The Tweedie Passion (14 page)

'You are the only enemy I would ever warn,' I said, watching as he slipped off his jack. His trousers were next, slipping around his hips, yet even now Hugh did not allow them to fall in a shapeless bundle but lifted them neatly and placed them on the back of his chair.

He stood in his shirt, smiling across to me in that neat room, and I knew that there was nowhere else in the world that I desired to be.

'Take your shirt off,' I heard the catch in my throat as I spoke. His breathing was ragged as he did as I asked and stood naked before me. On the last occasion I had seen him like this we had been inside the Nine Stane Rig high above Liddesdale. Now we were in Hugh's own chamber in his own tower, yet I felt the same tension as my eyes devoured him. He was all man.

I felt that same surge of passion that chased away reason. I knew that my father could lead the men of the Lethan Valley to attack the Veitches at any time; I knew that Robert could be in danger, yet at that moment I did not care. Only one emotion possessed me and it centred on the man who stood opposite, watching as I slowly undressed.

I was not afraid and nor was I shy. I wanted him to see me, as I wished to see him. I wanted him to savour my body as I savoured his.

'You are beautiful,' he said, when I discarded the last vestige of my clothing and stood before him, proud in my femininity.

After that we did not talk. We were there, the bed was there and time was limited. War could take second place to love; nature knows which is more important. There is no need to go into many details about what happened next; you all know what goes where when man meets maid, and Hugh had an urgency that nearly matched my own as we put hands on each other and slid onto the bed.

Our coupling at Nine Stane Rig had been under the gentle rain of autumn; this time we were in the cool shelter of Hugh's chamber with the candle pooling its yellow light over his austere room and our urgent bodies. I pushed him to the bed and mounted him without the need for words, glorying in our healthy, natural desire as he thrust to meet me.

He looked up at me, not smiling. 'I want you,' he said.

'You have me,' I told him, gasping.

There was a few moments of silence except for small sounds of passion and then louder sounds, mainly from me.

We lay together with one of his hands on my bottom and the other around my back as I nestled against his deep chest with its fine crisp hair.

'I do not have you,' Hugh said at last. 'I only have part of you.'

I gave a small giggle that was very unlike me as I glanced down where we were still joined together. 'A very important part,' I said.

'Very important indeed,' Hugh agreed, wriggling that part of him slightly but delightfully. 'But I want more than that.'

'What more do you want?' I asked.

'Your heart,' Hugh said. 'And all the rest.'

I glanced at the door, hoping that Robert did not burst in, as I had with him. 'You know that you cannot have that,' I said.

'I know that,' Hugh said. 'Yet I want it more than ever.'

'It would not be right,' I said, knowing that what we had just done was equally wrong.

'It would be very right,' Hugh said.

I removed his hand from my rump. 'I know it will not happen,' I said. 'I have told you of my vision.'

'That vision could be wrong,' Hugh replaced his hand exactly where it had been. He began to move his fingers, sending little waves of pleasure through me.

'Don't do that,' I said, meaning the exact opposite.

Hugh read the real meaning behind my words. His fingers continued to knead and then began to explore further. I closed my eyes and forgot about everything else.

The smell of smoke awoke me. I felt my nose twitch and coughed, once, twice and again. I sat up with a jerk, looking around me. The candle had burned to a mess of tallow that had melted over the pewter candlestick and grey dawn had brought patchy mist and rain. The bed was empty save for me and sweet memories.

I sat up. Somebody had pulled a cover over me, lifted my clothes from the floor and folded them neatly on top of his table. That must have been Hugh. I dressed quickly as the smell of smoke increased, now joined by the crackling of fire.

'Is anybody there?' I opened the door and coughed violently. The turnpike stairway was filled with smoke and the sound of burning was obvious. 'Hello?'

There was no reply. 'Hugh?'

Footsteps sounded on the turnpike as a female servant scurried down. I put both hands on her shoulder to stop her. She looked at me, wild-eyed, with her simple one-piece gown filthy and her hair tangled across her face.

'What's happened?' I asked, 'where is everybody?'

