The Tweedie Passion Read Online Free PDF Page B

surprising that with all that gallantry,' Mother said caustically, 'nobody got hurt. You did not kill a single one of the attackers and only one of us was in any way injured.'
    'Who was hurt?' Father sounded strangely surprised. Did he think that such a victory could be obtained without blood being spilled? I thought he knew better than that.
    'Young Robert of Whitecleuch,' Mother explained his extensive injuries to the now hushed room, leaving them laughing hard. When Robert walked in the merriment increased, with the children demanding to see his battle wounds and Archie Ferguson scowling in embarrassment for his son. I sat in a corner, red faced, wishing that anything had happened except what had actually occurred. I hardly heard Archie's near-casual statement: 'we captured one of them.'
    'You captured one? I did not know that.' Again my father sounded surprised. 'Where is he now?'
    'In the black hole of your keep,' Archie said.
    'Bring him here,' Father ordered. 'I want to see him.'
    The prisoner was little more than a boy. He was about sixteen, straight- backed with a shock of fair hair and an expression of utter disdain as a brace of servants dragged him into the centre of the floor. We watched him with a mixture of amusement and trepidation. Was this an example of the reivers that scared us so much?
    'He doesn't look much does he?' Old Martin said. 'A callant at most. What's your name, boy?'
    'That's my business,' the boy said boldly.
    'That is a brave answer when you are surrounded by men you were so recently inclined to rob,' Old Martin told him and repeated. 'What's your name, boy?'
    The boy pressed his lips together and said nothing.
    'He's harmless,' Father said. When he pointed, firelight caught the heavy ring he wore on his pinkie-finger. 'Put him back in the black hole, or kick him out into the night and let him find his own way back.'
    'Hand me that poker,' Old Martin said. He pressed it deep into the fire. 'When it is hot enough, we will ask you again and this time you will tell us.'
    I had known Old Martin all my life. I knew he had ridden with my father when they were younger; much younger, and I had never seen him cruel before. I stepped forward.
    'No!' I said. 'You can't torture him. He is little more than a child!' I felt the boy's gaze on me as I tried to defend him.
    'There would be no need if he told us his name and where he came from,' Old Martin seemed amused by my outburst. 'Then we will know if it was only a chance raid or if they intended to return.'
    I could see logic in that. 'We need to know your name,' I told the boy. He stared at me through level brown eyes. 'If you don't tell us, that man there,' I pointed to Martin, 'will hurt you sore.'
    'I know,' the boy sounded very calm. 'I still won't tell.'
    'Western marches,' Old Martin said at once. 'His accent gives him away.' He withdrew the poker from the fire, inspected the end and thrust it back in. 'What are you, son? An Armstrong from Liddesdale? A Graham from the Debateable Lands? A Maxwell from Annandale?' He reeled off some of the most notorious riding families from the western marches of the Border, with the boy standing mute.
    'It matters not who he is and where he is from,' Mother took the poker from the fire and clattered it down on the hearth. 'He is a thief and a reiver. We have the power of pit and gallows in our own land. Hang him.'
    'Mother!' I knew of course that we had the power to do virtually as we liked to lawbreakers in the Lethan. The Crown had given the Tweedies that power centuries before but to the best of my knowledge we had never exercised it. Certainly I had never seen anything like that in my time.
    The boy started and looked at Father, who shook his head slowly. 'Let me think about this,' he said.
    'There is nothing to think about,' Mother had made the decision, as she was wont to do. 'He is a thief. Thieves are hanged. So we hang him.' She pushed the boy toward Old Martin. 'Put him back in the Black Hole Martin. We