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the worst.
    Ian asked, "What will I do with the prisoners, milord?"
    Paris reflected for a moment, then he curbed his murderous thoughts. "Spare them," he finally snapped, "we can hold them for ransom."
    When they got back to the castle, Paris decided that one good thing about having a lot of women around, they came in damned handy for nursing. Damascus and Shannon stripped Troy gently and began to wash his wound. He had lost a fearful amount of blood from the hole in his side.
    Venetia asked Paris, "Was it the bloody Gordons?"
    "Aye." He nodded grimly as he sterilized his knife blade in the fire. "Get some whisky into him," he directed Venetia.
    "He's near unconscious," she offered.
    "He'll rise up quick enough when I put this to his wound," Paris assured her.
    "You should burn every damned crop in every village on Gordon land," shouted Alexandria, her freckles standing out sharply in her pale face.
    "Burn the bloody Gordons— to hell with their hayricks!" spat Shannon, tossing her hair back angrily.
    Paris gave her a look that made her shut her mouth. Paris clenched his jaw and set the blade to his brother's wound. Troy arched up and screamed wildly, then lapsed into unconsciousness. When Paris cauterized it a second time, a great spasm shook the wounded man as every muscle tautened but, thankfully, he did not scream again.
    Paris gazed down at his brother's colorless lips. "They will rue this night's work," he vowed.
    "Why do the Gordons plague us?" asked Alexandria.
    Shannon jerked her thumb. "That one upstairs started the bad blood between us."
    Paris muttered, "I should cut her in slices and send the bitch back."
    Shannon said, "They wouldn't have her!"
    Paris laughed bitterly. "Nay, the trouble began long before Anne came here. 'Tis John Gordon at the root of this. Him and his bloody father, the Earl of Huntly. Years back, when our father and Huntly were much about the King, James liked to balance the power between his Catholic and Protestant lords and enjoyed playing one off against the other. Huntly tried to implicate Angus in a plot of treason, and Father, being hot-spurred as he was, mounted a raid on their territory up north in the Highlands. Of course, Huntly's past it now, but John Gordon carries on the feud. His lands are far enough away, so he thinks he's safe and acts like the Cock o' the North, but by all that's sacred, I'll show him I'm Cock o' the Borders."
    Damascus lifted her chin and spoke dreamily: "They say Lord John Gordon is so handsome, women go down before him like ninepins."
    Paris closed his eyes and eased his dagger back into its sheath. Was that who Anne had lain with before him? he asked himself for the thousandth time. "If Troy is holding his own tomorrow, I'll ride up to Tantallon and ask Uncle Magnus to let his men join mine."
    "Any of the Borderers would join with you— Douglas or Bothwell," assured Shannon.
    "We will keep it in the family. With my uncle's moss-troopers added to mine, I'll teach them a lesson they will never forget. I want them to know it was Cockburn who did it, not Douglas or Bothwell."
     
    The Gordons's land holdings were vast, spreading out over hundreds of miles up through the Highlands. Some of their castles were thought to be impregnable because of their location in impassable mountain terrain. But Cockburn set about his task with such determined vengeance, he soon proved that even the most formidable strongholds could not withstand his wrath.
    He and his men took refuge in castles owned by other Protestant Border clans. They were continually on the move, edging ever northward, but always systematically, not missing one of the Gordon holdings.
    Rogue Cockburn preferred to attack the castle with its rich supply of food and fodder stored against the winter, rather than the surrounding villages. Stored grain and hay were burned to the ground. Herds were slaughtered to feed his sixty men, and horses were stolen and smuggled back to the Borders. They rode out only in