The Raven's Moon (29 page)

Then out it spake his brother,

"O were I in your place,

I'd take that lady home again,

For a' her bonny face."

—"Bonny Baby Livingston"

"Row-an," Mairi enunciated carefully. "That's Rowan."

Jamie pointed to Rowan. "Roon."

Mairi laughed. "Aye, Roon. And who am I?"

"Marr," Jamie said in his little voice. Mairi cuddled him close in her lap as they rode and smiled at Rowan. But he proceeded in silence, guiding his horse ahead down a rocky slope. She followed and soon rode abreast with him once again.

They had left the inn quickly, grabbing their gear and riding out, and had said little, not mentioning the surprise of their wedding vows and the decision she was sure they had shared then. Now she wondered if his grim manner came from concern about Heckie or Alec—or regret over the marriage.

She cherished one memory—the moment when Rowan, leaning close to kiss her, had whispered "I'm glad for what we've done." His words had melted into her with joy and relief. Since then, he had spoken only necessary remarks for the journey.

But he was her husband now; impulsive or not, it was done, though she guessed that, like her, Rowan was trying to absorb what had happened.

Mairi had felt it was perfect at the time, the most exciting and the most loving thing she had ever done. She wanted to feel that same certainty now, although she needed reasons why.

Now, glancing at his handsome face with its dark, thoughtful scowl, she wondered if she had been foolish indeed, seeing only the dream and not the reality. Yet she was sure that Rowan would never have spoken the vows if he had doubts. He was not a man to take an action without being sure of it.

Still, the conflicts between them remained, not to be dissolved by marriage vows, however heartfelt at the time. Yet despite all, she wanted the bond to grow and flourish into love.

"Jorn," Jamie said. "Jorn."

Startled out of her thoughts, she smiled. "What, lad?"

Rowan looked at her. "What's he saying? He has been chattering on since we left."

"Maybe he's hungry. Do you want some cheese?" she asked Jamie. The child shook his head vehemently.

"Jorn," he insisted. "Jor-nan."

"Ah!" Mairi suddenly understood. "He wants a jordan pot. We need to stop."

"Again?" Rowan pulled on Valentine's reins. "We stopped already for a meal and for a drink of water from a burn, and then again because the lad wanted to chase birds out of a tree. And that time you took him somewhere to empty himself."

"Empty—he is not a horse!" she snapped irritably. "At least he can use a pot. You could be out here alone, changing his cloth," she muttered. "I should be sorry I came with you."

"Are you?" His voice was cold and curt.

She drew a breath, then looked away silently. "This is not a good time to talk of that."

"Pot," Jamie said, squirming fretfully. "Jornan."

"Aye, hold on," she said, trying to balance Jamie in the saddle while she climbed down.

Rowan dismounted and came over to lift the child while Mairi got down. "Well, go on," he said, handing Jamie to her. "We do not have much leisure for this sort of thing. Heckie may be riding after us, or have you forgotten?"

Casting him a sharp look over her shoulder, Mairi walked with Jamie toward some trees. Helping him with his square little coat and the hems of his long woolen tunic and two linen shifts beneath it, she waited. He relieved himself, smiling blithely and proudly at her. She readjusted his clothing and told him what a fine lad he was, how very good.

She felt keenly aware that Jamie had no mother, that she and Rowan were strangers to him, and that he adored Alec Scott. His repeated calls for his father pulled on on the strings of her heart. She would do whatever she could to help him feel safe and comfortable while they traveled.

"Come, Jamie," she encouraged, taking his tiny hand to return to the horses. "Rowan is waiting for us."

"Roon!" Jamie said, holding up his arms.

Rowan picked him up wordlessly to hold the child while Mairi mounted her horse. Before leaving the inn, she had changed her borrowed gown for the breeches, boots and green doublet that she had worn earlier. Rowan had insisted she wear the heavy jack too, though she had refused to wear the helmet, which hung from a hook on her saddle. Over the jack she also wore her hooded black cloak, to pull around the child to help keep him warm—and safely hidden—while they traveled.

