Those were hard questions. Under certain circumstances answering them could be very hurtful to her. She could not, however, see any evil intention in his expression, and sighed. In this war treachery stood at every turn. Not every Scot welcomed Bruce as his king or wished an end to England’s rule. Hacon was probably testing to see if she was just as she appeared—a victim, someone swept up in the war, or a traitor. Any Scot caught in an English stronghold was suspect. She had seen the grisly proof of that merciless attitude when her mother was murdered, then later when Scots brutally massacred fellow Scotsmen at Perth.
“My parents never meant for me to be some lady’s servant,” she explained. “I was but nine when the Bruce’s soldiers raided my mother’s village and murdered her. Later, I was at Perth when the Bruce took it from the English. My father had brought us there. He guessed how it would be if Perth fell. He paid the de Tournays to claim me as theirs. I was allowed to leave with them when the Bruce declared all wellborn Scots in Perth traitors and put them to the sword.”
“And your father?”
Hacon felt a twinge of guilt, for he too had been at Perth. It was yet another part of the war he had disagreed with but had been unable to stop. Denouncing one of the Bruce’s actions openly was a swift way to mark oneself a traitor. He was his family’s only hope to regain all that they had lost. He could not afford to throw his life away fruitlessly protesting injustices.
Jennet shrugged. “I didnae see my father killed, nor have I ever gotten word that he was amongst those slain. Howbeit, I have seen naught of him since that day. I can only assume he fell at Perth.”
Leaning forward, Hacon murmured, “If he fought for the English, took their side against the Bruce . . .”
She smiled crookedly. “My father ne’er took sides. He fought for whomever paid him the highest sum.” She shook her head. “He thought me safe with the de Tournays. I thought myself safe with the holy sisters. Now I am hostage to thieves.”
“Thieves, are we?”
“Weel, I didnae see ye buy that pile of bounty upon the table. Aye, ye are thieves.”
“Ye are a fair one to toss that name about so scornfully. The Graemes are well known as thieves, leastwise, those who wander the hard land between the Esk and Sark rivers. Aye, and the Armstrongs of Liddesdale can claim that name as weel, becoming cursed reivers. There are many who say the whole town should be hanged. Ye carry the blood of both.”
Every word of that was true. Over the years she had found that fact increasingly hard to bear. In the de Tournay household she had always been the first one suspected if anything went missing. She had her excuses and arguments ready, well honed from years of use.
“And what else may my people do to survive when nearly every year some army tramples o’er their lands, burning and looting? Their lands are a constant battlefield. If it isnae the English, ’tis the Scots. They see more blackened fields than harvests. They feed more armies than their own people.
“Aye, they were thieves, both my father and mother,” she continued. “Aye, and their kin still are. Howbeit, they dinnae try to dress it in pretty words such as ‘freeing Scotland from the English yoke,’ and they dinnae call themselves knights or lords of the realm. They dinnae wave some king’s banner or carry holy relics. Nay, nor do they call it ‘rightful plunder.’ They are reivers, pure and simple. ’Tis all the chivalrous and the knightly have left them.”
Hacon sat back and stared at her. A quick glance around showed him that all his men were listening to her as intently as he was. The girl spoke some hard truths. She had a skill for stealing the glory out of battle. However, except for young Ranald, Hacon and the others had been riding beneath Robert the Bruce’s banner long enough to have seen the hard truth for themselves. Although the cause of uniting Scotland beneath a Scots king, instead of some English puppet, was a good one, it was costly and not every step taken to achieve it had been an honorable one. It was strange, nonetheless, to hear a young girl speak so openly. He found this hint of a keen intelligence intriguing.
“Ah, but we steal only from the enemy,” he said.
“And who declares these people the enemy?” she countered. “Ye do. Ye decide who will lead you, then that mon picks one whom he feels threatens him, and ye ride over all and sundry to cut him down. To be an enemy one need only to be caught between two forces. As my mother was. As I have been. As those poor innocent sisters were. Here I sit, and yet though God above kens I have been given reason enough, I am no mon’s enemy.”
“Nay?” He grinned. “So speaks the lass who tried to cut my throat and twice tried to throttle me.”
“Being taken as plunder is apt to sore try my temper,” she drawled, then turned her attention to making some clothes for the baby out of a soft piece of homespun she had found. “I will need some milk for this bairn.”
“Oh, aye? And how am I to get that? Do ye think I can call up a nurse on your whim?”
“ ’Tisnae my whim.” The baby beside her was starting to fuss, and she used the infant’s need to bolster her courage. “’Tis the wee laddie’s.”
“Where am I to find milk in the midst of a town being pillaged?”
“If there was a cow or two about, I am certain some Scot has grabbed it as plunder. Aye, mayhaps even a goat. ’Tis true there wasnae much about to be taken. The famine was bad. Some were reduced to eating their dogs or horses. Howbeit, there were a few goats about before some traitor let ye in the gates. I ken weel there were some at the convent. Ye will just have to find them.”
Ranald stumbled to his feet. “I will go, uncle. I brought the bairn here.”
“Aye, ye did, but ye are in no condition to stumble though the streets finding milk for it. And ’tis best if ye stand clear of Douglas’s men for a while. Sit down.” Ranald obeyed and Hacon stood up. “I will go, though I dinnae think ’twill do much good.”
“Ye might try the house where he was found,” Jennet suggested as Hacon belted on his sword, Dugald hastening to do the same. “There may be a goat or cow hidden there. Such was the hunger gripping the land that people dared not leave any animal unguarded. A goat could even be hidden in the house.”
Since Dugald was already getting directions to the house from Ranald, Hacon looked at her. “’Twas that bad?”
“Aye. ’Tis said some men in prison even ate their weaker cellmates.” Seeing the look of horror on his handsome face, she shrugged. “Ye burn the fields and steal cattle often enough and there is nothing left. Ye keep killing the men and soon there is no one left to plant or harvest. If there is naught to harvest and naught to slaughter for meat, then there is naught to eat. ’Tis quite simple.”
Muttering a curse, Hacon strode out of the house, Dugald at his heels. He wanted to scorn her words, but it was impossible. They were the simple, cold truth. His shame lay in realizing how little thought he had given to the innocents. He did not wish to think on how many head of cattle he had driven to Dubheilrig, for now he saw that he had helped foster such starvation.
“Ye shouldnae listen to the lass,” Dugald murmured as he fell into step at Hacon’s side.
“Why not? She speaks the truth.”
