Devil's Moon

Book 2: Border Nights

by Amanda Scott

Genres: Historical Fiction; Medieval Romance; Scottish & Highlander

Synopsis

A WARRIOR'S PROMISE The last place Sir David "Devil" Ormiston expected his moonlight chase of a horse thief to end was in a lady's bedchamber. He is shocked to find that the raider he has pursued is no man, but a defiant beauty in disguise-and the woman he's vowed to protect at all costs. Face to face with a girl Dev thought he knew, the ever confident, marriage-resistant knight may learn that he is defenseless against the desirable woman she has become. A LADY'S SECRET Lady Robina Gledstanes will do anything to keep her family's land out of the hands of her greedy kinsmen-except willingly submit to the handsome, cocksure Devil Ormiston. Dev's help may be just as dangerous as the threats lurking outside her castle. But when enemies scheme to steal the castle's treasure, Robina must risk losing something even more precious-her heart.

Release date: March 31, 2015

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 405

Sample

Teviotdale, the Scottish Borders, Easter Sunday 1428

Although the waning, nearly full moon had slipped behind a cloud that gave it a silvery halo but dimmed the rugged landscape below, the five riders on the ancient drove road saw their way easily. Their sure-footed horses were accustomed to moonlight rides.

Somewhat hampered by their booty—a pair of softly lowing cows and four nervous sheep—the small party traveled slowly downhill, northward, through a cut that men called “Leg o’ Mutton,” due to its shape. White Hill lay behind them, and the shadowy Witch Crags peaked in the northeast distance.

The sixth and seventh members of their party acted as sentinels, the sixth riding the western hill crests that separated the cut from Slitrig Water, flowing swiftly northward toward the town of Hawick. The seventh man rode near the timberline of the eastern hills, skirting their rocky heights.

The slope below those heights, to the party’s right, boasted patches of dense shrubbery and scattered trees near its base, denser woodland above, with grass and rugged crags from the tree line to the top. A gurgling stream ran alongside them to their left.

The western slope of the cut was neither as high nor as steep as the eastern one, although the Slitrig side of that west ridge was steeper. Foliage on the cut’s east slope was thicker than the trees and shrubbery to the west.

Familiar with every cranny and dip in those hills, the riders knew they would be home within the half-hour. Other than an occasional nightjar’s call and the soft chuckling of the stream, the night was still.

The large man riding his sturdy roan next to the leader’s big, powerful black heaved a sigh. “Nowt to boast of in this lot o’ beasts,” he muttered in near disgust.

“We did not lift them to boast of it, Sandy,” the leader muttered back. “We took them to feed our people and because the Turnbulls likely stole our kine first.”

“ ’Tis true, that. But chance beckoned us to take more. Had Rab been—”

“With luck, they won’t miss a half-dozen beasts,” the leader interjected curtly. “The last thing we want is a feud with the Turn—”

A shout drew their attention to the west slope. Light from the moon, emerging from its cloud, revealed a rider pounding downhill toward them.

“That be Shag’s Hobby!” Sandy exclaimed unnecessarily.

Turning in the saddle toward the riders behind them, the leader said clearly but without shouting, “Jeb, you and Ratch hie those beasts into the woods. Keep them still and yourselves out of sight. Dand, get Hobby’s attention and wave for him to follow us. We’ll be riding apace, but be ready to slow before the next turning. Shag will see us from the east ridge and will follow when he can.”

Sandy protested. “Sakes, me l—”

“Silence!” the leader snapped. “I told you, Sandy, call me nowt tonight save Bean. And if you’re thinking we should ride home like madmen, you’re daft. You ken fine that Hobby’s haste means riders are coming. We must make anyone who sees us now believe that we’re nowt save innocent travelers.”

Sandy shook his shaggy head but urged his mount to a faster pace. Then he said, “I doubt ye’ll be tellin’ that tale if them riders catch us.”

“Haud your wheesht! We’re nobbut a mile from Coklaw. If Jeb and Ratch keep our beasts hidden and quiet, we’ll be just four innocent riders.”

“If them wha’ come didna already see us wi’ the beasts—”

A shout came from Hobby, now more than halfway down the west slope: “A dozen riders coming up yon road through the pass! Likely they’re after us!”

Waving for him to follow, the three remaining riders gave spur to their horses.



