Devil's Moon

by Amanda Scott

  Feeling his stomach clench, although he’d not seen the wench in months, Dev gathered his wits and said, “Am I to understand that you’ve made Kerr an offer?”

  “Nay, nay, for you are old enough to make your own arrangements, although I shall be happy to aid in the negotiations. I know Kerr better than you do, after all. I did write, inviting him to bring his wife and Anne for a visit at Beltane. That will give you a chance to get to know the lass and her family better than you do now.”

  Wise enough in the ways of his father to know he had set his mind on Anne Kerr as his good-daughter, Dev said, “I ken fine that you believe any son of yours is worthy to marry any noblewoman in the land, sir. However, it does occur to me that Kerr might have other plans for his daughter.”

  “I keep my ear to the ground for such news, as you must know, lad. I have heard nowt of any such plan, let alone one for that lassie to marry a knight of the realm.”

  “A landless knight, however, and a youngest son,” Dev reminded him.

  “Surely, the King or Douglas…” Ormiston paused, his native intelligence clearly, Dev thought, overcoming such hopeful thinking.

  “I doubt that Jamie Stewart will bestow land on me,” Dev said. “And since Douglas knighted me more or less because he felt obliged to and did not include a promise of land, I expect I’ll be making my own way for some time yet. Where would you have us live?”

  “We’ll discuss that with Kerr, of course,” Ormiston said, recovering his aplomb. “He’ll dower the lass well, I’m sure. How long will Archie Douglas await your return?”

  “Not long,” Dev said. “When I begged leave to come here, he bade me stop at Scott’s Hall on my return to ask Wat to provide additional men for Hermitage.”

  “I see. Then you must ask Archie for leave again at Beltane. I’ve invited the Kerrs to spend a sennight with us. I’m hoping Lucas will visit us then, too.”

  “I think Lucas would be a more eligible husband for the lady Anne than I would.”

  “Lucas has his sights set on someone else, I believe,” Ormiston said. “He has been spending much of his time at Dunbar.”

  Dev raised his eyebrows. “Has he?”

  Ormiston nodded, and they discussed other such matters for a time before Ormiston said abruptly, “I hope you don’t object to Anne Kerr, David. Having received my invitation, Kerr will likely be thinking just as I am.”

  “Which is why I don’t feel as if I can object, sir,” Dev said. “But Anne stirs no warm feelings in me. She is too compliant and demure, as if she has no thoughts of her own. A frown stirs her tears, although I swear I’ve done naught to distress her.”

  “Then you must teach her to behave as you want her to behave.”

  “Is that what you did with Mam?” Dev asked with a slight smile, remembering some lively disagreements.

  Ormiston smiled warmly. “Your mother was different.”

  “I’d like my wife to be different, too, sir. I could go so far as to admit that Anne bores me daft, but I would never be so rude as to say so.”

  “That is wise of you,” Ormiston said with a sardonic look.

  “I have little taste yet for marriage,” Dev said, feeling desperate.

  “You have time yet to get used to the idea.”

  Dev stifled a sigh. Beltane, the first of May festival, was three weeks away.

  Learning that Benjy was in the stable with Tig, “helping the lads,” Robina deduced that both would enjoy themselves for a while longer and went to look for Greenlaw.

  “He and that Jock Cranston and our Sandy went to look at the fold on the Ormiston estate wi’ an eye to keeping them other three sheep awa’ from the one about to drop her lamb, till after we shear ’em,” Ratch told her.

  The estate adjoining Coklaw Mains to the east was called Ormiston. Robina had deduced only after meeting Dev that the estate must have belonged to an earlier Lord Ormiston. When her grandfather acquired Coklaw, the Ormiston estate, another to the north called Orchard, and one near Gledstanes called Hundelshope had all come with it.

  Thinking about Ormiston made her wonder if Dev was home yet or still in Hawick, attending to duties for Douglas. Not that it mattered where he was, she assured herself.

  After the midday meal, she collected Benjy and asked him if he’d like to learn more about his estates from Greenlaw.

