The Raven's Moon (38 page)

A good deal of bickering had already taken place between Simon Kerr and Henry Forster, the English warden, over jury selections and the schedule of complaints. Rowan, as a second deputy only, was glad to escape the discussions.

He knew the English warden too well. Sir Henry Forster had confined Rowan in his manor house for two years as a prisoner of rank. Just seeing the man's pasty face brought back memories he would rather forget. But he and Forster had a grudging respect for one another. He felt sure that Sir Henry would not cause him undue trouble; he also knew the man disliked Simon.

What had gladdened him, on this dreary and tense day, was seeing his friend Geordie Bell, Forster's deputy—they'd last met at the inn where Heckie had jumped him. Geordie had given him a quick grin and a handshake before being called to listen to the bills of complaint being read out.

Now, sniffing the savory woodsmoke as meat roasted over cooking fires, Rowan realized how hungry he was. Leaving the horses staked and grazing, he went to one side of the field where some enterprising merchants had set up cook shops and tables. Crowds waited to purchase food and ale, some of them eating at tables there, or walking further to watch a football match in progress further downfield.

Ordering an ale and a slab of juicy beef with crusty bread, Rowan sat to eat, glancing about for Mairi, who had gone off with Iain to stroll the grounds and find something to eat, and Rowan had discreetly given them some time alone to talk, promising to meet them at the cook shops. Earlier, at his insistence and with Archie Pringle's amiable cooperation, Iain had been unbound and given leave to walk the truce field with Mairi and Rowan, provided he stayed within sight.

He ate the meat quickly, hungrily, licking his fingers, and still had not spied his wife or her twin. Draining his ale cup, he set it aside and headed for the wardens' tent.

Someone was reading one of the bills of complaint aloud as Rowan edged into the packed tent. Almost immediately he saw Mairi and Iain standing near the wardens' table, waiting their turn. Rowan had not heard their names called—the order must have been changed. He frowned.

Mairi glanced at him as he came near, her eyes wide and wary. He rested his hand on her shoulder and nodded to Iain.

Simon began to read a bill of complaint accusing the reiver who now stood before the table, in an open area scattered with straw. The man was unbound and fully armed, and his comrades stood nearby. Archie Pringle was taking notes, dipping a quill into an inkpot to scratch over a paper while Simon spoke.

"This complaint states that you, Richard Storey, an Englishman, rode onto the property of Mistress Beattie, a Scotswoman, in the middle o' the night," Simon said, his voice loud under the canvas tent top. "She claims you stole four milk cows and sixteen sheep. She claims you entered her house and took her pots and her children's coats and the covers off their beds. How do you answer?"

"I did that, aye," the reiver said. "But ask Mistress Beattie where her husband was that night."

"There is no complaint against Tom Beattie," Simon said.

"He was over in England, snatching my brother's cows that very night."

"Without a complaint, we know nothing of it. But you, Storey, are hereby ordered to pay Mistress Beattie an amount equal to three times the value o' her beasts and goods." Simon looked at the English warden. "Agreed, Sir Henry?"

"Agreed," Forster answered. Simon slammed the flat of his hand on the table in a final gesture. Archie made a note on a page and presented that to Richard Storey, who crammed it inside his jack and left the tent through an opening, where shafts of gray light spilled inside.

"Hector Elliot, Clemson Elliot, Martin Elliot, Thomas Storey called the Merchant," Simon read out. "Come forward and answer your accusers."

Rowan looked around, as did others. When no one came forward, Simon repeated the names, then sent a trooper to walk outside the tent to look for them.

"Nae here," the trooper said, returning. Murmurs drifted through the gathering inside the tent.

Sir Henry Forster cleared his throat. "We have several bills of complaint against these men and others who ride with them, complaints made by both Scottish and English citizens," he said. "Now they are fouled for lack of answer. Guilty by default."

Simon shook his head. "The day is early. They may yet come. We'll call them again." He snapped open another paper.

