Chapter Seven
TARRAS MOSS
'Good evening to you. Who are you?' The voice was deep and rich, with an accent I could not place.
'I am Jeannie Tweedie of Cardrona in the Lethan.' I did not keep the pride from my voice.
'Well met, Jeannie Tweedie. I am Hugh Veitch of Faladale, although I do have other names.' The rustling increased. 'Why are you held here?'
'Veitch!' I snapped out the name. 'You are a Veitch?' I pulled back in what space that horrendous dungeon afforded.
'And proud of it,' the answer came cheerfully back. 'As you should be of the Tweedies.'
I swallowed hard. Here I was a prisoner in a filthy dungeon, and my only cellmate was a Veitch. 'We are enemies,' I said.
'I have never met you in my life.' Hugh Veitch sounded remarkably cheerful for a man in a dungeon, and far too friendly to be a Veitch.
'The Tweedies and Veitches have been at feud for generations,' I reminded.
'So I believe,' Hugh Veitch said. 'I came from a different branch of the family, so I know little of affairs in Faladale.'
That was unexpected.
'I can see little profit in arguing about it,' Hugh Veitch said. 'We are both prisoners of the Armstrongs so it would be best if we put our differences aside for the present, don't you think?' He gave a little laugh. 'We can kill each other later if you wish.'
Remember that I had been brought up with tales of the cruelty and treachery of the Veitches. This reasoned and sensible response was not what I expected. 'Oh,' I said and relapsed into surprised silence.
'I will take that response as agreement,' Hugh Veitch said. 'How did you come to be in this unfortunate predicament?'
I wondered if I should reply to a Veitch and decided it would probably do no harm. 'I was a prisoner of the Yorling,' I said, 'and Wild Will captured me.'
There was silence for a few moments. 'I have never heard of this Yorling,' Hugh said. 'Why did he hold you?'
'I do not know,' I told him. 'He refused to say. Why does Wild Will hold you?'
'Oh, I am to be hanged.' Hugh sounded remarkably calm. 'We are at deadly feud apparently, the Veitches and the Armstrongs.'
'I am sorry,' I said.
'No need for sorrow. It is the way of things. It seems that the Veitches are at feud with many people.'
I could imagine his shrug.
'Well, I do not wish to be hanged,' I said, 'and neither should you be. Is there a way out of this place?'
His laugh was unexpected. 'If I find one, I will let you know, Jeannie.' I heard him move, 'but chained to a staple it is hard to move, let alone escape.'
'I am not chained,' I said. 'I suppose that Wild Will did not think it worthwhile chaining a mere woman.'
Hugh laughed again. 'I don't think any woman should be called 'mere','he said.
'It was because of a woman that I am here.
' I heard the rattle of chains and a subdued curse as he moved again.
'These things are damnably uncomfortable.
It will be a relief to be rid of them, even to be hanged.
' His laugh was short and not without humour.
'Can I help you?' I stood up, feeling my way along the roughness of the wall. I had only taken five steps before I stumbled over the top of him, standing on his right foot. 'Oh, I do apologise.'
'It is a small matter,' he said. 'I have another foot left.'
I felt around, grabbing hold of a foot, and working my way up to an ankle until I found the iron clasp. 'I can free you,' I said. 'It is a simple device.' I drew the pin that held both halves of the machine together. Hugh pulled his foot free.
'Thank you,' he said, as I found the second ankle and released that also. 'Now could you do my wrists as well?'
I fumbled in the dark, following the line of his hard, lean body. His arms were pinioned above his head, with both wrists fastened to staples that had been hammered into the stone walls of the dungeon. The pins were rusty and harder to release so I struggled, gasping with effort as I strained.
'I don't think I have the strength,' I said. 'I have a woman's fingers.'
'And a woman's compassion and determination.' Hugh encouraged me as I worked the pin from side to side within its slot.
'How long have you been chained here for?' I asked.
'I do not know,' Hugh said. 'I lost count of time. You're doing well. Please don't stop now.'
I felt movement with the pin. I pushed and pulled, straining against the stubborn iron until I pressed my knee against Hugh's shoulders for purchase and gave a final yank.
The pin jerked out and I fell backwards to land with a crash on the stone floor of that dungeon.
I lay still as the pain added to that caused when Wild Will had hit me.
The filth and stench on that floor were abominable, as you may imagine.
'Jeannie? Are you all right?' There was concern in Hugh's voice. I heard the slight rasp as he dragged free the final pin holding his other wrist and then he was kneeling by my side. 'Are you hurt?'
'I am all right,' I said.
His hands were on my shoulders, strong and hard as he helped me to a sitting position. 'Thank you,' he said simply. I knew he must be suffering from the return of blood flowing to his arms and hands after being so long in a cramped position, but he made no complaint.
'Let me see.' Hugh's fingers probed my head. 'Nothing seems to be broken. Now we have to try and get out of here.' He stepped away and I heard him sit on the straw. 'You are correct; I have no desire to be hanged by Wild Will and I don't expect you wish to be his guest either.'
'I don't think much of the accommodation,' I said. I did not say that the company was entertaining. I was not that sort of girl. 'You said that you were here because of a woman?'
'That is also correct.' There was rueful humour in Hugh's voice. 'There was a woman who was desperate to ensnare me, and I was equally desperate not to be ensnared.'
'Ensnared?' I asked.
