thought you said she was bloodthirsty.’
‘Aye. That, as well.’ A contradiction. ‘That’s why I wonder—’
‘Don’t be asking me these questions,’ she said, and he saw a reflection of his mother’s expressions in her raised eyebrows. ‘Cate’s the one you must be asking.’
He sighed. He’d rather confront his surly brother than brave Cate’s knee again.
As he climbed the tower stairs, he heard raised voices in the hall.
‘Now! A raid in his honour. He would want it.’ One of the men. He could not tell which.
John hurried his steps. So soon, they returned to reiving. He heard a murmur, his brother’s steady voice, though he could not make out the words. Would Rob say yes or no?
‘There’s enough of us,’ someone else said. ‘We could go.’
‘The moon’s half-full.’ He could hear Rob clearly now. ‘The night still short.’
‘And our horses swift.’ Cate’s voice. ‘We could get to their tower and back before the dawn. And if Scarred Willie is there—’
As John reached the top of the stairs and entered the hall, he saw Rob surrounded. His brother’s face of strength had few differences from his face of grief, but John could see them. If Rob carried his grief into battle, the enemy would have an advantage.
‘Red Geordie is barely in the ground,’ John called out. ‘Can you not give him a moment’s peace?’
Rob, Cate and half a dozen of his men turned to look at him. Even the dog tilted his head, quizzically.
Cate scowled. ‘It was not peace your father wanted.’
Rob’s face of strength returned. John waited for a scathing rebuke, for he was arguing for the very respect for the dead he’d ignored yesterday, when Rob wanted the same.
‘Johnnie’s right. Return to your homes.’ He looked at John with an expression that might have been warning or thanks. ‘The time for riding will come soon enough.’
Cate’s look said she blamed John, but the men had cattle still in the hills and homes to return to. One by one, they took leave, giving a hand to both brothers, the grip of John’s hand less hearty this time.
Cate’s men, seeing her look, did not shake at all.
No matter. Rob had resisted a call for revenge. Perhaps he was ready to listen to reason instead of vengeance.
‘I would speak to you, Rob,’ he said, when only the three of them remained.
Rob nodded towards the table, and Cate started to follow him.
‘Alone,’ John said.
She looked to Rob. He nodded, a signal for her to leave them.
She glared at John before she did. The woman who had trembled in his arms less than an hour ago had disappeared. Only the defiant warrioress remained.
He searched her narrowed eyes, wondering which Cate was the real one.
She leaned closer. ‘Are you walking straight again, Johnnie Blunkit?’ Her growled whisper was soft, meant only to reach his ears.
Angry heat rushed to his cheeks as she passed him on her way to the stairs.
Johnnie Blunkit. The blue-eyed baby.
Words he had tried to forget ever since he’d left home. Not ones he wanted to remember as he faced his brother.
Although there were only three years between them, Rob, older, had been the favoured one. Tall, strong, taciturn, with their mother’s dark, straight hair and the Brunson brown eyes, he had wielded weapons, but never words.
Words had been left to blue-eyed Johnnie, the gowk in the Brunson nest.
So John learned to talk. Even as a bairn, he told stories and jokes and did tricks to make them laugh. It was the only way he knew to gain their approval.
And sometimes, when Black Rob wielded his sword, or his fists, too quickly, clever John was the one who made peace.
So they sent him away, a gift to amuse young King Jamie. That’s when he knew: all his clever words and funny tricks would never earn his father’s approval. And when he arrived, he discovered a six-year-old king who needed a big brother of his own.
He also found that while a glib tongue might get you out of trouble, it could also get you in—trouble you needed a strong sword to escape. So gradually, he became as his brother’s equal with a blade.
At least, that’s what he told himself as he joined Rob at the table, though to confront his brother with words was little easier than to face his sword. An untrained fighter, clumsy with a blade, could do untold, unintentional damage.
So could a man ignorant of words.
John settled himself across the table. Rob met his eyes, silent, waiting for him to speak.
Perhaps a different argument would sway him. Perhaps he could remove Rob’s dilemma and make the king his only choice. Maybe his brother would be relieved. Even grateful.
‘Have you thought, Rob, about what happens after you hunt down Willie Storwick?’ This was not swapping stolen cattle. Everyone on the Borders did that. Killing like that would continue for generations, kept alive in song. Borderers had a name for it. Blood feud.
‘Scarred Willie should have thought of that before he killed Zander Gilnock.’
‘Of course, Cate could change her mind.’ He leaned back, folding his arms, and shrugged. ‘Women often do. Then you’d be free to send men to the king instead.’
‘So that’s your plan.’
Never try to fool a brother. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You think to seduce her into helping you.’
He battled the vision of Cate, naked beneath him. ‘A woman like that? No.’ Though he had, once, foolishly, thought exactly that. ‘But women are changeable.’
At least, the ones he knew had been.
‘Cate?’ Rob near laughed. ‘You know nothing of her if you think that.’
‘I know something of women.’
Rob leaned forwards. ‘Do you now? Well, you know nothing of the Borders.’
Cate and this country, both unexpected mysteries. But it was no mystery what he must do here. ‘I know enough to do as the king commands.’
Rob studied him, confusion on his brow. ‘The king must have made some pretty promises to turn you into his lackey.’
The king had made no promises, but he had hinted at a wealthy bride and a position in the royal household. Cupbearer or Pursemaster,
