by King, Susan
Silhouetted against the brilliant sky, a single oak tree rose from the crest of the hill opposite Rookhope, its bare limbs twisted in a dense, lacy pattern. Tamsin glanced at William and saw that he focused his gaze on that solitary, magnificent old tree, beneath which his father, Allan Scott, was buried.
"He would be glad to know that there are two new rogues at Rookhope now," she murmured. "Allan and Archie. Both dark-haired and hot-tempered, and, I hear, the image of your father. And you," she added, slipping her arms around his waist.
"Aye," he said softly, nestling her against him. "'Twould make him glad to know that." He kissed the top of her head, and continued to gaze out at the old oak tree.
"Will," she said. "My father may be asking your mother an important question soon. Did you know?"
"I wondered," he said, and she heard the smile in his voice. "He did hint to me that he might be interested in courting some one, and in marrying again, after all these years."
"I think he has always loved your mother a little, since the days when he and Allan Scott were young rogues," she said quietly. "He once told me he was disappointed that she left after your father's death, and married another man."
"Perhaps she wasna ready, in those days, to be with someone who would remind her so much of Allan Scott," he said. "But now she is ready at last. I would be honored to have Archie for my stepfather—since I have him for a good-father already. If he asks her, I think she'll say aye. She blushes like a lass when he looks at her."
Tamsin smiled. "And have you seen the way Perris and Helen look at each other of late? There is a wedding there too, if I am not mistaken."
"Oh, well," he said. "I always expected that. I dinna know why he's waited so long. Helen and Paris loved each other in the legends, after all. 'Tis fate." He rested his chin on her head for a moment. "Tamsin," he said. "I want to show you something." He reached into his unbuttoned doublet and took out a folded bit of parchment.
"What is this?" she asked, taking it.
"I finally opened the box that my mother gave me, which holds my father's things," he said. "I confess, I didna have the heart to look in there until now. But I am accustomed to being a father myself, now, and I thought 'twas time to... visit my father again, in a small way. I didna expect, though, to find that. 'Tis a letter in his own hand."
She did not open it, sensing that his father's writing hand should remain private for him. "What does it say?"
"He wrote the letter a few weeks before his death," he said. "He put down his wishes in writing."
"A will?" she asked in a whisper.
"Nay," he said. "A statement of his desire that his son and heir, William Scott, thirteen years old then, should wed the wee daughter of his close comrade, Archibald Armstrong of Merton Rigg. He wrote, there, that this match was his dearest wish."
Tears started in her eyes. "Oh, Will," she said, tipping her face up to rest her cheek against his. "Oh, Will."
His hand lifted to shape her head, fingers slipping over her braided hair. "You know, Tamsin lass, what that means."
"Aye," she whispered, turning her head for his kiss. "'Twas fate between us all along."
"Aye so," he agreed in a half whisper.
The End
Want more from Susan King?
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followed by excerpts from
THE RAVEN'S WISH
and
THE STONE MAIDEN
Dear Reader,
Two schemes existed in 1543 to abduct the infant Mary, Queen of Scots. The first was the idea of King Henry VIII, who wanted the little queen wed to his son Edward and raised in England. The second plan was linked to James Hamilton, Earl of Arran and Regent of Scotland during Mary's minority, who thought that she should be wedded to his young son. Both plots were in the air just before the queen's scheduled coronation at Stirling Castle, at the age of nine months.
The English scheme ceased to go forward when King Henry's advisors protested. What became of the Scottish plan is unclear, but it is likely that reason prevailed there, also. The Heather Moon is a fanciful version of what might have happened had the plans gone a little further.
In 1553, when Queen Mary Stewart was ten years old and living at the French court, the Scottish Privy Council issued an unusual writ, a renewal of privileges granted to a certain band of "Egip-ciouns," or gypsies, who had previously gained and lost the favor of James V in 1540. Young Queen Mary, in agreement with her mother, who was then regent, along with the approval of the council, extended a safe warrant to a particular gypsy leader and his retinue. It begins: "To oure lovit Johne Fawe, lord and erle of Littel Egipte." The hint of affection in the document appealed to my imagination, and became part of the blend of history and romance in this novel.
