church altar? It doesnae seem such a firm claim to the crown to me.”
“Ye shouldnae say such things, Jennet,” murmured Ranald, glancing nervously around. “There are too many ears about to catch the words, words that many would consider treasonous.”
She too glanced around and grimaced. A number of men were standing nearby watching the siege upon Ripon and resting a moment before retuning to the skirmishing that had continued for nearly three days. The only man who really interested her, however, was Sir Balreaves, who was standing close enough to have overheard if he had bothered to listen carefully. That he was smiling at her in a way that made her shiver suggested that he had been listening. Jennet decided it might be wise to heed Ranald’s warning. The last thing she needed was more trouble in her life, trouble that could be avoided by simply putting a rein on her tongue.
Looking back toward Ripon, she wished the problem of Hacon was simple to solve. She recalled how just that morning she had come awake to find herself in his arms. She had not halted his kisses or sweet, intimate caresses. Hacon, not she, had become aware of the waking men all around them. She had been blind to everything but the delicious heat he had stirred within her. Even now she could feel it, suffered the ache his departure had left in her. Scowling toward Ripon, knowing he was down there somewhere hidden by the smoke and dust of battle, she hoped he suffered an equal discomfort.
“Come, Jennet,” Ranald murmured, gently taking her arm. “I see some wounded making their way toward camp.”
She sighed and allowed herself to be drawn back toward that muddy, stinking spot crowded by men, horses, and a growing train of stolen goods. In truth she had not been doing much thinking or deciding about the right or wrong of war. To her disgust she had been looking for Hacon, trying to see if he was still hale. Ever since she had looked into Balreaves’s eyes, she had been unable to stop worrying. Somehow it seemed more menacing, more dangerous, that one of Hacon’s own allies wanted him dead. Knowing that Balreaves was a cold, heartless murderer only added to her fears. She was pulled from her thoughts when Elizabeth hurried over to her.
“I am glad you have returned,” she said, and towed her toward Robert’s younger brother, Donald, who had thus far defied the odds by living, though he had been slow to recover. “I am certain his fever has finally broken, but you are more learned in such matters than I.”
After sending Ranald to check on Murdoc, Jennet knelt by Donald and felt his forehead and cheeks. “Aye, he is cooler. And fair soaked in sweat. Ye have done weel with the lad. I was certain he would die, but he has clung to life despite being dragged along on this accursed raid. We had best wash him down. We shall be busy soon. Ranald saw wounded being brought this way.”
Helping Jennet undress the youth, Elizabeth said, “I could not let my man’s own brother die, could I.”
“Your mon? Oh, thank ye,” she murmured when Ranald brought her some fresh water. “What do ye mean? I thought ye belonged to that brute Frazer.”
“I did, and Mary belonged to his friend, Mad Morgan, but no longer. It seems Robert tosses the dice very well. He had to play many a time, but he finally won us last eve. Now we are free of those animals.”
“I am so verra pleased for you. At least Robert willnae beat ye.”
“Robert will do naught at all. He has said so. If ’twas possible, he would send us home. Mayhaps when the army turns back toward Scotland, there may come a chance for that. Mary may go, but I will not.”
“I hadnae realized Robert had the wealth to buy your freedom.”
“Nay, he has little. ’Twas your man who gave him the coin.”
“Sir Gillard?”
“Aye. Robert said Sir Gillard tried to buy us, but Frazer and Morgan would have none of it. Robert and your man talked it over and had the idea of winning us. It was very good of Sir Gillard.”
“Aye. Verra good,” Jennet murmured, deciding she would have to think on the matter later, when she had time to really understand what it said about Hacon.
Elizabeth shook her head as she and Jennet washed Donald. “Poor boy. He is too thin.”
