Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] Read Online Free PDF

stop it all.
    “Poor laddie,” Amalie murmured beside her.
    Glancing at her, Meg saw that her sister had squeezed her eyes shut.
    Wat stared at the dangling noose, determined not to give Murray the satisfaction of seeing him react. He was definitely having second thoughts, but he would not let his kinsmen down by showing fear or behaving badly. Many Scotts had died before their time, and most had died bravely. He’d got himself into the mess. He would not disgrace his family by weeping about it.
    His peripheral vision was excellent, and he had seen the women enter the yard behind Murray. Their presence gave him even more incentive to remain stoic.
    The minutes crept by. He fixed his gaze on the rope until it stopped swinging.
    Thanks to the high curtain wall that protected Elishaw, no breeze touched the yard, and no person in it made a sound. For once, the sky was blue without mist or fog, and the sun shone brightly. The day a man was to die ought to look sadder.
    He heard the keep’s postern door open behind him, followed by sounds of shuffling feet and, moments later, by a hastily stifled feminine gasp.
    Curiosity having been a besetting sin since childhood, he turned to face his men. At first, he saw only Tammy and Gib, because as tall and broad as Tam was, and as thick through the torso as Gib was, they made a human wall, concealing those who followed. Then he saw Dod Elliot behind Gib, and Snirk Rabbie of Coldheugh beside Dod, with Snirk’s brother Jeb on their heels.
    Another of Murray’s men-at-arms followed them, and—
    Wat stifled a gasp of his own, as much of anger as dismay, at the sight—now clear—of the wiry, redheaded laddie walking stiffly beside the guard. The top of the boy’s head was no higher than the man’s elbow.
    Wee Sym Elliot had no business to be there, but Wat needed no explanation of his presence. The lad had formed the unfortunate habit of following his brother Dod and Dod’s friends whenever he could get away with it. Having been sternly ordered to stay at home the previous day, and thus denied a jaunt to the Langholm races, the lad had clearly managed to follow them on the raid instead.
    Hearing murmurs from the Murrays, he looked that way next.
    Her ladyship was speaking to her husband, giving Wat to hope fervently that she was urging Murray to spare Sym. Surely, the man could not be so cruel as to hang a lad of no more than eleven summers in front of his daughters.
    Another, bleaker thought followed. What sort of man allowed his maiden daughters to watch multiple hangings? For that matter, what sort of mother and daughters would agree to bear witness to such a grim spectacle?
    Having asked himself these questions, it was with slightly less surprise than otherwise that he heard Murray say curtly, “Hang the youngest one first.”
    The lady Margaret cried out but clapped a hand to her mouth when her mother shot her a look of strong disapproval. The younger lass had both hands pressed to her own face, covering her eyes and her mouth.
    Wat turned as the guard gripped Sym’s left shoulder and shoved him toward the tree, but Sym avoided Wat’s eye, looking straight ahead. His lower lip quivered, but otherwise, he gave no sign of fear. Wat knew he ought to be proud of the lad, but he wanted only to thrash him soundly and send him home to safety.
    He had to say something, to try to prevent such a travesty.
    To his astonishment, Murray said, “I’ll give ye one last chance, reiver, and to prove what a charitable fellow I am, I’ll even dower my lass. Ye can take back a half-dozen o’ your beasts if ye can identify them accurately as your own. I’ll even throw in a bull so ye can breed them. So now, will it be the priest or a coffin?”
    Wat felt a stirring of relief but chose his words carefully, saying, “I’ve little stomach for it, but if I agree to your proposition, what will become of my men?”
    “I’ll hang them, o’ course. Nae other amongst them be suitable to wed