The Tweedie Passion (6 page)

TARRAS MOSS
SEPTEMBER 1585

Have you ever had one of those moments when ideas just come to you? One minute you are sitting there with a slight smile on your face and your mind dull as a November sky, and the next you know exactly what you want to do. Well, that is what happened. I had no sooner told Hugh that it would be difficult to escape than an entire plan unfolded inside my head.

Grey light from above filtered through the trap, showing the feet and legs of a man as he carefully lowered himself down.

'Hugh,' I whispered urgently. 'Get ready to jump on him!' That was all I had time to say before two of the Armstrongs had negotiated the eight feet or so to the floor of the dungeon.

'Jeannie Tweedie!' The first Armstrong said. He was broad shouldered and tough-looking, with a face marked with earlier smallpox. His companion was older, with a neat little beard.

'I am Jeannie Tweedie,' I said at once.

'Get up,' pox-marked ordered. 'Wild Will wants you.'

'I can't' I said. 'I hurt myself when you pushed me down here. You will have to leave me.'

'Come on, you!' As Pock-marked took a handful of my hair I looked up appealingly. Now I have already told you that I was virginal, but that does not mean that I am totally innocent in the ways of men. It would be impossible to grow up on the Border without seeing the various mating procedures of animals and people, so I had quickly loosened the top of my dress to expose my cleavage and more than a hint of my breasts for the gratification of the Armstrongs. I was well aware that I was playing with fire and the end result could have been disastrous and horribly unpleasant.

Pock-marked looked down and got an eyeful of untouched womanhood. I saw that his interest was instantly aroused as his attention switched from hauling me to my feet to staring at what I had on display. More out of instinct than calculation, I arched my back, tempting him further, and his friend came over to join him with his eyes as wide as they could open.

'Now, Hugh!' I said.

I need not have bothered. Before the words were uttered, Hugh had risen from his corner of the dungeon and, clever man, swung the chains that had so lately confined his ankles. With the doubled chain in his hands, he crashed the iron manacles onto the head of the bearded Armstrong, knocking him to the ground.

Pock-mark turned around more quickly than I had ever seen a man move, dragging out a knife from his belt at the same time. Unbalanced from his first blow, Hugh was at a disadvantage. I kicked upward, hoping to catch Pock-mark in an evil place. He hardly grunted as my boot instead made contact with his thigh but that tiny distraction was all that Hugh needed. Dropping the manacles, he punched upward into Pock-mark's throat.

Pock-mark opened his mouth to try and draw in breath so Hugh punched him on the point of his jaw, knocking him to the wall, where Hugh punched him again. They were good punches that raised a thrill in me. I do like to see a man who knows what to do and does it well, with no wasted effort.

'Is he dead?' I watched Pock-mark slump against the wall.

'No,' Hugh took the man's knife and slipped it inside his own belt. 'Come on Jeannie; time we were out of here before they realise what is happening,'

I nodded: I had never seen such fighting at close quarters before. I could only watch as Hugh jumped to the opening above us and scrambled out. Seconds later he dropped a rope down.

'Take hold,' he ordered. 'I'll pull you up.'

I took hold as instructed but rather than wait to be pulled I climbed hand over hand to the opening. Hugh helped me over the lip and I stood upright, looking around. I had feared that there might be more Armstrongs around but the ground level was free of them, with only horses and various stores, dimly seen in the gloom.

'Can you ride bareback?' Hugh asked me.

'I've never tried,' I said.

'Can you? Yes or no?' I could sense his urgency.

'Yes,' I said quickly.

'Good; choose a horse; quickly!

There were ten horses to choose from, all of the finest stock. Trust the Armstrongs to know the best horseflesh. I chose a fine brown mare while Hugh was making heavy weather of lifting the heavy wooden bar from the door.

'Let me help,' I said, taking some of the weight. He gave me the briefest of nods.

'On the count of three,' Hugh said, 'one two, three!'

Between us we lifted one end of the bar, and then it slipped and fell with an almighty crash on to the floor. The noise might have been heard in Edinburgh or Carlisle; certainly it echoed throughout that isolated tower like the knell of doom on Judgement Day.

