kitchen maid stole the coins?”
“’Tis no what ye think, m’lady,” a young girl who was cleaning pots in the corner spoke up. “The Humes are stopping everyone on the road between here and the village and taking what they have.”
“I thought the Hume lairds were dead,” Alison said. “My brother told me they were executed for treason.”
“Aye, but the son of one of them is the new Laird of Wedderburn,” the cook said. “Everyone’s talking about him, saying he’s worse than his father and uncle put together.”
“Worse? That is not possible,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper.
There had been terrible rumors, too horrible to believe, about what the Humes had done after the Scottish defeat at the Battle of Flodden. Some claimed they saw the Hume warriors robbing from the bodies of their fellow Scots before leaving the field. The most fantastic rumor was that the king survived the battle and the Humes stole his broken body and hid him away. There were whispers that the king was still alive, albeit senseless. None of the men vying for power wished this particular tale to be true and repeating it was dangerous.
“The new Hume laird braved two hundred royal guards alone,” the cook said, “and succeeded in removing his father’s and uncle’s heads from the Tolbooth in Edinburgh.”
“Alone?” She put her hand to her chest. “Surely he would have been caught.”
“They say the Devil carried him into the city in a black, swirling mist,” the kitchen maid said, her words sending a chill up the back of Alison’s neck. “That’s why no one saw him until the deed was done.”
“They call him the Beast of Wedderburn now,” the cook said.
This evil man, this Beast, was blocking the roads to her castle and threatening her household.
“How much food do we have left?” Her throat felt so tight she could hardly get the question out.
“Not much,” the cook said, shaking his head.
Alison leaned against the kitchen work table to steady herself as she imagined a huge warrior in black armor, with flames where his eyes should be, stalking toward her out of a swirling black mist.
***
My dearest brothers,
David Hume, the new Laird of Wedderburn, has made clear his intention to take Blackadder Castle. For a fortnight, he has blocked the roads leading to the castle.
Alison heard her enemy’s name in the murmurs and whispers of the men in the hall as she sat at the head table writing the message to her brothers. She wondered how it could be that no goods could pass the roads to reach Blackadder Castle, and yet news of Wedderburn’s most recent exploits filled her home. Even in the Borders, where violence and thievery were the rule, this David Hume had quickly become infamous.
I am certain he is preparing to lay siege to the castle and starve us out. Our supplies are already dangerously low. We cannot last long.
I beg you, come quickly.
Your loving sister,
A
Alison folded the parchment, dripped the melted wax, and affixed her personal seal. Her grandfather, the earl, was once imprisoned by the king because a loose-lipped scribe shared the content of a sensitive message. Thanks to that lesson, the earl insisted that all his grandchildren learn to write so they could communicate with each other without incurring that risk.
She stood to address the men who had gathered in the hall for the meager noon meal.
“The Laird of Wedderburn and his men cannot cover every mile around us,” she said, and held out the sealed parchment. “One of ye must slip past the Humes and deliver this message to my brothers.”
The hall went silent. Not one man stepped forward.
Alison swallowed back her panic and pointed to Walter, the large, black-haired warrior who was captain of the guard. When Walter shook his head, she pointed to another.
“Nay,” the second man said. “The Beast of Wedderburn would cut me to pieces and feed me to his dogs.”
Cowards! She would take a