'He is not a man.'Mother was surprisingly patient.'Look, Jeannie.We have been through all this before, time and time again.I am a bit sick of it now.'
'So am I!'I fought to control my temper as my voice rose.'So am I, Mother,' I said in a more moderate tone.'We have both said our piece.I am twenty-one soon…'
'And still with no more sense than when you were twelve!'Mother butted in, as she had a habit of doing.She stood over me, dominant yet with worry shadowing her eyes.'Jeannie; you will find that you need more than just a companion as you grow into a full woman.'
I could see that she was struggling to find the right words as she tried to balance her feelings for me as her only daughter with her reluctance to admit that I would have all the aspirations and desires of a woman.Save that crucial one that I seemed to lack.I chose not to help her.'Robert and I will marry,' I said, 'and there is nothing that you can do about it.'
I saw her stiffen; I thought she was going to slap me.Instead, she lowered her voice.'If that happens,' she said, 'and you will notice that I sayif.If that happens then you will be the owners of the whole Lethan Valley.You will have merged two of the most significant families in Peebles-shire.'Her face altered.'I will not mention theVeitches.'
I nodded.'I am aware of that.'I could see that she was struggling to keep her temper.Not twenty minutes earlier this woman had ordered the execution of a boy scarcely into his teens.Now she was biting her tongue in her anxiety to ensure that I did not make the wrong choice in a man.I did not then appreciate the depth of her love.I only accepted it.
'You are the only Tweedie of Cardrona and the Lethan,' Mother said bluntly.'The family, your family, has held this land for nearly three centuries.You have a responsibility to maintain the connection between the land and your blood.'
'My life is not about that,' I said, as I had so often before.
'You are a Tweedie,' Mother said.'Your life is about that.It is your duty and your responsibility to keep the land safe and the bloodline intact.'
I sighed.Would this woman never accept things as they were?I thought it better to pacify her.'I do understand what you mean, Mother,' I said as patiently as I could.'And if I marry Robert, I will have both the land and the bloodline.'
'For how long?'Mother's voice was flat.'Your chosen man can hardly hold a sword let alone use one.As soon as the Armstrongs, or the Elliots, or even the Bold Buccleuch of the Scotts find out that a weakling holds the Lethan, they will rob you from Lethanhead to Tweed and leave this valley nothing but a smoking desert.'
I looked at her, wordless.The words were harsh yet true.Robert was no fighting man.And then I remembered my vision and I knew that all would be well.
Mother saw my hesitation and pressed what she thought was her advantage.'Think on that, Jeannie, before you make your decision, and think of what happened to Robert earlier today.'She stood up.'You may sleep now.'
I felt as if I was two years old as I crawled out of my Mother's chamber and into the cubby hole that I had for myself one level beneath the roof.Despite the busy day, it was very hard to sleep with so many images chasing each other through my mind.As I listened to the rain hammering against the leather shutters I had placed within the arrow-slit, I thought of poor Robert falling before the sword of the Yorling.Then I thought of Robert's bottom, strangely vulnerable on the bed, shining white except for that red streak where the Yorling's sword had landed.I knew that sight should have stirred me, yet it had not.I also thought of the Yorling with his flowing black hair and that supple skill with sword and mount.It was with that image that I fell asleep: that image and the sensation that he and I were connected in some way.
I woke with that same feeling and a faint smile that I did not wish.Robert was my chosen man.By thinking of the Yorling I was betraying my own choice and my own decision.Yet I could not chase the pictures away.And, if I faced the truth, I secretly had no desire to.I retained that smile until that other memory returned: Mother was going to hang that young reiver this morning.
I had never seen a hanging before although, God forgive us, they were common enough along the Border line.You may know that both sides of the Border, the Scots and the English, were divided into three Marches, or divisions.Each side had an East March, Middle March, and West March and each March had its own Warden who was responsible for dispensing justice in the case of disputes, and for putting down reiving.On the Scottish side, the valley of Liddesdale had its own Warden, the Captain of Liddesdale, purely because it was the most turbulent place in Europe, with the most predatory riding families, such as the Armstrongs, Elliots, and Nixons plus all the broken men and outlaws who belonged to no family or clan.The Wardens had one sure cure for lawlessness: the rope.
Now it was our family's turn to act as Warden: Mother had elevated herself to jury, judge, and executioner and that stubborn, tight-mouthed young lad was to be the object of her revenge.I was not looking forward to watching the spectacle and left the tower with a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach and dryness in my mouth.
I was not alone in that.Many of the women and some of the men seemed to share my trepidation as we gathered outside the barmekin walls.At the side of the Lethan water, there was a small mound with a prominent tree we called the gallows oak where traditionally these things used to take place, and we collected in a circle around, waiting.I sought out Robert, of course.
'I am not looking forward to this,' I told him, reaching for his hand.
He edged slightly away.I had forgotten that men did not like to show public displays of affection.Robert certainly did not.'It's only a hanging,' he said as if he had witnessed scores in his time.I knew for a fact that this would be his first.'Areiver.'He said the word as if it was a curse against God.
'It's a young boy,' I said, 'somebody will be mourning him.He will have a mother, a father,' I glanced at Robert with a hopeful smile, 'perhaps a sweetheart.'He did not respond.
The boy was silent as two sturdy men, Willie Rennie, and James of the Ford, hustled him out.They had tied his hands in front of him and hobbled him so he could take only short steps.Despite his youth, he kept his head up and his mouth closed.He did not look afraid.
'Poor little boy.'I wanted to step forward and comfort him.Mary's Bessie Tweedie was in tears: she had two sons of about the same age.I saw her looking imploringly toward Mother, whose face was set like flint.Others were watching in fascination as James of the Ford cut through the boy's hobble and mounted him on a horse, facing ignominiously backwards.'What are they doing?'I sought Robert's hand.He did not respond.
When the boy was mounted, James of the Ford led him to the gallows tree as Willie Rennie casually tossed a rope over the lowest branch, which stretched out at right angles from the trunk.There was a murmur from the crowd with some people pressing forward for a better look and others holding back.Now that the time had come, only a few averted their eyes.One mother grabbed hold of her son and lectured him sternly as he jumped up and down, laughing.A gaggle of dogs barked around us, tails wagging and jaws slavering.
'I can't watch,' I said.
Robert looked at me.'It's only a reiver,' he said.
I have never liked him less than at that moment.'It's a young boy!'I nearly shouted.'Mother!You can't do this!'
People stared at me as I pushed through them, determined to reach my mother and put an end to this horror.'You can't hang this boy,' I told her until she nodded to Willie Rennie, who grabbed hold of me.
'You stay out of this, my bonnie lass.'His voice was like the growl of a hunting dog.
James of the Ford tied a noose in the rope and slipped it around the boy's throat so casually that I wondered if he knew he was preparing to end a young life.I tried to move to help, only for Willie Rennie to hold me tighter.