Twenty-four-year-old Sir David Ormiston of Ormiston, riding from Hermitage Castle in Liddesdale to Hawick for the night, crested the drove road pass above Leg o’ Mutton and, in the increasing moonlight, saw three riders racing toward the cut’s narrow end. A fourth man, nearing the base of the slope below, shouting as he rode, gave Sir David to understand that the three had set watchers to guard their passage.

The shouted warning amused him. The group was small, and although he scanned the east slope for more watchers, he saw none and had no interest in the horsemen, raiders or not. He acted for the fifth Earl of Douglas and had business with him in Hawick.

Jock Cranston, the captain of his fighting tail, drew rein beside him. “D’ye think they be reivers, sir?”

“If they are, they are unsuccessful ones. Do you see any beasts?”

“Nay, but they may be just heading out. Or mayhap they’re English.”

“A mere four men or five if they have a second lookout yonder?” David shook his head. “The three were in a pelting hurry when I topped the hill, but they’ve slowed and—”

He broke off, stunned. The moon, abruptly freed of the cloud that had dimmed it, beamed brightly down on the leader’s horse, turning its black hide glossy and revealing a big diamond-shaped white star between its eyes when it tossed its head.

“I know that horse!” Sir David exclaimed. “But who would dare—?”

Louder shouts from below interrupted him.

“They’re fleeing,” Jock muttered. “ ’Tis gey strange, if ye ask me.”

“I’m going after them,” Sir David said. “You and Coll bring the others more slowly, Jock. I don’t want us to look like raiders. If I’m right, that lot is heading for Coklaw, so I mean to learn who the bangster is that dares to ride Black Corby.”

“Aye, that could be Rab Gledstanes’ Corby,” Jock agreed. “And we ken fine that Rab isna riding ’im. Whoever the lad be, he rides like he kens the beast well.”

“Corby is even better trained than my Auld Nick is,” Sir David said curtly. “But if that chap runs him into a rabbit hole, or worse, he’ll answer to me, by God.”

“Ye could be mistaken, sir.”

“Bring the lads, Jock. I’m away.”

“Wi’ the deevil in ye, too,” Jock muttered loudly enough for him to hear.

His only reaction was to smile grimly and spur his horse after the riders below.

The road he followed was safe enough, and Auld Nick was agile. But Sir David also knew that the speed he was demanding from him was such that his crusty father, and likely others, would deem it reckless.

Nevertheless, he wanted to catch up with the riders before they could vanish. A thought tickled his mind about who might be leading them, but he dismissed it half-formed as daft and fixed his attention on the path ahead.

Glancing back as he forded the stream that tumbled down the center of the cut, he saw his men following more slowly. The riders ahead had disappeared around a curve before he’d ridden halfway down the slope.

Auld Nick was willing, though, and the moderate pace that his master had set earlier from Liddesdale had not taxed him. The stallion was eager to make speed.

Although the moon was bright whenever the scudding clouds allowed it, the light it cast was too dim to read tracks from the saddle of a galloping horse. Sir David did not try. Instinct and the unique black stallion made him confident that his quarry would race to Coklaw Castle, midway between the end of the cut and the river Teviot.

A quarter-hour later, the castle’s huge square stone tower loomed ahead, pale gray in the moonlight. He saw no sign of the riders or their horses, but he knew Coklaw. Its stables and yard lay inside the wall, and the gate was swinging shut.

“Hold the gate, Clem!” he shouted, recognizing the lad shutting it.

Clem waved, and Sir David slowed Auld Nick. “My men are right behind me,” he said to the lad. “Stay here to admit them. Someone else can look after Nick.”

Riding more sedately into the stableyard, he saw another lad in breeks, boots, leather jack, and a knitted cap trotting across the yard from the stables.

Sir David shouted, “Here, lad, come see to my horse!”

The boy failed to heed him, but another one, no more than eleven or twelve years old, darted from the stable, shouting, “Aye, sir. I’ll see to him for ye.”

He did not recognize the youngster. “Do you know who I am?”

The boy’s eyes flared like a nervous foal’s. “Aye, sir. Ye be Dev—that is, Sir David Ormiston.”

“Auld Nick will be hungry. You’re not afraid of him, I hope.”

“Nay, sir. I’m no afeard o’ any beast. I’ll gi’e him oats and hay.”

