The Heather Moon

by King, Susan

  After a few moments, Armstrong sat up and leaned against the wall. "Damned headcrack," he muttered. "Hurts like the de'il! Where are we, lass?"

  "In an English dungeon—Musgrave's own," she told him. She kept a hand on his shoulder, curling her legs under her as she sat beside him.

  "And about to pay for the crime of stealing my horses," Musgrave said, stepping toward them. "Tell me, Archie! How many were you altogether? My men reported four horses missing from my barn and the lock broken. Yet my men found only two horses and took down just the two of you. You could not have done this with only a girl. Where are the rest?"

  "Rest o' what?" Archie asked, putting a hand to his brow.

  "The rest of my horses," Musgrave said. "You took them."

  "Horses? All I remember is snatching a few leather halters, and here ye accuse me o' stealing horses? What do ye take me for?" Armstrong huffed indignantly.

  "I take you for a horse thief!" Musgrave snapped.

  "We snatched halters," the girl said. "'Tis as he said." Her temper had calmed. She looked up at Musgrave and kept a protective hand on her father's shoulder.

  Musgrave had said the girl was half gypsy. William could see that heritage in her smooth, honey-colored skin and in her thick dark hair. Her pale green eyes were remarkable in contrast. Archie had eyes of a similar color, though ordinary in his broad, handsome face.

  He watched them, intrigued. A bonny young gypsy with an old scoundrel for a father, he thought. Thieves all. But he knew that his father had loved this particular rogue like a brother. He owed it to Allan Scott's memory to do what he could to help Archie Armstrong and his daughter.

  Within a day or so, Musgrave might bribe Armstrong to help the English cause, or he could hang them both. But the Armstrongs did not need to be sucked into the mire of deceit in which William himself had stepped. He frowned, wondering how he could convince Musgrave to release them.

  "Halters!" Musgrave sputtered. "Halters!"

  "Aye, a few leather bridles, three or four sets," Archie said. "'Tis hardly worth the taking doon o' a man and a lass in such a naughty manner as this! But do ye let us go, we'll return them, if indeed they belong to ye. Where did ye put those tethers, lass?"

  "I let them go along the highway," she answered.

  "By 'swounds—" Musgrave raised a fist. "Tell the truth!"

  Archie rubbed his head. "I dinna quite recall what we did this even. After that fine supper we shared, Tamsin, what then? A peaceful game o' cards, as is our habit at eventide? Some music? How did we come by this place, lass?"

  "We went for a ride by moonlight. Just you and me."

  "Aye, 'twas a bonny night for that. Just ye and me."

  "Liars, the both of you!" Musgrave shouted. "You took my horses, you rascal, Archie! And you've done so before!"

  "What?" Archie blinked. "Who are ye, did ye say?"

  "Bastard! You know me as well as I know you! You've plagued me for years!" Musgrave lunged forward. The girl kicked both feet out at Musgrave's thick leg, her ferociousness returned like a burst of flame.

  "Hold!" William reached down and took her by the arms, lifting her to her feet so that he could keep her still, though she tried to shake off his grip. "Jasper, calm yourself."

  "See you, Armstrongs," Musgrave snarled. "I am lately named a deputy to Lord Wharton, the warden of the English Middle March. And this is William Scott of Rookhope, whose name you surely have heard on your side of the Border. You had best tell the truth, or I will see you both hanged. How many horses did you take, who was with you, and where have they gone? Men and horses both."

  "Eh, I took halters, Jasper, though yer men snatched eight sheep from my lands two nights past," Archie growled, struggling to sit straight. "Unhand my daughter! I know ye, William Scott. Rogue's Will, they called ye as a wee lad. Yer father was a fine scoundrel—the Rogue o' Rookhope, and none like he!"

  "But his son favors the English," the girl muttered.

  William was silent, distracted by his effort to hold the tenacious girl, who twisted against his grip. Her head scarcely cleared his shoulder, but she was strong and supple.

  "Keep her in hand, Scott, or I'll have my guards take over the task," Musgrave snapped. "Behave, girl! You and your father were caught reiving in the red hand. You are a half-blood gypsy, and likely even more a thief than your father. I'd beware my fate, if I were you. Archie!" Musgrave looked down at Armstrong. "Think of your daughter, man! Do you want to see her taken by the hangman's rope, too, like your sons?"

