To break the tedium of waiting for the expected reinforcements I had called from my holdings and Haliburton, I decided we should have a hunt by bow and stable, especially since I had recently bought a pair of shaggy deerhounds, Hunter and Storm, to breed my own kennel. It would not do to let them get fat and lazy. Besides, the fresh game would be a good break from the dried meat, oats hauled in from Glasgow, and a few cattle we had butchered.
Domhnall had assured James and me that there was a small herd led by a hart of ten they could drive toward us. It was a narrow glen bound on each side by steep hillsides. Behind us, a waterfall rumbled and gurgled into the water that fed Loch Doon. James and I chivvied each other over which of us would bring down the hart. A heart of ten was a great prize. The men would leave that to us. We no doubt would take a few of his does or smaller males for practice and for the pot.
In the distance, Hunter bayed as he drove the herd through the woods. Twoscore of our men were spread out in a large semi-circle, their noise and scent helping to move the herd in the right direction. No doubt smaller game, rabbits, hares, and squirrels would move with them for the men to take mainly with cudgels or bows. We would feast in the camp tonight.
Beneath the small stand of trees in the narrow throat of the glen, James moved his mount so that it would shield him from the oncoming animals' view and looped the reins to a branch. I followed suit. I checked the string of my bow and thrust a couple of arrows arrowhead down into the thick leaf litter to be handy when the game came into sight. Deer tended to pay little attention to horses, and the breeze pushed our scent away from them. Domhnall and two of his scouts stood to the side, behind his mount, ready to chase down any injured deer.
The sound of men and animals smashing through the underbrush and both hounds baying was close. I nocked an arrow and took a few deep breaths, looking over the horse's withers, ready to step out. The deer crashed through the brush into the clearing. In the lead was a big hart, its proud head raised as it looked for danger ahead. My blood rushed in my ears, my heart pounding. I took a breath and another as I stepped from behind my horse and lifted my bow. The tip of my arrow pointed right at the center of his chest. Holding that final breath, I let the arrow fly.
I heard the thwap of James' bow, and they both landed, punched up to the fletching. The great beast leapt into the air and sprinted straight ahead. I jumped to the side as it blindly fled, so close that I felt the breeze of his passing. Domhnall was on his horse to follow. Heart-shot, it would not go far.
James slapped me on the shoulder. “I think my shot was the closest to the heart!”
Grabbing up an arrow to bring down another of the herd now running and circling in terror, I chuckled. “Nae. I am sure it was mine.” The men were hooting and shouting as they killed more for the pot and, of course, some just for the joy of the hunt. My next shot went wide, but I had brought down a young buck and a doe when the men returned with the hart slung over one of their horses.
The proud antlered head hung down. James squatted and looked for the arrows in his chest. He cursed when he saw that his arrow, marked with light gray fletching, was high in the chest.
“It would have brought him down, anyway. You got him in the lung,” I said, trying not to let loose a chortle. My arrow had been to the heart.
He stood up with a sniff. “I shall get the heart shot next time.”
Then I had to laugh. James was good with a bow, but he sometimes jerked just a bit when he loosed his arrow, throwing his aim off. Eventually, I would tell him so. Or mayhap not and the thought made me grin.
* * *
Amongst the gorse and scattered hawthorns, the camp was abuzz, the game being cleaned and hung to rest, but some was being cooked already. A pottage of rabbit with wild onions and barley bubbled over a nearby fire. One of the horse boys was turning the spit where a fat doe was roasting, his eyes fixed on the browning meat as he turned it. Grease sputtered as it dripped and sent up a savory smell. It would take hours for the meat to be done and would have to be constantly turned, but everyone was happy to take a spell at the job. The reward would be well worth it. I sniffed the delicious scent of roasting meat, and my mouth watered. I was sorely tempted to take out my dagger and slice off a piece.
A sentry's horn blew, two short tootles, the signal for friends riding in. They were expected as I had sent for more men, and a scout had returned to report they were a few miles away. I turned and shielded my eyes from the afternoon sun. About a mile away, coming up the riverside trail, was the front of a mounted party just passing a bend into sight. Their armor and spear points gleamed. My Douglas banner and that of Haliburton flapped as they rode, a good two hundred strong. But I was puzzled at who was riding in the lead. It was not John Haliburton of Dirleton whom I'd sent to lead them.
James joined me and we hurried to the edge of the camp to meet them, most of our men trailing after us. Even the food over the fire was abandoned for the moment. In only a little while, the party came clomping and jangling up. Joanna rode at the head and beside her John Haliburton and his wife, Margaret Cameron, a bonny lass of only eighteen.
I took a step toward them, holding up a hand in greeting. “Hail! Sir John.” I sketched a bow to Margaret, trying to disguise my look of surprise.