  “Aye, sure,” the boy replied. “ ’Tis me duty now, is it no?”

  “Do you want to talk to him about it, or shall I approach him first?”

  “You can tell him,” Benjy said. “But tell him we’ll be busy tomorrow. Dinna forget you’re taking me with you to Sunnyside Hill.”

  “I’ll remember, love.”

  “I’m having wheat sown in that haugh near the river’s curve,” Ormiston said late that afternoon. “Perhaps you’d like to walk down with me and have a look at it.”

  “Aye, sure, sir,” Dev said, hoping that Ormiston did not mean to press him further to marry Anne Kerr. Just the thought of spending his life with her made him queasy. However, a landless man was of little interest to most fathers seeking husbands for their daughters, so Kerr might prove to be an ally, despite his long friendship with Ormiston.

  His mind eased by that hope, Dev turned his attention to the weather, noting that the clouds were thicker than yesterday and more threatening.

  As they walked down toward the river, Ormiston said casually, “I’d like you to ride the bounds with me tomorrow, David. I ken fine that you think you’ll gain nowt from me, but you should know all you can about these estates. The Fates take a strong hand in men’s lives, and third sons have inherited titles.”

  Tuesday morning when Robina went downstairs, she found Benjy at the high table, nearly finished with the remains of what looked like a large repast. She was glad to see it. The boy had neither eaten nor slept well since they had buried Rab.

  “Oh, good, you’re up,” he said. “I told them to bring you some Adam’s ale, and I put sliced beef on your trencher. I was about to send a lass to fetch you.”

  “You’re in a hurry then,” she said. Taking the stool beside his, she picked a roll from the basket in front of them and tore off a piece to butter.

  “I want to go and get back before it rains,” Benjy said. Straightening on his back-stool, he waved for the lad serving the high table to remove his trencher.

  “I looked outside,” Robina said. “The clouds are rather high to rain today.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, watching her take her eating knife from its sheath on her leather girdle to cut her meat. “But clouds can swoop low before one expects them to, Beany. Prithee, eat quickly.”

  “I’ve barely begun,” she said. “Strive for patience, love.”

  “Was Rab patient? Was our father?” Benjy gave her another, more direct look. “Come to that, Beany, are you patient?”

  Her mouth twitched, making him grin.

  “I thought not,” he said, pleased with himself.

  “I do strive to be patient,” Robina said. “And we must both try harder now than ever, love… especially with each other.”

  “Aye, but we’ll walk up the hill straightaway when you finish, though.”

  “Yes, Benjy, but you go fetch a jack first. ’Tis cold out.”

  Agreeing, he ran from the dais, and Tig darted out after him from under the table, leaving Robina to finish her breakfast in peace.

  She had brought her own warm cloak downstairs with her, so she was ready to go when Benjy returned. Not until they emerged onto the timber stairs overlooking the yard and she saw Jock Cranston talking to Sandy did it occur to her to wonder if Jock might try to keep her from taking Benjy with her.

  Deciding to behave again as she normally did, she headed for the main gate with Benjy beside her and Tig cavorting gaily around them.

  Wiry, dark-eyed Shag was at the gate and opened it as they approached. He glanced at Benjy and then looked steadily at Robina but made no comment.

  Thanking him for fixing her bedcha
mber door, she added, “We’re going up Sunnyside Hill to the graveyard, Shag. I expect we’ll be back for the midday meal.”

  “I expect so, too,” Benjy said fervently. “I brought only one apple to share.”

  Shag smiled at him. “Ye should take a fishing pole, Master Benjy. Then ye could catch your dinner from one o’ the burns and cook it over a fire.”

  Benjy gave him a look and said quietly, “Mayhap I will do that another day, but ye should call me ‘laird’ now, Shag.”

  Shag looked at Robina, who returned his look but kept silent.

  “Aye, sir,” Shag said, “if that be what ye prefer.”

  Dev and his father spent the morning together, riding over the estate while his lordship pointed out improvements he had made and discussed his plans for the future. He did not mention Douglas, the Kerrs, wedding plans, or Coklaw, making Dev begin to wonder at such uncharacteristic restraint.