  The tension in the small cell was steel-sharp as Armstrong glared at Musgrave. Then he closed his eyes, his cheeks growing more pale. Within a moment, he heaved a sigh.

  "Well," he said. "I do have a crack in my pate. Tamsin, did ye see a horse or two attached to them halters?"

  She stared at her father. "I—I might have."

  "Tamsin and I went for a wee ride by moonlight, and we found a few fine tethers," Archie told Musgrave. "Can we help it if 'twas a horse or two attached to 'em in the dark? Och, ye should watch yer property better, man, if it wanders about at night."

  William kept hold of the girl and turned his head to smother a smile. He remembered that his father had delighted in Armstrong's antics and wit. A quick, unbidden memory, of his father and Archie laughing uproariously, warmed him, made him want to widen his smile. He frowned instead.

  "Well enough," Musgrave snapped. "Well enough, you have had your jest, Archie Armstrong! Spend the night in this dark cell, the two of you, and we shall see how you plead in the morn."

  "I'll note this well, I will," Archie said. "A sore wounded man and a fair young lass, held in a foul pit! I'll send word o' this to the queen o' Scotland!"

  "Your queen is a squalling infant," Musgrave retorted.

  "Aye, well, I'll complain to her mother," Archie grumbled.

  "And her father before her, King James, was never fond of Armstrongs," Musgrave went on. "He hanged a gang of your surname a dozen years ago, and 'tis a pity he did not take you with them! But he's dead now, and the Scottish crown and the queen dowager will show you even less sympathy than you would have had of King James. Complain, man—if you can even pen a word!"

  "My lass can pen well, for I had her tutored," Archie said. "'Tis true King James didna love Armstrongs. When he was scarce more than a lad, he hanged thirty o' my kinsmen, along wi' the greatest scoundrel of them all, my uncle Johnnie Armstrong." Archie paused and shook his head sadly. "But King James loved gypsies well. He gave a safe-conduct, and royal favor too, to Tamsin's grandsire, Johnnie Faw o' Lesser Egypt." He looked at his daughter, who nodded.

  "Damned thieves," Musgrave said. "But I can use a few thieves. Tomorrow I will have an offer for you, Armstrong. You had best accept it, or you and the girl will sing neck psalms before dusk tomorrow." He turned to stomp out of the cell. "Rookhope, come ahead!" he roared from the corridor.

  "I'll question them further and be with you shortly," William called. He turned back, still holding the girl's arm. "Armstrong, listen well to Musgrave. He doesna make jests."

  "Bah," Archie mumbled. "He has naught to say to me but 'beg yer pardon.' I should remind him how many sheep and horses his men have taken from my lands in the past months." He leaned his head against the wall and touched a hand to his brow, which had begun to bleed again through the bandage. "I'll tell him that, when I can think proper-like." He winced and closed his eyes.

  William looked down at the girl, who had ceased to tug against his grip. He had been aware of her warmth and strength all the while the others had been talking. Now he let go of her, half expecting her to snarl at him, shove at him.

  Instead, she tilted her head and looked at him without fear or resentment. "Tell Musgrave that we took only halters, as my father said. Taking horse gear isna a hanging crime. Tell him that, so he will let us go."

  He watched her for a long moment. "I would, if I believed you," he said.

  Chapter 2

  "I think ye maun be my match," she said,
"My match, and something mair..."

  —"Proud Lady Margaret"

  "You dinna believe me?" Tamsin asked, as she looked up at William Scott. Torchlight spilled through the doorway, flickering in a bright halo around his dark hair and his wide, square shoulders. He leaned close, his gaze grim. She leaned slightly back.

  "'Twasna that dark, my lass, and you and your father are not that stupid," he murmured. "Nor am I. Musgrave thinks the pair of you are simple fools, but I see differently."

  She widened her gaze, hoping to feign innocence, but his steady gaze affirmed that he meant what he said. He did not believe her innocence for a moment. Likely those clear blue eyes never overlooked anything, she thought. He was not the least like Jasper Musgrave.