A horse boy took hold of my wife's bridle to steady it so she could dismount.
She swung her left leg over the horse's withers, and I took her by the waist to lift her to the ground. She turned to me, her head cocked and a pleased smile. “No greeting for me, my lord?”
“But what are you doing here, Joanna?”
Her smile faded and the look on her face showed what a poor greeting that was. “I… just wanted to see how you lived. In camp, I mean, on my way to Glasgow…”
“Welcome, my lady.” I tipped her head back with my fingers under her chin and kissed her softly on the lips, irritated at myself that I had sounded unwelcoming. “You make a fair sight in our dreary camp.”
She put her hands on my chest and looked searchingly into my face. “You dinnae mind then?”
“Nae.” I bent my head close to her ear. “I have missed you sorely.” All around was a to-do of dismounting, exclaimed greetings, back slapping, and laughter while the horses were led away and sumpters unloaded from supplies. I kept an arm around her shoulder as we turned toward the camp.
Sir John assured me that a score of his men would escort the ladies to Glasgow and home again.
“The ladies are in time for a fine feast, though nae an elegant one.” I pointed toward the roasting venison and looked down at Joanna on my arm. “We had a fine hunt, and you shall share the bounty and tell me about what takes you to Glasgow.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “Someone had better turn that on the spit. Dinnae you men ken better than to let your food burn?”
I shouted over my shoulder for someone to tend to the food, or they would go without their supper.
We strolled through the camp with James as she looked it over. There was a great deal of bowing and hat doffing, but from the beaming looks, the men agreed that she was a fair sight for the camp. She greeted any of the men she knew as we walked. One thing I did not tolerate was camp followers. A man wanted a woman, but that was for town, so the sight of soft faces was a pleasant change for them as well.
One of the lads hurried to kneel and offer her a sliver of steaming hot venison on a bannock for a trencher. I picked it up and held it to her lips so she did not soil her fingers. When she had swallowed it, she smiled at the lad and said it was delicious which made him beam.
We spread cloaks to sit on a spread of purple heather as the camp teemed with activity. Margaret chattered her excitement at shopping in Glasgow after she and Joanna inspected the progress at Bothwell Castle.
“Aye, I want to hear the maister mason's thoughts for the solar and bedchamber.” She cast me a smiling look from under her lashes. “Even in a mighty castle, the lord and lady may have some comforts.”
I could not help the twitch of my mouth, and from Joanna's amused look, she guessed I was thinking of my plan to have the garderobes in a separate tower.
Our men kicked out the smaller fires so we would have room for a table, and others pulled up some cut logs for a rough bench in the shade of a big old oak. The ladies changed from their riding clothes in the privacy of my tent. The sun sank low enough that shadows to throw from oaks and hawthorns around the camp, and a breeze off the loch cooled the heat of the day. Our men pulled rough-hewed boards together and set up a table. The men would sit on the ground, but plentiful food made that no hardship. A keg of ale just unloaded sat on the small table for my closest companions. Wine would not been drinkable after bumping along on in a sumpter's pack.
In the distance, a warbler began its liquid cascade of notes. Joanna was warm and alive, her luxuriant curves draped in fine green and yellow linen kirtle and overdress, her auburn hair escaping her silver snood and curling on the back of her neck. I led them down from the hill, keeping Joanna close as I took her to the head of the table. Our marriage had not been a love match, but my feelings for her were tender. I needed to do better to show that I treasured her and meant to do so. She never took her eyes from my face and asked how long I thought the fighting in Galloway would last.
I took a sip of ale. “Sometimes I fear, but I hope to be home at least part of the time.”
The men were noisily enjoying our rough feast. One began playing a pipe and Ninian sang in a sweet voice:
The Gowans are gay my jo,
The Gowans are gay,
They make me wake when I should sleep
The first morning of May.
About the fields as I did passe,
the Gowans are gay,
I chanced to meet a proper Lass
The first morning of May.
Right bussie was that bonnie maid,
The gowans are gay,
And I thereafter to her side
The first morning of May.
O Lady fair, what do you here,
The gowans are gay,
Gathering the Dew, what needs you spear
The first morning of May.
The ballad ended to cheers. The women laughed and clapped.
Lady Margaret leaned forward, looking past James, and said, “Someone told me that you grew up in the King's household, Sir Archibald. I didnae ken that.”
I thought about it for a moment. My youth was a long, complicated, and not always a happy story, but I shrugged. Why not? “I wouldn't say I grew up there. I was a page in his court when he was in France until I was ten years old.” I cut a piece of venison and put it on Joanna's trencher. “Then I returned to Scotland.”
“In Liddesdale's household,” James put in.
“I was his squire. You have the right of it there.” I tilted my cup one way and then another, looking into the liquid. “I was with him when he took Perth and Edinburgh Castle.” I paused.