Hugh looked at me. 'That will waken the house,' he said. 'Come on Jeannie lass, before the Armstrongs come!'

He hauled the double doors open and we peered outside. There were no guards, nothing except the cloak of night and the sweet perfume of the Tarras Moss.

'Why are there no guards?' I asked.

'The Armstrongs are secure here, in the middle of Tarras. They are the only people who know the routes here, so they are in no fear of attack. Mount and ride, Jeannie; they are coming!'

I heard the noise from above, the harsh shouts of angry men and the clatter of footsteps on stone stairs. I saw Hugh grab a sword from a rack on the wall and then we were hurrying outside with me insecure on my horse without a saddle and the night welcoming us with its dark blanket and a cool smirr of rain.

Without knowing anything about the geography of the Tarras Moss, I could only blindly follow Hugh. Luckily he seemed to know what he was doing as he led at a trot, looking back over his shoulder either to ensure that I was still there or to see if we were being followed, or perhaps both. 'Can you keep up?'

'I'll try,' I said although in truth I found it very difficult to sit astride my mare with neither stirrups or saddle as we jolted through the night. To be honest it was a bit of a nightmare being jiggled up and down on that horse in the black without knowing where I was or where I was going. I wrapped the mane of my horse around my fingers, gritted my teeth and endured the painful bouncing.

'They're following,' Hugh broke a long silence with urgent words. 'Can you walk your horse backward?'

'Walk him backward?' I repeated the words as if I were the class dunce. 'Why ever should I wish to?'

'Yes or no?' Hugh insisted.

'Yes I can,' I said. It was a trick that Robert and I had perfected many years ago when we were very young people without a care in the world.

'Then follow my lead,' Hugh said. He reined up and walked backward, keeping his hooves in line. I followed him, with my nerves screaming at me to kick my heels in and gallop away from the Armstrongs who could not be many hundreds of yards behind us. I could faintly hear their hoarse shouts as they encouraged each other forward and I could feel the vibration of their hooves pounding on the ground.

'This way,' Hugh said suddenly and broke off the path to the side. I followed with my heart pounding and my nerves jangling as I expected my mount to founder into a patch of bogland with every step. That is the nature of the Tarras Moss you see; it has hidden stretches of deep peat-bog and sudden patches of forest so impenetrable that Jesus himself would struggle to find even the narrowest of straight paths.

'Keep in sight of me.' Hugh whispered, 'and keep silent.'

'It is you who is doing the talking,' I told him, more tartly than I intended as my mare slipped and banged me down rather sharply on his back. I gasped and rubbed at myself, wondering if I should have stayed put in the dungeon.

We moved on, with the horses picking their way slowly along the treacherous ground as the rain hissed down cold and penetrating. That rain may have saved us, uncomfortable though it was, for within a very few minutes it would obscure any trail we left.

I do not know for how long we rode. I only know that grey dawn was cracking the black of the night when Hugh next spoke. 'We will halt soon,' he said. 'There is a patch of woodland where we will spend the day.'

I eased myself on my uncomfortable perch and rubbed pointlessly at some of my aches. 'Would we not be better riding by day?' I asked, 'when we can see our way?'

'This is still Armstrong land,' Hugh explained patiently. 'We are on the bounds of Liddesdale. Do you know which families are there?'

'Of course I do,' I said, testy because of my myriad aches, particularly the major one on which I sat. 'As well as the Armstrongs there are Elliots, Croziers, Nixons, Turnbulls, Rutherfords, Laidlaws, Halls and Robsons.'

'Aye, and they are all allied and related to each other; the most predatory riding families in Scotland.' I could sense Hugh looking at me although I was unable to make out his features in the dullness of that bleak dawn. 'Do you really think we would be able to ride through them unchallenged in the full light of day? One man and one maid, on horses without saddle or stirrups and with Wild Will looking for us?'

I knew he was right although I did not like to admit it. I was stubborn that way. I am still stubborn that way, as any who know me will bear witness to, but that is to jump my story and leave out far too much. 'No,' I said, shortly.