She stared at me blankly. I slapped her face, hard. 'Where is Hugh? What has happened?'

She cowered away, obviously too confused or terrified for coherent thought. I let her go and stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping in the thick smoke. 'Hugh!'

There was another servant in front of me. I took hold of his shoulder. 'Hey, fellow!'

He looked over his shoulder. 'Who are you?'

'Never mind that,' I snapped, 'tell me what has happened? Where is Hugh?'

'We're under attack,' the man said, 'can you not smell the smoke?'

'Where's Hugh?' I shook him, 'where is he?'

When the man shook his head, I threw him away and shouted, 'Hugh!'

The only reply was a fresh billow of smoke and the increasing crackle of fire. I coughed again, waved my hand in front of my face in a futile attempt to see better and realised that unless I got out of the tower I could be smoked to death or burned alive. I moved to an arrow-slit window, took a deep breath of slightly fresher air and dived down stairs, gasping as the heat increased. The entire lower floor was ablaze with the straw and wooden fixtures in the store room catching fire.

'This way!' One of the servants had lowered a rope from a first floor window. 'One at a time.'

I saw the man, a kitchen skivvy, a nothing, somebody that I would pass in the tower without a look or a second glance, yet here he was in the middle of a fire, saving lives at the risk of his own.

'Is there anybody out there?' He asked me.

'I saw a manservant and a maid come down the turnpike,' I said.

'They're out, so we're the last. Get out first.' He pointed to the rope. Rather than argue I did as I was told, and waited on the ground to help the servant down.

'Where is Hugh?' I asked as he landed beside me.

'All the fighting men are riding,' he was about fourteen, with prominent freckles, 'the valley is under attack.'

I nodded. So Father had arrived and was burning his way along the valley as he had promised. I had failed in my attempt to save Hugh; the Tweedie Passion had taken me over, despite all my good intentions.

Grey dawn streaked the sky, laced with pillars of smoke from fires the breadth and length of the Veitch lands. I sighed; I had not known that Father would be so ruthless in his attempt at eradicating Veitch power.

As I stood outside that tower I realised with a jolt that I recognised this place. This was where Robert would prove his love for me. This was where my vision took place. The servants approached, three of them, unarmed, smoke stained and scared; they knew me for a woman of gentle blood and, although they were eminently capable of making decisions for themselves, years of habit had ingrained in them that I should take charge.

'My Lady! The Armstrongs are here!'

Armstrongs! Not my father then?

I looked around. Wild Will and a group of his men appeared from behind a copse of trees. I had nearly forgotten them since we left Liddesdale, and now here they were, pursuing their feud with the Veitches. For one moment I wondered how they had got past the watchmen, and then I recalled that Hugh had posted his men to watch over the boundary with the Tweedies. The Armstrongs would have come from the south and west, rather than the east and north. The Armstrong attack could not have come at a worse time. My father, in his quest to quell the Veitches before my wedding to a weak man, had created a situation where Faladale had been exposed to a much more powerful surname.

'You!' Wild Will reined up. He pointed his lance directly at me. 'You and Hugh Veitch set Buccleuch on Liddesdale. I lost five men in that raid!'

I remembered that gallant blade who led the Scott riders. I had not thought of that incident since. Now it had come back to haunt me. I closed my eyes, unable to prevent the inevitable. Now come to me Robert, and prove yourself worthy.

I was in a shallow valley, with the wind whispering through coarse grass. Nearby there was a peel tower, slowly smouldering and sending wispy, acrid smoke to a bruised sky. I was lonely and scared, although there were many men around me. One man approached me; tall, lean and scarred, he had a face that could chill the fear from a nightmare and eyes sharp and hard enough to bore through a granite cliff.

I backed away, feeling the fear surge through me, knowing that there was nowhere to run. I heard cruel laughter from the men around, rising above the crackle of flames and the lowing of reived cattle.

'Come here.' His voice was like death; cracked, harsh, with an accent from the West.

I did not come. I backed further away until whip-cord arms stopped me, holding me tight. I was held and then pushed forward toward the scarred man. I tried to face him, to talk my way out of trouble but the words would not come. My tongue failed me when it was most needed.

