The execution of the two Hume lairds and this humiliating display of their heads made their clan appear weak and vulnerable. That perception put their clan in even greater danger, and so David must change it. This first step toward that end required stealth, not his sword.
He would have his bloody vengeance, but not today.
While he waited for nightfall, he pondered how Regent Albany had managed to prevail over men who were better than him in every way that should matter. The first time Albany captured David’s father and uncle, they persuaded their jailor, a Hamilton, to free them and join the queen’s side. A furious Albany responded by having their wives taken hostage.
David wondered if Albany understood at the time just how clever that move was, or if he had merely taken the women out of spite. In any event, the trap was set.
By then, Albany was planning to return to France, which was more home to him than Scotland. David’s uncle was inclined to wait and seek the women’s release from Albany’s replacement. But David’s father and stepmother had a rare love, and he was tortured by the thought of her suffering in captivity. Because of his weakness for her, he persuaded his brother to accept the regent’s invitation and guarantee of their safety.
“Free my wife! Avenge us!” his father had shouted to David as the guards dragged him away.
His father’s final words were burned into his soul. While he kept his vigil in the doorway, they spun through his head again and again. He wanted to smash his fist into the wall at the thought of his stepmother living amongst strangers when she learned of her husband’s death. Nothing could save the man who held her hostage now. Vengeance was both a debt of honor David owed his father and necessary to restore respect for his clan.
When darkness finally fell on the city, David gave coins to the prostitutes who had gathered nearby and asked them to cause a disturbance. They proved better at keeping their word than the regent. While the women created an impressive commotion, screaming that they had been robbed, David scaled the wall of the Tolbooth.
Gritting his teeth, he jerked his father’s head off the pike and placed it gently in the cloth bag slung over his shoulder. He swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat and forced himself to move quickly. As soon as he had collected his uncle’s head, he dropped to the ground and left the square at a fast pace. He could still hear the prostitutes shouting when he was halfway to the gate.
A short time later, he reached the tavern outside the city walls where his men waited for him. His half-brothers must have been watching the door, for they ran to greet him as soon as he opened it. Will threw his arms around David’s waist, while Robbie, who was four years older, stood by looking embarrassed but relieved. David should admonish Will for his display in front of the men, but he did not have the heart. The lad, who was only ten, had lost his father and missed his mother a great deal.
“I told ye I’d return safe,” David said. “I’ll not let any harm come to ye, and I will bring your mother home.”
Their mother was being held at Dunbar, an impregnable castle protected by a royal garrison. While David did not yet know when or how he would obtain her release, he would do it.
He planned his next moves on the long ride back to Hume territory. In the violent and volatile Border region, you were either feared or preyed upon. David intended to make damned sure he was so feared that no one would ever dare harm his family again.
He would take control of the Hume lands and castles, which had been laid waste and forfeited to the Crown. And then he would take his vengeance on the Blackadders, the scheming liars. While pretending to be allies, the Blackadders had secretly assisted in his stepmother’s capture and then urged Albany to execute his father and uncle. It was a damned shame that the Laird of Blackadder Castle was beyond David’s reach in a new grave, but his rich lands and widow were ripe for the taking.
And the widow was a Douglas, sister to the Earl of Angus himself. For a man intent on establishing a fearsome reputation, that made her an even greater prize.
CHAPTER 2
Alison ran up the stairs praying that her daughters had not escaped their elderly nursemaid again. Relief swept through her when she burst into their bedchamber and saw them. Both girls had inherited her black hair, dark blue eyes, and slight frame, but the similarity ended there.
Six-year-old Margaret, whose braids and gown were in perfect order, was practicing her stitching. God only knew what her older daughter had been up to. Beatrix’s hair was a tangled mess, and the black streaks on her gown looked as if she had crawled across the hearth—which she probably had. Unfortunately, there was no time to change.
“Come quickly,” Alison said, holding her hands out to them. “Ye mustn’t miss your uncles.”
Alison refrained from chastising Beatrix for her filthy gown. Her husband was no longer here to criticize her for being a lax mother, one of her many failings that he had brought to her attention daily. In truth, Beatrix did get into a good deal of mischief. Yet Alison worried far more about her younger daughter. Margaret had a trusting nature and a desire to please.
Alison had been like that once.
“Did Uncle George bring us presents?” Beatrix asked as they started down the stairs.
“Not this time, love.”
As they descended, the rumble of men’s voices filled the circular stairwell and echoed off its stone walls. Alison paused at the bottom of the stairs to survey the hall, which was filled with Douglas warriors who were making quick work of the heaped platters of food that had taken the servants hours to prepare.
A frisson of unease went up her spine when a man with familiar hard gray eyes caught her gaze as if he had been waiting for her. He elbowed the gray-haired man next to him.
What were Patrick Blackadder and his father, the Laird of Tulliallan, doing here?
She gripped her daughters’ hands more tightly as her husband’s two kinsmen approached. Though they were only distant cousins, Patrick looked so much like a younger version of her husband that she found it intolerable to be near him.
“Do not stray from my side,” she told Beatrix, and gave her a hard look to let her know she meant it.
Perhaps she was being unfair, but she mistrusted both father and son.
“Lady Alison, as exquisite as ever,” Patrick said, giving her a thorough perusal that made sweat prickle under her arms.