Chapter One
LETHAN VALLEY
'The barley won't gather itself, Jeannie,' my father said, 'so get busy with that reaping hook.'
I bent to the work, taking the hook in great circles that sheared through the stalks of the barley without damaging the grain. It was hard work but necessary, for every stroke added to our winter store and increased our security for the coming harsh days of winter.
As I worked, I looked around, savouring the valley in which I had lived all my life.
We farmed in the traditional manner here in the Lethan Valley, with long rigs of grain set between those holding hay for winter fodder and strips of land left fallow for the following year.
The rigs stretched from the edge of the flood plain of the fast-flowing Lethan Water and rose to the green slopes of the hills that enclosed us on three sides.
To the east was Ward Law, the hill on which father posted a watchman to look out for reivers, for the devil and all his associates were unchained as the nights lengthened and the darkness encouraged theft, pillage, and reiving.
Chief of our devils were the Veitches who lived in Faladale, over the waste of hills on the west side of our valley.
I saw my father cast anxious eyes to the sky as a spatter of rain dampened us. 'We'll finish this before the coarse weather comes,' he said, 'and we'll pray for the sun.'
'It's not the weather that concerns me,' Mother was twenty paces lower down the slope, 'it's that smoke in the air.'
We all stopped at the words, sniffing at the air as if we were dogs. There was only the faintest of whiffs carried on the fresh breeze and mingled with the scent of grass and late wild flowers. Father nodded. 'The wind's carrying it from the north,' he said. 'Peebles way.'
'It may only be a house fire,' I said hopefully.
'It may be that,' Mother said.
We both knew that it was not. The weather was not cool enough to light a fire. Smoke meant fire and fire meant trouble. September was early for the Riding—or Reiving—Season to begin, but that smoke was troublesome.
'The Veitches are riding,' Mother said and glanced at the spears we had piled at the edges of the field-rigs.
Father cupped hands to his mouth. 'Willie! Willie Telfer!' He had the knack of catching the wind to help carry his words.
We looked toward Ward Law, where distance made Willie Telfer appear very small. He raised a hand in acknowledgement.
'Is all well?' Father bellowed.
'All's well!' The words came faintly to us.
'Is there any sign of the Veitches?' Father made the word sound like a curse.
The Veitches, as you will have guessed, were the enemy of our blood, our name, and our family.
Nobody knew when the feud with the Veitches had started, although there were many rumours and tales.
I only knew that as far back as time, the Tweedies and the Veitches had been enemies and always would be.
The very name of that family made Father's lips curl and his hand reach for his sword, and I was sure that the name Tweedie had the same result if uttered in the foul valley of Faladale of the Veitches.
'No sign of them!' Willie Telfer called out.
'As well,' Father said, 'for if they were to strike when half the men were at the summer shieling, we would be hard pressed to fight them off.'
'The Veitches are also at the summer shieling,' Mother reminded gently. 'They will not come during the harvesting.'
I was not sure if I was more relieved or disappointed.
Part of me was afraid of these devils, the Veitches, every one of whom was trained since birth to murder Tweedie men and ravish Tweedie women, but another part of me thrilled to see my menfolk in action, to hear the clash of sword on sword and see the brave deeds and bold actions.
I had been brought up on the Border Ballads, you see, and believed in the tales of chevaliers and hardy knights.
I also knew the sordid reality of cattle theft and torched cottages, as did we all.
'My Robert would see them off,' I said, more loudly than I intended.
'Your Robert?' Mother injected scorn into those two words. 'He is not your Robert, Jeannie my lass, and never shall be.' She shook her head. 'He is the younger son of a minor house and hardly fit to talk to you. Push him out of your mind, Jeannie, and cast around for a more suitable man.'
Father opened his mouth to interrupt and closed it again without saying anything.
Father rarely gave advice about matters of the heart, leaving it to his womenfolk, that is, Mother and I, to say our hearts and afterwards make our peace.
'Keep them at it, Bess,' Father said and moved away.
I watched him mount Dryfe, his stallion, and spur northward down the valley.