'Come here.' The scarred man repeated. He stood with his legs apart, his thumbs hooked into his sword belt and those devil-eyes searing into my soul.

'I will not come,' I said.

He stepped towards me, slowly and with each foot step sinking into the springy grass. A gust of wind sent smoke from the fire around him so he appeared to be emerging from the pits of hell. He let go his belt and extended his hands toward me. They were long-fingered, with nails like talons, reaching out to grab me. I tried to pull backward, to ease further away.

I was held again, surrounded by harsh laughter.

My nightmare was about to get worse.

The single shout broke the spell and we all looked to the west, where a lone rider had appeared on the hill crest. Silhouetted against the rising sun, I could not make out details. I only saw a tall, slender man on a horse with a banner in his hand. He stood there for a second with his horse prancing, its fore-hooves raised and kicking at the air, and then he plunged down toward me, yelling something although in my vision I could not make out the words.

'Robert!' I said, and knew that all would be well.

Here it was; here was the moment when Robert would save me. I saw the rider approach, saw him in silhouette, bold and strong.

'Robert,' I said. I had left him in a fit of anger, yet he had come to my aid. After all the doubts and all the ridicule he had suffered, Robert was proving himself the man I always knew he was.

Other riders came behind him, four, five, six men riding hard, shouting a slogan I could not make out against the sound of the burning tower and the snarls of Wild Will and the Armstrongs.

Wild Will pointed to me. 'Kill her!' he ordered.

One man lifted his lance and moved toward me. He was neither smiling nor full of hatred. My life or death did not matter to him: killing me was merely business, like slaughtering a sheep or robbing a house.

'Robert!' I screamed. I did not run. I knew I would be saved but Robert was taking his damned time about it. I looked to the hills, right into the glare of the rising sun. Robert was tall and bold and strong as he rode straight down the slope, lance couched.

Wild Will rode to meet him, with his men at his back. Somebody drew a dag, a heavy pistol, and fired, with the crack loud amidst the drumming of hooves. None of the advancing riders fell.

And then a cloud slid across the sun and I could see again.

'Robert!' I yelled.

In my vision I had heard my own voice. I had convinced myself that Robert had come to save me, because I had shouted for him, but it was not Robert. It was Hugh and he rode straight at Wild Will without hesitation. That was not part of my vision; or was it? I had seen that rider race down the hillside so often, and had heard my own voice shout 'Robert' so often that I had convinced myself that was his identity. Now I knew it was not he.

The horses of Hugh and Wild Will slammed into each other in a frenzy of flying hooves and tossing manes. Both men discarded their lances, drew swords and clashed again, blade to blade and face to face as Hugh's followers rode into the other Armstrongs. I saw Hugh pressed backward as the scar-faced Armstrong used his superior experience and slashed at his thighs. Hugh defended vigorously but it was obvious that Wild Will was the better swordsman.

I ran forward, hoping to help, unsure what to do. Lifting a stone, I aimed it, ready to throw, just as Hugh pulled hard on his reins. His horse reared, flailing with its fore hooves. Wild Will pulled back a fraction, which gave Hugh sufficient space to slice upward with his sword. The point of the blade took Wild Will under the chin and drove on into his brain. He died without a word.

With the loss of their leader all the fight went out of the Armstrongs. Some of them turned away at once, with others throwing down their weapons in surrender. As more Veitches appeared from the crest of the hill, the Armstrong's withdrawal became a rout and the valley became a scene of flying reivers and pursuing Veitches.

Hugh gave me a huge grin. 'I left you in charge of the house,' he said, 'and look at the mess you made of it.'

'You saved me again.' I said as all the certainties of my images vanished.

'It seems that I also left you to be burned,' Hugh raised his voice. 'Sound the horn; bring the boys back!'

The long ululation sounded across the valley, echoing from the distant hills, eerie, somehow pagan, a call from savage nature. I saw the Veitches halt their pursuit in ones and twos and small groups.

'Sound it again,' Hugh ordered, and the horn blasted out a second time, lifting the small hairs on the back of my neck.