Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] Read Online Free Page A

his feet made him clench his teeth against the pain, to prevent any sound his captors might interpret as proof that he suffered. If they meant to hang him, so be it. He would not whimper.
    His feet refused to cooperate with his brain, however. His ankles felt as weak as new-sprouted saplings, and he could not feel his toes. Pain from his feet and ankles radiated into his legs, and his knees felt no steadier than his ankles.
    Although one guard pulled and the other pushed, it still took the combined efforts of both, and his own, to get him up the winding stone stairway and outside to the cobbled bailey. Wat turned his face to the sun, enjoying its warmth but keeping his eyes shut to let them accustom themselves to the harsh glare.
    “Dinna dawdle, man,” the spokesman snapped. “The master awaits ye.”
    “Let him wait,” Wat retorted. “He cannot hang me twice.”
    In response, the two men hauled him forward, making him stumble along as best he could. In this fashion, they dragged him through a doorway, up another, broader stairway, and through an archway into Elishaw’s great hall. He could feel his toes by then, but the fiery pain of that gift was no comfort.
    They shoved him forward with his hands still bound behind him. Although he struggled to remain upright, his feet and balance betrayed him, and he fell heavily to the stone floor. Only with effort did he manage not to strike his head.
    “’Tis right and proper that ye should abase yourself, ye scurrilous rascal!”
    Looking up, Wat saw a thickset man in plain leather breeks and a short black cloak looking down at him with arms akimbo. Having seen Sir Iagan Murray at horse races more than once, he had no trouble recognizing the man as his host.
    Forcing himself awkwardly to sit, he said, “Hello, Murray, you damnable thief. If you mean to hang me, get on with it.”
    “I do want to hang you,” Murray said.
    Feeling at a distinct disadvantage staring up at him as he was, Wat said tartly, “It was my right to regain my livestock and my dogs.”
    “And to whom did ye declare that right, laddie?”
    Glowering, Wat kept silent. He could gain nothing by admitting to the man who had stolen his beasts that more lawful routes did exist for recovering them.
    “As I thought,” Murray said. “Ye and your lads are nowt but common felons, but I’ve the power of the pit and the gallows, just as your father does. Moreover, I’ve my own hanging tree outside in the bailey just waiting for ye.”
    As Wat digested the fact that Murray had recognized him, he heard a lilting female voice, more English than Scot, say, “Forgive me, sir, but that impudent young man should not sit in my presence—or in yours, come to that.”
    Murray grimaced, but the startled look he shot over his shoulder at the high table not only drew Wat’s gaze in that direction but also told him that his host had forgotten about the three ladies who sat there.
    To the two men who had brought him in, Murray said, “Help him stand, lads. And stay by him, for I’ve summat more to say. Sithee, lad, though it goes right against the grain wi’ me, I have a proposition to make ye. If ye find it to your liking—which I doubt—ye might yet miss dangling from me tree.”
    On his feet again, flanked by the two guards, Wat eyed Murray warily. “What is this proposition then, that you mislike it so?”
    “Why, nobbut that ye’ll agree to take my eldest daughter there, the lady Margaret, for your wife.”
    Certain that he must have misunderstood, Wat said, “Wife?”
    “Aye, that’s it,” Murray said, nodding. “Stand up, lass,” he added with an encouraging gesture. “Let Sir Walter have a look at ye.”
    Still stupefied, Wat gaped as one of the women got slowly to her feet.
    His first impression was that her mouth was too big and her body too thin for his taste. Moreover, had he met her in the yard, he’d have taken her for a servant, because her clothing gave no indication of her father’s