far. She knew that Kershopefoot provided the easiest access to England from the Scottish Borders. From the bridge at the little village to the point where the Liddel joined the Esk at Canonbie, Liddel Water formed the boundary between the two countries. However, even knowing that and anticipating that May might take that route if she somehow managed to meet her lover before Laurie caught up with her, Laurie had not suspected that May would have the courage, or reason, to ride so far alone.
Laurie realized that she had two choices. She could shout at May and hope that her sister heard her, or she could simply keep riding and try to catch up without May catching sight of her. Fearing that May would simply give spur to her pony and ride at an even more reckless pace to get away, she opted for the latter.
She knew that May was less likely to catch sight of her while they followed the well-worn rocky path that ran close to the Liddel, because it wound through shrubbery. Thus, its twists and turns and ups and downs provided more concealment than the more open land of the Moss near the edge of the forest.
The clouds overhead helped, too, whenever they veiled the moon’s bright light. That made it harder to see May, however, and at one point, where boulders blocked the direct route to the village of Kershopefoot and the path led away from the river for a time, she feared that she had lost sight of May altogether.
Drawing rein in the shadow of an immense boulder on a low rise, she scanned the landscape ahead where the hillside sloped down to the dark village. She could easily make out the village and the ribbon of glittering water beyond it, but foliage thickened near the Liddel. She saw no movement.
The white palfrey was nowhere in sight.
Surely, she thought, May would not ride into the village. To be sure, it provided the most direct route to the bridge spanning the Liddel, but she did not believe for one moment that May, riding unescorted, would go into the village.
Remembering another detail, Laurie grew doubly sure that May had not entered the village. Kershopefoot Bridge did not sit with a foot in each country. It actually led to the point of Dayholm, the triangular patch of land that lay in the fork where the river met Kershopefoot Burn.
Dayholm, on Scottish soil, was one of the favorite sites for grievance meetings between the two countries, because England lay just on the other side of the holm, separated from it only by narrow Kershopefoot Burn. In any event, there would be guards on the bridge, awake and alert.
With these thoughts in mind, Laurie decided that May would meet her lover somewhere nearby. She still found it hard to believe that her younger sister had ridden so far on her own; it was impossible to imagine that May would have the courage to cross the border by herself.
She had been staring southeast toward the village, but just then she remembered that Davy had once mentioned a reivers’ ford that lay a half-mile or so west of Kershopefoot. Davy had said that the Liddel was more treacherous there but that the reivers were safer than they would be trying to cross the bridge.
As she turned her head to look west, movement flickered and she saw the palfrey at last. But May was no longer alone. A larger dark horse trotted beside hers, its rider a big, solid-looking man.
The moon eased from behind a cloud, and moonlight glittered on the man’s torso, making it look as if he wore silver trappings.
For a moment, Laurie thought that perhaps May’s knight really was as wealthy as May and Isabel believed he was. Then she realized that he was wearing chain mail. Such prudence was not unusual, though. Any Englishman of sense who crossed to the Scottish side of the line would wear protective gear. And good chain mail was expensive.
The two riders vanished into woodland near the river, and Laurie hastily urged her pony to a lope again. Neither May nor her knight had looked back while she watched them, and she
Laurie realized that she had two choices. She could shout at May and hope that her sister heard her, or she could simply keep riding and try to catch up without May catching sight of her. Fearing that May would simply give spur to her pony and ride at an even more reckless pace to get away, she opted for the latter.
She knew that May was less likely to catch sight of her while they followed the well-worn rocky path that ran close to the Liddel, because it wound through shrubbery. Thus, its twists and turns and ups and downs provided more concealment than the more open land of the Moss near the edge of the forest.
The clouds overhead helped, too, whenever they veiled the moon’s bright light. That made it harder to see May, however, and at one point, where boulders blocked the direct route to the village of Kershopefoot and the path led away from the river for a time, she feared that she had lost sight of May altogether.
Drawing rein in the shadow of an immense boulder on a low rise, she scanned the landscape ahead where the hillside sloped down to the dark village. She could easily make out the village and the ribbon of glittering water beyond it, but foliage thickened near the Liddel. She saw no movement.
The white palfrey was nowhere in sight.
Surely, she thought, May would not ride into the village. To be sure, it provided the most direct route to the bridge spanning the Liddel, but she did not believe for one moment that May, riding unescorted, would go into the village.
Remembering another detail, Laurie grew doubly sure that May had not entered the village. Kershopefoot Bridge did not sit with a foot in each country. It actually led to the point of Dayholm, the triangular patch of land that lay in the fork where the river met Kershopefoot Burn.
Dayholm, on Scottish soil, was one of the favorite sites for grievance meetings between the two countries, because England lay just on the other side of the holm, separated from it only by narrow Kershopefoot Burn. In any event, there would be guards on the bridge, awake and alert.
With these thoughts in mind, Laurie decided that May would meet her lover somewhere nearby. She still found it hard to believe that her younger sister had ridden so far on her own; it was impossible to imagine that May would have the courage to cross the border by herself.
She had been staring southeast toward the village, but just then she remembered that Davy had once mentioned a reivers’ ford that lay a half-mile or so west of Kershopefoot. Davy had said that the Liddel was more treacherous there but that the reivers were safer than they would be trying to cross the bridge.
As she turned her head to look west, movement flickered and she saw the palfrey at last. But May was no longer alone. A larger dark horse trotted beside hers, its rider a big, solid-looking man.
The moon eased from behind a cloud, and moonlight glittered on the man’s torso, making it look as if he wore silver trappings.
For a moment, Laurie thought that perhaps May’s knight really was as wealthy as May and Isabel believed he was. Then she realized that he was wearing chain mail. Such prudence was not unusual, though. Any Englishman of sense who crossed to the Scottish side of the line would wear protective gear. And good chain mail was expensive.
The two riders vanished into woodland near the river, and Laurie hastily urged her pony to a lope again. Neither May nor her knight had looked back while she watched them, and she
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