A Rough Wooing by Virginia Henley Page B

her tankard and threw him a reluctant glance.
“Unfortunately, all good things must end. I thank you for your
hospitality Lance Greystoke, but now I must bid you adieu.”
    “The pleasure was mine, Firebrand.”
    Her mouth curved. “Yes, I rather think it
was.”
    ~~~
    “Where the devil have ye been, Douglas?”
Young Rob Elliot put the salmon he had just caught into the deep
basket attached to his saddle. “Yer a right bitch of a sister,
roaming off for hours. We’d best get back over the Border before
the light starts to fade.”
    She tossed her head. “Neither England nor her
inhabitants intimidate me.”
    “Then yer daft. We could be accused of
poaching salmon from the River Esk.”
    “We simply followed the Esk from beside our
own castle, when we saw the salmon were running. How are we to know
where Scotland ends and England begins?”
    “We know, all right. You know these Borders
like the back of yer hand.”
    “I’ll give you the back of my hand, Rob
Elliot, if you don’t shut your gob!”
    Rob thought Douglas looked like a cat that
had swallowed the cream as they rode the dozen miles back to Castle
Elliot and he wanted to wipe the smug look from her face.
    “Jock should be back from Edinburgh this
week. That will curtail yer freedom. You know how he likes to rule
the roost.” Their eldest brother had been head of the family for
the past five years, since their father had died in service to the
Crown. King James had appointed Jock and his moss-troopers to his
late father’s wardenship, patrolling the Scottish side of the
Borders.
    Douglas hid a smile. “You forget that Jock
will likely bring Mother back with him.” Their grandfather, Sir
Archibald Douglas, had bequeathed his Edinburgh townhouse to his
daughter Katherine, and she spent the winter months there, often
attending Court functions, returning to Castle Elliot in April each
year.
    Rob lapsed into silence. His mother’s return
could curb his own freedom.
    ~~~
    “Salmon—my favorite fruit!” Gavin Elliot sat
at the head of the long trestle table in the Great Hall. “We have
Douglas and Rob to thank,” he told the dozen moss-troopers, who
were mostly Elliots and a few Grahams, who made the castle their
home.
    “Ye have me to thank,” Rob asserted.
“Douglas buggered off and left me to it.”
    “I was on a fishing expedition of my own.” As
all eyes swung to her, she leaned forward and shared her news.
“Once we crossed the Border into England, I took advantage and did
a bit of exploring. A couple of miles beyond where the River Esk
empties into Solway Firth lies the River Eden. When I saw I was at
Beaumont, I scouted about for the grand English mansion known as
Beaumont Hall.”
    “When we go on our occasional night rides,
Jock always insists we stay clear of the place,” Gavin declared.
“Its owner is rumored to be the nephew of Clifford, Earl of
Cumberland, who is high in the favor of the English Queen.”
    Douglas licked her lips and shrugged a
shapely shoulder. “His name is Lance Greystoke. He’s a Border
Warden.”
    “The Warden who patrols Cumberland has a
fierce reputation—he’s hanged more than his fair share of Scots.
That’s why we give Beaumont Hall a wide berth,” Gavin
explained.
    “Ah, but did you know that he breeds
magnificent thoroughbred horses? The paddock at Beaumont Hall is
packed with priceless horseflesh, ripe for the plucking.”
    “This Greystoke and his moss-troopers are
just going to sit on their arses while we ride in and steal him
blind?” Neil Graham laughed. “Don’t be daft, lass.”
    “But he isn’t sitting on his arse at Beaumont
Hall every night. He and his moss-troopers are patrolling
Cumberland—and Cumberland covers a lot of territory.”
    The men fell silent as each one contemplated
the tempting prize that lay little more than a dozen miles away, as
the crow flies.
    Douglas pictured the lovely antique mirrored
pendant. She could see every detail of its silver scrolling,