  Since he thought he had made it plain—however tactfully—that marriage was not even on his list of hopes for the near future, he had expected his father to press harder about marrying Anne Kerr as they rode.

  Lord Ormiston usually knew what he wanted, why he wanted it, and how he planned to get it. He was not one to let grass grow under him once he’d made up his mind, either. However, that morning, he had actually, proudly, pointed out how well his grass was growing everywhere that he wanted it to grow.

  As hours passed, and conversation continued on the same tedious lines, Dev began to feel distracted, frustrated, and bored. He understood his father’s desire that all three of his sons know his plans for Ormiston Mains, but the subject failed to interest Dev.

  Having known since he had begun to know anything about the world into which he was born that he would inherit naught from his father beyond mementos in which his elder brothers took no interest, he felt little concern for the family’s estates.

  Accordingly, he was relieved when at last, with their tower in sight, Ormiston abruptly changed the subject. “You mentioned at table yesterday that you had stopped at Coklaw,” he said. “Had you opportunity to judge how things are fixed there? Is John Greenlaw still in charge?”

  “He is,” Dev said. “I also left Jock Cranston and Jem Keith there, because some of the men who took leave after the ambush at Chesters had not yet returned.”

  “ ’Twas a good notion,” Ormiston said. “As isolated as Coklaw is, and as close to the borderline as it lies, it is forever vulnerable to attack and must be well guarded.”

  “Douglas agrees with you. He’s thinking of putting one of his own men in charge there to protect the place against attack or another siege.”

  “Is he?” Ormiston frowned thoughtfully for a long moment but then said only, “No doubt that is the wisest course.”

  Dev felt a strong urge to deny its wisdom. But he realized before he spoke that he could provide no evidence to prove that Archie and Ormiston were mistaken.

  Chapter 4

  Robina waited until the gate shut and they were well away from the wall before she said, “Benjy, I think you must give some thought to what you expect now of our people. A man gains respect not by demanding it but by earning it. If you recall, John Greenlaw and Sandy called Rab ‘Master Rab’ long after Father died.”

  “I was nobbut seven then, but they should ha’ called him ‘laird,’ aye?”

  “Perhaps they should, but it did not trouble Rab when they called him Master Rab, and after a time, they did call him ‘laird.’ ”

  Benjy did not answer, and Tig had run on ahead. They walked in silence for a time and then discussed other things until they reached the graveyard on a grass-covered northeast knoll overlooking the vale below. A simple wooden cross that Sandy had made and stuck into the dirt mound was the only marker for Rab’s grave. They had had no time yet to have a stone carved for him.

  Benjy gazed at the mound of bare earth. “At first it made me sad to come here,” he said. “But now I feel closer to Rab when we do. I wish he were closer to the castle, though, so I could visit him more often.”

  “You might be sorry if Coklaw is besieged again,” she said. “Some raiders destroy nearby graveyards when they attack. You would not want that to happen to Rab’s grave.”

  “Nay, but this is too far. I want to visit him every day.”

  She was about to explain that he could come up as often as he liked but nearly jumped out of her skin when Rab’s voice sounded right behind her:

  “He can’t come here often or alone most of the year, Beany. It’s too far. Also, in winter, I’ll lie under mounds of snow. I’d like to watch him grow, though. What we need is a carved stone or marker near the wall where he can visit me.”

  It was all she could do not to whirl and scold Rab for startling her. Instead, her fruitful imagination converted his suggestion into a more practical idea.

  “Benjy,” she said as they turned toward home after briefly visiting their parents’ graves, “you know my favorite tree—that big oak in the woods?”

  “Aye, sure,” he said. “West o’ the gate, beyond the tower clearing.”

  “I go there whenever I’m angry or sad. As ancient as that tree is, I’m sure that more than one spirit dwells there, because no matter when I go or how I feel, it always makes me feel better. You could visit my tree and talk to Rab there, or—”

  “Could we find a tree that’s only Rab’s?” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

  “That’s a grand idea,” she said. “We’ll find a sapling, dig it up, and replant it where you can see it from your window. Then it would be Rab’s tree forever.”

