Blythe Gifford - Return of the Border Warrior

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, perhaps. ‘There’s no dishonour in serving the sovereign.’

‘Well, I hope you enjoy whatever bauble he gives you,’ Rob scoffed. ‘Your king offers us nothing we cannot get ourselves.’

‘Food in your belly, wool on your back, a stout wall and roof? Aye, all you can grab for yourself. But not the time to enjoy them. Only the king’s peace can give you that.’

Rob blinked and something shifted behind his eyes, as if he glimpsed a different life. John held his breath. Did his brother finally understand?

Then, Rob cast his eyes to the floor above, where, until yesterday, his father had slept in his own bed. ‘Only God can give you that, Johnnie.’ He shook his head. ‘Only God.’

‘And God sends us the king to do his bidding on earth.’ He leaned forwards to grip his brother’s forearm. ‘Help him, Robbie. Help him.’

But the Rob he recognised faced him again. ‘I’ll leave the helping of the bairn king to you, Johnnie. Just don’t think that wearing his wisp of a badge will let you lord it over the rest of us.’

John winced. ‘I’ve never thought that.’

Rob smiled. ‘Have you not?’

John sat back, suddenly wondering. Why else had he returned?

He had ridden home wearing the king’s badge, carrying the king’s word, expecting finally to garner his father’s respect. Or at least his attention.

Instead, he was Johnnie Blunkit again. Or worse. An outlander, no more part of the family than a Storwick.

But John had seen that outland, seen a life beyond these hills. ‘I know what the king plans. Scotland will face England as an equal.’

‘You think he’ll defy his Uncle Henry? He’s the one who’s been stirring the families across the border.’

It was true. The king’s uncle, the English King Henry, eighth by that name, was using the reiving families of England to keep the Scots occupied. ‘Because he has no respect for us.’

‘No. Because he does respect us. He respects our swords.’ Rob leaned forwards. ‘And I mean to be sure we keep that respect.’

John gripped his fists in frustration. ‘It’s been two years since Gilnock’s death. Why is it so important to avenge him now?’

‘Because now, I’m the head man.’

Pride, stubbornness—everything he knew of his brother was in those words.

He felt his voice rise, ready to shout. ‘I need to know why.’

Rob gave a snort. ‘If you’d not abandoned your family these last ten years, you would know.’

‘If my family had not abandoned me, I would care,’ he snapped.

Rob blinked.

John pressed on. ‘Two years and Father didn’t hunt the man down. Didn’t you ever wonder at the reason? Didn’t you ever think he was trying to avoid a blood feud?’

‘And you think to force us to ride where the king bids us instead? The last time we did that, ten thousand Scotsmen lay dead on Flodden Field, along with the foolish king himself. That’s a mistake we won’t be making again.’ Rob pressed his palms flat on the table and rose, done with listening. ‘Your king can wait for Brunson men. We ride after Willie Storwick within a fortnight.’