A Rough Wooing

Beaumont, Northumberland

March 1603

“You are trespassing.”

Douglas Elliot threw back her head and
laughed at the dark-visaged male astride the sleek black
Thoroughbred. “Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot possibly own
Hadrian’s Wall. Who the devil do you think you are?”

“Sir Lancelot Greystoke. This land happens to
be mine.”

Douglas laughed again. “Lancelot? How ironic.
Your namesake was known for chivalry not arrogance.”

Greystoke stared at the beautiful young woman
standing atop the ancient Roman wall. Her flaming red hair was
disheveled by the wind and she seemed to be relishing this
confrontation with him. Her amusement was infectious. The corner of
his mouth twitched. “May I know your name?”

“Indeed you may not, Sir Lancelot.”

His dark eyes kindled. He noted the fine wool
riding skirt, the leather boots, and the green velvet doublet and
matching cloak. “Then I shall call you Firebrand.”

She tossed her head and her glorious hair
streamed like a banner in the wind. Douglas Elliot had more good
sense than to tell the English noble her name, for then he would
know she was a Scot who lived a few miles across the Border at
Castle Elliot, near Langholm. The English and the Scots were born
enemies.

“What brings you to Beaumont?”

Ah, so that grand abode is Beaumont Hall
as I suspected, and its owner is the nephew of Clifford, the Earl
of Cumberland.
She shrugged a shapely shoulder.
“Curiosity.”

Almost against his will he admitted that he
found her earthy attraction irresistible. He wanted to lure her
closer. “Then allow me to satisfy your curiosity.” His arm swept
toward the hall. “I invite you to have a closer look.”

Her thoughts darted like quicksilver as she
weighed the risk and came to a decision.

He watched her face as she quickly assessed
his offer. When she accepted with no discernible hesitation, he
knew she loved a challenge.
Does danger excite her?

Douglas watched him dismount, and noted he
was tall. Well over six feet.

He strode toward her and raised his arms.

She laughed again, delighted to thwart him.
“I can’t leave my mount untethered.”

He experienced a stab of disappointment.
“There’s a gap in the wall about two hundred yards in that
direction you can ride through.” He watched her leap from the wall
and disappear, before he remounted and galloped toward the gap.

Her sure-footed Border pony confirmed his
suspicion that the fiery beauty was a Scot.

They rode side by side toward the hall, and
when Douglas saw at least eight thoroughbreds grazing in the
paddock she experienced envy for the first time.
Why should this
arrogant English noble own such fine horseflesh? Langholm near
Castle Elliot was known for its horse racing, but Greystoke’s
animals were far superior than anything in Scotland. The Scottish
Border Marches have felt the onslaught of English invaders for
decades. No wonder they are wealthy!

Douglas conveniently overlooked the fact that
Scots Borderers raided cattle and robbed the English on a regular
basis. The Elliots, and their neighbors the Grahams and the
Armstrongs used the code words “There will be moonlight again” to
pass along the message that a raid was being planned.

“Your thoroughbreds are magnificent, but
don’t you worry about reivers?”

“Constantly. I am a Border Warden. I patrol
Cumberland to keep it safe from the Scots.”

Douglas felt the hairs prickle on the back of
her neck. She ignored the urge to flee.

“Knowing that makes me feel safer in my bed.
I thank you for your service, sir.”

He felt himself harden.
Bed is the last
place I’d keep you safe, Firebrand.

Lance Greystoke drew rein before the grand
steps that led up to the mansion. The portico boasted elegant
columns that rose the full two-stories of Beaumont. The stone hall
had an attractive pink cast because it was built from the same
sandstone as Carlisle Castle, the great English stronghold that lay
four miles to the south.

“Would you like to see inside? The Great Hall
boasts a massive fireplace at each end and high mullioned
windows.”

“Do you have a library?”

He heard the eager note in her voice that
told him she loved books. “Indeed I do have a library whose
bookshelves reach to the ceiling.”

She gave him a radiant smile. “Then how can I
resist?”

He dismounted in a flash, quickly tethered
their mounts, and came to her side. He took a deep appreciative
breath, inhaling her fragrance of lemon verbena. This time he did
not offer his arms because he knew she was perverse enough to
reject him.

Douglas suspected it was a shrewd calculation
on his part, because that is exactly what she had planned to do.
She slid from the saddle, making sure her shapely legs clad in the
soft leather boots were displayed for his enjoyment. As they
climbed the steps together, she realized she only came up to his
shoulder, and his powerful build made her feel extremely
feminine.

He opened the heavy door and her skirt
brushed against his legs as she walked into the entrance hall. A
male servant nodded to the master, then discreetly disappeared. It
made Douglas wonder just how frequently females visited Beaumont
Hall.

She was drawn to the Great Hall by the
crackling fire. He towered beside her as she held out her hands to
the welcome heat.

I could warm my hands at your blazing
hair.

She glanced up at him as if she had heard his
thought.