“Good then. I’m going inside.”

The boy’s eyes widened more. He glanced warily toward the stable and back at Sir David. “I could send some’un tae tell Old Greenlaw ye’re here.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. If your steward’s not snug in his bed, he ought to be.”

“Aye, but—”

“Never mind, I know the way,” Sir David said, striding toward the tower’s postern door, the one the other lad had used.



Shutting the postern door, the person who had dashed across the yard ran up the stairs, muttering, “Lord, preserve me. There’s no time! That was Dev, and he saw me. He thought I was one of the lads, but he must not find me still up.”

There was no time to lift the heavy bar into its brackets, let alone to bolt the iron yett across it all to make that entryway impregnable. It did not matter, though. Dev would use the main entrance.

“Just hurry, Beany, get upstairs.” Puffing, then startling at the sound of a crash downstairs—the door, the damned door, crashing back against the wall—

“He’s inside, not out front!”

Heavy, hasty footsteps pounded up the steps below.

“The landing’s yonder. There’s the door, push it open. Close it… doucely, doucely! Throw the bolt and get rid of your dirk. Hurry!”

No time. Hide the dirk! Would the bolt hold? Footsteps on the landing!

“He’s here, Beany. You’re for grief now, and it serves you right.”

The latch rattled. A deep, familiar voice growled, “Open this door!”

“I will not! ’Tis the middle of the night. Go away! You’ve no business here.”

The door crashed open. The big, dark-haired man filled the doorway. Even in the dim light of a moonbeam through the small window, anger blazed from his eyes.



Without hesitation, Sir David strode to the breeks-clad figure in the middle of the room and snatched off the knitted cap.

A cloud of tawny hair cascaded to her waist.

He’d been angry first because of the horse, but despite his brief suspicion earlier, he was furious now. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he gave her a rough shake. “What demon possessed you to take such a mad risk? Raiding! On a horse as recognizable as Corby?”

“Faith, did you find our beasts and take them for yourself?”

His mouth gaped, but it was the last straw. Gripping one slender arm, he turned her toward her bed, sat on it, pulled her across his knees, and gave her a smack on her leather-clad backside hard enough to make her screech. “That one’s for Rab,” he growled before smacking her harder. “That’s for Black Corby.” Then, with the hardest smack, he snapped, “And that one is for me.”



Livid with anger, nineteen-year-old Robina Gledstanes struggled unsuccessfully to free herself. “Damn your eyes, Dev Ormiston, let me go! May God curse you from here to your satanic home in Hell! Release me, damn you!”

“Such pretty language,” he said sardonically. “Mind your tongue, Beany, or I’ll give you a few more smacks.”

“Don’t call me Beany,” she said grimly. “Only Rab…” Her twin’s name caught in her throat, but she swallowed it and said, “Only he could call me that. Moreover, I learned my pretty language from him—and from you, Dev.”

Resting his big hand on her backside, he said evenly, “I doubt that Rab would accept that as an excuse any more than I do for such curses flying from your lips.”

“He’s right about that, you wee vixen.”

A shiver shot through her, and she sighed. “Just let me go, Dev, please.”

He released her then, and she stood, resisting the urge to rub her backside. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much it stung.

“Put on some proper clothing and meet me downstairs,” he said as he got to his feet. “I have much more that I mean to say to you.”

“I won’t,” she retorted. “You have no right to call me to account, Dev.”

“You’ll do as I say, or by God, I’ll strip those breeks off you myself and take leather to you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

He sighed. “You know better than that, Robina.”

“You damned well should, Beany. Dinna be daft!”

Angry, unexpected tears welled in her eyes at the sound of that persistent voice. It was so clear that it was as if Rab stood right behind her, watching them… and taking Dev’s side against his own sister—as usual.

She stared at the floor, fighting the tears, willing Dev to leave.

Instead, he said softly, ominously, “Besides, Robby-lass, who would stop me?”

“I will,” said a small but firm voice from the doorway.

Startled, both of them whirled and saw a towheaded boy standing there with a raised dirk in his hand. The weapon was longer than his arm.



Dev found himself displaced when Robina pushed him aside to confront her nine-year-old brother, exclaiming, “Benjy! Whatever are you doing out of bed?”

