Pride Of Lions

Hunter shivered. Twelve years he’d spent trying to forget, now the pain and the rage flooded back. “I did not know of this. My father never said—”

“Likely trying to prevent ye from riding down here and helping me and the lads deal with these bastards.” Jock clapped Hunter on the knee. “Narry fear, lad, ye’re here now, and yer help’s most welcome, what with me unable to sit a horse.”

“What would you have me do?”

“We need to find out where they are holed up. They’re a wily lot, these Murrays, dodging and hiding from our patrols. Owen Murray will be leading them now we’ve finally gotten rid of Mad Danny, and Alex’s oldest daughter may be riding with them.”

“A woman reiver?”

“Aye, that Allisun Murray’s a hard bitch, and canny, too, they say, like her cursed sire.”

Hunter frowned, picturing an ugly crone dressed in riding leathers and wearing a sword.

“Rumor has it she was seen treating with Ill Will Bell.”

Air whistled between Hunter’s teeth.

“Ye’ve heard of him, even in Edinburgh, I see. Dod, the man’s a vicious beast. I dinna need to tell ye what’ll become of the McKies if Allisun seduces III Will into making war on us.”

“Nay,” Hunter said slowly. “I’ve a warrant outstanding against the Bells for kidnapping, ransom, thievery...”

“Oh, aye, and that’s only the evidence presented by folk who were brave enough to complain—or still alive to do it.”

“Why does Sir Andrew Kerr do nothing about this?”

Jock hawked and spat onto the rush-covered- floor. “Ill Will’s got Andy by the short hairs. Took his youngest daughter in a raid on Kelso last year. Threatened to send her back in pieces if Andy moved against him. ’Course—” Jock shrugged “—if she’s still alive, she’s doubtless in a bad way. Will’s got a taste for rape, they say.”

Disgust rose in Hunter, a bitter, choking wave. What kind of people lived like this?

“But—” Jock brightened “—we’ve set a wee trap for the Murrays. If they take the bait, ye can follow ’em home and wipe out every one of them,” he added with relish.

Bloody hell. The thought of killing women and children went against everything Hunter believed in. “I’ll take them and bring them to trial, Uncle.”

“Trial?” Jock shrieked. “My Brenna died unshriven, and ye blather about niceties like trials and such.” His eyes narrowed. “Or mayhap it’s that ye’re afeared to fight the Murrays. There were some who said that was why ye didn’t stop Alex from carrying off my Brenna all those years ago. I told them ye were no coward, just a wee lad. But ye’re a man grown, now, with strength aplenty to wield that sword ye wear.”

“I’m no coward.”

“Jock! Jock!” A flushed and sweaty clansman dashed into the room. “There’s a party of raiders sniffing about the cattle.”

“Murrays?” Jock demanded.

“Aye.” The man seized a cup of ale and drained it, panting as he wiped the foam from his mouth. “There’s twenty or so of them, dressed for reiving. I spotted Owen Murray and the one called Wee Harry, for sure.”

Jock crowed and clapped Hunter on the back. “Go to it, lad. But mind ye let the Murrays lift what cattle they will so as ye can follow them. Then—” he grinned wolfishly “—ye’ll get a chance to see how we Borderers deal with thieves.”

The McKies clansmen roared their approval of the plan and swarmed from the hall like angry bees, shouting for their horses and buckling on their swords.

Hunter nodded grimly to his uncle, then he and Gavin trailed after the clattering McKies.

Jock looked up at the one man who’d remained at his side. “Well, Cousin, has he not grown into a likely looking lad?”

“Humph.” Red Rowy McKie was younger than Jock by a dozen years, but just as burly and ruthless looking, his muscular body straining the seams of his leather jack. “Dinna see why ye had to send for him. I’m yer heir, I should be the one—”

“I’ve told ye a hundred times, ye great ox, Hunter’s here to lend a bit of respectability to our little venture.”

Red Rowy spat a curse. “We dinna need him.”

“Aye.” Jock’s smile turned calculating. “Aye, we do, if I’m right about what Alex Murray did with those tally sticks Brenna stole from me. Now go along with ye. I need ye to be there when they breach the Murrays’ hidey-hole. Ye know what to do?”

“Aye. I know.”

Chapter Two

The moon, which had guided the Murrays to the steep-sided ravine a quarter mile from the herders’ croft, had disappeared behind a bank of clouds, draping the land in dark shadows.

Allisun shivered, hoping it was not an ill omen.

From the shelter of a copse of trees atop the ridge, she anxiously watched the plain below, a narrow valley that meandered between the rolling hills. All was still and quiet, not so much as a leaf or a blade of grass stirring.

Ominously quiet.

A half mile distant lay the shielings, squat stone huts where the herders lived during the summer while their beasts gorged on long sweet grass. No light shone from the huts, and the McKies’ vast herd was bedded down for the night, hundreds of black dots sprawled across the valley floor. They made a tempting target, guarded only by four or five men who slept rolled in their cloaks around a tiny campfire.

Too tempting? she wondered, shivering again.

“I do not like it,” Owen had said when they’d arrived. “Things are too quiet, too—”

“The McKies have grown careless in their arrogance,” Black Gilbert had muttered. “We’ll cut out what we need to replace the beasts they stole and be away before they’re any the wiser.”

Owen had grudgingly agreed, but he’d refused to let Allisun go down with them. “Bad enough I let you come this far. You’ll not be lifting any cattle.” He’d overruled her objections and ordered her to wait on the hill with Wee Harry as guardsman.

“Ach, there they are,” Harry whispered.

Allisun looked where he pointed, down to the black slash of stone and brush that marked the ravine’s entrance. A low-slung shape crept from the mouth of the gorge. In a quick blur of motion, it slipped into the long grass, leaving her wondering if she’d imagined it. Nay, there was another and another. The grass barely twitched as they crawled closer to their objective.

Her heart racing, her fingers clenched tight around her hobbler’s reins, she watched as her men rose suddenly from the grass and fell upon the slumbering guards. The scuffle was brief and nearly soundless, a single muffled thud the only outward sign the herd was now at the Murrays’ mercy.

Allisun breathed a sigh of relief when Owen stood and waved his arm, signaling the Murrays forward. They rode out from cover, leading the rest of the horses. As soon as they’d mounted, the men fanned out and moved slowly toward the herd. “They are going to do it,” she whispered.

“Dinna count them ours, yet.” Wee Harry frowned, dour as ever. “This is a chancy business. Cattle are queer things, like to take a fright over naught and run off or trample a man.”

“You are right, of course.” Sending up a silent prayer, Allisun rose in her stirrups, counting every step the men took. So absorbed was she in the drama unfolding below that she ignored the flicker of movement at the mouth of the ravine, thinking it must be a Murray left on guard.

The moon chose that moment to shake free of the encumbering clouds. Long, white fingers raced across the landscape, banishing the dark, lengthening the shadows, glinting briefly on something bright amongst the brush and bracken.

Allisun swung her head toward the gorge, saw moonlight sparkling off polished metal. Armor?

Lordy! It was armored knights ... the same ones she’d seen enter Luncarty a few hours ago. And with them came smaller, darker shapes. McKies!