'In the trap of marriage,' my bold Hugh said. 'She was after my lands of course, rather than my not-so-handsome person.'
'Oh, of course,' I said, warming to this very modest man. 'And are you not so handsome? I cannot see in the dark.'
'And that is a very good thing,' he said. 'For if you could see me you would immediately know why Meg Turner would not be in the least attracted. I have a face like the wrong end of a bull.'
I laughed out loud. 'I have never heard a man say such things about himself,' I said, 'although I have heard many women make such statements—behind the man's back.'
'And quite correctly too, I imagine,' Hugh said.
I began to imagine his face, picturing the hindquarters of a bull and placing it on the shoulders of the man who sat opposite and in such close proximity to me. It was such a ludicrous picture that despite our precarious position, I had to stifle my laughter.
'Are you all right, My Lady Jeannie?'
'I was trying not to laugh,' I told him.
'Keep your laughter,' he said. 'You will need it when we get out of this place and you see what an ugly monster you have shared a dungeon with. It will be a story you can share with your children. All ten of them.'
'I have no children,' I said.
'Not yet,' he told me and relapsed into silence.
'You were telling me about Meg Turner,' I reminded, 'the woman who wished your hand in marriage despite your unfortunate face.'
'That's the one. I refused her kind offer of shackles much like these of Wild Will and she was very quiet for a space, and then she suggested that we meet once more to discuss things. I asked her what there was to discuss, and she said she may be able to persuade me.'
'And then?' I tried to hurry the story along, for Hugh seemed prone to linger at the most interesting places.
I could feel his smile even in that dismal place. 'I believed her. Call me stupid or call me simple but I rode along to the old chapel at Laverlaw, where the ghosts are said to flit and the moon pokes white from the blasted oaks…'
'Oh, very poetic,' I said. 'You should write that into a ballad.'
'I may do just that,' Hugh told me. 'I have always fancied myself as a balladeer!'
'You met the fair Meg at Laverlaw,' I reminded.
'She was not fair,' he said at once. 'She is dark; very dark; black of hair and black of heart. Remind me never again to walk out with a black-haired woman for they have natures to mirror their hair.'
'Oh,' I said. 'I will do that.' I did not tell him that my hair could not be darker. It was the colour of coal and so long that, when combed out, I could sit on it.
'I rode up to Laverlaw with my heart so innocent that I wondered if I was mistaken,' Hugh said. 'I thought of her wondrous smile and other things about her…'
'I do not need to ask what other things you were thinking about,' I said, once more stifling my laughter.
'No, indeed not. Women will also think about herds of cattle and fertile lands and the merging of properties together.
' Hugh was a man of surprises. 'So, I was nearly prepared to be nice to her, especially when I saw her standing inside the chapel in a long white dress and with a circlet of flowers in her hair. She was like the Queen of the May.'
'How lovely,' I said. 'And she was equally innocent despite her black hair.'
'That's what I thought!' Hugh said cheerfully. So, I dismounted and ran forward, hopeful for… Well just hopeful.'
'I can imagine,' I said.
'Well imagine this,' Hugh said. 'I came forward prepared to be friendly and then two or three or a dozen other women of the Turner family came out of the dark, threw a blanket over my head, and trussed me tight as a goose at Christmas.
I heard them laughing and, within the hour, I was handed over to the Armstrongs and here I am, my goose is cooked, and the noose awaits its next customer. '
'Unless we can get out of here,' I said.
'That would be the best thing,' Hugh said, 'for I have a score or three to pay off with the Turners.' There was little humour in his voice now, I noted.
'We are under the storehouse of the keep,' I said, 'and there seemed to be a great many Armstrongs in the tower.'
'Which tower are we in?' Hugh asked. 'I was covered by a blanket, remember. I saw nothing. Are we in Hollows? Mangerton, Whithaugh, Dryhope, Gilnockie?' He rattled off a list of the towers and strongholds of the Armstrongs.
Unseen in the dark, I shook my head. 'None of these,' I told him. 'We are in a huge area of bogland with the ugliest hills I have ever seen. I think it is Tarras Moss.'
'Tarras.' The name sounded flat even in Hugh's musical voice.
'There are only three exits to Tarras and the Armstrongs know all the byways and hidden routes through the bogs and forests.
We are in the very heart of the Armstrong lands here.
' He was quiet for only a few moments, 'and I still intend to get out. Will you be coming with me?'
About to say 'of course,' I pondered for a moment.
I did not know anything about this man except that he was a Veitch with a sense of humour.
I did not even know what he looked like, except that he was as ugly as the hind quarters of a bull.
He was only a voice in the dark, a mysterious stranger called Hugh.
Could I trust him? If I remained where I was, surely my father would arrange some sort of ransom that would get me free.
No! I shook my head; that would not happen.
I would escape here with this ugly man who had such a dislike for black-haired women.
'I will come,' I said. 'On one condition.'
'And what is that condition, pray?' he asked.
'That you do not hold my hair against me,' I said, 'for it is black, and there is a lot of it.'
'I will indeed hold your black hair against you,' he said, 'unless you forgive me my face like the wrong end of a bull.'
'I will forgive you that,' I said. 'We have a fine tupping bull in the Lethan herds.'
'Then we have a bargain,' ugly Hugh said. 'Now all we have to do is work out how to get away.'
'That may not be easy,' I told him.
It was at that moment that we heard the trapdoor above us creak as somebody dragged it open.