Devil’s Moon (Border Nights #2)

Prologue

The night was black. Not a star shone, and the damp, clinging mist was as cold as mid-November. The castle’s tall, square keep rose above its outer wall, although the two appeared as one solid density against the night sky.

Armed with a shovel and dirk, the thickset man known as Shetland Jamie felt his way to the crest of a low rise thirty yards southeast of the wall. He thanked God for the darkness and blessed the mist that hid him. He heard no sound from the wall walk above.

The siege laid by Henry Percy, the powerful English Earl of Northumberland, had been in effect for fifteen days, but his army had not attacked for a sennight, so the Scots inside the castle no longer feared an assault. Doubtless, the earl meant to starve them out.

Jamie had worried about his shovel making noise, but yesterday’s misery-making rain had softened the ground, so the downpour had been good for something beyond easing the army’s stink.

Moreover, the heavy mist had muffled the night bird’s call he’d heard a short while ago, so it would doubtless muffle any sounds he made.

Jamie had studied the rise from the day he’d first recognized the stunning opportunity that had presented itself to him. Now, following an image in his head of what he had seen earlier, he soon found the pile of rocks he’d left to mark his spot.

Cautiously resting his shovel on a shrub, he gently set down the crockery jar that held the most precious part of his burden, out of the way but where he could find it again.

Dawn remained distant, and the English tents and siege fires lay to the south, beyond the crest of a nearby hill. Northumberland’s tent was the finest, of course. The Percys were wealthier than God, and Shetland Jamie’s family was poorer than dust.

But God knew all and willed all, did He not?

Jamie believed that God had provided this chance and had willed the idea into his head.

A wise man recognized opportunity when it came his way, and he knew that he’d have had to be blind not to see this one.

The others had left him alone, guarding that fine tent for just a few minutes, but that had been enough.

It would mean hanging if they caught him, but if they didn’t, he’d be far better off than he was now. God had paved the way for him tonight, too, with the darkness and mist.

As he pictured numerous possibilities that the future might hold for him, he quietly shifted the pile of rocks out of his way. He would bury his treasure for the nonce and take good care that no one suspected what he’d done.

Northumberland’s son, the formidable Hotspur, was here at Coklaw, too. He had said that the siege might last for a month but that, when they went, they would go quickly.

Hotspur always moved quickly.

Nevertheless, the siege was the oddest Jamie had seen. They had lobbed some of the earl’s new cannonballs at the curtain wall, and one had even struck the keep wall inside. But they’d done almost no damage. The siege, he thought, would be a long one.

Nevertheless, the earl was Coklaw’s rightful owner, because the previous year, after Northumberland’s victory at Homildon Hill, England’s king, Henry IV, had awarded him all lands belonging to the Scottish Earl of Douglas.

But even the Percys were not powerful enough to wrest those lands from the iron Douglas grasp.

Everyone on both sides of the line knew that the Douglases could raise ten thousand men in a blink.

As a result, Northumberland was irked with King Henry, and Hotspur was tired of fighting wars for a king who didn’t pay his debts. The plain truth was that the Percys had come to sympathize strongly with the Welsh, who also resented Henry’s treatment.

Jamie cleared a space between plants for his hole and began digging. The ground was workable, but he did have to feel for rocks with his shovel or dirk to avoid clanging the shovel’s metal blade against one.

After a time, he knelt to test the result of his labor. The hole was deep enough, but its sides were still rough, so he used the dirk’s blade to scrape the sides out more. He had wired the jar’s lid on, to keep it in place.

Satisfied at last, he laid the jar in the hole, used his hands to push the dirt back in, and stood to tamp it down.

Knowing that rain and settling would form a dip, he made a hill of pebbles, twigs, leaves, and rocks on top.

He would look again in the morning to be sure that nothing remained to suggest that anyone had dug there.

Standing with shovel in hand, he listened, but even the night birds were silent. He felt as if he were the only one in the world who was still awake.

Retracing the path he had taken earlier, he followed the curving hillside toward the English encampment.

Soon, he saw the glow of low fires ahead—more fires, he noted, than when he’d left.

The mist was thinner, too, and he could see more men moving about than should have been up so late.

Had they missed him and raised an alarm?

As the thought crossed his mind, two burly shapes emerged from the nearby mist.

“Jamie, be that ye?” a familiar voice muttered, as the shapes became two men muffled to the eyes.

“Aye, Rolf,” Jamie muttered back. “Be summat amiss?”

“Sakes, man, we been looking all over for ye. Where ye been?”

“Damned if I know,” Jamie said, glad he’d planned for such questions. “I went seeking the latrine, and I been seeking me bed ever since.”

“Well, stir your stumps, man. The Scottish Duke o’ Albany’s on his way wi’ an army to end our siege, so we’re making straightaway for Wales.”

“Wales!” He glanced over his shoulder, back the way he had come. “But—”

“We’re to aid the Welsh rebellion. So hie yourself, or they’ll leave ye behind.”

“We’re leaving now?” Jamie fought to keep the panic from his voice.

“Aye, Hotspur means to make Carlisle afore dawn.”

An icy chill settled over Shetland Jamie. He hadn’t even had a chance to count his treasure. Now he might never see it again.