The Raven's Moon

by Susan King

  "She attacked a man on that road last night and was seen. Caught in the red hand. I would not have believed it, but I had the report from one o' my men. He saw you out there, taking her down."

  "I caught her," Rowan said. "I will say if 'twas in the red hand or not."

  "She's the Lincraig rider we've been after all along." Simon slammed the table with his fist. "By hell! The wench lied to me for weeks.Who's been riding wi' her? Davy Armstrong's kin? Those damned Ferniehurst Kerrs, my own blasted cousins?"

  "She was alone," Rowan said flatly. "I have her for now."

  "And what gives you the authority to imprison her in your tower?" Simon barked.

  "She rode over Jock Scott's land, and comes under the jurisdiction of the laird o' Lincraig. She'll be held at Blackdrummond Tower, where he resides."

  "By hell she will!" Simon shouted. "You and Auld Jock will not take this matter from me wi' your cleverness! Bring her here to sit in Abermuir's dungeon beside her brother!"

  "She is injured and cannot be moved."

  Simon swore loudly and smacked the table again. "I knew the lass was a wildcat. Knew it long ago, when she was betrothed to my nephew."

  "Betrothed?" Rowan asked, startled.

  "To Johnny Kerr o' Cessford," Archie replied. "Sweet-milk Johnny, they called him. Two years ago, he was killed by a Scott o' Branxholm."

  Rowan stared at Archie, stunned. One of his own Scott cousins had killed Mairi's betrothed? He suddenly understood the animosity she had shown at first, and her comments about untrustworthy Scotts. But she never mentioned Sweetmilk directly. Rowan remembered a young man with a fine reputation for clever reiving. The Blackdrummond Scotts had regarded him with a admiration. Rowan had not heard until now that Johnny Kerr was dead. Now a bitter swirl of jealousy formed in him.

  "Still, I've always been fond o' the lass, and this news o' her on the highway sore disappoints me," Simon said. "I like fire in a woman, but this is too much."

  "Females should be meek and soft as the Lord made 'em," Hepburn said. "So men can be hard, hey?" He laughed coarsely. "Bring her here, Scott, and let us interrogate her properly." He grinned, and raised his ale cup to his mouth.

  "She will stay in my custody," Rowan said firmly.

  "I'll look the fool if this word gets out," Simon snapped. "Bring her here, or I'll ride there and take her."

  "Summon her to the next truce meeting." Rowan stared evenly at Simon, feeling tension between them like thick smoke.

  "A truce day summons would be the proper legal action, sir," Archie told Simon.

  "If we'd caught her riding last night, there would hae been Jeddart justice on the Lincraig hill," Hepburn said.

  "Hang first and declare guilt later?" Rowan looked at him with disgust. "You cannot work Jeddart justice on a woman!"

  "Much less the daughter o' the king's lawyer," Archie said.

  "Good God, nae that," Hepburn said.

  "Simon, let Blackdrummond keep her safe for now," Archie said. "What harm? We risk trouble enough with her brother here, and the father who he is."

  Rowan glanced at them sharply. "What do you mean?"

  "Mairi and Iain's father is Duncan Macrae o' Dulsie, a king's lawyer and a Highland laird," Archie answered. "The son of such a laird cannot be hanged in Scotland unless the king himself declares him guilty. Much less the daughter."

  Rowan frowned, remembering that Mairi had mentioned her father briefly. "A king's lawyer could arrange a pardon for his son quick enough," he said.

  "Duncan Macrae is in Denmark. I do not know if the council has sent word to him," Simon said. "But the heavy storms the Lord continues to send us make it impossible for ships to cross to Denmark. There's meaning in cursed storms and freakish weather, month after month." He stared into his ale cup. "Some say it is the end o' the blasted world come upon us."

  Listening, Rowan felt tense as a drawn latchbow. He wanted no more of this conversation or this company. "I had best speak with Iain Macrae now, before we all face our day o' judgment," he said with undisguised sarcasm. He stood. "Do not show me the way. I'll find it myself."

  He strode across the room, boots ringing on the wooden floor, with its thin covering of dry, dirty rushes. Behind him, he heard Simon growl something.

  Moments later, he heard a thumping sound, and turned to see Archie Pringle swinging after him on his crutches.

  "I'll show you the dungeon," Archie said. "I have a key."

