People living on the borderlands did not readily give their loyalty. But she knew most of Castleton and the surrounding farms would not have survived last winterif not for the extra goods Friar Tucker had got his hands on because of Roxburghe’s efforts.
The thunder of horses’ hooves grew deafening. Then the Roxburghe laird was rumbling past her, followed closely by his armed retainers, the draft of their passing catching her hair and skirts in a whirlwind of dust and debris. Beside Rose, a young woman pressed her palms to her ears against the din and laughed aloud, her voice carried upward like a bright red pennant in the wind. The pandemonium seemed to go on forever, until amid the fading metallic clang of bridles and spurs and the ringing in her ears, someone behind her shouted, “Godspeed, Ruark.” A round of “ayes” followed the pronouncement.
Lord Roxburghe had not so much as slowed.
If Rose hadn’t been so sure she’d have been trampled to dust, she would have leapt into the street and forced him to stop just so he would at least acknowledge the little girls who carried the flowers for him. But the riders were already passing through the square and moving away from the village before she could catch her breath and still the strange fluttering in the pit of her stomach.
A hush crawled through the crowd, broken only by an occasional cough as dust settled over them.
“Must be in a hurry,” the bearded blacksmith behind Rose said.
“Would no’ you be?” another shouted from across the street. “Hereford will pay for taking the laird’s brother to be sure.”
The Honorable Macfayden, Castleton’s burly mayor, cleared his throat. In his official capacity as village spokesman and advocate of good causes he pronounced, “ ’Tis good the new Kerr laird has returned. The English wardenwill have his hands full. Maybe he’ll be leavin’ the rest of us alone now.”
“Hear, hear!” Enthusiasm mounted and a call to celebrate all future success for the Roxburghe heir rang out.
“To the Boar’s Inn, men!” The battle cry sounded.
Restored to their previous vigor, the crowd began to disperse. But watching the townspeople lumber away, Rose felt only disappointment that their returning hero had lacked the courtesy to acknowledge those lining the streets to pay him homage.
“His lordship is bound to pass near Hope Abbey to get to the river crossing,” Mrs. Graham said from beside her, peering at the sky. “If it rains, he may seek shelter.”
Startled at the unpleasant notion, Rose lifted her gaze to the darker clouds roiling on the horizon. ’Twas not uncommon that travelers stopped at Hope Abbey for food and rest. With Friar Tucker absent and Rose away from the abbey, Sister Nessa would panic.
Rose bid Mrs. Graham farewell and escaped down a backstreet that followed the turnip fields to the stable. Viewing the open road beyond, relieved to see only remnants of a lingering dust cloud where the Black Dragon had been, Rose was confident that he would be across the river by the time the storm broke.
“ ’Tis a strained tendon.” Ruark rubbed his palm gingerly along the stallion’s foreleg. “This horse is not traveling farther or I risk permanently damaging him.”
His ship’s former second in command, Bryce Colum, knelt beside him. “A week or two at least,” he concurred. “Bloody hell.”
Ruark peered up at the sky. Amber tinged the red sky just in front of the storm that had been following themfor the five miles since leaving the village. The wind in the trees had picked up considerably in the last fifteen minutes. “Hope Abbey is just beyond the woods,” Ruark said. “They have a stable. I know the prior.”
Most of his men sat around eating while talking in low tones. The pace he had driven them these days had allowed little time for food or rest. Like him, each of them had a lawless quality about him. He looked back over the road they’d just traveled, then scanned the surrounding area. “Take all but four men and go north to Stonehaven. Leave one of the packhorses,” he said.
Colum rose. He was not as tall as Ruark. With Ruark standing five inches over six feet, few men were. “Hereford’s men are probably watching the road,” Colum said. I will remain with the stallion. He’s a fine horse—”
“Worth killing for? I want anyone watching this road to see this pack crossing the bridge. No purpose will be served if the warden’s men learn any of us has been here. Give me your jacket.”
Colum ran an impatient hand through his hair. He slipped out of his jacket and took Ruark’s. “You would leave that stallion to Hereford’s men?”
The question triggered an arched brow and the barest hint of a grin. “I am disappointed in your lack of faith in me,” Ruark said, as he shoved his arms into the sleeves of Colum’s jacket, testing the fit. “There is nothing Hereford can take from me that I will not eventually reclaim. But I would rather lose a horse than give our good warden a reason to hang you as well. Besides, I have another reason to stay. Take the men and go now. I will be a day behind you.”
Colum ordered all but four men to mount and ride. Amid the near silent commotion, another man approached carrying coffee. “Here ye be,” McBain said. “Thoughtye might enjoy a refresher even on a blistering day like this.”
“Thank you.” Ruark took a swallow of the coffee and smiled inwardly for it was blacker than hell, the way no one but McBain could brew it. Powerful and unforgiving. The way Ruark had come to appreciate the world since his years at sea had driven the softness from his life.
He fixed his eyes on the rolling hills. McBain followed his gaze, scrubbing his hand across his bewhiskered face. “It’s been a long time. A bluidy long time.”
“Not long enough,” Ruark said, reflecting McBain’s reservations aloud.
“Do ye think there’s truth to the rumor that Hereford’s daughter is alive?”
“Aye, maybe,” Ruark said as he motioned for the remaining men to mount and drank the last of the coffee.
Ruark had not been home in almost thirteen years and he had no idea whom he could trust. But Friar Tucker was one of the few men he knew was not in Hereford’s deep pockets. Ruark never understood the source of Tucker’s bitter sentiments against Lord Hereford, but he hoped they would serve to ally Ruark and Tucker now against a common foe. If anyone knew the truth of the gossip, ’twould be Tucker.
“If there is a daughter,” Ruark said, “I doubt Tucker would appreciate what I have in mind for the girl.”
