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Authors: Helen Susan Swift
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the hour I was handed over to the Armstrongs and here I am, my goose is cooked and the noose awaits its next customer.'
'Unless we can get out of here,' I said.
'That would be the best thing,' Hugh said, 'for I have a score or three to pay off with the Turners.' There was little humour in his voice now, I noted.
'We are under the storehouse of the keep,' I said, 'and there seemed to be a great many Armstrongs in the tower.'
'Which tower are we in?' Hugh asked. 'I was covered by a blanket remember. I saw nothing. Are we in Hollows? Mangerton, Whithaugh, Dryhope, Gilnockie?' He rattled off a list of the towers and strongholds of the Armstrongs.
Unseen in the dark, I shook my head. 'None of these,' I told him. 'We are in a huge area of bogland with the ugliest hills I have ever seen. I think it is Tarras Moss.'
'Tarras.' The name sounded flat even in Hugh's musical voice. 'There are only three exits to Tarras and the Armstrongs know all the byways and hidden routes through the bogs and forests. We are in the very heart of the Armstrong lands here.' He was quiet for only a few moments, 'and I still intend to get out. Will you be coming with me?'
About to say 'of course,' I pondered for a moment. I did not know anything about this man except that he was a Veitch with a sense of humour. I did not even know what he looked like, except that he was as ugly as the hind-quarters of a bull. He was only a voice in the dark, a mysterious stranger called Hugh. Could I trust him? If I remained where I was, surely my father would arrange some sort of ransom that would get me free. No! I shook my head; that would not happen. I would escape here with this ugly man who had such a dislike for black-haired women.
'I will come,' I said. 'On one condition.'
'And what is that condition, pray?' He asked.
'That you do not hold my hair against me,' I said, 'for it is black, and there is a lot of it.'
'I will indeed hold your black hair against you,' he said, 'unless you forgive me my face like the wrong end of a bull.'
'I will forgive you that,' I said. 'We have a fine tupping bull in the Lethan herds.'
'Then we have a bargain,' ugly Hugh said. 'Now all we have to do is work out how to get away.'
'That may not be easy,' I told him.
It was at that moment that we heard the trapdoor above us creak as somebody dragged it open.
Chapter Eight
TARRAS MOSS
SEPTEMBER 1585
Have you ever had one of those moments when ideas just come to you? One minute you are sitting there with a slight smile on your face and your mind dull as a November sky, and the next you know exactly what you want to do. Well, that is what happened. I had no sooner told Hugh that it would be difficult to escape than an entire plan unfolded inside my head.
Grey light from above filtered through the trap, showing the feet and legs of a man as he carefully lowered himself down.
'Hugh,' I whispered urgently. 'Get ready to jump on him!' That was all I had time to say before two of the Armstrongs had negotiated the eight feet or so to the floor of the dungeon.
'Jeannie Tweedie!' The first Armstrong said. He was broad shouldered and tough-looking, with a face marked with earlier smallpox. His companion was older, with a neat little beard.
'I am Jeannie Tweedie,' I said at once.
'Get up,' pox-marked ordered. 'Wild Will wants you.'
'I can't' I said. 'I hurt myself when you pushed me down here. You will have to leave me.'
'Come on, you!' As Pock-marked took a handful of my hair I looked up appealingly. Now I have already told you that I was virginal, but that does not mean that I am totally innocent in the ways of men. It would be impossible to grow up on the Border without seeing the various mating procedures of animals and people, so I had quickly loosened the top of my dress to expose my cleavage and more than a hint of my breasts for the gratification of the Armstrongs. I was well aware that I was playing with fire and the end result could have been disastrous and horribly
'Unless we can get out of here,' I said.
'That would be the best thing,' Hugh said, 'for I have a score or three to pay off with the Turners.' There was little humour in his voice now, I noted.
'We are under the storehouse of the keep,' I said, 'and there seemed to be a great many Armstrongs in the tower.'
'Which tower are we in?' Hugh asked. 'I was covered by a blanket remember. I saw nothing. Are we in Hollows? Mangerton, Whithaugh, Dryhope, Gilnockie?' He rattled off a list of the towers and strongholds of the Armstrongs.
Unseen in the dark, I shook my head. 'None of these,' I told him. 'We are in a huge area of bogland with the ugliest hills I have ever seen. I think it is Tarras Moss.'
'Tarras.' The name sounded flat even in Hugh's musical voice. 'There are only three exits to Tarras and the Armstrongs know all the byways and hidden routes through the bogs and forests. We are in the very heart of the Armstrong lands here.' He was quiet for only a few moments, 'and I still intend to get out. Will you be coming with me?'
About to say 'of course,' I pondered for a moment. I did not know anything about this man except that he was a Veitch with a sense of humour. I did not even know what he looked like, except that he was as ugly as the hind-quarters of a bull. He was only a voice in the dark, a mysterious stranger called Hugh. Could I trust him? If I remained where I was, surely my father would arrange some sort of ransom that would get me free. No! I shook my head; that would not happen. I would escape here with this ugly man who had such a dislike for black-haired women.
'I will come,' I said. 'On one condition.'
'And what is that condition, pray?' He asked.
'That you do not hold my hair against me,' I said, 'for it is black, and there is a lot of it.'
'I will indeed hold your black hair against you,' he said, 'unless you forgive me my face like the wrong end of a bull.'
'I will forgive you that,' I said. 'We have a fine tupping bull in the Lethan herds.'
'Then we have a bargain,' ugly Hugh said. 'Now all we have to do is work out how to get away.'
'That may not be easy,' I told him.
It was at that moment that we heard the trapdoor above us creak as somebody dragged it open.
Chapter Eight
TARRAS MOSS
SEPTEMBER 1585
Have you ever had one of those moments when ideas just come to you? One minute you are sitting there with a slight smile on your face and your mind dull as a November sky, and the next you know exactly what you want to do. Well, that is what happened. I had no sooner told Hugh that it would be difficult to escape than an entire plan unfolded inside my head.
Grey light from above filtered through the trap, showing the feet and legs of a man as he carefully lowered himself down.
'Hugh,' I whispered urgently. 'Get ready to jump on him!' That was all I had time to say before two of the Armstrongs had negotiated the eight feet or so to the floor of the dungeon.
'Jeannie Tweedie!' The first Armstrong said. He was broad shouldered and tough-looking, with a face marked with earlier smallpox. His companion was older, with a neat little beard.
'I am Jeannie Tweedie,' I said at once.
'Get up,' pox-marked ordered. 'Wild Will wants you.'
'I can't' I said. 'I hurt myself when you pushed me down here. You will have to leave me.'
'Come on, you!' As Pock-marked took a handful of my hair I looked up appealingly. Now I have already told you that I was virginal, but that does not mean that I am totally innocent in the ways of men. It would be impossible to grow up on the Border without seeing the various mating procedures of animals and people, so I had quickly loosened the top of my dress to expose my cleavage and more than a hint of my breasts for the gratification of the Armstrongs. I was well aware that I was playing with fire and the end result could have been disastrous and horribly
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