  Rowan lifted a brow. "Thank you."

  Archie shrugged. "I'm the senior deputy. I oversee the prisoners here. But Simon will join us. He will not let you speak wi' Macrae alone. Best hurry then," he murmured, as Rowan opened the door and they went through.

  Archie led Rowan down a turnpike stair to the lowest level of the tower, where a smoking torch gave out a rancid yellow light. Two troopers in steel breastplates moved toward them. Beyond the guards, Rowan saw a wooden door trimmed in iron. Archie set a key in the door, swung it open, and stepped aside.

  Rowan entered the tiny room. He was immediately aware of the faint, unpleasant, familiar odors of moldy straw, sweat, and urine. Too familiar.

  He knew what it was to spend day after day, hour after hour in such a hole. He had spent months in a place worse than this before the English had moved him to the warden's house. In that black, stinking cell, he had unfolded a pristine page with shaking fingers to learn that Maggie had married his own brother.

  A small window, a mere chink in the wall, shed gray light on the huddled form of a man on the floor. The man stood, swaying, to face Rowan.

  "Iain Macrae?" Rowan asked.

  Iain nodded. Tall and wide-shouldered, he was lean, with dirty blond hair and whiskers. Scant light fell over his features as he turned his head. Rowan saw that one cheek and eye were bruised and swollen, and his lip was cut and bloodied.

  But the eyes were a distinct silvery gray. He knew the match to those eyes. Mairi had said that Iain was her twin. Rowan saw the proof in their identical, striking eyes.

  "Rowan Scott o' Blackdrummond," he said, stepping closer. "I have some questions to ask you."

  Iain narrowed his eyes. "Alec's brother," he stated flatly.

  "I am. You rode out together one night, a few weeks past."

  "We did." Iain obviously meant to say no more on that subject. Rowan saw the same stubbornness that he had encountered in the man's sister.

  "How did you come by the Spanish gold?"

  "Ask your brother," Iain said. "You'll learn more."

  "Someone must have been involved in the handling of the stuff," Rowan said. "Was it given to you by arrangement? Or did you reive it by chance?"

  "Why should I speak to you, Blackdrummond?" Iain sounded bitter and weary.

  Rowan heard the rapid, heavy scraping of boots out in the corridor just before Simon Kerr entered the tiny cell. "We'll learn all we need to, do you speak or nae, Macrae," the warden said. "Rowan Scott has been sent by the king's own council to find Alec and hang you both. And who better for the task, hey? Many know there's trouble atween Blackdrummond and his brother." Simon smiled slyly. "Rowan Scott has a warrant from the council that will give you into English hands."

  The look Iain gave Rowan was sharp, intelligent, and condemning. "You spent time in the English warden's house, Alec told me. Did they win you to their ways?"

  Rowan felt a muscle pulse in his cheek. "Hardly."

  "Rowan knows your bonny sister," Simon said in an unctuous tone. "Last night he took her down on the road for her crimes and he is holding her prisoner. And he watched your home burn to the ground, did our Blackdrummond."

  Iain took a step toward Rowan. "You damned scoundrel. My sister is no criminal. And what of my wife—our home!"

  "Your sister is a damned thief," Simon interjected. "And she kens well this matter o' spies."

  Iain looked angrily at Rowan. "What of my wife?"

  "She is fine, and at her mother's house wi' Devil's Christie and your child," Rowan said. "Reivers burned the
house. Mairi is at my own tower. She's hurt, but she'll recover."

  Simon leaned forward. "Bonny Mairi was caught in the red hand, riding after travelers on the Lincraig road." He grinned, broad and dark. "And we all can guess what manner o' safety she'll receive at the hands o' the Blackdrummond Scotts."

  Iain fisted his hands. "If she's harmed, Blackdrummond, you'll pay the price in your own blood to Macraes and Frasers."

  "You will not live to see that," Simon said. Iain took a step toward the warden, but stopped. Rowan saw the anger that tensed Iain's body and noted, too, the self-control that stopped him.

  The warden laughed harshly and turned away. "This pup is nearly tamed," he murmured to Rowan as he strolled past. "Just a matter o' days afore I get the whole truth from him. Another solid flaying, and a dry, empty belly—we'll have him." He stepped through the doorway.

  "I'll see you in the great hall now, Blackdrummond. And you too, Pringle!" His voice cut like thunder through the small outer passageway.