"Roon!" Jamie grabbed Rowan's face between his hands. "Go see Jock," he insisted. "See Jock. Roon see Jock."

A reluctant chuckle burst from Rowan as he looked nose to nose at his nephew. "Aye, we'll all see Jock." he said.

In the saddle, Mairi held out her arms for the child. As Rowan wrapped her cloak snugly about Jamie, his fingers grazed hers, a welcome warmth in the chill. She glanced at him.

Rowan's green eyes were keen as he returned her gaze. Without a word, he turned away to remount, and they rode on in silence.

Soon Jamie slumped against her, asleep. She pulled the cloak up to shield his head, and then glanced up at the gray clouds filling the sky.

"'Tis muckle cold out here," she said. "Is rain coming?"

"Aye, later," Rowan said. He glanced back over his shoulder yet again, something he had done often.

"Are they are following us?" she asked.

"More than likely."

"Heckie has no reason to follow me," she said, "and he does not know you."

"Oh, he knows me," Rowan said grimly.

"Because you are a deputy now?"

"Do you remember that I told you about a Spanish galleon that wrecked on a Scottish beach last summer? I was there as a Border official during the salvaging of it."

"Aye, and now the English blame you for something missing from the salvage. What has that to do with Heckie?"

"A while ago, two men attacked me at an inn, and stole some Spanish gold that I had in my possession—not missing pieces. Today I recognized them as Heckie and one of his brothers."

She frowned, puzzled. "Why would Heckie and his kin attack you, and why would they follow you now? Did you take something from them that day?"

"You do not know?" He sounded surprised.

"I know that Heckie is a sneakbait thief."

He gave a perplexed huff and pushed his helmet back on his head. "You do not know that Heckie is part of this spy ring."

"Go to," she said in disbelief. "He hardly has the wit for reiving and black rent. Spying? Not he."

"Heckie took a gold medallion, a Spanish piece, from me. I saw it recently, among the Spanish booty taken from Iain the night he was caught. Simon has it now."

She stared at him. "Nay," she said hoarsely. "It cannot be."

"Somehow Iain and Heckie are connected to Spanish gold."

"Iain is not your spy," she said vehemently, through set teeth. "Nor am I. So you think I know about these spies because you think I am one of them?"

"I do not know who is innocent and who is not in this," he murmured. "I am trying to sort it out."

Jamie shifted in his sleep and nestled against her. Mairi held him close in one arm. "Listen to your heart, Rowan Scott," she said, glancing over at him. "Then you will better know who is clean and who is guilty."

He gazed at her intently, and looked about to speak. In his cool green eyes, Mairi sensed a craving, a need—but he smothered it quickly and looked away.

"When I listen to my heart it generally brings trouble."

"Then you should have spoken up at the wedding," she snapped, feeling a twinge of hurt.

"I did not mean the wedding."

Mairi waited, but he said nothing more. "When have you followed your heart and found only trouble?" she asked.

"Three years ago when I helped my brother."

"You were imprisoned—but what brought it on?"

He shook his head. "'Tis over and done."

"Naught is done that still hurts," she said quietly, feeling sympathy, deep and sudden. "Tell me, Rowan."

He sighed heavily. "Alec and I rode out on a foray one night," he said, "over into England, with a group of Scotts and Armstrongs. Crossing the border at night is March treason, but we were not bothered by that. We rode after some English who had taken Blackdrummond beasts. While we were out, an English warden and some troopers sighted us before we could get back into Scotland, and gave chase. Alec shot the warden when the man fired a pistol at us. He did not know 'twas the warden until too late."

She gasped. "He killed the English March warden?"

"Aye. I was wounded by the warden's shot. The English took me down—claimed I did the killing."

"You did not deny it?"

