'Get back into bed!'Mother's voice was nearly as harsh as that of the scarred man.She grabbed me by the shoulder, hustled me down the stairs, and nearly threw me back into bed.'I knew you would be up this night.'She glared down at me.'It's time you stopped such nonsense.After all, you are twenty years old now.'
I looked back at her.'I saw Robert again, rescuing me.'
'You saw no such thing,' she said.I watched the anger fade from her eyes, to be replaced by genuine worry.'You'll find your man, Jeannie,' she said softly.'And it won't be Robert Ferguson.'
The door shut quietly as she left my chamber, leaving me with my thoughts and the image of that lone rider.I turned on to my back, placed my hands behind my head and smiled.I knew that Robert would be there for me when he was needed.
Chapter One
LETHAN VALLEY
AUTUMN 1585
The laverocks were busy that autumn, singing their sweet song as we attended to the harvest.I have always loved bird call, from the liquid notes of the blackbird that sweetens the summer to the evocative call of the geese as they wing their way northward in the spring and return in the autumn, and that year of 1585 was no exception.I stopped my work to listen to the laverocks, trying to spot one in the vastness above.
'The barley won't gather itself, Jeannie,' my father said, 'so get busy with that reaping hook.'
I bent to the work, taking the hook in great circles that sheared through the stalks of the barley without damaging the grain.It was hard work but necessary, for every stroke added to our winter store and increased our security for the coming harsh days of winter.
As I worked, I looked around, savouring the valley in which I had lived all my life.We farmed in the traditional manner here in the Lethan Valley, with long rigs of grain set between those holding hay for winter fodder and strips of land left fallow for the following year.The rigs stretched from the edge of the flood plain of the fast-flowing Lethan Water and rose to the green slopes of the hills that enclosed us on three sides.To the east was Ward Law, the hill on which father posted a watchman to look out for reivers, for the devil and all his associates were unchained as the nights lengthened and the darkness encouraged theft, pillage, and reiving.Chief of our devils were the Veitches who lived in Faladale, over the waste of hills on the west side of our valley.
I saw my father cast anxious eyes to the sky as a spatter of rain dampened us.'We'll finish this before the coarse weather comes,' he said, 'and we'll pray for the sun.'
'It's not the weather that concerns me,' Mother was twenty paces lower down the slope, 'it's that smoke in the air.'
We all stopped at the words, sniffing at the air as if we were dogs.There was only the faintest of whiffs carried on the fresh breeze and mingled with the scent of grass and late wild flowers.Father nodded.'The wind's carrying it from the north,' he said.'Peebles way.'
'It may only be a house fire,' I said hopefully.
'It may be that,' Mother said.
We both knew that it was not.The weather was not cool enough to light a fire.Smoke meant fire and fire meant trouble.September was early for the Riding—or Reiving—Season to begin, but that smoke was troublesome.
'The Veitches are riding,' Mother said and glanced at the spears we had piled at the edges of the field-rigs.
Father cupped hands to his mouth.'Willie!Willie Telfer!'He had the knack of catching the wind to help carry his words.
We looked toward Ward Law, where distance made Willie Telfer appear very small.He raised a hand in acknowledgement.
'Is all well?'Father bellowed.
'All's well!'The words came faintly to us.
'Is there any sign of the Veitches?'Father made the word sound like a curse.
The Veitches, as you will have guessed, were the enemy of our blood, our name, and our family.Nobody knew when the feud with the Veitches had started, although there were many rumours and tales.I only knew that as far back as time, the Tweedies and the Veitches had been enemies and always would be.The very name of that family made Father's lips curl and his hand reach for his sword, and I was sure that the name Tweedie had the same result if uttered in the foul valley of Faladale of the Veitches.
'No sign of them!'Willie Telfer called out.
'As well,' Father said, 'for if they were to strike when half the men were at the summer shieling, we would be hard pressed to fight them off.'
'The Veitches are also at the summer shieling,' Mother reminded gently.'They will not come during the harvesting.'
I was not sure if I was more relieved or disappointed.Part of me was afraid of these devils, the Veitches, every one of whom was trained since birth to murder Tweedie men and ravish Tweedie women, but another part of me thrilled to see my menfolk in action, to hear the clash of sword on sword and see the brave deeds and bold actions.I had been brought up on the Border Ballads, you see, and believed in the tales of chevaliers and hardy knights.I also knew the sordid reality of cattle theft and torched cottages, as did we all.
'My Robert would see them off,' I said, more loudly than I intended.
'Your Robert?'Mother injected scorn into those two words.'He is notyourRobert, Jeannie my lass, and never shall be.'She shook her head.'He is the younger son of a minor house and hardly fit to talk to you.Push him out of your mind, Jeannie, and cast around for a more suitable man.'