“I had forgotten that, Archie.” Sir John leaned forward to give me a considering look.
The story of Liddesdale's death was a bad one for which I shared some of the guilt, and not something to discuss at the table. Still, my life as Liddesdale's squire had been a good one—until things went so very wrong. I would skip over that part. “After a time, I was knighted by the king and served my cousin, the earl, until his grace's return. And now I am the king's man.” I raised my cup. “To King David!”
Everyone raised their cups to join in the toast.
“Things of more interest than who I served as squire have happened since.” I chuckled. “Though after we take care of Galloway, mayhap there will be time for reminiscing about our childhoods.”
“Or we may be busy with—” Joanna tilted her head with an inviting smile. “—other things.”
Chuckling, Sir John took his wife’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “As one may hope.” The lass blushed but smiled. In great good cheer, we continued at the table until, at last, the keg of ale was emptied, the venison nothing but bones, and the summer sky darkening to pewter gray with a rim of gold in the west. It would be hours yet before the evening grew dark.
“My lord,” Joanna said, “I'm too restless to retire yet. What we will find at Bothwell and what to purchase in Glasgow chases in my head like mice. If you permit, I'll walk for a while.”
“Not alone.” I rose from my place and gave her my hand to rise.
“Will you accompany me then,” there was a smile in her voice, “or are you weary from the hunt?”
“Too weary to accompany you? Never.”
“A fine night for a stroll, Archie,” James said, “and the trail should be quiet…and safe.” He hid his grin behind his cup of ale as he drained it.
Joanna stood still while I put her cloak around her shoulders and rested her hand on my arm.
“Dinnae fash yourself.” I checked my dagger in its sheath. We had ample sentries out, but I never went unarmed, but I winked at James. “Dinnae wait up for us.” I rested my hand on hers as we strolled beneath the stand of towering oaks. Blown leaves and acorns littered the ground, a soft carpet under our feet.
“There cannae be English about to worry James, can there?”
“He was just reminding me that our sentries are nae on the path.” I touched the back of her neck. “So we can be private.”
She made a little sound as I stroked a free strand of her hair. “Good.”
Then I closed my mouth over hers, trying not to go too fast, half convinced she would protest that we were not private enough, not that she would consider refusing me. But she was a modest woman, no wanton. Instead, Joanna slid her arms around me, pressing her body close. I shut my eyes, lost in the moment. I trailed kisses down the curve of her neck and breathed in the scent of roses.
Joanna rested her head on my shoulder as we walked. I kept my arm around her waist as we strolled down the incline and felt her hip brush mine. When she looked up at me, she looked pleased with herself, smiling as a woman does when she knows she is desired. All I could do was smile back but had to watch our steps until we reached the edge of the water, willow branches draped like curtains and the splash as water tumbled over the rocks of the waterfall into a billow of foam at its base.
I parted some leafy drooping branches, and Joanna slipped past into the shade within the willow's shelter. The sway of her hips was fascinating as I followed.
The bower was fragrant with the willows' minty scent, the ground softly carpeted with leaves. Joanna stepped out of her shoes and drew back a branch to look at the reflection of the sunset on the water. Unbuckling my belt, I dropped it on the ground. Next came my surcoat—undone, off. I put my hands on Joanna's shoulders and kissed the back of her neck, pressing my lips to a fragrant, curling tendril. I tightened my grip.
“Would it be weak if a man decided that he…” I stumbled over my words, trying to think of the right ones. “If he cared deeply for his wife?”
Joanna turned in my arms and kissed me fiercely, and everything else I had thought to say dissolved into mist.
* * *
“I kept thinking you would come home soon.” Joanna curled against me, her cheek pressed against my bare chest. “But you never did. Only sent word for our men to join you.”
“I thought of it. But the more I am here, the sooner Galloway is conquered.”
“I thought mayhap you were disappointed.”
My hand was thrust into the mass of Joanna's hair, fingertips stroking her scalp. She shivered. “Disappointed about what?”
“That I am nae yet with child.”
I blew a dismissive sound through my lips. “We have years for that.”
“Tell me the truth, Archie.” She raised herself on one elbow. “You are nae worried? Your leman fell pregnant so soon, and I must give you an heir,”
“You worry too much, lass.” I stroked the soft skin of her neck and shoulders. “You are young and doing what we need to make children together will be my greatest pleasure.”
Joanna sighed, rolling half on top of me. And provoked such a strong response in me I rolled her over onto her back and lifted myself on my hands to smile down at her.
In a breathless voice, she said, “Why the smile?”
Without bothering to answer, I let my hands roam, caressing her curves until she squirmed with a giggle. Then she was rubbing against me, hungry for more of what we had shared, the pleasure I could give her. I lowered myself upon her, and the rest of the night passed without more words.