Along the Scottish border

Late Summer 1349

                                                Chapter One

 

“Ye have my thanks fer the extra apples.”

“Oh?” the vendor’s daughter lamented. “Do ye have to go so soon?”

He lifted his hand to her as he turned to walk away. “Another time, mayhap.”

“Yer name, at least, Sir,” she reached out to seize him.

He turned and set his dimpled smile on her. “Captain MacPherson.”

She looked unsteady, so he offered her support with one hand on her elbow.

“Captain!” the voice of one of his men rang out.

“Ah, alas,” he said, his smile waning. He patted her arm. “I must go.”

She nodded and finally released him.

He set out toward Cormac MacInnes, his scowling second in command and best friend, who was shaking his head at him. “Can we not go anyplace where there are lasses who are not willin’ to give up their goods to ye?”

Galeren tossed his new bag of apples over his shoulder and smiled. “Mac, ye would have me give up free food?” He tugged on the heavy belt that hung low on his hips. “These are large peaches in my pouch.”

Mac furrowed his brows at him as if he’d just announced that he’d been infected by the plague. Mac’s displeasure wasn’t an unusual expression to find on his scarred face. He was normally a grisly, grumbling bastard who could make a man shyte his breeches with one of his dark glances. His friends knew him to be fiercely loyal and just a little off in the head. Galeren knew Mac longer than he knew the other three. They had arrived at King David’s court together nine years ago and had remained friends ever since.

William of Lorn threw up his arms and laughed joining them. “Cap, yer peaches are swollen because ye have been chaste fer too long.”

Galeren shoved his hand into the pouch and pulled out a large peach, then bit into it. “My six years is over in less than a month. Dinna worry,” he said as they picked up Morgann Bell and Padrig the Giant on the way to the public stable. “Yer six-month vow will be over next month as well.”

William laughed some more. “Too late fer the innkeeper’s daughter back there.”

“Who says she would have ye,” Mac chimed in.

“Aye,” the others agreed and ignored him when William began to protest. He might be the greatest archer ever to carry a quiver, but he was also the one always looking to keep things rowdy, usually at their expense.

“She liked me well enough,” William told them with a careless smirk that sparked his amber-colored eyes. “It went no further than that.”

“Why should we believe ye?” Giant Padrig gave Will a shove and sent him three steps forward. The others laughed. Mac didn’t.

“I best not discover ye broke the vow,” the scared-face Scot warned with menace in his voice. “Ye were late in meetin’ up with us here. Who were ye with?”

Will laughed.

“Ye know how important the vow is to our captain,” Morgann said somberly, as he said most things. He glanced at Galeren, who nodded in agreement.

“’Tis more than important,” Padrig took another swipe at Will, who leaped out of the way. ‘’Tis the law of King David.”

“Aye, he wants his men to follow David’s example from scripture,” Morgann was quick to point out.

“Dinna forget what ye heard here, Will,” Mac warned. “We havena lost a limb or a life in nine years. If ye—”

“Dinna be dull-witted, Mac,” Will teased. “If I had broken the vow and had my way with her, ye would have heard her cryin’ oot in delight from yer lonely bed.”

He took off running for the horses when Mac leaped at him.

Galeren laughed watching them then reached his horse and unloaded his bags.

“On a more serious note,” Morgann said, coming close to him, “how long d’ye think ‘twill be before we have delivered this…novice back to Bamburgh and can take a rest from travel fer a while?”

Galeren saw Padrig leaning in to hear the answer. Galeren understood. They were all in need of a soft body in their beds.

“We should reach Bamburgh and the priory in two days. That brings to mind somethin’ I wanted to discuss with all of ye.” He waited until Mac and Will reached them and then continued. “We are goin’ to a priory. We will behave with dignity. The high steward trusts us to see to the safety of his niece. She is verra important to him.” But for the wrong reasons, he wanted to tell them.

Galeren had heard of her for years—she who was to become a nun and procure John Stewart, High Steward of Scotland, a seat on the church’s council. If King David died with no issue, John, who was the first son of Marjorie Bruce, daughter of Robert the Bruce, would be next in line to be king. With the church’s support, no one would contest him. John was obsessed with becoming king, so he spoke of his niece often. The fact that he didn’t know much about the lass hadn’t stopped him from bringing her up in many conversations.

Galeren knew she had fiery red hair and a temper to match. But Galeren suspected that any lass of ten and four would rant and scream if she was taken from her kin and put into a priory. She was no beauty, with dots across her cheeks and nose and long limbs.

“What is wrong with how we behave?” Mac protested.

Galeren had to laugh–either that or throw up his hands and head home. They weren’t right for this task. They would frighten the poor novice to death.

“Ye were just chasin’ down Will,” Galeren reminded him.

 Mac offered him a rare smile. “I wouldna have hurt him too bad. Besides, John’s niece will only be with us fer two days. I think her delicate sensibilities will survive us.”

