“Nay, but we will, just as we have for the last month. There is a town ahead. Yet another cursed town,” muttered Hacon as he dipped his own rag into the bucket of water and held the dripping cloth to his throat.
“She could be in this one.”
“Ye have said that about every village, town, and crofter’s hut we have chanced upon.”
“Weel, she could have been there.”
“Aye, and she could be in Oxford or even London. Do ye suggest we march on to those fine English towns?”
“So, ye wish to return to Dubheilrig, do ye?”
“Nay,” snapped Hacon, then sighed. “I grow weary of finding no sign of her, and it shortens my temper.”
“This cursed heat cannae help.” Dugald dipped his rag into the bucket, then slapped it on his head, letting the cool water drip down over his face and neck.
“’Twill make the men sorely eager to clash swords with the English.”
“I begin to think we will do little of that. We have ridden nearly the length of the Swale Valley and yet no English army confronts us. Douglas’s plan to weaken the English army sieging Berwick by pulling some of their number after us isnae working. ’Tis clear the lordlings care little for these people or this land. They would rather squat before the walls of Berwick than halt Douglas’s rampage. When we do fight, ’tis with peasants and merchants. All the English knights and soldiers have been dragged away to Berwick. There is no sign that even one of them rushes this way. This isnae war,” he murmured, “but slaughter.”
“’Ware, Hacon.” Dugald glanced around a little nervously. “There are too many ears about. What ye mean as a simple complaint could too easily be dressed in the colors of treason. One mon especially would be pleased to entrap you so.”
Hacon nodded. “Aye, ’tis true. This heat and weariness dull my wits. Where is she, Dugald? Four weeks into England and there is no sign of her,” Hacon whispered.
“She cannae be too far away. And if we dinnae find her whilst on this raid, all isnae lost. Ye ken where her kinsmen are. We can leave word with them.”
“That could take months,” Hacon grumbled, yet he was honestly glad he had that route to take if needed.
“Better late than never. Aye, the lass could even return to Dubheilrig. She was invited to, has friends there. So, there is no need to settle yourself into such a black humor if ye dinnae find her now.”
“Iwanther now.” Hacon knew that sounded childish and decided that months of celibacy were twisting his mood.
“Och, weel, I want a fine, cool breezenow,”drawled Dugald, “but we dinnae always get what we want, do we?”
Deciding to let that moment of petulance and its reprimand pass, Hacon asked, “Where is Ranald?”
“Sprawled in a wee patch of shade with a few other of your men. A wee bit to the rear.”
“The lad must be exhausted. I hadnae thought we would raid so deeply into England, o’er a hundred miles.”
“Aye, a free clear run for the most of it.” Dugald stared toward the southern horizon. “As I figure it, we arenae more than thirty miles from York itself. Do ye ken what lies ahead?”
“A village called Boroughbridge, God help it.”
“Get dressed, lass,” ordered Artair as he stepped into the small cottage they now called home.
Jennet opened one eye to regard her father with annoyance. She was sprawled on her small rope bed wearing only her chemise. A naked Murdoc slept on a floor pallet beside her. It was too hot to do anything. It was certainly too hot to get dressed. All of August had been hot, and September was not proving much better. She closed her eye. Her plan was to sleep until October, when the cooler weather would surely come.
“This is no time to play at sleeping, lass. Get up, put your clothes on, and gather together whatever ye value.”
There was a tone to her father’s voice that banished Jennet’s stupor. Slowly, she sat up and watched him. He was putting on his heavily padded jupon, the only armor he possessed. Alarm seized her, thrusting away the last of her laziness.
“The English?” she whispered as she eased off her bed, careful not to nudge the sleeping Murdoc.
“I dinnae think so.”
“Weel, it must be someone or why are ye arming yourself?”
“A young shephard crawled into town a short while ago. Someone had cut the lad and he didnae live long enough to say exactly who had done it. An army was all he could gasp out. An army gathers to the north of us.”
