Captive of the Border Lord. Blythe Gifford

It was one of the lessons coming home had taught him. ‘We’ll not take one for the King’s pleasure.’

      She saw Carwell straighten his shoulders, as if all that had come before was only prelude. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak of why he had come.

      ‘Then you give me no choice. As warden, it is my duty to secure a pledge of peace from the Brunson family. Something to ensure your future good behaviour.’

      ‘Since our past has been so reprehensible?’ she said. Who was this man to demand oaths and pledges? ‘If we won’t swear an oath, why would we give a pledge?’

      But John, who knew the ways of the King, understood it first. ‘It’s not words the King wants. It’s a hostage.’

      ‘Hostage is a harsh word.’ There was Carwell’s smile again. She was beginning to hate the curve of his lips.

      ‘If we displease him again, the King’s treatment will be harsher,’ Johnnie said.

      Rob, Bessie, Johnnie and Cate looked at each other.

      ‘I should go,’ John said. ‘I’m the one he knows.’

      The one who failed him.

      ‘He won’t like what you have to say,’ Rob answered.

      John sighed. ‘I can face that.’

      Shaking his head, Black Rob looked all of his name and more. ‘He’ll make you face it at the end of a rope, Johnnie.’

      No. Her heart quickened its beats. Not Johnnie. Not when he had finally come home, not when he was just wed.

      His bride threaded her fingers with his. ‘If you must go, I will go with you.’

      Rob rose, trying to tower over the situation. ‘I won’t let you.’

      ‘But I promised the King when I came—’

      Carwell jumped into the middle of the argument. ‘You, then.’ He pointed to Rob. ‘If the head man of the Brunson family went to court and gave his oath, the King would—’

      ‘Bah!’ Rob said. ‘I’ll give no man an oath that would prevent me from protecting my kin.’

      Not Rob. She held her breath. Rob would bend his stiff neck for no one. Not even a king. He would only make things worse for himself. For all of them.

      Her youngest brother rose. ‘We’ll think on it.’

      That was Johnnie. Saving face. Buying time.

      But time would not change facts. Her father had died less than three months ago. Rob had taken his place as head of the family. Johnnie was home and happy.

      Her brothers, Cate, the family she loved so much her heart hurt to think of it, needed to be left alone, not torn apart and sent away.

      Carwell rose, his courtier’s grace clashing with the harsh set of his brow. ‘Don’t think too long,’ he said. ‘The King is not a patient man.’

      She felt herself rise from the stool and stand on her own two feet. No. She would not let him do this.

      ‘It will be me, then,’ she said. ‘I will stand surety for the Brunsons.’

       Chapter Three

       What was the woman doing? Was she daft?

      Carwell glared at Bessie Brunson, then turned to her brothers. Surely they would not allow this madness.

      Or was it?

      Shielding his eyes, hiding his thoughts, he assessed the options. It was not what the King expected, but the King had an eye for the ladies. An apology from a beautiful Brunson might soften his heart while a belligerent argument from either of her uncooperative brothers could very well make things worse.

      But to put a woman at risk, even one as stubborn as Bessie Brunson … no.

      ‘Impossible,’ he said, as if it were his decision.

      Bessie ignored him, facing her brother. ‘I can go to the King. I can explain—’

      ‘Explain?’ Rob raised his hands to heaven. ‘Even if you leave Willie Storwick to God, we invaded neutral territory and torched a tower. That’s the right of it.’

      ‘Aye.’ Carwell sighed. He knew. He had helped them do it. ‘The King wants your oath and a promise of good behaviour,’ he continued, finally. ‘Not an explanation.’

      ‘What the King wants,’ said John, ‘is retribution.’ His grim expression reflected Rob’s. John had grown up beside the King and knew him better than any of them. ‘He’ll want you in chains.’

      Carwell forced back a shudder. ‘Or worse.’ The King had been ruled by others since he was a babe. He had years of wrongs to right.

      Her cheeks lost colour and he braced to catch her, should she faint. Realising the risk, she would no longer want to go.

      She didn’t even flinch. ‘So it shall be.’

      ‘You don’t know what you are saying.’ Life here was hard, but the threats were clear. Court was full of hidden dangers, deceptive as the quicksands he had learned to avoid in childhood. The smooth sands might look safe, but a single misstep would suck you into danger.

      And death.

      Bessie Brunson couldn’t even navigate a dance without stumbling.

      ‘Leave us,’ Rob said, standing. ‘This is a decision for family.’

      Relieved, he nodded. He was not here to bargain with Bessie Brunson. Let her brothers deal with her.

      He turned for the door, whispering in her ear as he left the room, ‘They will not allow you to go.’

      She smiled. ‘They won’t be able to stop me.’

      Bessie refused to watch him leave the room. There would be a price to pay for putting herself at his mercy, though she did not know yet what it would be.

      The moment he left the room, the objections all came at once.

      ‘It’s too dangerous.’

      ‘It’s not your place.’

      ‘You mustn’t.’ Cate grabbed her arm. ‘I won’t let you.’

      Her plea was the hardest to resist, for the secrets they shared were not for a king to know. But Cate, who had been like a sister, was a wife now. And Bessie was sleeping alone in an empty room.

      She squeezed Cate’s fingers. ‘There is no one else,’ she said, calmly. ‘Johnnie’s defied him already. The King will clap him in irons without even listening.’ She shook her head. ‘And, Rob, the only way you know how to talk is with a sword. But if I go …’

      What was that tickle in her stomach? Fear or excitement?

      ‘I’m a woman. I can’t give the family’s oath, so the King can’t force us into that. But perhaps I can make him listen long enough for me to explain.’

      ‘Explain how Willie Storwick died?’ John took his wife’s hand.

      Bessie shrugged. ‘I need tell no lies. None of us killed him. No one need know more.’

      Especially Laird Thomas Carwell.

      ‘I wish I had,’ Cate muttered.

      ‘But maybe I can make the King understand …’ What would she have him know? How the wind whined at the top of the hills? The purple of the thistle in the late-day sun? How days were spent with an eye ever looking south, waiting for raiders to sweep into the valley?

      How precious this home, this life, these people were?

      ‘We do what we must to protect the family,’ Rob growled. ‘That’s all any man needs