"Thomas Armstrong, called the Priest. Come forward."

Mairi grabbed Rowan's arm. "Tammie!" she said.

He looked around, and saw Tammie shouldering forward into the cleared space. His elfish grin was firmly in place, and he winked when he saw Rowan and Mairi.

"Hey hey, the Black Laird and his bonny bride," he said, smiled broadly. He turned to Simon. "Yer wardenship, sir. God bless ye for a good and lawful man!"

Simon glared at him. "Thomas Armstrong, you were named an outlaw last month and twice last year, for not answering your summons. Now we have another bill for you."

"I'm here this time. I wish to make redress for a' my sins," Tammie said blithely.

"This recent complaint says"—Simon regarded the page, his lips moving silently—"that you stole eight head o' cattle and four sheep from John Heron in Tynedale in England, and the next night you returned to take his mother's goat."

"John Heron took my beasts. I went back to reclaim them," Tammie said. "I only took what was mine. Including the goat. I give my own oath that I am clean, sir."

"You swear by heaven and hell, by Paradise and God himself, that you are innocent of art and part in this?" Simon asked. Archie scribbled while he spoke. "So help you God?"

"I do. And I have an avower." Tammie pointed.

Dickie the Mountain came through the crowd to stand before the wardens' table. "Richard Armstrong, a kirk minister," he announced, his huge voice filling the tent. "I swear by all that is holy and made by God himself that my brother Tammie, er, Thomas, a priest, did not take gear or beasts from John Heron that did not belong to him already and were unlawfully stolen in the first place."

Simon frowned and repeated the oath for Dickie, who swore to it earnestly. Then Simon leaned to muttere with Forster. The English warden then slapped a hand on the table.

"Cleared! Cleared by your own assurance and by your avower's good faith, as Border code allows," Forster said. "But we demand compensation for what you stole last September, when you did not answer your summons. Three times the value of those goods."

"But—" Tammie began.

"If I see your name on another bill, Tammie Armstrong, you will be imprisoned and fined deeper," Simon warned.

Tammie subsided, took the paper that Archie handed him and turned with Dickie to make their way through the crowd.

Raucous cheers swelled in the distance beyond the tent, and Rowan realized that the football match continued. A few men, responding to the cheers, left the tent to go watch the game.

"Mairi Macrae," Simon called. "Come forward."

Rowan sensed Mairi tense. She lifted her chin and moved forward, while Simon handed a paper to Sir Henry Forster. The Englishman read the complaint and raised his eyebrows.

"This is a matter for the Scottish crown," he said. "Assaulting king's messengers is treason, and well beyond the truce day court."

"I act as the Crown's representative in this, and will take the charges further as needed," Simon said. "Mairi Macrae—"

"Lady Mairi Scott of Blackdrummond," Mairi said.

"My wife, sir," Rowan reminded Simon. Beside him, Henry Forster looked up quickly. Rowan gave him a nod.

Simon snapped his brows together. "Mairi Macrae," he said stubbornly, "you are accused o' riding out on the Lincraig road to willfully assault and rob messengers at arms sent by the Scottish council. You were seen on the night o' October the twenty-first, attacking a man along that road. And there are other dates listed here. Tell us who else rode wi' you to commit the other highway crimes included in this complaint." He read out the full complaint, listing the dates that messengers—with the exception of Rowan, whose assault was unknown to Simon—had been waylaid by the Lincraig riders.

"Do you have witnesses who saw me ride out on those dates?" Mairi asked, her voice calm.

Rowan felt a surge of pride as he listened, despite the circumstances. She was holding her own well. Beside him, Iain watched soberly. Christie came through the crowd just then to stand with them, his young face infinitely serious.

"Someone assaulted these men," Simon said. "No one invented this. You were seen riding the Lincraig road at night, clandestinely, dressed all up in black gear. As warden o' this March, I accuse you o' taking down the council messengers and robbing purses. State, now, who else rode wi' you." He scowled. "Was it Blackdrummond Scotts?"