  “I like hawthorns when they grow into trees and are not just part of the shrubbery,” he said. “Mayhap we could make a hawthorn grow into Rab’s tree.”

  Nodding, she said, “They live a long time, but even if that one dies, we can plant a new one in its place. Then Rab will always know where you expect to visit him.”

  “We’ll do that,” Benjy said with a decisive nod.

  “We both have chores to do this afternoon,” Robina reminded him. “But we can find a site and a good sapling tomorrow morning if you like.”

  He said eagerly, “I know just where it should be. There’s a rise outside the wall, on the side of the clearing where the sun comes up. I can see it from my window, and it lies near where the woods begin again, too, so our hawthorn will be amongst friends.”

  Smiling, Robina said, “You’re a good, thoughtful lad, Benjy. We’ll have a look at that site straightaway, but I’m sure it will do.”

  Benjy seemed pensive as they made their way back down and spoke again only to point out his chosen site.

  When they reached the gate and Shag opened it for them, the boy went to him and, looking up into the older man’s eyes, said, “I been thinking about what I said to ye, earlier, Shag, and I want to apologize. Ye should call me whatever seems fitting to ye, I think.”

  “I thank ’e, sir,” Shag said. He looked at Robina and raised an eyebrow.

  Aware that he was asking if she had told Benjy to apologize, she shook her head.

  Shag smiled then and said, “I’d like to shake your hand, sir.”

  Solemnly, the boy shook hands with him.

  At Ormiston that evening, after Fiona retired, her father and Dev moved to the end of the table nearest the fire to enjoy their excellent claret.

  Men in the lower hall diced or chatted and drank ale, but the dais privacy screens were up. After a time, casually, Ormiston said, “I’ve been thinking about Archie Douglas.”

  Reaching for the jug, Dev said, “Have you, sir?”

  “You did say he might put his own man at Coklaw, did you not?”

  “So he said,” Dev agreed, pouring more wine into his father’s pewter goblet and then into his own. “I mentioned that Greenlaw has proven his ability to keep the castle safe and reminded Archie of the Percy siege years ago.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “That he would think more on the matter before maki
ng a decision.”

  “Then there is still time,” Ormiston said. Leaning nearer, he added, “Sithee, you serve Douglas. You also know Coklaw and its family. And you know Wat Scott, and Wat may support an idea that has occurred to me. I’ve been mulling it over, and the longer I do, the better I like it. You are the right man to take charge there.”

  A startling, even terrifying, vision of himself married to the decorous, ever sensitive Anne Kerr and living at Coklaw with Robina arose in Dev’s imagination so swiftly that he could not stifle a mirthful snort.

  “I see no humor in my suggestion,” Ormiston said dourly.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Dev said dutifully. “But if Archie had had me in mind for the position, he’d have said so. Moreover, I cannot imagine Anne Kerr living at Coklaw.”

  “Agreed,” Ormiston said, his manner still stern. “But I do agree with Archie that in these perilous times, Coklaw must have someone in charge other than its aging steward. We don’t want the Percys seeking again to seize such parts of Teviotdale as they believe are theirs. And, the last thing the Gledstanes will want is a Douglas moving in with them.”

  “Rab did ask me to look after them,” Dev admitted.

  “When was this?” Ormiston demanded. “You’ve told me little about what happened near Chesters.”

  “I don’t like talking about it,” Dev said quietly. “Rab died in my arms, and he knew he was dying. A dozen Percy men ambushed a near dozen of us, attacking us from above with lances. It was damnably close quarters, and we were fighting with axes.” He swallowed hard, staring into his goblet, the images still painfully clear in his mind.

  Ormiston, an experienced warrior himself, kept silent.

  Drawing breath, Dev went on, “Rab saw a chap with a lance aimed at me and, by urging Black Corby between us, he was able to knock the lance up and away. But he was so intent on the lance that he failed to see the dirk in the man’s other hand. The dastard got Rab in the neck, knocking him off his horse and beneath the melee.”