In the Scottish Borders the news coursed like the rushing waters of a spring thaw. It made the inhabitants giddy with the thought of their good fortune and the wealth of opportunities that presented themselves. The phrase on every man’s lips was repeated over and over:There will be moonlight again!
The Great Hall at Castle Elliot was filled with Borderers, and the number swelled with every passing hour. Johnstons and Maxwells rubbed shoulders with Elliots and Grahams. The ale flowed as they celebrated. Talk flowed just as freely as they made grandiose plans, and it was easy to guess the same scene was being repeated at every other castle and abode in the Scottish Marches.
The following day their visitors departed and the inhabitants of Castle Elliot had a chance to talk together alone. They sat at the long trestle table before the fire in the hall.
Gavin spoke first. “Johnny Maxwell plans on leading 200 riders deep into the English Borders. He says they’ll skirt Carlisle and head down to Penrith.”
Neil Graham frowned. “Penrith is fifty miles from Castle Maxwell. There and back would be a hundred. That’s a hell of a long way.”
Gavin nodded. “Butch Johnston intends to mount a raid on the village of Cargo, near Carlisle. He says he’ll lead a hundred riders.”
“That makes more sense,” Rob Elliot said. “The ride to Cargo is practically spitting distance. The Johnstons will be there and back in their beds before the alarm is raised. The English won’t know what hit ‘em.”
“Where arewegoing?” Douglas asked avidly.
All the men threw her a look of disbelief. Most Scots females knew how to keep their place and hold their silence when men were discussing business. “Youare going nowhere,” Gavin stated firmly. “Keep yer nose out of men’s affairs.”
Douglas recanted immediately. “Of course I’m not going, but I know whereyoushould go. It’s as plain as the nose on your face, Gavin. The thoroughbred horses at Beaumont Hall are there for the taking. If you don’t snatch them, others will.”
Neil Graham rubbed the bristles on his chin. “We’re short on numbers. Half our moss-troopers are in Edinburgh with Jock.”
Gavin raised a dismissive hand. “There’s plenty of Elliots and Grahams in Eskdale who’d pledge their right hands for a chance to ride with us.”
Rob Elliot warned, “Beaumont Hall belongs to a Border Warden, who’s also Cumberland’s nephew.”
“With so many families riding into England, the warden will have his hands full. And you’ll have the element of surprise on your side,” Douglas pointed out. “Fortune favors the bold. You could sell the horses in Langholm and get rid of the evidence.”
Gavin looked at Neil. “You go and feel out the Grahams, and I’ll have a word with the Elliots. We’ve no time to waste. Tomorrow night there’ll be moonlight.”
~~~
Douglas waited until her younger brother Rob went off to the stables, then she went to his chamber and took from a trunk a pair of breeches and an old leather jack he had outgrown. She bundled them up and hid them beneath her bed. She was an Elliot to her very bones, and she had made up her mind that if they went on a raid across the Border tonight, she would be riding with them.
To pass the time until dark descended, Douglas took herself off to the kitchen. The aroma of baking bread filled the air, and she decided that she would make a treacle pudding. Meg, the rosy-cheeked cook handed her a pot of lard, a lump of suet, a sack of flour, and a rolling pin. When Meg went to the pantry to find a jar of treacle, Douglas slipped a sharp kitchen knife down her boot.
That night at dinner, Douglas counted two dozen extra men, all Elliots and Grahams who lived along the River Esk. She noticed that Gavin kept an eye on the ale that was served. He allowed them enough to give them courage, but not an excess that would make them intoxicated.
After dinner, they stretched out on the flagstones of the hall, casting dice, and passing the time until the moon rose. Douglas yawned and bade them all goodnight. She dished out a plate of treacle pudding and carried it upstairs with her. She sat down on her bed to eat it and fortify herself against the cold ride through the dark fells. She shivered with excitement as she braided her long hair and wrapped the plaits around her head. She changed into the breeks and leather jack, knowing that this would be the sort of night that would make her glad she was alive.
From her window she could watch the rising moon, and when she saw the shadowy figures of the men silently heading toward the stables, excitement ran along her veins as she anticipated the raid that lay ahead. Her plan was to wait until they had all gone. It would be easy to catch up with them and ride at the back of the pack.
She opened a dresser drawer and took out a beaver bonnet. She pulled it on her head and tucked in her plaits, then she went to her mirror to make sure there were no telltale red tendrils sticking out. As she examined her reflection, she saw the image of Lance Greystoke in its silver depths. His dark eyes were accusing, and she glanced away quickly, determined to banish the English noble from her thoughts.
When she approached the stables, all was silent. A stable lad approached, and she waved him off with a masculine gesture. She saddled her Border pony, mounted, and trotted out into the castle bailey. She hugged the mare with her knees and pulled up the collar of her leather jack to keep out the wind. It was a cold night, but as she galloped along the river, the excitement of her adventure kept her warm, and she stifled the urge to throw back her head and laugh with glee.
It didn’t take her long to catch up with the others. Their hoofbeats were muffled by the grass, but the silhouettes of the thirty-odd riders were visible in the moonlit shadows.
She caught up with them and rode beside her brother Rob until they got near the English Border. Finally, he recognized her pony. “Christ, Douglas, what the hell are ye about?”
“I scouted the horses at Beaumont. It was my idea to take them before anybody else made off with them. I’m an Elliot. There’s no way I’d let you leave me behind.”
“Best keep yer mouth shut. If Gavin finds out, he’ll give ye a thrashin’.”
The riders slowed their pace as they spotted about a hundred mounted men ahead of them. “That’ll be the Johnstons on their way to Cargo. Best not let them see us, if we don’t want the Beaumont thoroughbreds snatched from under our noses.”
She nodded and drew rein until the Johnstons put some distance between them. Her heart began to pound from the heightened danger of the raid now that they were about to cross over into England.What if Greystoke is at Beaumont defending his property?A goose walked over her grave and she shivered. “Rob, promise me you won’t use your pistol!”
“Not unless I have to,” he said with a grin.
