chorus of congratulation barely swelled when Jock cut across it. “Still ye must have found a few quarrels ye couldn’t settle with them fancy words yer da pounded into ye.”
“Actually, it was the university in Paris that did the pounding,” Hunter said dryly. His concerned parents had shipped him off to study only a few weeks after bringing him home from Luncarty—as much to prevent him from joining Jock’s war against the Murrays as to educate him. Distance, time and exposure to the fundamentals of law had accomplished their goals. He’d returned to Scotland four years ago a cautious, educated man who weighed the outcome of a step before venturing to take it.
Belatedly recalling his manners, Hunter turned and beckoned Gavin over. “This is Gavin Sutherland of Kinduin. You may recall that Aunt Elspeth wed Lucais Sutherland. Gavin is my second cousin, the son of Uncle Lucais’s—”
“Whatever. Welcome, Gavin. Robbie!” Jock bellowed, causing a young man to spring from those crowded around the bed. “See young Gavin has food and drink. And give my nephie and me a bit of privacy.” While the space around them cleared, Jock waved Hunter onto a stool beside the bed.
“’Tis good to see you looking better than I’d expected,” Hunter said.
“And glad I am to see ye.” Jock’s wide cheeks deflated. “Though I wish it’d been under better circumstances.” He waved at his left leg, a huge mound under the coarse blanket. “Broke it in two places trying to get away from Mad Danny Murray.”
Hunter sat forward on the stool. “He attacked you?”
“Aye, under a flag of truce.” Jock’s lids sagged. “I lost three men before we brought him down.”
“Your message said Daniel Murray was dead.”
Jock smiled. “Aye. The last of Alex Murray’s sons is dead.”
“So, it’s over, then.”
“Over!” Fire leaped into Jock’s eyes. “It’ll no’ be over till I’ve wiped out every one of the murdering bastards who stole my—”
“But the man who took Aunt Brenna is dead, and his sons, too. You burned the Murrays out of their tower five years ago,” Hunter added, summing up the facts as he did in many a case from the high bench. “So ’twould seem the feud is at an end.”
“Nay!” Jock sat up straighter, cheeks puffing, face red. “There’ll be no end to it till I’ve found and killed them all.”
“But, Uncle, there can be little left of the Murrays except old men, women and children.”
“Aye, what of it?”
“’Tis not Christian to make war on women and children.”
“Was it Christian for that rutter, Murray, to take my Brenna away from her home and family? Was it Christian of them to send her bones back to me when he was done with her?”
“Bones?” Hunter’s blood ran cold.
“Aye. Six years ago they sent her bones in a bag, her cross still around her neck, my ring on her finger.” He waved his left hand under Hunter’s nose, light glinting off the gold band on his little finger. “Dod, I wish I could kill Alex Murray again.”
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.