  This man was lean and hard, strikingly handsome, and keenwitted, much the opposite of her father's old enemy. But she had never regarded beauty or intelligence as an outward reflection of good character. She had learned to seek true worth within each person. Otherwise, her own flaws would have persuaded her long ago that she had scant worth herself.

  She could not allow herself to be charmed by William Scott's pleasing outward appearance, nor would she favor him based on his father's character, as her father was likely to do. She had heard of this man through her father, a tale of a lad taken long ago by the Scottish crown to stand as imprisoned pledge for the good behavior of his kinsmen. He may have been friend to a king, but his deeds, so far, told her that he was not to be trusted. And she had to be honest with him now or risk worse trouble.

  "My father delights in annoying Musgrave," she finally admitted. "He and Jasper have been enemies since they were young. Usually my father manages to escape harm. But this time he was caught." And for now, she was left to face it alone, she thought, glancing at her father, who appeared to be asleep.

  "And you with him," William Scott said. He folded his arms, watching her. "What happened? And how is it that Archie rides with his daughter?"

  "I dinna ride with him by custom," she said. "He asked me to come along because he was scarce of able men." She shivered a little, remembering the harrowing moments last night when she and her father had been taken down. "Two nights ago, Musgrave's men snatched eight sheep from our lands. My great-uncle Cuthbert saw the deed and knew the men, but couldna catch them. My father swore to return the favor. But most of his kinsmen and comrades were gone to Kelso, to the market fair, and there was no one to ride with him but Cuthbert and me."

  William nodded. "I sent men and livestock to that fair myself," he said. "Go on. Why would he want to endanger his own daughter? Reiving is no game. 'Tis a serious and risky matter."

  "I am a nimble rider, taught by the Romany—the gypsies—who know horses better than most," she said. "My father knew I could help in the herding of beasts taken in payment for our sheep. So I rode with him and Cuthbert into England, and we were caught."

  "With Musgrave's horses in hand," he said.

  She shrugged and nodded. "We found a few horses pastured on Musgrave's land. My father thought 'twould be a good thing to sell Musgrave's horses at the market fair this week, since Jasper is likely going to sell our sheep there. So we took them. As we came back over the border, we met an ambush."

  "Musgrave's men were waiting for you?" he asked.

  "Aye. We nearly escaped, but my father was struck down and fell from his horse. I turned back to help him, and I was brought down too. They took us here." She looked away. "My uncle got away. At least I hope he did," she murmured.

  "He did," William said. "With the rest of the horses."

  She let out a breath of relief. "They waited for us, I see that now. They knew we would come after them for taking the sheep. Musgrave must have set those horses out to trap us. He doesna leave horses pastured like that at night by habit."

  William nodded his understanding. "This feuding has gone on a long while between your father and Jasper."

  "Since they were lads," she said. "Their fathers fought too, over the land boundaries. But 'tisna a deadly feud, just one of harassment. My father delights in finding ways to annoy Musgrave, but he wouldna truly harm him. There would be no pleasure in that. Jasper will let us go in a day or so. After a rest, they will go after each other again."

  "I wouldna be so certain. Jasper lacks your father's humor. And he is under the scrutiny of his King Henry just now. He may react differently than you think. Step carefully with him."

  She frowned. "Why does a stranger trouble to warn us?"

  "I do not want to see a hanging," he said quietly.

  "Hanging is naught to a rogue like you."

  "You," he said, "are wrong."

  "Besides, Jasper wouldna dare."

  "He would," he said. "This time, I think he would."

  She scowled, feeling wary. "Why should you care?"

  He shifted where he stood, facing the door. The torchlight spilled over his clean profile, his firm jaw, the long, wide column of his throat. "I remember your father, though I was a lad the last time I saw him," he said. His voice was quiet, calm. She watched him, and felt oddly warmed, in that chill, dank place, by the timbre of his voice, the steadiness of his presence. "My father thought well of Archie Armstrong. For the sake of that old loyalty, I offer you what advice I can. Take it or not, as you please."

  "Why should I trust you?" she asked. "You are a comrade of Musgrave, who is English, and my father's enemy."