Mairi stood straight, squaring her shoulders beneath the long drape of her black cloak. She looked slight and demure beside burly reivers and officers. "You have no assurance against me or anyone else in this matter," she pointed out.

"You rode out at night, dressed in black. You clearly had nefarious intent. You were seen. Others have avowed this."

"I admit to riding that road, but so have most others in the upper Middle March. So have you, and in black gear at times. I have seen you just so." A ripple of laughter went through the crowd.

"That's true," someone chuckled.

"But I did not rob purses," she said.

Rowan knew that was true, if quite literal.

"Where are the messengers who accuse me?" she asked.

Simon looked irritated. "We could not wait for them to be summoned from Edinburgh. You were seen the night Jennet Macrae's house was burned. It was reported to me that you attacked a man on that road."

"Who made such a report?" she asked.

"There were many men out on the moors that night. I do not need to reveal their names to you. They rode on private matters concerning the wardenry."

"I was riding for help that night, as my brother's house had been set afire by Heckie Elliot and his gang," she said. "While I was going for help from kinsmen, Clem Elliot ambushed me. I fought back. Knocked him from his horse."

A wave of laughter sounded again.

As far as Rowan knew, only he and Clem Elliot had seen her on the Lincraig road that night. Mairi had not robbed or attacked anyone that particular night. The complaint for that date was false.

He could not prove that she had never assaulted council's messengers, but this was outright injustice. He took a step forward.

Simon scowled and ignored him, but Archie leaned to murmur to the wardens.

"Rowan Scott of Blackdrummond, come forward," Forster called, and Rowan walked up to stand beside Mairi.

"You took this woman down on the Lincraig road and arrested her that night in October," Simon said.

"I aided her when she was injured by Clem Elliot," Rowan said. "I took her into custody, true—but I was hasty in that, for it was proven to me that she was riding to fetch help after the Elliots set fire to her brother's house. I swear this to be true, and I will avow for that night."

"She was dressed for highway crime!" Simon snarled.

"I was dressed to protect myself from being harmed," Mairi said, "a woman riding out alone at night, in a nest of reivers and thieves. No one could blame me for that."

Geordie Bell, the English warden's deputy, leaned forward and murmured to Sir Henry, who nodded and looked at Simon.

"The lady's defense is reasonable and Rowan Scott's avowal clears her of the charge," Forster said. "Let this one go. 'Tis Border code."

"But he's her husband!" Simon sputtered.

"And your deputy. Border code applies," Forster said.

"Well, she's suspected in other crimes," Simon insisted. "My witness saw her riding along that road. No one else had any reason to attack the king's messengers."

"I am a council-appointed deputy, and my avowal clears her," Rowan said. "You have no witnesses for the rest."

"Then I avow against her!" Simon said. "I believe she meant to steal the council's warrant for her brother Iain Macrae, since the Lincraig riders attacked king's messengers. She was seen on that road in reiver's gear. Stealing from a king's messenger is treason. And I want to know who rode wi' her. Speak, Mairi!" he roared the last demand.

Mairi held her head high and stood silent, though Rowan saw the hot pink flush staining her pale cheeks in the dim light. Rain drummed on the canvas roof as the silence drew out.

Then, like a rushing of the sea, murmurs rolled through the crowd of witnesses. Rowan heard admiration, not condemnation, for what the lady had done—or was falsely accused of doing. Loyalty to kin was so highly valued among Bordermen that any deed, even murder, could be seen as honorable in the name of defending and avenging kin.

"I took no papers that condemned Iain," Mairi said.

Rowan felt both pride in her fortitude and her literal turn of mind, as well as fear for her life, mount equally within him. She had not taken the warrant—she never found it, for he had kept it hidden inside his own pouch the night she had taken him down.