Page 41 of Tempted
He arrived at the meeting in Berwick-on-Tweed in black, half armor, inlaid with gold. His helmet sported a tossing black plume. His men’s breastplates gleamed in the sun. Four trumpeters with their horns at the ready led the cavalcade, followed by two standard-bearers in colored tabards carrying the Red Lion on Gold of Scotland. Next came a piper in Douglas dress tartan, and directly behind him a flag bearing the Bleeding Heart of Douglas.
Ramsay dismounted from his massive black stallion and tossed back his crimson-lined cloak. His black head was erect with pride, and he smiled inwardly, thinking, top this, Dacre!
Lord Dacre, the English chief warden of the marches, had been given new orders by his spoiled megalomaniac of a monarch, Henry VIII. He was to raid into and devastate Scotland as far as he could. Henry had an overpowering ambition to gain control of Scotland, and he would use any means to attain his goal—conquest, assassination, bribery, or even intrigue with his sister Margaret, Scotland’s queen.
James Stewart knew Henry had his pig-greedy eyes focused upon his realm, but he had no idea to what lengths Henry would go to attain anything or anyone he desired.
Most of the small border clans posed no threat to Dacre, even the ones who were wardens like Ferguson, Elliot, and Lindsay, whom he discounted as without much power or influence. It was the larger, more powerful clans like Hamilton who would pose trouble since the chief was so high in the Scots king’s favor, he had been named admiral. And of course he feared Douglas. Henry knew the voracious ambition and power hunger of Clan Douglas. They were probably the most powerful family in Scotland—at least, they had the greatest armed might—and they were easily the richest.
Dacre came to the wardens’ meeting with his own heralds and flags, but for once the English were outdone at their own game. Lord Dacre had a long nose, and whenever he addressed a Scot, he looked down it as if he smelled something rancid.
Lord Ramsay Douglas was the highest-ranking Scots border lord, and he presided over the court with Dacre. There was a panel of judges made up of the wardens from both sides of the border; then there was a jury chosen from English and Scots families who lived on either side
Ram reviewed the usual list of cases that were to be heard, which dealt with thieving, raiding, and the lifting of sheep, cattle, and other goods Some were charged with poaching, and there were a couple of rapes, but nowhere could Ram Douglas see the case uppermost in his mind: Kerr versus Heron. Douglas pointed the omission out to Dacre.
“Ridiculous. Heron killed no Scot!” Dacre said firmly.
“Perhaps not,” said Douglas, holding on to his famous temper, “but he is charged with the murder of Kerr, and we will try him in this court.”
“Dare you challenge my word?” demanded Dacre in his most supercilious manner.
“I challenge ye if ye’ve guts enough tae step outside.”
“You would love to reduce this court session to a freebooter’s brawl, I have no doubt. Your temper and lack of self-control are perhaps why you are called Hotspur!”
Douglas froze him with a dark look. “No, the name was given tae me because of our motto, ‘Never Behind.’ I am a leader—always the first in battle or any other fight. The first tae right a wrong, the first tae punish injustice.” He continued without pause, “You will summon Heron tae present himself within twenty-four hours.”
Dacre thought discretion the better part of valor and nodded his agreement.
The next day, when Heron was conspicuous by his absence and Ram again challenged Dacre, the latter spread his hands. “Heron was nowhere to be found.”
Ramsay looked at him incredulously. There were very direct means of making an invisible man appear, by simply threatening to torture one of his offspring. Ram realized this was a farce. His first instinct was to take Heron himself and hang him from one of his own trees, but the king had been adamant about doing the thing legally.
Late in the afternoon, Ramsay was informed that people had been gathering across the River Tweed. They had grievances but would not set foot in England. He rode across the bridge to speak with them, canny enough to take the other Scots wardens with him as witnesses. The savage tales he heard of pillaging angered him, the tales of butchery sickened him. One man claimed, “The bastards put the torches tae our village. The women and children took refuge in the stable, but they fired that too!”
Ram questioned them closely to see if they could identify the raiders. There had been no identifying banners or badges, yet some of the people swore that uniformed soldiers had slaughtered their animals and stolen their fodder. Douglas pledged his help to these border families, whose clan names were so familiar to him—Bruce, Scott, Hay, Armstrong; they were his people.
Once more Douglas challenged Dacre in a hard, cold manner. He knew if he allowed his temper to heat, blood would be spilled. Again came the supercilious excuses: “A warden cannot control every last moss-trooper who serves on border patrol.”
Douglas was almost speechless. “I have no trouble controlling my men. I pity a man who lacks leadership qualities.” They almost drew steel until he saw Patrick Hamilton’s eyes upon him. Hamilton would love to carry the tale back to the king, of Hotspur losing control of his infamous temper.
In bed that night Ramsay reflected upon Dacre’s words. It was true that men, especially hardened moss-troopers, were difficult to control, but surely that was what made a leader—he had to be stronger than the men under his command. He searched his mind for a man who was almost impossible to control and came up with himself With a grimace he assured himself that even he obeyed Angus and the king. He had no idea this obedience would shortly be put to the test.
The Wardens’ Court concluded a week later, with all the cases before it tried and justice dispensed, but to say that it had been an unsatisfactory meeting was a gross understatement. Douglas prepared a strongly worded report for James Stewart, recommending he make immediate, formal protest to the English Crown demanding redress and compensation and immediate cessation of hostilities. The alternative he suggested was simple. The king could look the other way while Douglas used his own methods to keep law and order.
When they left Edinburgh, the Campbells and Kennedys rode together as far as Glasgow. When Argyll had sold his cattle at the stockyards, they would make their way to Stirling to await the bridegroom and his clan.
Argyll grudgingly told Donal, his son-in-law to be, that since he’d driven the prize Campbell longhorns from Glasgow to Doon, he might as well carry on with the cattle drive and take them to Castle Kennedy at Wigtown.
Donal wanted to reassert that he had not stolen the longhorns, but he swallowed the protest that rose to his lips and thanked Agryll wholeheartedly No sense starting out on the wrong foot with the irascible old devil.
Meggan rode beside Valentina and Ada. She was weak with relief that the wedding had not been called off. She would have much preferred not being on display at Stirling, but she knew better than to make the slightest protest. She had confided to Tina that Donal’s seed was growing inside her, and she lived in daily terror that her father would find out she had a bairn in her belly.
Tina kept a sisterly eye upon her, and when the men set too hard a pace, she spoke up without hesitation to her father and Argyll, secretly amused at the hot glances the old earl cast in her direction.
When the Kennedys arrived back at Doon and Rob told Elizabeth that the king had graciously offered to hold Donal’s wedding at Stirling, she was inordinately pleased When Rob mentioned a date less than two weeks hence, she flatly refused. “That is impossible! Half Scotland will be there. Tina and Beth will need bridesmaidens’ gowns— in fact, Beth will need a whole new wardrobe. Two months might just suffice, not two weeks.”
Rob closed his eyes in an effort to summon patience and murmured to Ada, “Make her listen tae reason. We canna keep Argyll waiting, tae say naught of King Jamie.”
