'Is that what will happen?'The Yorling sounded amused.
'That is exactly what will happen,' I told him.'And my man Robert will be with him.'
'Oh?'the Yorling spoke over his shoulder, still smiling, still amused.'Who is your man Robert?'
'He is big,' I said, 'Robert Ferguson of Whitecleuch…'
The Yorling's laugh stopped me.'I unhorsed him already,' he said.'He is no man for you, My Lady of Lethan.'He turned away, kicked in his heels, and increased the pace.I had no option except to come along.We forded the River Tweed in a spectacular shower of water and headed west and south into the Ettrick Forest, a tangle of bare-headed hills where patches of mist haunted the slopes and small woods of scrubby Scots Pine trees braved the never-ending winds, where deer floated away before us and burns seared the hill-flanks and formed barriers to free passage.I did not know this country and soon stilled my tongue as I tried to follow the route so I could come back if I managed to escape.
I was nervous as we halted for the night, and can you blame me?One woman alone with a round score of strange, lusty young men?Although I felt that strange trust with the Yorling that allowed me the freedom to lash him with my tongue, I had no such feelings for the rest of his band.I watched with some trepidation as the Yorling selected a place for us to camp.
'This will do,' he said.
We were in a corrie, a small hollow carved out of the side of a hill, with a circle of rocks in front and a small burn chortling at the side.It seemed a bit exposed for an outlaw band.The Yorling was either careless or very confident.
'We'll sleep here,' the Yorling said, 'and we'll be off before first light tomorrow.'
'Off to your secret tower deep in Liddesdale, my birdy friend.'I fished to find his name and where he was from.
'I am no Liddesdale man,' the Yorling said.
'The Debateable Land then,' I said, talking of the chunk of land that both Scotland and England had claimed and in which the worst outlaws and broken men made their homes among the local Graham surname.When either of the countries sent a force to clean it up, the wild men simply crossed the frontier to the neighbouring nation.
'Oh, not there,' the Yorling said.
I looked at his men as they dismounted and set about watering the horses and making camp.'Where shall I sleep?'I voiced the fear that had been uppermost in my mind for some time.
When he looked at me these smoky green eyes were gentle.'You will not be molested,' he said.'My men will not touch you, My Lady of Lethan.'
'Who are you?'I asked.I had never known a man be so reticent.The men of the Lethan, and particularly the boys, were never backward in coming forward with tales of their own exploits.Every one of them sought to impress me with their skill in horsemanship and swordsmanship, in their ability to track or fight.Now I was with the most dashing man I had ever met, and he told me nothing, not even his own name.I was utterly confused.
'I am the Yorling.'He gestured to his yellow jack.
'You are the most frustrating man that I have ever met,' I told him.
'And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.'His smile had vanished, and his eyes were steady.'And the most loyal.'He did not drop his gaze.
The Yorling hobbled the horses with a cord tied between their front legs so they could graze at will without straying too far from the camp, speared a few trout from the burn and roasted them for supper and ordered two men to stand first watch.
I looked around.We were in the midst of a welter of long bare hills, where patches of mist slithered around the neuks and corries, feathering around the streaks of straggled trees.It was bleak, cool, and lonely beyond description, while the oncoming night cast a cloak of darkness over what was in truth a scene of desolation.
'Loyal to whom or what?'I asked as the melancholy of the night entered me.
'You are too loyal to that man Robert,' the Yorling spoke seriously, without a trace of a smile.
'He is my man,' I said.
The Yorling shook his head.'You can do better,' he said.'You need somebody with fire, drive, and energy; a vital man to stir your imagination and lead you to new heights.Robert Ferguson is none of these things.'
'He is none of your business,' I said hotly.
I knew that the Yorling was right, God help me.I knew that Robert Ferguson was slow moving and clumsy, used to getting his own way and spoiled.I had seen his mother take care of him all his life.As her first born and her only child, she had protected him from harm and hardship and the result was, well Robert was the result.Yet for all that, I knew that we would be wed and when a woman born at Midnight on midsummer knows, then she knows.There is neither logic nor proof needed.'He is a good man,' I said, stubbornly.
'He is no man,' the Yorling said softly.
I had heard so many people say that, it no longer hurt.'He is a good man,' I repeated.
'He is certainly not a fighting man,' the Yorling was smiling now.'I bested him on two occasions without breaking sweat.'
