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“Aye. So Matilda said. An’ Angus is tae be ransomed.”
Well, that made sense, at least, though Robert would be distinctly unwilling to pay more than a handful of groats for his idiotic cousin’s return. Angus could rot in the Otterburn dungeon for the rest of eternity as far as he was concerned.
“Were any bodies discovered? How many…?
“Well, that is the thing, my lord. There were nae killings. The captives were marched off by the English. Matilda did nae ken where they were taken…”
“God’s balls, what has been happening while I was away?”
“And…” The lad hesitated, his eyes darting about him. “There were one more thing, my lord.”
“Yes? What?” Could this catastrophe get any worse?
“Lady Flora was at Byrness when the English came.” Andrew blurted the words out quickly. “Apparently, she came tae collect the tithes and…”
“And what?” Robert ground out. He knew the lad was doing his best, but it was all he could do not to seize the youth and shake him. “What happened to my sister?”
“She was one o’ those took. She is a captive. The English have ’er, my lord.”
Robert clattered across the Roxburghe drawbridge late the following evening. He appreciated the urgency of matters at home so had made his apologies to the king with all haste and departed Edinburgh within the hour. He had barely stopped to feed and water his stallion on the journey but still managed to glean the rest of the account from Andrew as they made their way back.
It seemed Matilda had been left behind by the English, apparently because she had a young baby with her. The English soldiers had selected only men and women without children. Flora had been among those chosen, and as far as Matilda could tell, the English marquis who led the raid was not aware of her identity. She was just one prisoner among about thirty others. No ransom demand for her had been received at Roxburghe, at least, not before Andrew left for Edinburgh. The marquis, though, required one thousand guineas in exchange for Angus MacKinnon.
The earl had not received the news well, it seemed. Andrew reported that upon hearing Matilda’s account, their laird immediately declared his intention to send word to all the neighbouring clans requiring their aid in routing this English savage, who had made an unprovoked and murderous assault on a peaceful village. He intended to march upon the marquis’s castle, Elborne, in Northumberland, and lay waste to the place. The English curs would learn to their cost what it meant to make war on the MacKinnons.
Robert was bewildered. He knew for certain that no appeal had been made to the king, and it would not be possible to raise the clans without their sovereign’s knowledge. The good Lord only knew what was going on in his father’s tortured head.
He slid from his stallion’s back and tossed his reins to the closest groom, then sprinted up the steps into the castle. He entered his father’s great hall to find the earl seated at the high table with a bowl of porridge before him and a scowl upon his face. The earl barely glanced up when his son, whom he had not seen for several weeks, rushed in.
“Ah, there you are.” The earl slammed his spoon down on the table. “Ye can tell the damned cook that I want my porridge hot. Good and hot, mind, not this half-congealed slop that must have been standin’ for the best part of a week.”
“Father…?” Robert was at a loss.
“Where’s your sister? That girl is never here when she is needed.”
“Flora is not here, Father. She—”
“I can see that for myself.” The earl’s tone became petulant. “Always off somewhere, she is. Not seen hide nor hair of ’er all day.”
“Father, Flora is missing. She has been captured, by the English.”
“What?” The earl leapt to his feet. “When? Why was I not told?”
Robert gave up. “It is all right, Father. I shall deal with it. An’ I shall send to the kitchens for more porridge.”
Matilda was at Roxburghe, so he was able to question her directly. She explained to him about the ill-fated reiving expedition, and the consequences which had been both swift and severe. From her account, it was clear that the Marquis of Otterburn had wasted no time in descending upon the village where he knew the attack had originated.
Robert did not entirely blame him. The senseless destruction of a harvest was not something to take pride in, in his view. No wonder, then, that Otterburn had retaliated.
Angus was an idiot. There was no escaping that fact, and he had brought this disaster down upon himself. However, others would also suffer for his cousin’s stupidity and arrogance. His father had apparently forgotten all about the matter, which Robert considered, on balance, to be a blessing since he had not sent any crazed messages to the other clan chiefs. But that meant it fell to Robert to seek to negotiate with the marquis for the return of the prisoners, assuming they still lived.
The ransom had been counted out and set aside. Robert’s father at least remembered that much, and for some reason best understood by himself, he considered it to be a decent bargain. Robert took the view that the thousand guineas would be better spent in gaining the release of the other prisoners, his beloved sister in particular, and the marquis could keep Angus for all he cared. He would go to England himself and put the proposal to him.
Robert left Roxburghe at dawn the next day, accompanied by about thirty men. Their numbers were not enough to besiege Elborne but were all he could muster at short notice. In any case, he hoped to resolve this issue through negotiation, not force of arms.
In the event, neither approach was required. Much to his amazement, and delight, he came across his sister and the other prisoners on the road to Elborne. They were travelling in the opposite direction, returning home on foot, having been released by the English just hours before.
Robert leapt from his mount to embrace his sister. Until that moment, he had not allowed himself to truly comprehend the depth of his despair. He could not bear to lose her, but he had feared her already dead. His relief was so profound he could almost taste it.