William jeered at him. “Hell, Mac, can ye not agree to be somewhat more pleasant fer two bloody days?”

“Not with ye around,” Mac replied with a smack across Will’s temple, which Will answered by jumping on him.

“They give not a care to our duty, Captain.” Morgann said with disgust shadowing his cerulean eyes.

Galeren sighed and with nothing but a look of annoyance, signaled Padrig to end it.

“Captain?”

“Aye, Morgann?” Galeren answered and returned to securing his saddle.

“What is a novice? Is she a nun? Because if she is a nun, we are all doomed. Ye realize that, d’ye not? These bastards will incite curses upon our heads!”

Galeren tilted his head and gave him a curious look. He knew the lad was ten and eight—or nine, but who thought such things? “Nuns are not witches, Morgann. There will be no curses, aye?” He smiled at his somber friend and patted him on the shoulder as Mac, Will, and the quiet giant readied their horses to leave.

They would cross the border in England at night. Thankfully, Galeren’s mother had been a border reiver. He had kin along the border. He had already written to them to let them know when and where they would be and to make arrangements for their safe passage along the east Marches. Everything had been set up and put into motion.

Galeren didn’t want to go to Bamburgh or anywhere in England. He hated the English. They ever sought to rule the Scots and the Scots would ever fight to stop them. But he would not disobey John or King David in what he was told to do. He would go to Bamburgh with the men and hope the novice made it to Ayrshire without any damage to her eternal soul.

What other choice did he have? These were his most elite men, his friends. He would not have made an important journey with any other bunch of ruffians. They’d fought in various battles together and Galeren trusted no men like these, save for his kin.

They mounted their steeds and rode southeast. They would sleep outdoors as inns tended to be dangerous for men who thought to challenge them.

Galeren rode in no particular place among the men. If he took the lead, it was usually because there was danger ahead. While they rode, he thought about home and listened to the men around him talking and laughing. He didn’t think of Invergarry but of Ayrshire—his home for the last nine years. Dundonald Castle, where John and his wife, Matilda, raised their three bairns. He smiled thinking of the children, whom he loved. John had only wed Matilda to please the church.

John did much to please the church. Sending for his niece was one of them. He wanted her around to prove to the church that he was a religious man.

“Are ye still goin’ to wed Cecilia Birchet when we return home and the vow is over?”

“I dinna know,” Galeren answered Morgann, looking as solemn now as his friend. “’Tis what John has asked of me. But I dinna love her.”

“Many marry fer peace or some kind of alliance,” Morgann pointed out. “If ‘tis what the steward wants…”

Galeren nodded. He would do it if he must, but Cecilia was difficult to get along with.

The only child of John’s closest friend, Lord Edward Birchet of Prestwick, Cecilia was used to having her way. When she didn’t get what she wanted, she threw herself into fits of screaming at her father that he didn’t truly love her. Galeren wouldn’t blame him if he did not, in fact, love her. How could anyone? Galeren didn’t care if she was considered the most beautiful lass in Scotland by most. Beauty faded soon after he got to know her. Oh, she didn’t practice her tantrums on him. Yet. He could see the simmering anger in her gold/green eyes. She always held her tongue with him. He was certain that would change when they were married. He wasn’t sure he could remain with her if she raved and ranted at him. He’d gone to John about it, but the high steward only laughed at his concerns and asked him to ponder how wild she would be in his bed. Galeren didn’t want to ponder it. He didn’t want a life with her. But John wanted their union. King David wanted it as well. He’d asked Galeren to try. Galeren had agreed.

Padrig was mostly always quiet, so his silence was expected.

“Ye will never have peace with her,” remarked Mac. “She will ever be jealous of yer steadfast, sometimes foolhardy loyalty. I dinna think John should ask somethin’ so personal and permanent of his captain.”

“Especially,” now Morgann joined in, “to a grumblin’ banshee.”

“Aye,” Mac agreed. “What kind of friend does that? He is yer friend. Is he not?”

“It has nothin’ to do with friendship,” Galeren told him calmly.

“No? What has it to do with? Yer military service then?”

Galeren shook his head, but he had no defense and looked away. “I have my reasons. Just know that ’twill always be aboot duty fer me”

“Aye,” Mac agreed quietly. “We know that, Cap. But she will be yer wife. Ye will be stuck with a screechin’, spoiled child who will make ye miserable. I—we, dinna want that fer ye.”

Galeren glanced around at the others. They were nodding their heads in agreement. He cared deeply for them. Even King David did not command his utmost admiration the way these four did. Aye, they drove him mad most of the time, but here he was with them yet again.

“I will never allow any wife of mine to behave so irrationally and with complete disregard for the sacrament of marriage.”

“What will ye do?” Will put to him.

“I would decide when the time came. Mayhap lock her in our chamber, or someplace of her own.”

“Punish her in her chambers?” Will asked with barely concealed amusement.