  "You have no reason to trust me," he said simply, glancing at her. "But you can believe that I want you and your father well out of this matter, where neither of you belong. Tell Archie to say aye to whatever Musgrave suggests to him. Say aye, and he will let you go your way. Else you may both hang."

  Her heart pounded, but she revealed none of her dread. She tipped her head to watch him. "I heard you and Musgrave. I know there is some plan between you. My father will never agree to be part of an English scheme. And Jasper willna hang us. He will let us go in the morn."

  He slid her a glance. "Horse thievery is no light crime, lass. He could hang you both and be within his rights. Or he could keep you here for months, even years. Do not be a fool."

  She frowned at the unbearable thought of lengthy confinement in a cold, dark dungeon. She would sicken in such a place, without her freedom, without the air and the sun. Like a plant plucked from the earth, she would wither and dry up. The thought terrified her.

  "I want to be free." She shrugged to mask how desperately she meant that.

  "Then take freedom no matter the price, when he offers."

  "What will he offer us?"

  "A bribe of some sort. He will ask you to join the English in some cause. Agree to it."

  "What cause?"

  "I cannot guess. Something that matters to him."

  "But not to me! You agreed to help him—I heard you. More rascal than I thought, you! Taking a bribe from that one!"

  "It is not your concern, lass." He leaned close, speaking low. Soft and deep, his voice thrilled through her body as if he had touched her. "Only tell your father to accept the offer and to take the reprieve that comes with it."

  She would not flinch from his steady gaze, or the closeness of his body. Warmth radiated from him, and his breath, wine-sharp, air-soft, drifted over her face. She wanted to show defiance, but she felt an urge to lean toward him, his strength.

  She resisted that, and told herself he was not trustworthy, nor did he care what might happen to a reiver and a gypsy.

  But she remembered what had occurred earlier between them. When he had set her hands free, his blade had cut her, and him as well. And that had set her heart and thoughts into a spin.

  The edge of a knife, a turn of a hand, a moment of shared blood: those were elements of the Romany custom of marriage.

  The realization made her knees weak. She could not think about that now, with his gaze intent upon her. She looked away, knowing she could say nothing of what that meant.

  "Did you hear me, lass? I want you to agree to whatever Musgrave tells yo
u to do."

  Taking a breath, she looked up at him. "Neither my father nor I will agree to help the English."

  "I suspect your father is a thorough rogue," he said. "Once he's free, he'll avoid Musgrave entirely until this matter is done. Tell Archie to agree, but tell him to take no coin, to give Musgrave no true hold over him."

  "Why should I tell my father any of this?"

  "Because, you care more for your father's welfare than for your own," he said in a near-whisper. She closed her eyes, felt the mysterious, sensual power his voice. Her body seemed to melt at the sound. She drew back. "Heed me. Tell him to listen to Jasper. It is more important than you can guess."

  She glanced at her father. "Da, do you hear the man?" she asked. Archie did not move. She frowned, leaned over him. "Da, speak to me. Are you well?"

  Her father mumbled, shook his head. Alarmed, she knelt beside him despite the restraints around her ankles. "Da, what do you need?"

  Archie groaned softly. She touched his head with her folded left hand, snug in its leather glove. More a mitten than a glove, the casing had a pattern of stitches that imitated four fingers held together, concealing her deformity. She dipped her bare hand into the water in the bucket and offered her father a drink.

  He sipped awkwardly, turning his head. The bandage, wet with blood, slipped over his brow. Tamsin attempted to adjust it with one hand, while Archie slid sideways along the wall.

  "Da!" she cried, catching at him.

  "Eh," he mumbled. William dropped to one knee beside her and took her father by the shoulders.

  "Armstrong," he said. "Archie Armstrong."

  Archie grimaced. "Eh... let me sleep...."

  William shoved some straw into a makeshift pillow and helped Archie lie down. He lifted the man's eyelids, slapped at his cheeks gently, and received an irritable response. "He just needs rest. He'll be fine," he told Tamsin.

  Tamsin tugged at Archie's bandage. "I need to tend to this again," she said. "I made poor work of it before." She pulled at the tucked end with her bare fingers.

  "What's wrong with your other hand?" William asked. "Is it hurt? Here, let me do that." He took over the task of loosening the bandage.