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Robbie shrugged. The possibility had occurred to him also, though he had yet to hear of an instance of a ransom being demanded for a corpse. Still, if such were needed, he would pay any sum required in order to be able to bring Flora home.
“Come. We shall get to the bottom of this.” He dug in his heels, and his mount broke into a canter. Charles, Duncan, and the other two dozen men he had brought with him did likewise.
“Is that ’im?”
The drawbridge was raised, naturally. Robbie and his men lined up along the edge of the moat and studied those gathered on the castle walls. This marquis was a cautious man, that much was evident, and his keep was well-guarded. The ranks of archers with their bows trained on them did not escape Robbie’s notice. Their commander, a tall man with dark hair, surveyed his visitors with an air of contempt.
Robbie eyed the warlord on the battlements. He had heard much of this southern noble who had been sent to replace the previous marquis. Stephen Parnell, Earl of Romsey and now Marquis of Otterburn, had earned himself a formidable reputation in battle, and it could not be denied that he possessed an air of leadership, of ownership, and power. And confidence. There was no mistaking his adversary, not really.
“Aye,” Charles confirmed. “That is the marquis. I remember him well enough.”
“And the other man beside him?”
“I dinnae ken. I never saw him the last time I was here.”
“Well, we shall know soon enough,” Robbie muttered. He lifted his gaze to the battlements and yelled to those assembled up there. “Are ye Stephen of Elborne?”
The dark-haired man leaned over the parapet to glare at him. “I am. And you are?”
“Robert. Earl of Roxburghe.” The title still did not sit easily, but Robbie was becoming more accustomed to it.
Stephen of Elborne narrowed his eyes. “I have hoped to meet the earl. There is much I would like to discuss with him. However, I know him to be a much older man. And… he is not well, I understand.”
Robbie straightened in his saddle. “Ye are speaking of my late father, the previous earl.”
The news that the old earl had passed away caused a degree of consternation up on the battlements. Robbie found this somewhat surprising, given that the two had never met.
“He passed from this life a week ago. Your discussions, henceforth, will be with me,” Robbie added, for the avoidance of any possible doubt.
“I see. And what might those discussions concern?” The marquis appeared tense, suddenly, to Robbie’s mind. A guilty conscience, perhaps?
“My sister,” he replied, not caring to beat about the bush. “I am informed by the holy sisters at St Mary’s that Lady Flora MacKinnon died in childbirth. They reported that Flora, already close to death, was abducted by the Marquis of Otterburn.”
“You were misinformed,” came the curt reply. “So, I suggest you take your leave and return to your own keep. There is nothing for you here.”
Robbie was having none of that. “I shall not leave until I have seen for myself her final resting place. Further, I demand that her child should be given over into my care, if the infant still lives, and is here. He is my nephew, and I must be assured of his wellbeing.”
The marquis turned his back and appeared to be deep in conversation with the man who had been at his side throughout their exchange. After a couple of minutes, Stephen of Elborne leaned out once more. “You may enter, accompanied by no more than two of your comrades. You will dismount and bring no weapons into Elborne with you.”
Robbie opted to confer with his companions before replying. Charles and Duncan were in agreement for once. This was a ruse. A trap. Robbie was inclined to the same conclusion.
“How do I know that I can trust you?” he demanded.
The marquis did not reply. He withdrew from the battlements, leaving Robbie to cool his heels below. After several minutes there appeared to be some sort of commotion above. What happened next was beyond belief.
“Dear sweet Jesu,” Charles gasped. “Is that…?”
Robbie blinked, shook his head to clear his vision, but when he looked back again, nothing had changed. A familiar figure gazed down from the parapet.
“Aye,” he whispered. “’Tis Flora. An’ she looks very well, considerin’ the news of her death.”
More muttered oaths, and a few cheers went up from among the incredulous but delighted Scots.
The marquis stood behind Flora, who did not appear to be a prisoner or in any distress. Robbie could not even begin to comprehend how this wondrous state of affairs had come about, but his sister was clearly alive and well, and safe here at Elborne. He offered up grateful thanks to the Almighty for it.
“As you can see, your desire to pay your respects at your sister’s grave is somewhat premature,” the marquis observed drily. “Do you now accept my terms?”
The drawbridge was barely lowered before Flora dashed across it to fling herself into his arms. Robbie contented himself with simply hugging her and thanking God that he still might. He had been so sure she was gone, had never doubted the tale told by the holy sisters at St Mary’s…