“Aye. What else do ye do with a destructive child? Look,” he said, turning to all of them. “I am not a peached-faced lad—”

“Four and twenty,” Mac pointed out as if it explained something of vital importance.

“Two years younger than ye,” Galeren reminded him. Then he sighed through his teeth. “I will handle Cecilia. Dinna worry aboot me, aye?”

Mac, Morgann, and Padrig all agreed.

“Will,” Galeren said, waiting for him to agree. “King David has been advised and he agrees that an alliance between Lord Birchet and John is a good idea. He has his reasons.”

“What in the bloody hell do ye care aboot what our imprisoned king thinks?”

“William,” Galeren commanded. “Ye speak treason against the king. Mind yer tongue.”

“We dinna have a king, Cap!” Will threw up his hands and Galeren motioned to Padrig.

The giant moved quickly and surprisingly quietly. He took hold of Will and shook him by the collar.

“Take yer hands off me, Goliath!” Will demanded with a smirk. “Ye remember what happened to Goliath, d’ye not?”

Padrig gave him another violent shake to quiet him.

“Tie him up,” Galeren ordered.

Padrig didn’t move for an instant and then the other three stepped forward to help.

“Cap, what are ye doin?” Will asked, growing more serious now.

“Ye canna keep yer mouth shut, can ye?” Morgann reproved him. “Ye are as bad as our captain’s betrothed.”

Will gave Galeren an incredulous look. “Are ye truly goin’ to keep me tied up?”

“Treason, Will,” Galeren said and rode his horse past him. He loved Will but one day his mouth was going to get him killed. He also loved the king. He’d joined David’s ranks at fifteen and the two became good friends until David was captured by the English six years later. His imprisonment didn’t shake his captain’s loyalty. Galeren was still in contact with him. He was and would always be the king’s captain.

He continued onward while Will vowed to shoot arrows into their arses as soon as he was free. The others swore retribution with crass jokes and laughter.

Galeren shook his head. His men would not be tamed.

“What d’ye know of John’s niece.” Morgann asked him.

“All I need to know. She is a novice and will become a nun next spring.”

“Why does the church council want to meet her?”

“John sends fer her. He hopes that her place in the church will secure him a place on the council.” He saw the sour looks on his men’s faces. He felt the same way. He didn’t like that John was using his niece as a piece in his game for power. But no one spoke of it.

“What is the novice’s name?”

“Silene Sparrow,” Galeren told him.

Morgann’s lips parted as he breathed the name then he looked about to smile. If he had, it would have been the first time in a sennight. “’Tis pleasin’ to my ears.”

“Aye,” Galeren agreed. It was a bonny name. What were they supposed to call her? How could he warn or prepare her for her journey with them? He felt as if he knew her because of all the time John had spent talking about her. He felt protective of her and a bit glad to finally be meeting her.

They reached the border hamlet of Southdean the next day. Galeren met his kin, the Hetheringtons and shared news with them about his mother, Braya, whom he’d last seen this past summer.

His grandparents had not been able to make the journey from the central Marches where they lived. They’d had a letter written and sent with Galien Hetherington, Galeren’s uncle, telling him they missed him, but his grandfather, Rowley, hadn’t been feeling well and his grandmother thought it best not to travel.

Uncle Galien had some dried food and fresh bread for him and his men and some long-sleeved tunics that his grandmother had sewn herself for Galeren for the cold nights.

 “I will return to Invergarry when my duty is done, and I will tell her.” Galeren said, sitting back in his chair in the hamlet’s town hall after supper.

“You are a good lad,” his uncle commended, pouring them some more whisky. “Tell me a bit about your brothers.”

“Bors left the king’s service. Most of the army dissolved after he was captured at Neville’s Cross.”

“But not you.”

Galeren shook his head. “Not me.”

“How long will you follow him?”

“As long as he is king.”

His uncle nodded, showing his respect by not arguing the point. “You always have a place on the border if you ever decide to be a reiver.” He lifted his cup to his nephew, and they drank together.

“Did I ever tell you about the time my eldest brother, God rest his soul, Ragenald was first discovered teaching your mother how to fight?”

“Ye never told me, Uncle,” Galeren said with a smile and leaned in to listen.

But the tale was interrupted by the sound of a fist landing against a face. Galeren looked over his shoulder at Will shaking off the effects of the punch. The captain rolled his eyes heavenward, then he closed them when his uncle sprang from his seat and hurried past him.

He thought about the young novice, Silene Sparrow. Was she the fragile sort? How would she react to this kind of fighting?

He rose from his chair, dreading having a hysterical woman with him for two days.

He knew and understood that man’s first instinct was to flee from something so troublesome. He’d felt the urge to flee more times than he could count, on the field and off. He felt it in Dundonald Castle and in his vow to Cecilia Birchet, and he felt it in Bamburgh and his vow to keep the novice safe.

But he never fled. He’d conquered the urge and faced whatever it was, head on.

But he had never faced a force like the one in his path.