The Raven's Moon (24 page)

Rowan's old leather jack was burdensome, too, but the dark green doublet of quilted wool that she wore beneath was warm and comfortable. She moved her stiff shoulder tentatively and flexed her fingers on her horse's reins. Although she had better use of her left arm, she still wore the cloth sling to allow the healing muscles a chance to rest.

As she moved her head, the helmet slid down over her eyes again and she shoved it up in irritation. She was tired of silence and tension. She was tired of fog and mist and this cursed steel helmet. She wanted to be warm and dry and she was hungry.

Though she knew that they rode into the dangerous Debatable Land, she did not know why Rowan had to fetch Alec's son Jamie. She only knew that they were heading for a certain inn, where Rowan was to send word to a man who knew where the child was hidden.

"Are we near the inn yet?" she asked.

"Another two leagues or so."

"And this Lang Will—he lives near there?" The helmet glided down again. She pushed the brim up.

"Aye." He glanced at her. "That bonnet is too big for you."

"'Tis fine," she said stubbornly.

"'Tis your hair," he said, reaching out a hand to lift her helmet's brim. "Soft and long. The padding slides too easily."

His attentions to her helmet, though he did not touch her, sent a little whirlpool of feeling through her. She felt her cheeks flush quickly with warmth. She could never stop that signal.

Tilting her head kept the helmet in place, just, but then the back rim cut into her neck. She swept it off in exasperation, and her braid slipped down over her shoulder. "Why should I wear it?" she asked.

"Because you're supposed to look like a lad. Put it back on." He reached out, took it and placed it back on her head, then tucked her braid under the brim. "You'll dress like a Border rider, with an armored jack and a steel bonnet."

"I wore a doublet, breeks, and cloak to ride the highway. I do not need to dress like a king's jackmen."

"Out here, you do."

"'Tis uncomfortable."

"I will not let a lass ride so openly through the Debatable Land. We'd attract a nasty escort."

She grasped the brim and lifted. "I do not care to wear it."

He shoved the helmet down. "Wear it," he growled, "or cut your hair like a lad's."

Mairi glanced at him sourly and subsided. Rowan rode on in silence.

After the tenderness of the other night, following contentious meetings with him, she felt confused, tossed in a pool of emotions. His cool silence toward her now hurt more than she would have expected.

Were those exquisite kisses merely a dream brought on by liquor? Had that happened at all? But she was sure of it. Felt its truth in every fiber of her body. Why did he not acknowledge that change between them? She had yearned for him that night and since then, craving more of his gentleness and concern for her. She had soaked in his kisses like a flower taking in rain. And she had wanted more.

Heat flamed in her cheeks again as she trained her sight on the muddy road ahead. She reminded herself that she mistrusted Scotts. Remember that, she told herself. But Rowan was different from the others. She could not despise him. Deep inside, she felt a strong need to be near him, to see him smile, know he cared for her—and she did not know what to think now of his cool responses to her.

She was a prisoner, and an annoyance, and nothing else.

He suspected her of complicity with spies, but she could not tell him the whole truth—that she had not stolen the Spanish document from a messenger. She had found it in Iain's loft.

Her belief in her brother's innocence had faltered that day, but she thought perhaps Alec Scott gave him the Spanish letter. She wanted no other explanation. So she had hidden the letter in the Lincraig crypt, thinking her secrets safe.

She should have burned them. Rowan Scott had found them and now believed her as guilty as Iain and Alec, and she could not defend herself or ruin Iain.

The helmet fell over her eyes again, and she shoved it up, muttering a Gaelic curse.

* * *

"The inn is south, beyond those hills," Rowan said after a while. He pointed toward a shawl of mist over low hills.

Mairi was relieved to be distracted from her glum thoughts. "Why is it called the Debatable Land?" she asked. "I thought Scotland and England agreed on their borders."

"They did, for the most part. But this area—about twelve miles tip to tip, and two leagues wide—was disputed for so long that the borderline here has not yet been accepted by both sides."

"Scots and English still fight over the border lines, then?"

"Just here. And they snatch cattle back and forth and burn byres and homes nearly every night in some seasons. Both English and Scots live here in this area, thieves and reivers who have taken refuge in the hills and forests. 'Tis a nest of outlaws and broken men, though a few brave souls still make their homes here as well."

"Truly a dangerous place," she said, glancing around nervously.

"Broken men ride these moors and roads with little fear of wardens trodding after them. Vagabonds are in good number here too. None of the Marches want jurisdiction over this place. Even the law avoids the Debatable Land. So you, my lass,"—he gave her a stern look—"will wear a man's gear and carry weapons, and use them if you must."

She looked with dismay at the gun shoved into the holder at the front of her saddle, and glanced at the long shaft of the Jedburgh ax, with its curved blade and sharp hook, which thrust upward from a saddle loop. "I carried a dagger and a pistol when I rode the Lincraig highway," she said. "But I do not know how to use a lance. I've loaded a pistol, but never shot one."

"Your aim is good enough with the pistol butt," he said wryly. She scowled, but the helmet slipped down to cut her gaze off. Rowan gave a snort that sounded like amusement. "I'd best show you how to fire the gun."

"Now, here?" She pushed back the helmet and glanced around the bleak, foggy moor.

"We cannot stop here, for 'twill be dark soon. But you will need to know how to use the thing. That gun in your saddle loop is a wheel-lock, different than the old matchlock that you use to dent brains."