"I knew that if they caught Alec, they would have hanged him then and there. But I was a laird, so they could not execute me quicklike. I was owed a trial."

"So you let them take you to spare Alec."

He shrugged. "I expected a fast trial and a fat fine. But the new warden was not as lenient as most. I was condemned to death for murder, and for the sum of my previous crimes—years of reiving—and I was sent to the dungeon at Carlisle."

"Dungeon? I thought you were kept in a noble's house."

"Later. I spent the first few months in a dark, cold cell no bigger than a box bed. And not nearly as comfortable," he added with a bitter laugh. "After a while, after a legal harassment from Scott o' Buccleuch and the privy council, the English remanded my sentence and moved me to the warden's own house. I was kept there in a good chamber, but I could not leave the grounds for two years total."

"But you did not come home then," she said.

"I did not." His jaw tightened. "I took a post on the Scottish East March for a while, and then I was sent to the Middle March to be Simon Kerr's deputy."

Mairi nodded, thoughtful. "Alec killed the warden, but you took the blame. He did not betray you."

"He did." He bit the words out, belying some intense emotion that made Mairi glance at him quickly.

"I do not understand." She looked down at Jamie, who slept, trusting, in her lap, and looked again at Rowan. "Alec was watching the inn today. He came there to make sure Jamie was in good hands. I saw your face, Rowan—you wanted to help your brother."

He lifted his chin as if she had struck him. "Just the child. "

"Alec risked his life to come out in the open today. A man who can love his child like that would not betray his brother." She paused. "Perhaps he did not betray Iain, either. Perhaps we've both been wrong about Alec."

"Nay."

"But—"

"Enough!" he snapped, raising a hand for silence. "Enough," he said more gently, and stepped his horse closer to hers, his leg pressing hers for a moment. "You see too much of what is inside of me," he murmured.

"Not enough," she said, leaning toward him. "Tell me," she murmured. "I want to know."

He drew back. "We have enough troubles," he said, gathering his reins.

"You mean the wedding," she said in a tight voice.

Rowan reached out to squeeze her elbow. "That I do not regret," he said. "At least not yet."

She saw a teasing glimmer in his eyes. "Neither do I—yet."

"Good." His tone was sage and mysterious, and the gleam stayed in his glance. Then he looped the reins over his hand and rode ahead.

* * *

Rowan glanced about again, seeing the vast empty moor, scattered herds of sheep and cattle, a ragged shepherd uninterested in two riders. The Debatable Land could be as peaceful in daylight as any Border region, and the wedding celebration in the glen would occupy the people for miles around. But wedding or none, were he and Mairi riding these moors in moonlight, their safety would have had no assurance.

Yet he felt a distinct sense of unease along the back of his neck and between his shoulders. He was sure Heckie would follow them—the man had seen Rowan, had known him just as Rowan had recognized him and his brother Clem as the men who had jumped him outside the inn weeks ago.

For now, with Mairi and Jamie in his care, he could only hope that Heckie would bide his time and they would meet up later.

He glanced at Mairi and Jamie. The child was chattering like a jay again, and the woman listened intently, then laughed.

"What's he saying?" Rowan asked, curious.

"He says Jock likes birds. He cannot wait to see Jock. He adores your grandfather."

"Oh, Jock's an adorable sort," Rowan said dryly. Mairi chuckled and bent her head to talk to Jamie.

He watched their heads touch, the child dark shining curls against the rich, deep brown of Mairi's hair. She laughed again, and the sound warmed through Rowan. He remembered another day when she had smiled at a child, while Rowan had stood in Iain's cottage watching her tend to the wee bairn. An ache, like a dull sadness, centered in his heart then, as now.

But something had changed. The child was not his, but Mairi was his wife now. That might bring children and a family one day—but he had no time to contemplate that. Somehow they were married; somehow he had been caught up in a whirlwind of hope, and aye, lust—and a deeper feeling he dared not name.