“Son,” Serilda said, reaching across the table to clasp his hand. “How is it we were told ye were dead?”
“I nearly was.” Hacon resigned himself to explaining first. “The battle of Dundalk was lost, Lord Edward dead. We were fleeing for our lives, as was every other mon with the wit and strength to do so. We were set upon, but not by the Irish. Nay, ’twas by our own men. Young Alan was killed, Dugald and myself nearly so. The enemy was so close the rogues didnae wait to be certain of their filthy work.” He gave his pale mother a reassuring smile.
“How did you escape alive?” pressed Ranald, clearly eager to hear the whole tale.
“We were able to hide until the enemy was gone. God smiled upon us, sending us a merciful mon who helped us. He tended our wounds and hid us until we had the strength to flee that accursed land. I regret it took so long.”
“What does it matter,” said Serilda. “Ye are alive. But who would wish to murder you?”
“Balreaves.” He smiled grimly when his sister gasped, recognizing the name. “Aye, the same. ’Twas he who tried to murder me. The assassins he sent after me said as much, but ’twill do me no good. I am certain the Irish killed them. It seems it was also Balreaves who told everyone I was dead.” He explained that he knew the man plotted against him yet he had no proof of it. “And so this deadly game continues.”
“Ye must find the proof ’ere he wins,” Lucais said, anger roughening his voice. “It cannae go on.”
“Nay, and Iwillput an end to it,” vowed Hacon. “But now I wish for only one thing, to see my wife. Where is Jennet?” Hacon grew alarmed as his family exchanged glances among themselves but failed to answer him. “Whereis Jennet?”
“She thought you were dead,” Serilda replied.
“I will need but a few moments with her to prove that a lie,ifsomeone would just tell me where to find her,”
“She left here in the early spring.”
“Left? Ye let her leave?”
“Not alone,” Serilda hurried to assure him. “Her father arrived about two months before we were told ye were dead. Once that sad news came, she was no longer happy here and decided to travel with her father. They went south, into the borderlands and England.”
“Aye,” Ranald continued. “He did make mention of Berwick, but I was left with the feeling he didnae mean to linger there.”
“He ne’er lingers at any place.” Hacon cursed. “Weel, I will set out after her.”
“Ye need to rest first,” protested Serilda. “Ye have just arrived after a long and arduous journey.”
“Aye, but only for a few days. The Douglas prepares for another raid into England. There has been word that the English king is raising an army and plans to retake Berwick. Douglas intends to harry England’s northern counties in hopes of diverting or dividing Edward’s army. I will join him. If I must search our enemies’ lands for my wife, I had best do so with an army at my back.”
Chapter 15
“Lass, recall how ye claimed to dislike Berwick?” asked Artair as he hurried into the small cottage they shared.
“Aye, but ye paid me little heed.” She frowned. “Why mention it now?”
She watched her father closely yet stayed seated by the central hearth, idly stirring a pot of venison stew. He seemed nervous as he crouched on the other side of the fire and needlessly warmed his hands.
After spending nearly a month with her aunt and uncle in Liddesdale, they had traveled on to Berwick. They had lived for almost five months in this small tenant cottage just beyond the city walls. It had been a poor but adequate life, which he had promised would change for the better. She began to fear now that whatever plan for gains he had devised had just gone awry.
“Are ye in trouble, Father?” she asked.
“Nay, but all of Berwick soon will be.” He rubbed his eyes, then briefly glared up at the small chimney hole in the thatched roof, softly cursing its inability to properly vent the fire’s smoke. “We are leaving this smoke-filled hovel.”
“Leaving? Why? Yearein trouble.”
“Nay, nay. ’Tis the English, lass. They are gathering an army with the intention of marching this way.”
“Oh.” She sighed and filled a wooden bowl with stew and handed it to him. “Here. The benefit of your poaching.”
“Ye dinnae seem too worried.” He sat down more comfortably and began to eat.
After tying a rag around Murdoc’s throat, she gave the child a bowl of stew, then helped herself to one. “Oh, I am verra worried, but it does no good to give o’er to it. That willnae stop the armies. I begin to believe nothing will.”
“Weel, if they keep on like this for many more years, there will be naught but graves and rubble twixt York and Stirling. That might weel give them pause.” He helped himself to another serving of stew.