“My hospitality is remiss. Would you prefer
wine or mulled ale?”

She stared about the room and saw the wine
table with its crystal decanters. “Mulled ale, please.”

He hid his amusement. “I thought you would.
I’ll fetch a barrel of ale from the still-room. Why don’t you wait
for me in the library?”

“A brilliant suggestion.” The library opened
off the Great Hall, and when Douglas saw the spacious room with its
leather-bound volumes stretching up to the ceiling, she was once
again consumed with envy. There were almost too many books to
comprehend.

Her attention was caught by a silver
reflection of light on the polished oak desk, and it drew her like
a lodestone. The exquisite object was a large mirrored pendant. She
picked it up reverently and stared into its depths in awe. She had
never seen anything quite like it before and she coveted it with
all her heart. She ran her finger over the delicate silver filigree
and touched her fingertip to the glittering emeralds that formed a
vine. She wondered if the flowers could possibly be cabochon
diamonds.

Suddenly, she saw the reflection of a dark
face in the mirror. She gasped and spun around guiltily to find
Greystoke behind her.

“I thought your fascination was books, but I
see you are also drawn to
objets d’art.”

“Only if they are priceless!” she assured
him.

He set down the two mugs of ale he was
carrying on a small table before the library fire, took the poker
and shoved it into the coals. When it glowed red he thrust the
poker into the ale, heating it until it foamed. He handed her a mug
and gestured toward a pair of cushioned chairs beside the desk.

Douglas sat down, lifted the ale to her lips,
and took a few swallows with lusty appreciation. “Thank you. It’s
delicious. I warrant you brew it yourself.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s almost as good as the ale my brother
brews,” she teased. Her eyes were drawn back to the mirrored
medallion. “How old is that lovely pendant?”

“I would guess it is quite ancient. I believe
it is a Byzantine treasure brought back from the Crusades. It
belonged to my grandmother.”

“A gift from a besotted lover perhaps?”

His dark eyes licked over her like a candle
flame. “Perhaps.”

Douglas stood up and strolled to the
bookshelves, avidly reading the titles as she drank her ale. Thou
shalt not covet thy neighbor’s library, she admonished herself with
a sigh, but I could stay in this room for weeks and never want to
leave. She drained her tankard and threw him a reluctant glance.
“Unfortunately, all good things must end. I thank you for your
hospitality Lance Greystoke, but now I must bid you adieu.”

“The pleasure was mine, Firebrand.”

Her mouth curved. “Yes, I rather think it
was.”

~~~

“Where the devil have ye been, Douglas?”
Young Rob Elliot put the salmon he had just caught into the deep
basket attached to his saddle. “Yer a right bitch of a sister,
roaming off for hours. We’d best get back over the Border before
the light starts to fade.”

She tossed her head. “Neither England nor her
inhabitants intimidate me.”

“Then yer daft. We could be accused of
poaching salmon from the River Esk.”

“We simply followed the Esk from beside our
own castle, when we saw the salmon were running. How are we to know
where Scotland ends and England begins?”

“We know, all right. You know these Borders
like the back of yer hand.”

“I’ll give you the back of my hand, Rob
Elliot, if you don’t shut your gob!”

Rob thought Douglas looked like a cat that
had swallowed the cream as they rode the dozen miles back to Castle
Elliot and he wanted to wipe the smug look from her face.

“Jock should be back from Edinburgh this
week. That will curtail yer freedom. You know how he likes to rule
the roost.” Their eldest brother had been head of the family for
the past five years, since their father had died in service to the
Crown. King James had appointed Jock and his moss-troopers to his
late father’s wardenship, patrolling the Scottish side of the
Borders.

Douglas hid a smile. “You forget that Jock
will likely bring Mother back with him.” Their grandfather, Sir
Archibald Douglas, had bequeathed his Edinburgh townhouse to his
daughter Katherine, and she spent the winter months there, often
attending Court functions, returning to Castle Elliot in April each
year.

Rob lapsed into silence. His mother’s return
could curb his own freedom.

~~~

“Salmon—my favorite fruit!” Gavin Elliot sat
at the head of the long trestle table in the Great Hall. “We have
Douglas and Rob to thank,” he told the dozen moss-troopers, who
were mostly Elliots and a few Grahams, who made the castle their
home.

“Ye have
me
to thank,” Rob asserted.
“Douglas buggered off and left me to it.”

“I was on a fishing expedition of my own.” As
all eyes swung to her, she leaned forward and shared her news.
“Once we crossed the Border into England, I took advantage and did
a bit of exploring. A couple of miles beyond where the River Esk
empties into Solway Firth lies the River Eden. When I saw I was at
Beaumont, I scouted about for the grand English mansion known as
Beaumont Hall.”

“When we go on our occasional night rides,
Jock always insists we stay clear of the place,” Gavin declared.
“Its owner is rumored to be the nephew of Clifford, Earl of
Cumberland, who is high in the favor of the English Queen.”