CHAPTER THREE
“I’ve been braced for trouble. I have watches posted along the Border, and they report that there’s a hundred riding on Cargo,” Greystoke informed the Earl of Cumberland in the Great Hall of Carlisle Castle. “The guard atop the ramparts has just spotted double that number riding south.”
“Uncivilized, thieving bastards!” Cumberland cursed.
“Penrith is their likely target. They are reckless fools to raid that deep into England. I’ll take my men and stop them.
You head toward Cargo. If you catch any Scots stealing cattle, shoot them dead.
Arrest any you find riding abroad—we’ll hang them later. ”
Greystoke gave his fifty troopers their orders.
“Cargo is too bloody close to Beaumont for comfort. Arrest all looters—English or Scot—and bring them back to Carlisle for interrogation. We want the names of all the clans involved. King James has promised Cumberland that he’ll mete out justice against his fellow Scots, if it’s justified. ”
Which I will only believe when I see it with my own eyes.
When they arrived at Cargo, the village had already been raided and the cattle driven off.
Greystoke ordered his men to take chase and to retrieve as much livestock as they could.
Lance could see fire lighting the sky from Beaumont.
He cursed the Scots with a string of foul oaths, and headed to his home, riding hell for leather.
When he arrived at the stables, he learned the hay had been burned and the horses stolen, but he was thankful none of his stablemen or household servants were dead.
He learned his thoroughbreds had been taken by a small gang of about thirty riders, and he vowed to track them down and take back what was his.
By the time Greystoke joined his men, they had crossed over into Scotland. Before they had ridden five miles they were gaining on the reivers, and suddenly the Scots abandoned about two hundred cattle they’d been driving, and took off to the west.
“Don’t take chase!” he ordered. “If they’re heading west, they are likely Johnstons. We’ll herd these cows back to Cargo, and tomorrow we’ll come back and arrest as many Johnstons as we can find.”
~~~
For an entire week the Scots raided every night across the Border into England. All along the frontier they looted, burned, and plundered anything of value they could lay their hands on.
The Earl of Cumberland, Greystoke, and the rest of the English Border Wardens were kept busy retrieving stolen animals, and capturing Scots marauders, imprisoning them in Carlisle Castle, the massive English Border stronghold to await trial.
~~~
It took King James only nine days after he learned of Queen Elizabeth’s death to reach Berwick, the first stop of his journey south to claim the Crown of England.
When he learned from Cumberland the extent of the outbreak of thieving and violence by the Scots Borderers, he was incensed.
The wild rides of his countrymen’s forays into England, marred the solemnity of his entry into his new kingdom.
“The lion will lie down with the unicorn. I want England and Scotland cemented together into one country and all barriers will be obliterated!” James Stuart vowed. “Any who resist will go to the gallows, or into exile!”
The seven-night orgy of thieving indulged by the Scots Borderers was referred to as ill week.
The queen’s death had been a heaven-sent opportunity to cut loose in search of plunder, but the new King of England swore his unruly Border clans would be brought to justice.
A crackdown of the Border Wardens followed in both the English and the Scottish marches, and arrest warrants were issued for members of every riding family.
~~~
Sir Lancelot Greystoke’s first order of business was finding his prize thoroughbreds.
Cumberland has often spoken with envy of the fertile land in the Scottish Borders along the River Esk. I’ve also heard that the town of Langholm is known for its horse races, so that’s where I’ll start.
Most of his troopers were occupied patrolling the English Borders and arresting marauders but he knew it would be foolhardy to cross into Scotland without an escort of armed men.
He selected half-a-dozen and they set out from Carlisle Castle on a fine April morning.
Greystoke had ridden the Scots Marches many times, but seldom in broad daylight.
He marveled at how splendid these lands truly were.
The rolling fells that bordered the River Esk were lush with brilliant green grass and spring wildflowers.
They were dotted with sheep and grazing cattle, and he had no doubt that some of the livestock had been stolen in raids on England.
They passed two castles and many single abodes as they galloped north, and when they reached the vicinity of Langholm, Greystoke noticed horses grazing in the fields, though none of them were his thoroughbreds.
“There’s the race course.” Greystoke drew rein as he took a moment to admire the six furlough oval, then his gaze shifted to the adjacent Castle Holm owned by the Armstrongs.