“Sakes, who could sleep wi’ such a din in here? What’s Dev doing here anyway, Beany, and why were ye a-screeching like a banshee?”

“Give me that dirk,” she commanded. “And remember to offer it hilt first.”

The little boy obeyed her, saying, “Ye ken fine I wouldna hurt ye.”

“I ken fine that you belong in bed,” she retorted.

“I’ll take him,” Ormiston said, moving her aside and taking the dirk from her hand as he did. “You put a dress on, Robina. I’ll meet you in the hall.”

“Where did ye come from, Dev?” the boy asked, looking up at him.

“From Hermitage Castle,” Ormiston said. Then, with a hand to Benjy’s shoulder, he added quietly, “But you should address me as Sir David, you know, or ‘sir,’ not Dev.”

“Hoots, nae one else here calls ye aught save Devil Ormiston. But Beany and me call ye Dev, though, just as your own lads do and our Rab did.”

Benjy’s voice faltered on the last three words.

Urging him gently across the landing to his bedchamber, Dev pulled Robina’s door shut behind them, hoping it would stay put despite its broken latch and bolt. He said, “D’ye still miss him sorely, laddie?”

“Aye, sure, don’t you?”

Pausing to be sure of his own voice, Dev said, “I do, aye. But it is our duty to get on with our lives. I know it’s hard, Benjy, but Rab would want us to be strong.”

“Even Beany?”

“Beany is strong,” Dev said, wishing she were less headstrong.

“But ye’re sore vexed with her, aye? I heard ye a-skelping her.”

Dev pulled back the covers on the boy’s cot. “In you get now,” he said.

“Dinna be wroth with Beany,” Benjy said. “She gets sad, too, just like us.”



Robina finished twisting her long hair into a plait and declared herself presentable enough in her simple kirtle and bare feet to avoid further censure. She had heard Benjy say they always called him Dev and wondered what Devil Ormiston would say about that.

“Likely nowt,” her twin said. “He’s too wroth with you. Mind your step when you go down, and listen meekly to what he says. Don’t challenge or sauce him!”

She grimaced, knowing that Dev was waiting for her, because she had heard him go downstairs. Before that, she had heard the hum of his voice in Benjy’s room and Benjy answering him, but that was all.

Her backside still stung. Although she had known Dev for years, she had never known him to be as angry as he was now. Sakes, what was she going to tell John Greenlaw to explain her broken door?

“You’ll think of something.”

She would. Meantime, Rab’s advice was good if only she could make herself follow it. Unfortunately, Dev’s nature, and her own, compelled her to defend herself in every way against the man.

Not only was he the handsomest creature to stalk the Borders but he also seemed to think he was the smartest one and the finest ever to ride a horse, wield a sword, or… sakes, to do anything! But he had no right to lift a hand to her.

Entering the hall, she saw that he had lit torches and candles and was on one knee now, putting peat chunks on the fire he had stirred to life.

He straightened when he saw her, and she saw that he looked tired.

He moved closer, eyeing her narrowly, and she marveled again at how blue his eyes were, even by candlelight. She could tell that he had been traveling, because he had not shaved. The dark growth appeared to indicate the lack for days, but on him it looked good.

He frowned. “What?”

The single word surprised her. She had expected him to begin ranting the moment he saw her.

“You said you had much to say to me, but I hope you won’t say that I must not call you Dev. I always have, after all.”

“I don’t mind it,” he said quietly. “It seems as if the only people who call me David now are the women in my family, Archie Douglas, and my father. In troth, I tend to answer most easily to Dev.”

“Are you still furious with me?”

“I am. Come and sit down.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you.”

His mouth quirked into a near smile. “You deserved every lick.”

Grimacing, she said, “I know that you think so.” She nearly added that Rab thought so, too, but she did not want to have that conversation with Dev—not now, not ever.

“I think you know that I’m right, too,” he said. “What were you thinking?”

“That our people need food,” she replied. “You know that the raids have begun again, and the Douglas does naught to stop them.”

“I thought you were sending for your aunt Clara and Jarvis to stay with you.”

She shrugged and then wished she had not when his dark eyebrows snapped together again. To divert him, she said, “You know that you and your men cannot stay here tonight, Dev. Greenlaw would have an apoplexy. You’ll have to ride on.”

“I know. I’m expected at the Black Tower before dawn.”