  Rowan looked at Iain. "I do not condone the warden's manner o' dealing wi' prisoners. I want you to know that." He turned to go.

  "Wait—you were at my home? You saw my wife?"

  "Aye. Jennet is fine. And your house can be rebuilt."

  Iain hesitated. "And—the bairn?"

  A thought occurred to him, and Rowan frowned. "How long have you been here, man?"

  "Seven, eight weeks. I've lost count. Jennet would have delivered her child by now, but no one here will say—"

  "You have a son," Rowan said quietly.

  Nodding, Iain put a hand over his eyes.

  "I've seen him myself. He's called Robin," Rowan said. "He's a bonny wee lad," he added softly.

  "My thanks," Iain said, his voice hoarse. He turned away.

  The guard motioned, and Rowan left the cell.

  * * *

  "One plow beam cost five shillings last March," Anna said, running her finger along a column of figures. "And six pounds Scots went to iron for a new plow. Some of that iron was used to make a hundred nails to strengthen the yett—Rowan, are you listening?"

  Standing by the window, Rowan nodded, his gaze on a dismal view of gray clouds and drear brown fields. "Go on," he said. "Iron for the plows."

  "Anna, do not read the whole blasted debit and credit list for the past three years," Jock said, seated beside his wife. "We ken well how hard you work to keep the accounts. Just tell him the greater expenses and income so he has a sense o' the matter."

  Anna picked up a page from those spread on the table. "We purchased four young plow oxen at last year's fair. Over thirty pounds Scots, that. I took some money from Lincraig rental accounts, since the plows are shared among many."

  "The price for oxen has gone up," Rowan said. "What's the income in rents from our tenants?"

  Anna ran her finger across one of the pages. "This year is but half collected. Eighty pounds came in last year. A good amount, but your tenants cannot always pay in coin. Some shillings from each at Whitsuntide, and again at Martinmas, and the better part in kind, from grain rent, beasts, cheeses, and such. Last June, the reckoning of animals kept by tenants was low—the reivers did much damage to herd numbers. Many tenants will not be able to pay the half rent due at Martinmas, and that is but two weeks away."

  "Lady Anna," Mairi said from her chair by the hearth, "I am sorry, but this reminds me that I must ask for an extension on Iain's rent due you. The herd is gone—the house—"

  "I would extend any courtesy to you, sweetling, were it still my matter," Anna said gently. "But you must ask Rowan about your brother's rent now."

  "Iain's house came to him through his wife," Jock told Rowan. "He rents the holding through the custom o' kindness, for the deed is in Jennet's mother's name as main occupant, though she does not live there. Iain has always paid his rent promptly. His plan was always to increase his herds, make a better living, and get his family a fine new house. He spoke of more schooling, too—his father wants him to do that."

  "Our father has spoken to Iain about becoming a lawyer, like he is," Mairi said, "so that he can make a good living in the Lowlands and be in good position to take over our parents' lands in the Highlands... when that time comes."

  Rowan nodded thoughtfully, and caught, at the corner of his eye, how closely Mairi watched him. He was keenly aware of her presence all the time, more so than ever. "The custom o' kindness should remain," he said. "The rent Iain paid last Whitsuntide will be sufficient for the year."

  "Oh, thank you!" Mairi murmured. Rowan glanced at her then, could not help it, while his grandmother went on reading from the accounts. He had been reluctant to look at her, fearful that he could scarce keep his feelings—building, growing, still a mystery to him—from showing.

  She sat graceful and beautiful in a carved chair, wearing an old blue gown of Anna's, with a gray shawl over her shoulders. Her injured arm was in a cloth sling. In the week since Rowan had brought her here, she was stronger, for now she was able to reach up with her left hand to brush back an errant lock of glossy dark hair, tresses he wanted to run his fingers through.

  A week, yet hardly a word between them. Rowan had felt a taut awareness each time he saw her. But today he felt more relaxed, the air quiet, altered somehow, as if he had begun to accept the changes in his life—the changes Mairi brought him, which he did not fully comprehend. It deepened his thoughtful mood.

  Anna talked on about debits and charges, the cost of ginger and raisins and good linen cloth, the number of cows calved last spring, the number of milk ewes and rams counted on his land.

