Liddesdale and Teviot and the swift-flowing Yarrow reflected the sun, day after day, with never a cloud to trouble the blue sky overhead. It was exceptional weather. The secret forests and the lonely hills of the March lands seemed full of peace, although there was little peace in Susan’s tempestuous heart. She felt as if she were waiting for some sort of axe to fall. Yet nothing happened for two weeks. Busy at the mill with the autumn designs, she hadn’t found time to visit the Carse, as she had promised, and the Elliotts seemed determined to keep their distance. She had expected Max or Richard Elliott to come to Yairborough, but they seemed in no great hurry to take possession or to exert their authority in any other way. Fergus, who was busy with his work at the Mains, was also involved in the plans for the Common Riding, where the local horsemen came into their own. The preparatory cantering was already in progress, and none of the original ‘callants’ could have been more keen than the young men competing for the honour of bearing the Hexham Pennant through the streets and byways on the great day.