“You told Benjy that you’d been at Hermitage,” she said. “With Douglas?”

“Nay, he’s in Hawick, and I’ve matters to report to him. But we are not going to talk about me, Robina. What became of your aunt and your cousin?”

“I don’t want them. Coklaw survived the siege of 1403, so it’s impregnable. Greenlaw protected it then and can do so again if he must.”

He drew a deep breath, and when she saw his hands fisting, she took a hasty step back. He shook his head—at himself, she knew—and his hands relaxed.

“You know I’d never use my fists against you, Robby. But what do you think would have happened if, instead of my men and me, those chasing you tonight had been a raiding party? What if English raiders had followed you here?”

“We’d have barred the gate and the doors, of course. I told you!”

“Think, Robina. Clem hadn’t shut the gate yet when you ran across the yard and in through the postern door. You didn’t have time to bar that door. And Greenlaw is asleep. The risk you took to go raiding, as I am certain now you did, is intolerable. I promise you, I’ll see that you don’t endanger yourself so again.”

“You can’t promise any such thing, Dev. You do not have the right!”

“You said that before, lass. You’d be wise to recall my reply.”

The shiver that shot through her did not dampen her anger, but much as she’d have liked to walk away, she could not seem even to look away. Frustrated but determined not to let him see how much he unnerved her, she returned his stare and drew a deep breath.

When his gaze shifted briefly to her breasts, she realized her error in deciding not to waste time putting on her shift before donning her kirtle.



She had turned into a beauty, to be sure, Dev decided, albeit not for the first time. The thought renewed his concern for her, though, and his temper stirred again. Returning his gaze to her face in time to catch her nervously licking her lips, he knew she understood how much her escapade had angered him.

“See here, Robby,” he said, “you don’t need me to tell you how much danger you courted tonight. Your own good sense should tell you that.”

“Would you send your men on a raid and not go with them?” she asked.

He said curtly, “Lass, when I organize a raid, I do it because the Douglas has ordered one, and he does not go with us.”

“Well, don’t tell me you’ve never led one. I know you have, and Rab did, often.”

“That’s different. You’re a woman, Robina, much as you try to ignore that fact.”

“Rab would never have let our men go without him, nor would our dad when he was alive,” she insisted. “We cannot keep all our stock inside the wall, nor do we have enough men left to guard them. Therefore, the English and our neighbors help themselves whenever they please. We just took some of our own back.”

“Just your own?”

She shrugged again, making those enticing breasts undulate beneath the soft pink material of her kirtle. He had noticed that the garment was surprisingly low-cut and that she had not bothered to wear a shift.

The kirtle boasted a hastily laced red bodice, which jutted her breasts invitingly toward him. If Rab saw her now, he’d rise out of his grave to teach her propriety.

Grimacing at his own conduct, Dev realized he could hardly condemn her lack of decorum after staring as he had. If he expected her ever to accept his authority, he’d be daft to admit he’d noticed the way her nipples tried to thrust themselves through the thin fabric.

“Would you have stopped here if you hadn’t seen us?” she asked then.

“No,” he said. “The hour is late, and they’re expecting me in Hawick. Also, I had a message from my father, complaining about my long absence, so I’m for Ormiston as soon as I’ve reported to Archie and slept.”

Her gaze met his again as she said, “So, say whatever you still want to say to me, Dev. Then, you can be on your way.”

He stepped close enough to put his hands on her shoulders again, gently this time. “I’ve shot my bolt for tonight, Robby,” he said. “But don’t do it again.”

“Do you think I’m witless, Dev?”

He nearly smiled then. “I do not,” he said. “You are impulsive and headstrong, and you don’t give a thought to safety. If anything, you’re too clever for your own good. Does Greenlaw know what you were doing tonight?”

He saw her swallow and then eye him measuringly. Her thoughts were as open to him as they could be. But she knew him, too. He did not need to speak.

With a wry and rather wary look, she said, “I don’t suppose it would do any good to say that he does know.”

He shook his head. “I should have given you another smack for Greenlaw.”

“I’m thankful you didn’t,” she admitted. “But I almost wish you could stay. I… I have questions… about Rab and…” Swallowing visibly, she fell silent.

“I told you how he died,” Dev said. “He saved my life and doubtless others, too. I don’t know what more you would want to know.”