The castle and race course had numerous stables and grassy paddocks, and Greystoke’s keen eyes spotted a pair of his thoroughbreds frolicking in the April sunshine.
He spurred his horse and his men followed him into the castle yard. When a stableman came forward, Greystoke demanded, “Who’s in charge here?”
“Sim Armstrong is laird of Castle Holm,” the man answered warily.
Greystoke bit back the order Fetch him. It would do no good if the stableman alerted the Armstrongs that trouble brewed. God only knew how many Armstrongs were in residence. “I’m interested in acquiring a thoroughbred. I’d appreciate a word with Sim.”
The Scot nodded and crossed the yard to one of the stables. The minute he left, Greystoke’s men drew and cocked their pistols and rested them on their saddle mounts.
Sim Armstrong emerged from the barn and Greystoke urged his horse forward.
“You are in possession of horses stolen from England that bear my Beaumont brand. In the name of the king, I order you to submit to arrest.”
Armstrong reached for his pistol, but before he could take it from its holster, he glanced up to see six pistols already cocked and aimed at his head. “I’m no’ a thief! I bought the horses fair an’ square, and paid a high price too.”
“Who sold them to you?” Greystoke demanded.
Armstrong hesitated.
Greystoke reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a noose. “The marauding of English livestock is punishable by death.”
“It were the Elliots. The marauders were the Elliots and the Grahams.”
Greystoke dismounted. He approached Armstrong and slipped the noose over his head. “Order your men to fetch my horses. All of them. We’ll take you with us on a short tether as a pledge of good conduct for all at Castle Holm.”
“Where are ye taking me?” Armstrong was quaking in his boots.
“Carlisle Castle. You’ll provide the names of these thieving Elliots and Grahams, and I’ll issue writs of arrest. If you are found innocent of theft, I’ll release you.”
When they crossed the English Border, Greystoke directed half his men to take his horses back to Beaumont Hall, while the rest accompanied him and Sim Armstrong to Carlisle Castle.
The Great Hall of the Carlisle fortalice was crowded with English moss-troopers. Some had brought in Scots arrested for reiving, while others were on their way out to patrol Cumberland and Westmoreland.
Greystoke sat down at a table and took up pen and paper to write out arrest warrants.
“Give me the name of the man who sold you my thoroughbreds, and all the other Elliots and Grahams you believe went on this raid.”
“It was Gavin Elliot and his brothers.”
“Give me their names.”
“Let’s see—there’s Jock, Gavin, Douglas, and Rob Elliot. There’s some Grahams too reside at Castle Elliot. There’s more Grahams and Elliots live in Eskdale than ticks on a sheep. I can’t name them all.”
“These will suffice.” Greystoke wrote the names on the arrest warrants. Then he removed the noose from Armstrong’s neck and escorted him to one of the innumerable cells in the bowels of Carlisle Castle.
When he returned to the hall, Cumberland hailed him. “We’ve a dozen Maxwells to interrogate about a raid on Penrith. I think we’ve got the ring leaders. Will you sit in judgment with me, Lance?”
“I was on my way to Castle Elliot to arrest four brothers who raided Beaumont and stole my horses, but I warrant tomorrow will suffice.”
“The wily bastards will have flown the coop by then. Send your troopers and I’ll have some of my men join them.”
Greystoke nodded, and handed the warrants to one of his trusted moss-troopers.
~~~
“Where the devil do you think yer going in leather breeches?” Gavin Elliot demanded.
Douglas shrugged a shoulder. “They’re much easier to ride in than skirts.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. Yer very secretive these days.”
“Rubbish!” She smoothed the plaits she had pinned into a coronet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the letter you got from Mother. If yer going to join her at Court, you won’t be able to cavort about in breeches.”
“Damn you to hellfire, Gavin Elliot! How dare you read my letter?”
“We’ll have no secrets from each other.”
“In that case, you can tell me how much you got for the thoroughbreds.”
“What thoroughbreds?”
Douglas laughed. “Now who’s being secretive? If I do decide to go to Court, I’ll need some of that money you got for an elegant new wardrobe.”
Gavin winked. “Come to think of it, you should wear breeches more often. They cost less than fancy frocks, and they’re ideal if you plan on helping with the lambing.”
Douglas pulled on a warm doublet. “I’m just going to have a look at the new lambs now. Then I’ll ride along the river before the afternoon sun is gone. The banks of the Esk are thick with blue forget-me-nots.”
