The Raven's Moon (26 page)

Intrigued, she withdrew the wrapping to find a dark stone with a mirrorlike polish, framed in gilded wood. She recalled seeing it once before, when she had searched through Rowan's pouch for the council's warrant. She wondered why he carried such an odd thing with him.

As she tilted it, the slick black surface twinkled, and she glimpsed her reflected face in the curvature. Wide, silvery eyes stared back at her, surrounded by bedraggled hair.

Then, as she watched, the dark surface clouded over, and another face appeared, so familiar that Mairi gasped.

Iain. He looked haggard, one eye bruised and swollen, his lip cut. He looked out a window, and gray light overtook him like a fog. His face vanished as quickly as it had come.

Tears welled in her eyes and she caught back a sob. She touched the cool stone, but saw only her own face, and the yellow candle flame behind her head.

She had seen a vision of Iain in the stone—why? The polished black stone must be like a natural divining surface, like a bowl of water or a blazing hearth. Visions occurred in such ways for those with the Sight, she knew. But she had gazed many times into water and flames, and never had a vision.

But tonight was All Hallows' Eve, when strange things might happen. The beings of the otherworld were said to ride through this world, and visions came more easily.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed the Sight would come again. But when she looked, she saw only her face, tear-filled eyes shining like crystals.

Then her own image faded. A mist formed, swirling through the stone to become a pattern like rain falling at night. A vein of lightning, tiny and white, licked through the stone.

A man appeared, dark-haired, etched in miniature. He rode a dark horse along the crest of a hill. When he turned, a new burst of lightning gave his features brilliant clarity.

Rowan.
Mairi gasped. And then he was gone, as if washed away by the rain. She gasped, gripping the frame with both hands, but saw only her face, frightened and pale.

With trembling fingers, she rewrapped the mirror, thrust it inside the pouch, and crammed it under the pillow.

She drew her knees up, thinking of that vivid image of Rowan in the storm. In the past several weeks, she had forgotten Iain's vision, the one that he had confessed, the one that troubled both of them. Now she remembered her brother's strange premonition from months ago: a man riding through a storm, a Borderman, desperate to find someone—Mairi, Iain had said. The man loved her profoundly, searched for her, but he brought danger.

She had just seen the same vision. And she felt sure that Rowan Scott was the man Iain had seen, too.

Tears slipped down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her knees, rocking. Iain had said the man would search for her in a wild storm—just before Iain's own death.

Rain and wind battered the walls of the inn, just as the truth hit her like a hammer. She tightened into herself, fearful. Rowan Scott must have already delivered the warrant that would seal Iain's death. He indeed brought danger.

She cried then, until her throat hurt, until her head ached as much as her innermost heart. The pain felt like mourning, as if she had already lost Iain—and would lose Rowan, too.

Then she felt a hand press her shoulder.

"Mairi," Rowan said softly. "What is it?" He was there, though she had not heard him enter the room. He sat beside her, the bed creaking. "Mairi—did Tammie—"

"Nay," she said quickly, wiping her eyes. "I'm fine."

His palm traced over her back. "Tell me what 'tis."

She tucked down into her folded arms.

"Oh, lass," he murmured. His arms came around her, warm and strong, and she turned into his embrace. Weakened by crying, she leaned against his chest, where his doublet lay open over the soft folds of his shirt. She inhaled a blend of pine smoke, ale, the scent of Rowan's own skin. Yearning and sadness overtook her.

"Hey, lass," he whispered. "Let me help."

His words broke through to her.
Let me help.
She had wanted to hear just those words from him, but now it was too late. Fresh sobs spilled out of her.

Rowan streamed his fingers through her disheveled hair, caressing, coaxing the sadness out of her and away. After a while she felt empty, peaceful, spent. He murmured something indistinct, his voice deep and patient, his touch comforting.

"Mairi, how can I help?"

"I asked f-for y-your help before," she managed. "B-but you would not give it me."