“I’m glad you were with him, Dev, and could hold him whilst he died. I forgot to thank you for that when you brought his body home to us.”

He didn’t remember telling her he’d held Rab in his arms, but he had, so he must have told her. “You were too distraught to put such thoughts into words then, lass. I wasn’t thinking clearly that day, myself.”

She looked as if she were about to ask another question, but she didn’t, and he decided that the less they talked about Rab, the better they would both feel.

“Go to bed, Robby,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll return as soon as I can. Meantime, try to imagine what Rab would say to you about tonight and what he most likely would have done had he seen you riding through that cut instead of me.”

“I don’t have to imagine it,” she said, scowling. “I know exactly what he thinks… thought… and what he would say and do. But he cannot—”

“If you mean to say that he can’t do anything about such behavior now, you’d be wiser to recall that I can,” he interjected bluntly.

She stuck her tongue out at him then and danced quickly away as she said, “Goodnight, Dev. I expect we won’t see you again for months.”

He could have assured her that he would return much sooner, but he thought it was better for now to let her think as she liked. She would find out soon enough that he had decided to make his presence felt at Coklaw even while he was away.

That was little enough for him to do, in view of his promise to Rab.

As soon as Dev had gone, Robina hurried up the stairs, trying to put his stern image out of her head so she could think straight.

“You would do better to recall what he said to you, Beany. You ken fine that he never makes idle threats.”

“I know,” she muttered. “But he doesn’t understand how things are here.”

“He understands enough,” Rab said. “He kens you fine, too, so you must do no more raiding.”

“Not whilst he’s anywhere near Coklaw, certainly,” she agreed. “However, he has duties elsewhere now, so he won’t be back for a while. Meantime, we have wool to shear and cows to give us milk, butter, and cheese.”

“You underestimate Dev, lass. He’ll return long before you expect him.”

“You forget that he has to go to Ormiston Mains to see his father.”

“Ormiston’s nobbut ten miles away. And I doubt he’ll stay long.”

“Don’t be daft, Rab,” she said tartly in her normal voice.

“Wheesht, lass! Do you want to wake Greenlaw or his Ada?”

Well aware that the steward and his housekeeper wife slept in a room at the top of the stairs, she murmured, “Dev said his father sent for him. Ormiston hasn’t seen him since before what you call the ‘wee skirmish at Chesters’ six weeks ago that got you killed. I doubt that Dev’s family will let him leave again soon.”

She had reached her landing, and Rab did not argue the point, making her wonder if her maidservant, Corinne, was in her bedchamber. Someone, thinking Robina might want her, might have wakened the maid. But the room was empty.

Deciding that Rab agreed that Dev’s family would keep him as long as they could, she undressed and got into bed. Her backside still stung, so she decided that if her twin was right and Dev returned too soon, she would find a way to get her revenge.

“I’m not wrong, Beany. I know Dev better than you do.”

“You do, aye,” she muttered grimly. “During the past few years, you spent more time with him than with me or anyone else at Coklaw.”

“And you are… or were… jealous of our friendship, lassie. You took few pains to hide it, but there was nae need of such. Wherever I am, I carry you with me, just as you carry me with you. We’ve been in each other’s thoughts since the day we were born and ’tis likely we always will be. But be kind to Dev. He’ll make you a better friend than an enemy. He’ll also look after you and Benjy for me.”

“I don’t need looking after, least of all by Devil Ormiston,” she said firmly.

“ ’Tis a wee bit late to protest, I fear.”

“What do you mean?”

She heard only silence.

“Rab?”



In the torchlit yard, Jock Cranston nodded in reply to Dev’s lifted eyebrow.

“They were raiding, sir,” Jock said. “I sent two of our lads back toward the cut quiet-like, and they met three more of their party with four sheep and two cows that they’d lifted. The men wouldna tell me where they’d lifted them, but that’s what they’d done.”

“Aye, I learned as much myself,” Dev said. “I’m going to leave you and Jem Keith here whilst I’m away, Jock. Don’t stir coals with anyone, and don’t let Jem do so, either. I just want you to keep an eye on things here. Greenlaw, the steward, is a good man, as we know, but the best Gledstanes men-at-arms rode with Rab.”

“Aye, and four o’ them was killed at Chesters when he was.”

“And then I gave leave to others to visit their families after we bu. . .