The word "gypsy" is first used in sixteenth-century England to describe the wandering groups of "Egipciouns" who came to Britain from Europe by the early sixteenth century. The earliest records, from the fourteenth century onward, describe a wandering people, traveling in wagon caravans, who already exhibited characteristics that might today be considered stereotypical.
Even then, they were skilled with horses and metalsmithing. They danced, juggled, and were known for their music, as well as sleight-of-hand tricks and clever scams. And they were renowned for divination, especially palmistry, phrenology, and tarot cards. Early drawings of gypsy troupes show dark-skinned, handsome people with bright clothing, wrapped turbans, earrings, and other ornaments. Medieval legal documents contain accusations of child-stealing, horse-stealing, general thieving, begging, and vagrancy. In most countries, records indicate persecution, banishment, and strict punishment.
In the past, as now, the gypsies in Britain referred to themselves and their language as Romany. Medieval Europeans believed that they came from Egypt, but modern studies of their language and oral traditions indicate that they probably originated in India in the twelfth or thirteenth centuries, perhaps as Hindu outcasts who were banished. They became itinerant musicians and performers, surviving by their wits and talents.
Little sympathy was accorded them in sixteenth-century England, but Scotland showed more tolerance for them. There, the gypsies obtained royal assistance from the crown. There are records of payment to gypsies for entertainments at the royal Scottish courts. Evidence exists of intermarriage between gypsies and Scots from the sixteenth century onward.
When describing palmistry, card games, and tarocchi cards, I relied on what would have been known and used in the sixteenth century. Treatises on palmistry were widely available at the time. Although the ancient art was understood and widely practiced by gypsies, it was also regarded as a science and used by many European physicians.
Playing cards and tarot cards were immensely popular in the sixteenth century. Tarocchi was primarily a game played for points, and is still popular today. Even in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, there are references to gypsies who told fortunes using tarot cards and regular playing cards (a deck of fewer cards, minus the picture "trumps," as they were called then). The card layout used in this novel was current in medieval times.
As in my books The Raven's Moon and The Raven's Wish, I used verses from old Scottish ballads to introduce many of the chapters in this novel. Other quotes are taken from contemporary documents and literature.
I hope you enjoyed The Heather Moon, and I hope you'll look for my other books (as Susan King, Sarah Gabriel and Susan Fraser King)! Visit me on Facebook (search Susan King and also Word Wenches) and check out my websites at www.susanfraserking.com and www.susankingbooks.com and be sure to visit me and my author friends, the Word Wenches, on our group blog at www.wordwenches.com.
Happy Reading!
Susan
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The Border Rogues Series?
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THE RAVEN'S WISH
The Border Rogues Series
Book One
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THE STONE MAIDEN
The Celtic Nights Series
Book One
Excerpt from
The Raven's Wish
The Border Rogues Series
Book One
by
Susan King
National Bestselling Author
Scotland, the Highlands
Summer, 1563
"Aaarrghh! Missed him, the son of a snake!" Splashing through the water, scrambling over slick rocks, the girl gained steadier footing. Staring intently into the stream, she swore again, and the airy Gaelic oath sounded like a prayer.
Ignoring the raucous chorus of male laughter that floated out from the bank, she shifted her fingers along the stout stick gripped in her hand. A silvery flash teased past her bare legs, and she struck downwards, cursed loudly. Cold water surged over her knees, saturating the hem of the plaid wrapped about her slim hips and slung over her shoulder.
"That fish won't wait for you! Strike faster, cousin!"
"Elspeth! Use your Sight, girl! Find yourself another fish, just as you find the cattle when we go raiding!" More laughter sounded.
