Chapter Two
Braya untied hercloak and her scabbard and hung them by the door of her mother’s kitchen then removed her heavy jack and hung it up next. She had to get Carlisle’s new knight out of her mind. He was arrogant and he’d killed four of her cousins. But he’d looked at her with those large, luminous, frosty green eyes as if he understood things about her—things no one else understood, or wanted to.
“Tie up that hair, gel,” her mother called out softly while she set two bowls on the wooden trestle table in the center of the kitchen.
The fragrance of mutton roasted with turnips and carrots wafted from the bowls to Braya’s nose. She closed her eyes and breathed in, then slid into her seat on the bench. She looked up upon hearing her father and brother enter the cottage a few moments after seeing to the horses. She knew her father was angry over how they had been treated by the warden; tossed out on their arses as if her kinsmen hadn’t fought with Bennett during the attempted Scottish invasion, and countless times after that. She was angry, too.
“The warden has forgotten all he owes to the Hetheringtons,” said her brother, Galien, as her father took a seat opposite her. Galien had his own small cottage close by. Braya wished he’d gone to it. He was rash and would try to lead their father into something that could get them all killed.
“We will help him remember,” Rowley Hetherington promised. He smiled at his wife when she set the last bowl on the table.
Braya tossed her brother a solemn side-glance. Galien was now the oldest. He was going to inherit all this mayhem and misery. She didn’t envy him. Though, she knew he enjoyed robbing and raiding as much as her father did. What happened last night and this morning was more than that. It would not, and should not, be forgotten. But her kinsmen would want more.
“Well,” May Hetherington huffed at them and wiped her hands on her apron. “Which one of you is going to tell me what happened? Who is to pay for killing our kinsmen?”
“The reports were correct. ’Twas the warden’s men, including Rob Adams, who turns out not to be a friend at all,” Galien growled and tore a hunk of bread from the loaf in the center of the table, ignoring the hand his father held up. Mr. Adams had been their friend for many years. “And Sir Torin Gray, a stranger,” he continued, bringing the arrogant bastard’s face to Braya’s mind. “He admitted to killing four of our cousins!”
“Mr. Adams claimed our cousins were trying to rob them,” Braya reminded him.
“Which we know is untrue,” Galien argued, giving her a hard stare. “Henry and the lads would not have robbed Carlisle’s soldiers knowing the pact between us is a fragile one. They were not fools.”
They were if they let one man kill all of them.
Braya didn’t speak what was on her mind. Where was the sense in it? The men did what they wanted. They didn’t listen to her or ask her what she thought. No matter how skilled she was she hadn’t earned the respect of any of the men, including her father and brother.
But she had her opinions! Of course, her cousins would have robbed soldiers. They would have robbed anyone who didn’t bear the Hetherington name. Besides, they didn’t live in her village but farther up north in Hethersgill. They didn’t know the guards the way her immediate family did. They hadn’t been raided by the Armstrongs and Elliots. What did they care of the pact made five years ago to fight with the warden against the Scots in exchange for being protected from more powerful families?
“The warden sat there,” her father said with leashed fury in his gravelly voice. “He sat there knowing that his men killed ours. He offered no apology. He had us thrown out!”
Galien slammed his fist down on the table then apologized to their mother. “We must make them pay, Father. They killed Henry. He was like a brother to me. I wish to avenge him.”
Braya’s father nodded and leaned in to pat his son’s broad shoulder. “I know. Do not fear. This offense will not go unpunished.”
Braya wanted to rise up from her seat and shout at them not to do what they were thinking of doing. Alexander Bennett was too great an ally to lose—not for five rash, rowdy fools!
But she said nothing. She sipped her milk and ate her mutton and listened to a plan that was sure to get them killed. When breakfast was over and the men left the table, Braya helped her mother clean up. There had to be something she could do to stop this.
“Mother?” she asked while they cleaned. “Do you think it wise for us to gather our kinsmen and attack the castle? The warden?”
“What else is there to do?” her mother asked, narrowing her keen blue eyes on her daughter. “Someone must pay.”
“But at what cost to our kin? And do you truly believe that Mr. Adams would lie to us? He has sat right here in this kitchen and supped with us. What if he is telling the truth and our men attacked them? A man is not guilty for protecting himself, is he?”
Her mother shook her head. “Not in our laws. But what can we do? You heard your father and Galien. They want blood.”
“Their pride is not enough reason to cast away the support of the defender,” Braya pointed out. “Who will stop the Armstrongs or the other reivers from robbing and warring with us if we lose the warden? If we must seek revenge, we need only seek it against Sir Torin. Lord Bennett did not even know who he was. He is new to the garrison. The warden will not care if he loses him. As for Mr. Adams, I’m sure Father will forgive him after a while. Perhaps he will even come to believe him.”
“Why did you not bring up these concerns to your father?”
“I will,” Braya assured her. “But not with Galien around. He will try to talk Father out of whatever I suggest. You know he is jealous that I beat him at so many things.”
“He loves you, Braya,” her mother admonished tenderly, sweeping her daughter’s hair over her shoulder. Her smile was warm, her round, full cheeks were rosy. “Never forget that. Family is everything. Galien would die for you He is prideful, that is all.”
Braya loved her. She loved them all. She couldn’t let them start a war with the border guards. There must be something she could do. “I must stop this before word is sent out to our kinsmen.”
She kissed her mother’s cheek, grabbed her cloak, and stepped out into the warm summer air. She looked to the right, toward the rolling hills, where her brother herded the cattle, and to the River Eden beyond the trees. She knew where to find her father. She turned to the left and hurried toward the cemetery behind the house.
She found him standing before a gravestone with the name of her eldest brother, Ragenald, engraved on it, though Ragenald himself was not in the grave. The Bruce’s soldiers had killed her brother at Bannockburn. His body was not recovered.