"Mairi," he sighed.

"I sh-should not have spoken to you again. Ever. I should have run from you."

"Why?" he asked, the word a mere breath.

"Be-because now I—" she stopped and shook her head.
Because now I love you,
she thought. Her own inner words struck her. She caught her breath with the realization.
Because now I love you so, but you will destroy my brother.

But she could not say that aloud. She caught back a sob.

Rowan touched his lips to her temple, his beard prickly against her skin. He smoothed his hand over her back, and shivers cascaded through her. She looped her arms around his neck and held fast.

"Tell me something, lass, if it will help," he murmured.

She shook her head, though this was what she needed—Rowan's arms around her, Rowan's heart beating beside hers. Nothing more, in a perfect world, for there was a rightness to this that glowed deep within her.

But this was no idyllic world. The black mirror had given her a warning that she would heed. She had reason to be wary of Rowan. Instead, in this moment, she melded to him, let the rhythm of his breath set the rhythm of hers.

She pulled away, but he drew her back to settle her against him, her cheek over the steady thud of his heart. Exhausted, she rested there.

"Mairi, if you are upset because I refused to help Iain—"

"That, and you took me down," she said after a moment. "Like a criminal. And you brought Simon the warrant. Iain will die—" She swallowed back a fearful sob.

"I did not mean to hurt you." He whispered in her ear. "I would never do that deliberately." His voice thrummed through her body.

Her breath quickened. She craved his soothing touch, and wished she could let all the rest go. She did not want to feel sadness or think about visions and danger. She wanted only Rowan. "Hold me," she whispered. "Please."

"Oh, God, Mairi," he breathed out. As she tilted her face to look at him, he found her mouth with his own.

As his lips touched hers, she felt as if she plummeted from a great height, as if he caught her safe. He kissed her, soothing and gentle, though her body quivered. She rounded her arms around his back and surrendered, just for now, just this moment.

He cradled her cheeks in his hands and kissed her to breathlessness, his lips fitting sweetly to hers. Sheer, delicious joy flamed in her like a new candle as she arched her head back. His thumbs traced her throat, sending thrills of pleasure through her body.

Heart pounding, she skimmed her fingers over his face, feeling the rough texture of his beard, the lean frame of his jaw, the warm carving of his ear. She felt the stiff buckram neck of his doublet and splayed her fingers over his strong throat, where the shirt folds parted, so that she touched warm, bare skin and sensed the pulsing of his heart.

He breathed a muted groan and lifted his mouth from hers, tracing over her cheeks in small, exquisite kisses, soft as a butterfly on a flower. Mairi moaned and found his lips again.

She opened her mouth to his, felt the soft tip of his tongue as it gentled against hers. A plunging heat spun in her as she pressed closer, a hand bracing on his chest, the other lifting to his hair, cool and thick as heavy silk under her fingers.

He shifted her to the bed and stretched out beside her, and she turned, fitting her body to his, feeling his low, breathy groan against her lips. As he kissed her jaw, her arched throat, she sighed, streaming her fingers through his hair, arching against him, wanting, needing more.

Now the fierceness of his kiss took her her breath away, and as his hand moved, palm resting on her breast, she drew in a quick inhale. His warm hand floated over the loose cloth of her shirt to trace down, alluring, over her abdomen, drawing out a fluttering, deepening ache within her.

She sighed in his arms, seeking his lips again, warm and pliant and insistent over hers. His tracing hand circled her ribs under her breast and his long fingers slipped upward to knead one breast, then the other, exquisitely. Mairi pushed her hips instinctively against him and he braced her back with his other hand, holding her close so that she could feel his heated, pulsing hardness against her.

Her knees trembled like flowing water as she kissed him again, renewing that blissful touch of lips and breath over and over. She let him touch her, though she knew this should stop. He was aware as well, for a pause preceded each new touch and taste, just long enough for his silent question, and she was complicit in the answer.
Anything,
she told him with her lips and arching body—
anything in this moment is yours.