Rob Elliot came clattering down the stone steps that led from the castle ramparts.
“Riders! Two dozen!”
Before his warning was out, they heard the thunder of hooves in the castle bailey.
“Christ, you should have spotted them half-an-hour back.” Gavin strode to the window. “English! I recognize Cumberland’s livery.”
“God Almighty, what’ll we do?” Rob cried.
“Keep yer gob shut,” Gavin ordered.
A servant came into the castle hall with two dozen troopers behind him. Without hesitation Gavin spoke to the trooper who looked to be in charge. “Afternoon, gentlemen. You have business at Castle Elliot?”
“We have arrest warrants for the Elliot brothers.” Greystoke’s lieutenant brandished a fistful of papers.
“On what charges?” Gavin demanded.
“Raiding English horses and selling them in Langholm.”
Gavin squared his jaw. “Where’s yer proof?”
“Sim Armstrong sold you out. We have him under arrest in Carlisle Castle. I have warrants here for four Elliot brothers.”
“You are mistaken. Armstrong is lying. There are only three Elliot brothers.”
“All Scots lie, so save your breath. I have warrants for Gavin, Jock, Rob, and Douglas.”
“I am Douglas Elliot.” She stepped forward and raised her chin.
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “Lying won’t save your brother Douglas.”
“We have no brother by that name,” Gavin declared. “Douglas is our sister. Are ye accusing her of raiding English horses? On the word of a firking Armstrong?”
“I have a warrant for Douglas Elliot. It matters not if he’s male or female. Arrest the girl,” he ordered his men.
Douglas brandished her riding crop and they hesitated. “Strange as well that you have an arrest warrant for Jock Elliot. My brother Jock happens to be with King James. He’ll have your head for this!”
The lieutenant snorted. “I was born at night, but not last bloody night.” He turned to the servant. “Where is Jock Elliot?”
“Laird Jock is in Edinburgh.”
“With the king, no doubt,” the lieutenant sneered. “Which of you is Gavin Elliot?”
“I am.”
“And I’m Rob Elliot,” the youngest said with bravado.
“Arrest all three.” Greystoke’s lieutenant watched stony-eyed as the troopers bound their prisoners wrists with leather thongs. Then he directed some of Cumberland’s troopers to make a cursory search of the castle to see if they could turn up Jock Elliot.
After half-an-hour he called off the search, and they took their prisoners down to the bailey. “The light is fading fast. It’ll be dark before we get back.”
“Let my sister go. She has nothing to do with this.” Gavin tried to shame him. “It’s cowardly to arrest a woman.”
The lieutenant struck Gavin across the face, and Douglas spat, “It’s also cowardly to strike a bound man. But I don’t expect much from an Englishman, and I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.”
The lieutenant ignored the insult. He told two of his men to take up the Elliot brothers to ride pillion. “I’ll take the girl.”
Douglas glared daggers at him. “I’d rather ride my own mount.”
“Not likely. You’d be off like the wind, given half a chance.” He mounted his horse and took her up behind him.
Douglas wished she still had the knife in her boot. I swear I’d use the bloody thing!
She knew she had never been as angry in her life.
But anger was a good thing; it kept her fear at bay as the troopers rode relentlessly toward Carlisle Castle.
By the time they crossed the Border into England, it was dark, and a bone-chilling terror crept over her.
But Douglas swore she would rather die than let these men know she was afraid.
When the lieutenant drew rein outside the vast castle stables, Douglas jumped to the flagstones before he could dismount. There was no way she would allow him the satisfaction of lifting her down.
The troopers surrounded their three prisoners and escorted them into the castle. The Great Hall, ablaze with torches, was crowded with men. At the far end, trestle tables were filled with liveried moss-troopers eating the evening meal.
Though Douglas hadn’t eaten, the smell of food, mingled with tallow, smoke, and male sweat killed her appetite and made her pinch her nostrils. Dressed as she was in leather doublet and breeches, she was relieved that few men in the hall realized she was a female.
“Wait here,” the lieutenant told his companions.
Douglas watched him as he made his way down the hall to report to his commander. She had assumed he was one of Cumberland’s men, but now as she stared at the tall male he approached, she realized how wrong she had been.
Sir Lancelot Greystoke turned his head and gazed across the hall. Their eyes met and held in a long moment of shocked recognition. Then they both quickly looked away.