didn't realize you could have been killed?
God save us, if you're that big a fool!"
So
he had seen it. "Of course I was afraid. I've been afraid most every
second since I met you." She leaned toward him over her mare's shoulder.
"But I'm not going back. I'll brave another dozen storms just like this if
I have to. And if you try to hand me over to the Douglases, I'll fight you
kicking and screaming every step of the way."
They
sat their mounts silently, sizing each other up in the falling rain.
"You're wet," Alexander remarked at last.
Fully
prepared for a blistering reproof, Jonet almost choked. "What?"
"You're
wet," he repeated with a grin.
She
couldn't help but grin back. The rain ran down her face, detouring into her
eyes, pouring down the back of her neck. She could feel her short hair
plastered to her skull, the clothing beneath her doublet clinging to her body.
Obviously,
Alex didn't want to argue. She didn't either. "It may have escaped your
notice, my lord, but half the North Sea's just been dumped on us both."
He
cocked a weather eye skyward. "It'll be stopping soon. We'll find some
shelter and wait out the rest of it. Grant'll bring the men back around once
he's shaken off those soldiers. We'll be on our way again come nightfall."
"But
why did we run, Alex? We've done nothing that could interest English
soldiers." She glanced at him, suddenly unsure. "Have we?"
"We're
Scots on English soil. We need a safe conduct for that, and I'm not quite so
willing to risk my mother's letter on an Englishman." He grinned.
"More of them can read. What's more, this border country is a
no-man's-land inhabited mainly by outlaws. Anyone traveling through here had
best have a heavy guard.
"Most
anyone found without papers or a suitable entourage is considered up to no
good. Those soldiers are probably after Scots reivers who slipped over the
border last night and made off with some stock. Most of the border lords do it.
Bothwell and Home and John Armstrong have it down to an art."
He
sent her a sideways glance. "Probably even your uncle has a few
light-fingered crofters, though he's a bit far north to make it easy. It's a
way of life here, Jonet, and has been for hundreds of years. Scotsmen raid
south, Englishmen north, and neither would know what to do if the practice ever
came to an end. Occasionally a few too many get killed, houses burn, feuds
develop and the wardens from each side of the border step in to settle
disputes. But for the most part here, it's every man for himself."
"Unless
the English stir things up," Jonet put in. "I've heard Henry of
England sends men north to raid and keep the lowlands in turmoil."
Alexander's
eyebrows rose in an expression Jonet was learning to dread. "That's
obviously Mure speaking. Still hates the English as much as ever, I see."
She
was unable to meet his eyes.
"I
promise you, Jonet, Henry Tudor has far more important matters on his mind than
inciting a handful of border outlaws. If he sends men north it'll be in
organized levees and they'll be wearing the Tudor green and gold. And God help
Scotland if that day comes anytime soon."
He
turned his horse as he spoke and made off through the dripping trees. Jonet
followed silently. For a moment she had forgotten that Alex had been raised in
England, had an English mother and no doubt English friends. And if the gossip
were true, he'd even been employed by the English.
She
was suddenly uneasy with the subject and wished she'd never brought it up. She
wanted to know more about his past, but at the same time she felt better not
knowing. Robert did hate the English. He would be appalled by the friendship
she'd struck up with Hepburn of Durnam.
They
plodded on through the sodden forest, allowing their weary mounts to pick their
own pace. The rain stopped and a pale, watery sunlight filtered down through
the leaves. Jonet was wet and uncomfortable and beginning to wish they would
find shelter when Alexander dropped back. "We're being
God save us, if you're that big a fool!"
So
he had seen it. "Of course I was afraid. I've been afraid most every
second since I met you." She leaned toward him over her mare's shoulder.
"But I'm not going back. I'll brave another dozen storms just like this if
I have to. And if you try to hand me over to the Douglases, I'll fight you
kicking and screaming every step of the way."
They
sat their mounts silently, sizing each other up in the falling rain.
"You're wet," Alexander remarked at last.
Fully
prepared for a blistering reproof, Jonet almost choked. "What?"
"You're
wet," he repeated with a grin.
She
couldn't help but grin back. The rain ran down her face, detouring into her
eyes, pouring down the back of her neck. She could feel her short hair
plastered to her skull, the clothing beneath her doublet clinging to her body.
Obviously,
Alex didn't want to argue. She didn't either. "It may have escaped your
notice, my lord, but half the North Sea's just been dumped on us both."
He
cocked a weather eye skyward. "It'll be stopping soon. We'll find some
shelter and wait out the rest of it. Grant'll bring the men back around once
he's shaken off those soldiers. We'll be on our way again come nightfall."
"But
why did we run, Alex? We've done nothing that could interest English
soldiers." She glanced at him, suddenly unsure. "Have we?"
"We're
Scots on English soil. We need a safe conduct for that, and I'm not quite so
willing to risk my mother's letter on an Englishman." He grinned.
"More of them can read. What's more, this border country is a
no-man's-land inhabited mainly by outlaws. Anyone traveling through here had
best have a heavy guard.
"Most
anyone found without papers or a suitable entourage is considered up to no
good. Those soldiers are probably after Scots reivers who slipped over the
border last night and made off with some stock. Most of the border lords do it.
Bothwell and Home and John Armstrong have it down to an art."
He
sent her a sideways glance. "Probably even your uncle has a few
light-fingered crofters, though he's a bit far north to make it easy. It's a
way of life here, Jonet, and has been for hundreds of years. Scotsmen raid
south, Englishmen north, and neither would know what to do if the practice ever
came to an end. Occasionally a few too many get killed, houses burn, feuds
develop and the wardens from each side of the border step in to settle
disputes. But for the most part here, it's every man for himself."
"Unless
the English stir things up," Jonet put in. "I've heard Henry of
England sends men north to raid and keep the lowlands in turmoil."
Alexander's
eyebrows rose in an expression Jonet was learning to dread. "That's
obviously Mure speaking. Still hates the English as much as ever, I see."
She
was unable to meet his eyes.
"I
promise you, Jonet, Henry Tudor has far more important matters on his mind than
inciting a handful of border outlaws. If he sends men north it'll be in
organized levees and they'll be wearing the Tudor green and gold. And God help
Scotland if that day comes anytime soon."
He
turned his horse as he spoke and made off through the dripping trees. Jonet
followed silently. For a moment she had forgotten that Alex had been raised in
England, had an English mother and no doubt English friends. And if the gossip
were true, he'd even been employed by the English.
She
was suddenly uneasy with the subject and wished she'd never brought it up. She
wanted to know more about his past, but at the same time she felt better not
knowing. Robert did hate the English. He would be appalled by the friendship
she'd struck up with Hepburn of Durnam.
They
plodded on through the sodden forest, allowing their weary mounts to pick their
own pace. The rain stopped and a pale, watery sunlight filtered down through
the leaves. Jonet was wet and uncomfortable and beginning to wish they would
find shelter when Alexander dropped back. "We're being
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