Scowling, Elspeth glanced toward the bank. Four young men, her cousins, stood on the slope, two or three guffawing heartily as they watched her efforts. Sunlight brightened the deep blues and greens in their plaids, echoing the colors of the grassy moors and distant hills beyond. A quick, cool breeze lifted and dispersed their laughter.
"Hush," Elspeth called. "Loud as the pests of hell, the lot of you, and scaring the trout too. How can the Frasers boast of their own way of fishing, striking fish with rods, if the Frasers themselves cannot do it proper?"
"Ah! Fraser men can do it proper! Look here, girl!" Ewan, the red-headed cousin standing on the bank, gestured toward the slithery pile of fish that already lay on the turf. He and the others grinned.
Her own laughter bubbled out. "Men? Gillean gòracha."
"Foolish boys, is it?" Magnus said, his blond hair bright in the sun. "Foolish girl, you should be home preparing our supper, and not out here playing with the lads!"
"My cakes would be burned, and I would make a mess of your fine fish," she called back. At this, Ewan, along with her cousins Kenneth and Callum after him, bent forward playfully, clutching at imaginary bellyaches.
"A fine wife she will make for Ruari MacDonald," Ewan said to the others.
"Do not dare say that name," Elspeth snapped. "Huh, Fraser men, is it, and acting like babes," she grumbled. "Now be silent, all of you."
Balancing her club between her hands, she bent forward to scan the shallows. "Ah, there you are, back again, old fish. Flora MacKimmie wants you for her cooking pot, and won't take no for her answer...."
At supper the night before, Flora, the housekeeper at Castle Glenran, had stood to her full height of six feet and fisted her hands on her wide hips, declaring hotly that she was like to die of beef everyday and had to have some fish. Fresh trout it should be, not salted or smoked like the fish the Frasers exported out of Inverness, Flora had added imperiously.
Magnus, the eldest of the Fraser cousins still living in the stronghold of Castle Glenran, had marshaled an early expedition to catch Flora's trout. Fishing was always enjoyed by the cousins—though they did not eat a good deal of fish, which was not considered a hearty enough food for warriors.
Slipping through the water, the elusive fish wended its way closer to Elspeth's legs as she stood still and steady. Like a bloom slowly unfurling, she spread and then lowered her arms as the trout slid through the dappled shallows. Then, instinctively and quickly, she reached into the water and lifted the fat, gasping trout with both hands.
"There, lads!" she called, tossing the fish toward the bank. "Cut your teeth on that!"
Ewan caught the fish easily and flipped it onto the pile. He and the others turned toward her, and bowed low .
Elspeth laughed, seeing them: four Highlanders in wrapped and brooched plaids, bare-chested and bare-legged, long hair in shades of brown, gold and red. Wild, wind-tossed, and wet from a morning's fishing, they bowed as politely as if they were in Queen Mary's court at Edinburgh.
Smiling, wading through the water, Elspeth pushed back the curling strands of coppery hair that slipped from a thick plait. Her cousin Kenneth stepped down into the stream and came toward her, his legs strong, bare shoulders tan, and his long dark hair was partly braided. He grinned at her.
"Well done!" He patted her back vigorously. "That big fish was old and stubborn, and you got him, good as any lad at the task."
"Of course," she said.
"Och, though you grew up a bit wild, you are a fine woman all the same, and a good wife you will be to Ruari MacDonald"—he held up a hand as if to ward off a blow—"if you would but consider it."
"Brave man, to mention that! I gave the MacShimi my refusal, and you know it. But our chief is as stubborn as the rest of you. None of you will listen to me."
"We understand why you refuse, and the MacShimi does too. But as clan chief, he knows the good that could come of such a match."
"Surely no good for me, wed to a MacDonald." That clan were mortal enemies to her kin and clan, and she would not wed one of them—especially Ruari—or live among them.