She did not want to think—she just wanted to feel the texture and warmth of his hands on her skin, wanted to taste the moist, hot sweetness of his mouth on hers, wanted to cleave her body deeply to his, sink into a luscious pool of sensation.

Then she heard a mumble and a snort from the other bed, and she started as if ice water chilled her. She lay still, hands on Rowan's chest. His heartbeat pounded beneath her fingers, echoing her own. She let out a shaky breath.

In the other bed, a few feet away, Dickie snored steadily on, but Tammie muttered something and shifted restlessly.

Rowan touched her shoulder and raised his head. She heard him sigh, long and low. Then he lightly kissed her mouth and sat up and away from her. She leaned up on her stronger elbow.

Rowan sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. An ordinary gesture that he did often—but now it tapped a well of yearning in her. She touched his arm.

He put his hand over hers. "Mairi—my pardon. 'Twas thoughtless, that."

"Hush you," she said huskily. "Hush. I wanted it."

"Did you, lass?" His voice, low and sensual, held warmth and fondness and something more.

"I did, Rowan," she whispered. "I do."

He bent to kiss her again, light and soft. "You were muckle upset wi' something when I first came in here," he whispered, sounding amused. "I pray 'twas not me."

"I was, and I may still be, when I gain my reason back, wherever it's gone."

"May it stay well away, then. What's that?" He stood just as a light tap sounded at the door.

"Aye, what?" Rowan called softly.

"Sir, I'm the runner," a light voice said.

"God, the runner," Rowan muttered. "I nearly forgot." He went to the door and opened it. Mairi rose from the bed, her knees shaky, and followed him to the door.

A lad stood in the dark corridor. "Lang Will says he will not come, sir," he said. The lad was just twelve or so, Mairi thought, but held a cup of threepenny in his hand, and downed it fast as any reiver, gulping and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "He says—where were you a week past, Blackdrummond, and now he cannot bring the wee lad out in the murk and the mist."

"Damn." Rowan leaned in the doorway. "You'll earn another coin if he's here first thing in the morn, with the bairn."

"He'll be here for the wedding. His lassie will see to that."

"Well, you see to it, too. Early," Rowan said. The boy grinned, then walked away.

Rowan shut the door and turned to Mairi. "We'll leave at first light, or whenever Lang Will arrives." He leaned against the door and looked down at her.

Mairi gazed up at him, nodded. Shadows sculpted his beautiful face, eyelids heavy, jaw strong, lips sensuous. Her heart thudded like a storm, but suddenly she felt shy and uncertain. The spell of moments ago was broken. She glanced away, wanting the magic back but unsure how to regain it.

He tipped up her chin with a finger. "Hey hey, lass," he murmured in a teasing tone. "Remember. You're as safe here as in heaven."

"I know," she breathed out.

He stroked his thumb over her lips, then leaned forward to kiss her, quickly and simply. But she felt passion rise in a current that seemed to pull between their bodies. She leaned toward him, but he drew back slightly.

"'Tis just as well the lad knocked when he did," he whispered. He took her into his arms and rested his chin on her head, so that his heart thumped beneath her ear."Tammie might have my head otherwise, for being a rascal to you."

"I think Tammie might sleep through anything."

Rowan chuckled against her hair. "Still, he is—"

"Hey?" Tammie mumbled, half sitting up. "Did ye call for me? Is it a raid?"

"A priest with a reiver's ears," Rowan whispered. "Nay, man," he said. "Go back to sleep."

"Ah, the Black Laird," Tammie said, lying down again. "Rowan Scott. Wait till tomorrow, lad, hey."

"Why so?" Rowan asked, but the answer was a long, sloppy snore.

Rowan took her hand and led her back to the bed. She lay down and he sank down beside her, stretching out. When she turned on her side to face him, he wrapped his arms around her.