'Then we do as I say.' There was no triumph in his voice, for which I was grateful. Tired and aching as I was I could not have stood any gloating from a man who had bested me in an argument. I would have burst into tears, or perhaps slapped his face for him. Probably the latter.

The patch of forest land was open at the edges and became denser the further in we pushed. The light of day was strengthening as we entered yet within a very few moments it was hard to see where we were going, so close-packed were the trees.

'Dismount,' Hugh ordered, as if he was the Captain of a troop of the King's Horse and I was one of his soldiers. He watched as I very gingerly lifted my leg over the rump of the horse and slid to the ground. My legs wobbled when my feet touched the thick leaf mould, but it was that other much more prominent part of me that was causing me most grief at that time, and I was disinclined to rub there with a man watching.

I had no need to worry. Reaching behind him, Hugh furiously massaged his behind. 'I don't know about you,' he said with a grin that I could see even in the shade of the forest, 'but riding bareback really makes me sore.'

'Me too,' I found it easy to match his grin, 'I don't think I will sit comfortably for a week.'

There was something very reassuring about being with a man who was open about his weaknesses and I was much more relaxed about rubbing my own tender parts. 'I will wager that I have matching bruises on both sides,' I said more than I intended, and far more than my mother would ever have approved.

Hugh cut off his laugh. 'I will be the same' he said. Mercifully he did not ask if he could check, as some of the boys of the Lethan would have, nor look the other way in tongue-tied embarrassment as Robert would do.

'Now,' he cut lengths of grass, tied them together and created effective hobbles for the horses. 'We will let them graze and hope that if they are seen they look like wild beasts rather than Armstrong mounts.' He smiled. 'They were probably stolen from somewhere else in the first place.'

'I will call mine Kailzie,' I said, 'after a place I know well.'

'Kailzie she is, now and henceforth,' Hugh agreed solemnly.

I watched him work. The morning light was strengthening but in the gloom between these thick trees I still had no clear idea about his looks. I wished to see this man who was so ugly that he thought women would only speak to him because they wanted his lands.

'First things first' he said. 'I have to find a tree and no doubt you will too. I will head right and I suggest you go left.' He moved away, stopping in the shade. 'Watch for the snakes.'

'Are there snakes here?' I asked.

'Not many,' Hugh replied quickly. 'The dragons killed them all.' His laugh was short and cheerful.

There was a small burn running through the forest, chuckling brown and friendly, with small pools and a number of miniature waterfalls. Hugh lay on his face beside one of the pools and slowly inserted his arms. A few moments later he flicked them out, holding a fat trout. He grinned over his shoulder to me.

'That's a good start, I think.'

'A very good start,' I agreed as he quickly put the fish out of its misery and slid his arms back into the water. 'Why don't you see if there are any brambles?'

I obeyed without question, which was highly unusual for me. There were a number of blackberry bushes on the outer fringes of the forest, with those on the southern side heavy with berries. I picked some docken leaves to carry them in, added a few very late and overripe raspberries for good measure and returned to the fishing pool to find the trout already gutted. Hugh was searching for dry wood.

'I'll start a cooking fire while you prepare the berries,' he said. 'It will only be a small fire in case the smoke alerts the Armstrongs.' He kept his back turned all the time, as if ashamed to show his face in the dappled light.

'Hugh,' I said at length. 'Face me.'

There was a long pause as he pretended to concentrate on his sticks.

'Hugh,' I said softly. 'You can't hide forever.' I felt the beating of my heart, as if I was in the company of some horned monster, or a Veitch, perhaps.

'As you wish, Jeannie,' he said, eventually, stood up and turned around.

He was filthy and highly scented, as would anybody be after a long incarceration in a dungeon, and his face was bristled with a beard I judged to be three weeks in the making. Auburn hair curled past his ears to the level of his neck, unwashed and rank with sweat, speckled with straw and dirt from the dungeon. Yet for all that there was nothing unattractive about him. Or there was nothing that I found unattractive. What other woman thought was completely irrelevant.

I held out my hand. 'Thank you for getting me out of that dungeon.'

He stepped closer, his eyes busy on my face. 'Thank you for getting me out of my chains.' He took my hand.

His grip was strong, yet gentle, with a hint of unleashed force.