He looked down as they walked through the stream swirling about their ankles. "Elspeth, there's talk of fire and sword from the crown unless we stop feuding with Clan MacDonald. The queen's council is threatening to send a lawyer here. He would likely demand an end to the feud, with grim consequences if we do not listen. Perhaps we should make our own effort to end it without interference from the crown."
"We could no more cease feuding with the MacDonalds than we could cease breathing," Elspeth said. "Let that dry old lawyer come and spout his rules at us. Some of their Lowland laws mean little here in the Highlands. They have no true power over us. Do they?" she added quietly.
Kenneth shrugged. "We would not be raiding on the MacDonalds near here if you were living among them, eating at their table." His brown eyes glinted as he smiled.
Usually his smile could charm Elspeth any time, but she shook her head. "There has been too much talk of this lately," she said. "Marry that MacDonald, you say, and save the clan from fire and sword. But I will not wed Ruari. The day is cursed that the offer was ever made!"
He regarded her somberly, then turned, sloshing away from her to look for other trout.
Elspeth waded through the shallows, her temper calming as she watched the rippling flow. She had staunchly refused the marriage offer made by the MacDonald chief to the chief of the Frasers a few weeks earlier regarding her. As her cousins had expressed their willingness toward the match, she wondered how much influence her refusal truly held.
She and her cousins had grown and played and learned together since they had been babes. Elspeth and these four in particular, along with several other cousins, had fostered together at Castle Glenran under the guardianship of Lachlann Fraser. One of the few survivors of a notorious battle that had taken so many Fraser men, Lachlann had been a generous, educated laird, admired and beloved by his fosterlings. After his death last year, his son Callum, who stood now on the stream bank with the others, had become the laird of Glenran Castle.
Elspeth had more than eighty cousins, all lads. But these few Glenran cousins, along with her cousin Hugh, the Fraser chief, she loved as deeply as if they were her brothers. She frowned sourly, thinking of her own half-brother, Robert Gordon, who had never shown much interest in her beyond whatever might benefit him. Surely he would approve her marriage to a MacDonald.
Glancing at her cousins, she felt a swell of pride in those four strong, handsome Highland warriors. The Glenran Frasers were part of the legend that had flourished in their childhood. The astonishing number of boys born in the months following the men lost in the battle of Blar-na-Léine had become the core of that legend, a testament to the future of a devastated clan.
Elspeth had been the only gir
l born that year. Lachlann Fraser had once said that Elspeth had been born as a special gift to Clan Fraser, with her gift of seeing what others could not see. She felt proud to be part of the hope and faith of her clan, proud to be part of the legend.
But now the lads were men, with the responsibilities of men. As the closest kinsmen to the Fraser chief, and as his personal bodyguard, they had to consider the needs of the clan as a whole. Elspeth knew she should follow that lead—but she could not do so if it meant marriage to Ruari MacDonald.
She sighed. But she was a woman, and so her male cousins could decide her fate. Though Highland women had better freedoms than Sasunnach women to the south, her kinsmen could still force her to marry against her will. They could even allow Ruari to abduct her to get the matter done quickly. But she did not want to marry, and leave her cousins and her home.
Sluicing through the water, she gazed at its sparkling surface. "I will never marry Ruari MacDonald," she muttered to herself. "Not so long as the streams run in the Highlands."
The water swirled about her ankles. A shiver rushed through her that had nothing to do with the chill of the stream. This shiver was different: she recognized the inner shudder that often preceded a vision.
She stood still. Subtle but compelling, the gathering power within her deepened her breath. A haze, tinted golden, gave her eyesight an unnatural clarity.
As if some unseen hand turned her head, she looked over her shoulder. Her gaze traveled upward, past the cousins who watched from the bank, and beyond, up the long slope that rose beside the stream. She looked at the top of the hill, crowned with a stand of pale birch trees. Seeing her wide, odd expression, her cousins looked there also.
Silent and swift, two ravens glided above the birches. Elspeth drew in her breath: ravens were a sign of death and misfortune. Then a movement among the trees caught her attention.