The Raven's Moon (17 page)

"But I am here, Master Warden," Rowan replied easily.

"I trust you bring an order from the council."

So soon, then. Rowan nodded. "A writ from the king's council. It requires your signature on a return statement."

Kerr walked his horse closer and held out his hand. "Give it, then. I have been waiting weeks for word from the council. How did you get past the damned riding thieves that harry travelers along the Lincraig road?"

"I saw nothing," Rowan said with a shrug. It was almost true. He extracted the water-stained letter that Mairi had returned to him and handed it to Kerr. "Got a bit wet but it can be read. The council knows that its messengers have been plagued along this part of the road," he added.

"Cursed tricksters!" Kerr growled. "Never about when I send patrols. They say the haunts o' Lincraig ride this road. But I believe more strongly in wicked thieves looking for the crown's gold," he said as he unfolded the letter. "But my troopers have better things to do than lay in wait for petty robbers. Jesu, this paper is near illegible. Did you use it for a rain bonnet, man?" He read the page, lips moving laboriously. Then he shot Rowan an acidic look. "Why in the name o' Christ has the council sent me a Blackdrummond Scott for a deputy?"

"I suppose they had their reasons," Rowan said mildly.

"I hope you mean to honor those reasons," Simon snapped as he crammed the page into his belt pouch. "Naught I can do about it now. What else d'you have? Give it over. I have been waiting weeks for a damned warrant."

Rowan hesitated as Mairi's plea went through his mind, but he shut his heart to it. The lass was likely as much a spy as her brother.

"Deliver the warrant or suffer for it," Kerr snapped, wiggling his fingers. "I know they sent it with you."

Rowan shot him a narrow look and fished the folded page from the slot in his pouch.Simon grabbed the page and ripped the seal apart, scanning the contents.

"Good," Kerr grunted. "Let the English take the rogue, and hang him next truce day." He slid that page, too, into his pouch.

"I'll need a signed page on the delivery. When is truce day?" Rowan asked.

"I am awaiting word on that meeting. Best be ready to ride tonight, Blackdrummond. We mean to take down a few rascals."

"The Lincraig riders?" he asked quickly.

"Not those pesky rascals. I mean to catch Heckie Elliot and his gang. They've been riding out to rob and burn and squeeze criminal rent from the people in this dale."

"Do you know where they mean to ride tonight?"

"Nay. But we have men throughout the dale who will light signal fires when they see them coming. Heckie and them will have no more black rent from this territory. They've spoiled some of your own tenants, Blackdrummond. You will ride wi' us. Take a band o' troopers toward Lincraig, while the rest of us go another way. We will find that cursed Heckie."

"Fine. I'll take six men. That should be sufficient."

"Hmph. You may know the land and the people here, Blackdrummond, but you have not been about for a while. And my sergeants will be watching you," Simon said. "My own capable deputy is laid up wi' an ill foot. You are a Scott and a scoundrel, but you'll have to do for a deputy—for now."

"I'll ride out tonight, but I have not come here to harass reivers. The council gave me specific orders to interview the spy in your custody. They are waiting for my report."

"Send a footrunner to Edinburgh at your own risk, for the letter may never make it out past Lincraig." Kerr squinted at Rowan. "Blackdrummond you may be, but you've much to learn about your post. First lesson—I am the warden and you are the deputy. So I do not care if you are laird o' the moon. I give the orders here. For now, we head to Abermuir to discuss plans for the trod tonight. We ride out most nights. You'll learn to get your sleep in the day."

"I am well practiced at that," Rowan said flatly.

"Well, now you'll do so to
keep
the March laws and not break them," Simon said, turning his horse to ride off.

* * *

"Who sends a Scott after a Scott? Brother after a brother? Does the council take me for a lackwit?" Simon removed his helmet and tossed it on a chair, then unlatched his belt. "Archie! Where the devil are you!" His thick voice boomed through the great hall at Abermuir.

"I am to investigate the rumors of spies in the Middle March," Rowan said. "And I am to go after Alec Scott myself."

"I read it, though the ink was spoiled. Ride after your own brother? This is some Scott scheme." Simon turned. "Archie!" he bellowed. "Send the lassie wi' ale!"

Rowan removed his helmet and laid it on the table. "I do not care to help my brother or to hunt him," he said. "But the council wants it done."

"Alec Scott is a hard one to find. But if you can find him, best know he'll be hanged by sundown the day he's found. How does that sit wi' you?"

Rowan glanced away. "Do what must be done. I am also to report on this... Iain Macrae." He made the name sound unfamiliar on his lips.

"You'll speak to him when I say you may."

"It is not wise to obstruct the council's orders. I will see Macrae now or very soon." He looked steadily at Simon.

Simon yanked at the buckle on his shoulder. "Archie!" he yelled again. "I'm thirsty, for God's pity!"

"I want to see the items taken from Iain Macrae the night he was arrested," Rowan said.

"I sent a list to the council. If you are in their graces, you have seen the inventory."

"Aye. Fifty pieces of gold, thirty-five silver coins, several lengths of gold chains, a few gewgaws. But I was one of the officials who searched the beach near Berwick after that Spanish ship wrecked there—this stuff may match what has gone missing, so I must examine what you have here."

"Hmph." Simon unlatched another buckle, loosening the steel breast and back pieces he wore. "Nae harm in showing it to you. Archie, by hell, there you are!"

Rowan turned to see a young blond man hobbling along on wooden crutches. Tall and wide-shouldered, the man had one foot wrapped in thick bandages. A girl in a brown dress followed him, carrying a jug and pewter cups.