'You heard your father,' Mother said. 'We want this cut and the hay stooked before night's upon us.'
I nodded, caught Robert's eye and we smiled at each other.
Despite what mother said, Robert was my lad, as you will know by now.
We had known each other since childhood, or rather we had never not known each other.
We grew up together, fishing or guddling for trout in the Lethan or the River Tweed, netting the salmon as they returned to spawn, racing each other to the summer shielings, working in the rigs or with the cattle, riding around the valley and along the ridges of the Heights.
We were like brother and sister in some ways, and everybody and his mother should have known we should be wed one day.
That one day would be when I was full woman and he was full man.
However, there is a huge gap between knowing something should happen and the actual event itself.
Robert Ferguson and I knew we were right for each other and I had long since told him our plans for the future, but neither my mother nor Robert's father agreed.
My mother said she would not let me marry until Robert had proved himself man enough to take a wife, and Robert's father, Archie Ferguson, just did not like me.
I did not know why he should feel like that.
I am a personable girl, active in what I do, and I am from good stock.
Indeed, my family is better than the Fergusons of Whitecleuch or any other Fergusons in the Borderland between Berwick and Solway Sands.
If bloodlines were to be compared, I can stand proud against any in Scotland, and that means any in the world.
As you can see, I am still indignant that any mere Ferguson should question my right to his son if I choose him.
However, as we had neither lands nor cattle, Robert and I had to wait until our respective families realised that Fate, the Lord, and all the deities that may or may not exist in river, loch, hill, earth, and sky had decreed we were meant for each other.
Or until some other man took my fancy, which was something that I knew would not and could not happen.
We were destined you see, for I had seen it in my visions.
And therein lies my tale.
When Father trotted off that fine September day to seek the cause of the smoke, Mother took charge of the harvesting, which meant we moved faster and worked twice as hard. In the Lethan Valley, nobody argued with Lady Tweedie. Or if they did, they certainly did not argue a second time.
Occasionally I caught Mother raising her head to check the tenants were working as hard as they should.
Sometimes she gave a grim nod of satisfaction, more often a sharp bark of reprimand.
Once I caught her looking at something with a smile on her face and I followed the direction of her glance to see what amused her so.
I saw she was watching Clem's Adam as he bent forward to his task.
Clem's Adam was a fine handsome man of about thirty, with a face that many women spoke about and a body that would have graced any of these sculptures in the ancient abbeys.
Yet it was not his face that Mother was smiling at but quite another portion of him that he thrust skyward as he faced the opposite direction.
Was a man's behind so interesting? I shrugged; slightly embarrassed that Mother should act like she did at her age and especially as she was a respectable married woman.
She was too old to be thinking about men, especially men other than her husband, my father.
I glanced over to Robert who was working in a similar position.
What I saw did not interest me, so I saw no reason to linger.
'Keep working!' Mother had obviously switched her attention away from the rump of Clem's Adam.
If Father had remained with the harvesting, the rain would have beaten us. As it was, we beat the rain, so the barley was taken into storage and the hay cut and stooked at exactly the same time as the heavens opened and the deluge descended.
'Get back inside.' Father returned the minute the rain began in earnest. 'All of you. There are reivers about.'
'They are early this year,' Mother said calmly. 'Is it the Veitches?' Living on the Border makes one stoical about the unexpected.
'Not this time,' Father said. 'Much worse than that.'
I felt Mother stiffen. 'Is it the Armstrongs?'
'I believe so,' Father said.
Although Mother nodded calmly, I could sense her tension.
'Wild Will Armstrong casts a wide net but I have never known him to hit the Lethan before.
' She raised her voice only slightly. 'All the women!
Get the animals within the barmekin wall.
' She pushed me toward the horses. 'Go along, girl. We will hold the tower.'
I looked at her. 'How about the kye?' The cattle, you may know, are at the shielings, the high pasture in the summer. Father had left them nearly unattended in the shielings so we could get the barley and hay cut.
'The men will get the cattle in,' Mother said. 'Move, Jeannie!'
She had made her decision and, as I said, nobody argued with the Lady Tweedie.