  He hardly heard. Mairi's cheeks glowed. Her dark hair was rich and loose about her shoulders. The shawl she wore draped distractingly over the firm contours of her breasts.

  If he were to touch her now, she would be all warmth and cream and silk and tenderness. His fingers would cage the softness of her breasts reverently, until they budded beneath his palms and her body and his flourished with passion.

  Stop, he told himself, annoyed with such useless, even adolescent thoughts. Cool air sliced through the window, and he turned toward it, needing to diminish the insistent sensations that surged through him whenever he was near Mairi. She could turn his body to hard fire, and she did not even know it.

  He felt caught in some spell, and he did not much like that loss of fierce reserve and control. He could not forget those few luscious kisses.

  Neither could he forget her flair for highway assault, or the lingering suspicion that she was a traitor, a liar, a spy, and nothing that he wanted her to be.

  That would be simpler to face than this alarming turn of mind and heart. Months ago, weeks ago, he was convinced that no woman would ever have a firm hold in his life again. He had let Maggie do that, and only hurt and sadness had come of it.

  But his resolve had begun to crumble the day that Mairi Macrae had struck him over the head.

  He knew he should look for the innocence and not the crime until otherwise proven. But he was sure that she knew more than she admitted. And his desire to save his own neck from an English heading ax made him wary.

  Rain spattered on the stone sill. He closed the shutters and latched them, then turned toward Anna, still talking about account pages.

  "...We sold a hundred sheepskins at the last market day for over fifty pounds," Anna said. "Next summer we will have near that amount again, if the lambings go well and the reivers show mercy."

  "You're an able accountant and overseer, Granna. I appreciate all that you've done in my absence. Blackdrummond's ledgers are healthy. I could return you the favor you have done for me."

  "You can," Anna said simply.

  "Aye," Jock said. "'Tis past time to fetch Jamie."

  "You have not forgotten that Alec wants wee Jamie brought to safety, I hope," his grandmother said.

  Rowan sighed and glanced at Mairi, who watched all of them with keen, curious interest. "I know Jamie needs fetching," he said. "I was thinking that Sandie and I could ride
tomorrow."

  "Sandie must bide here," Jock said. "Wi' reiving season on us, he's too necessary here. He keeps watch on our flocks and has a steady hand at the pistol and latchbow."

  "Tales o' your temper scare them away from here," Rowan remarked. "But I am not capable of tending a wee bairn while I ride. Someone must go—Grandsire, perhaps you will ride."

  Anna leaned forward. "His joints would pain him too much for that," she said quickly, and Jock nodded reluctantly.

  "Then I'll find a comrade among our tenants. Nebless Will Scott might go wi' me, or his sons Richie and Andrew."

  "Will's Richie and Black Andrew are fine men," Jock said, nodding. "They once snatched cattle from under Simon Kerr's own nose, I hear, and left a football as a trade." He grinned. "If haystacks had legs, they'd follow Will Scott's lads anywhere on a moonlit night. They can surely snatch a bairnie from the 'Batable Land. Aye, ask them."

  "Snatch a bairnie?" Mairi asked.

  "Will Scott's lads are well known in the 'Batable Land," Anna said. "Every thief south of the Tarras Water would ride with you, hoping to scour beasts from the hillsides with those two. You must go quietlike to fetch Jamie and bring him back quick." She smiled suddenly. "Take Mairi!"

  Mairi straightened in surprise and squeaked a wordless protest.

  Rowan lifted a brow. "Mairi is hurt."

  "Her arm is much stronger. And she will have a fair hand with a bairn." Anna beamed as if delighted. She leaned over to explain the situation to Mairi, who flickered a concerned glance toward Rowan.

  Jock scratched his whiskered chin. "Anna has decided for you, lad."

  "I see that," Rowan said dryly.

  "She's pleased to go with you, Rowan," Anna announced, turning back. Mairi scowled, cheeks pink. She did not look pleased, Rowan thought. She looked as if she wanted to see the laird of Blackdrummond frying over the hearth flames.

  "Anna's decided for Mairi as well," Jock observed. "Och, perhaps 'tis best. Simon Kerr might ride here to fetch Mairi, and she would be gone. Sandie and I could explain that she is your prisoner and you've taken her elsewhere. And we've enough powder and shot to prove the point, needs be."

  "Will's Richie and Black Andrew would be better comrades for this," Rowan pointed out.