"Lucy, pour the warden's ale, and some for his guest," the young man said. He smiled at Rowan, who noticed that his nose and eye showed the swelling and bruising of a recent altercation, likely with some reiving rascal or another. "Sir, I am Archibald Pringle, one of the warden's deputies." He held out his hand.

"And I am the other." Rowan shook the offered hand, noting the strong, dry grip. "Rowan Scott of Blackdrummond." Archie nodded, smiled.

"Archie, get me out of this damn back-and-breast," Simon said. Pringle reached out to lift the steel breastpiece to the bench. The warden laid down the back piece and waved a hand toward the girl. "Pour the ale and do not spill it." She did so neatly and gave Simon a cup, and as he took several swallows, she hastened from the room as if eager to leave.

Simon crossed the hall to unlock a wall cupboard built into the far corner. Carrying a large metal box, he hefted that onto the table, then turned a key in the lock and flipped open the lid.

Rowan saw a bright jumble of gold inside. He lifted a heavy golden chain out of the casket, weighing the solid links in his hand. "Spanish make," he said. "I've seen such chains before. Spanish sailors wear them wrapped around their bodies, under their clothing. A life's fortune worn constantly. We found a few on the beach last August."

"Only a few, for all the sailors captured?" Archie asked.

Rowan nodded. "Likely many who wore these drowned from the weight of their chains before they got to shore."

"Papist lackwits," Simon grumbled, and slurped his ale.

Rowan sifted through the contents of the box. Cool, bright bits of gold and silver slid through his fingers. Many of the coins were similar to those he had seen on the Scottish beach.

One of the pieces was not a coin, but a small golden oval engraved with an image. He turned it and recognized the saint's medallion he had found in the sand himself—and stolen off of him at the inn.

How did it come to be here, in this horde of stuff supposedly taken from Alec and Iain? Had Mairi seen this little piece too? He fingered the medallion thoughtfully and set it back in the box, perplexed.

"Well? Satisfied?" Simon asked.

Rowan closed the casket lid. "'Tis indeed Spanish stuff, and some came from the Berwick salvage," he said carefully. "I am sure of it."

"Lucky for you that we are holding one o' the spies here."

"I'd like to talk to the man as soon as possible."

"What is this about?" Archie asked.

"Blackdrummond has been sent by the council to look into this matter o' spies. And to replace you," Simon added.

"Temporarily, I presume," Rowan said.

"You will be the only deputy in this March if Pringle does not heal quick," Simon answered. "He's naught but a secretary now, and a poor one. His handscript is pretty foul." He lifted his cup to gulp more ale.

"You will need to pen a letter to the council stating that you received the warrant," Rowan reminded Simon.

"Archie will see to it. I'll send a pair o' troopers past Lincraig and on to Edinburgh." Simon wiped his hand across his mouth. "Will you let Scott do your duty tonight, Archie, or will you mount and ride wi' us?"

"My foot is not yet healed, sir. Cracked the anklebone in a football match," he added to Rowan. "Broke my nose as well."

"Football?" Rowan asked, surprised.

"A good match that was, too," Simon said. "My troopers had the Scotts and Armstrongs at their mercy. Many a bone was broken that day." He grinned in satisfaction.

"Did your side win the ball?" Rowan asked.

"Aye, and paid well for it," Simon answered. "Next night, some o' my own cattle were snatched. The bastards left a football behind so we'd ken who took the beasts. Damn Scotts," he added, glancing at Rowan.

"My kinsmen hate to lose a match," Rowan said affably.

Simon growled indistinctly and pointed toward his steel breastplate. "Archie, make sure my back-and-breast gets sanded down tomorrow. There's rust on it. And blacken it well wi' soot and sheep fat. You polished it too high last time. I shine like a damned faerie in the moonlight."

"Aye, sir," Archie said. Rowan noticed an amused glint in the deputy's brown eyes. "A warden should not be a beacon for reivers to find."

"Reivers, hey," Simon said. "We ride out at dark. Did you post men on the roof to watch for beacons?" Archie nodded. "And did you send word out to the rotten rascals who petitioned me last week?"

"I sent riders to their towers and houses wi' your promise to find the Lincraig riders before week's end," Archie said.

Rowan looked at Simon. "What's this about?"

"Some Bordermen sent me a petition. They're complaining that the thieves on the Lincraig road are mere purse shifters, giving reiving men an unfair name around the March. Hah! Blast all scoundrels to hell, I say!"

"You swore to find the highway riders before week's end?"

"The reivers want justice. They threaten to ride down these highwaymen themselves, and hang 'em from the nearest tree, March laws be damned." He shifted his bulky shoulders. "Takes a braw man to deal wi' reivers in this March," he muttered. "I hope you are up to the task, Blackdrummond."

"Have no worry, sir," Rowan drawled.

"Sir, you have muckle matters to concern you now," Archie said. "There are other letters from the council and two from the English warden that need to be written and sealed. Perhaps you could send Scott after the highway riders so that you can tend to other matters. The postal riders must go out tomorrow."

Simon belched. "A Scott could handle this task well enough, I suppose, if he is an avowed deputy." He looked at Rowan. "Act as my arm in this matter, and deal out a dose o' the warden's justice to these Lincraig thieves."

"I'll do just that," Rowan murmured.

Chapter 12

"O saddle to me the black, the black,

O saddle to me the brown,

O saddle to me the swiftest steed