"This thing would crack pates as well as any, I think," she said, looking at the heavy ball end that thrust up out of the saddle holder. "I did not care to fire the matchlock, and I do not care to shoot this wheel-lock either. I'll just use the ball end if I must. Thank you." She lifted the reins and rode ahead.

Rowan caught up with her. "If something should happen to me while we are out here, you must be able to defend yourself. And I do not want you getting close enough to some scoundrel that you can crack his pate. Fair enough?" He smiled suddenly.

That tilted smile rushed through her heart like sunlight through a window. "Fair enough. Iain would like one of these," she said, touching the handle of the pistol. "He likes weapons and new improvements."

"That one is German made. I bought it as a pair with the one I carry in my saddle when I was deputy in the East March."

"You were a Border officer there?" she asked in surprise.

"For almost a year before I came back here," he said.

"And before that time, you were in an English prison."

"Aye," he said curtly.

"You've been gone from Blackdrummond and the Middle March a long time," she said, riding close beside him.

He looked at a far hillside, where a flock of pale brown sheep grazed. "Nearly three years. Two of those imprisoned."

"How were you appointed a deputy in the East March, then, if you were named a criminal?"

"The English imprisoned me, not the Scots. The Scottish privy council gave me the post after my release."

"Did they think you clean of the English charges?"

He shrugged. "There are few Bordermen willing to take a March post. Even notorious men are given positions."

"What were the charges against you?" she asked.

He did not answer, though a muscle pumped in his cheek. Answer enough in itself, for Mairi sensed his unease, his sense of mistrust, as if the emotion was her own. She remembered that Jennet had mentioned some betrayal of Rowan three years ago.

"I was taken in England and declared foul of crimes I had not done," he said after a moment.

"So what happened to Iain happened to you," she said.

The misty light gave his green eyes clarity when he looked at her. "Perhaps."

"Did your betrayal have to do with Alec?" she asked.

He looked away. "It does not matter now."

"It does," she said. "Tell me."

"I traded and took risks to keep my brother out of trouble. I was not rewarded for my kindness."

"You were taken for something Alec did?"

He shrugged. "It is a complicated tale."

"Tell me."

He opened his mouth, then shut it and shook his head.

Mairi caught her breath. "When I swore that Iain did not do this crime, and when I asked for your help, you refused. But a similar trick was done to you."

He rode onward, silent.

"Why did you refuse to help me?" she asked.

"I cannot just take your word on Iain's innocence."

"My word is as good as your own!"

"Who knows the truth? Neither of us, perhaps," he said. "And a Spanish paper says you know more than you admit."

"What does that matter, if you feel in your heart and your gut that I tell you the truth?" She reached out to touch his arm. "You do sense my innocence, and my brother's as well," she added quickly, feeling a wash of truth there.

He shrugged, a casual gesture. "It does not matter what I feel," he said, his voice cool. "There are other matters at risk here. I cannot simply take your word."

She took her hand away. "What else is at risk beyond my brother's life?"

His silence was as impenetrable as steel. Then a muscle quirked in his jaw.

"My own life," he said.

If lightning existed within the soul, it flashed in his eyes as he looked at her. She felt frightened, as if the doom that cast its pall over his life now threatened her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, almost meekly.

"Elizabeth of England wants my head for a pikestaff decoration. Her advisers suspect that I took Spanish booty that came off of a ship that wrecked on the Scottish coast a few months ago."

She frowned. "Did you take it?"

He huffed impatiently. "I did not. But I'll find the missing gold and the spies who took it, or forfeit my life. The English will come hunting me unless the spies are found soon."

"Why would the English suspect you?"

"Because they think me a rogue and a thief. And because my brother is linked to these spies. Yours too, after all."

She stared at him. The trouble he faced was as deep as Iain's, but he had not mentioned it until now. "I did not know, Rowan. I am sorry."

"Listen, lass," he said, his voice gentle. "This matter is my own, and none o' yours."

"'Tis mine," she said. "You know 'tis."

He looked around. "We should hurry. There will be rain soon, by the look of the clouds over those hills."

"What will you do?" she asked.

"Now? Ride faster."

"I mean what will you do about this threat over your head?"

"I will find the spies, lass," he said softly.

She was afraid to think what might happen if he learned that the Spanish document had been in Iain's own house. "Will you find Alec before we leave the Debatable Land? Anna and Jock say he is here somewhere."

"I do not know." His mouth was tight with anger.

"Alec's son," she said suddenly. "Why do we fetch him?"

"The child is in danger. Alec sent word to Jock that the English are searching for Jamie in order to flush Alec out of hiding."

"They mean to take the child as a hostage?"

"Aye. But the English cannot be trusted to give Jamie back to his kin, even if Alec surrenders."

"I thought you were obligated to capture your brother."

"The council wants that, if I can find him. But I do not want to haul you and the bairn through this bad territory longer than necessary. I will come back for him."

Mairi was silent, wondering what had happened between Rowan and his brother to create the cold bitterness she sensed.

She sat straighter, seeing a flash of light in the vague gray aspect of the hills. "Rowan! Look there. Are those warning beacons? Does the reiving start even before dark here?"

Scattered over the hills, lights flared through the mist like haloed stars. As Mairi watched, three more flashed on a hill, and more flared in the distance.

"Ah! I had forgotten the day—All Hallows' Eve. Those are torches, lit in every yard to give thanks to the good spirits for the harvest and the beasts, and to keep the demons away this night."

"We do that too, in the Highlands, lighting bonfires at every yard and castle. Let the fire keep evil spirits away, but what protects the people from reivers here?"