The groom who had cleaned up the mess on the floor got up from his knees and hurried out of the way when he saw Raven returning. She knelt before Margaret and gently wiped her face with the towel, but the mother-to-be was retching again. Quickly, Raven crushed half a dozen mint leaves with her fingers and held them beneath the queen's nose. “Breathe deeply, inhale the pungent smell, and it will control your need to retch.” Raven slipped her hand into her pocket and drew out her hag stone, which she had forgotten about. She was now wise in the ways of healing lore and knew that performing any ritual occupied the mind enough to effect a physical change for the better.
“Hold this hag stone to your breast, center yourself, and breathe slowly and deeply. Draw from the stone's strength and mystic power and take it into your body.” Raven saw that Margaret had stopped heaving, and picked two fresh green mint leaves from their stalk. “Put these in your mouth, my lady. Mint has such a clean taste, a fresh taste, and has been used for centuries to settle the stomach.” She watched Margaret do as she suggested, and knew she was overcoming the nausea. Then Raven reinforced her cure with compliments to make sure her patient was done being sick.
When the steward brought the biscuits and watered wine, Raven urged Margaret to try them. Then she turned to her waiting woman. “Help her to remove her cloak and boots, and I shall find a bedchamber where she may rest.”
Margaret grabbed Raven's hand to keep her at her side. “No, no, you must help me get to England!”
Raven stared at her in disbelief. “My lady, you need rest, you are unwell. You cannot travel further tonight.”
“I must, I must! You are English, are you not? You must help to get me across the Border where I will be safe!”
“It is out of the question. You must remain at Hawick until the men return from Newark.” She thought of Heath and trembled at what he might do if he returned to find Margaret gone, after he had trusted her to keep their captive safe.
“Have pity! Have pity!” The tears streamed down Margaret's face. “What I did was treason! The Scots will wreak a terrible revenge upon me!”
“They will not harm you, my lady; you are the sister of the powerful King of England,” Raven assured her.
Margaret jumped up and began to pace, invigorated by the wine. “They will lock me up in prison and throw away the key. I could not bear to live without freedom! And only think how many convenient accidents happen to those who are locked away!”
Her words wrung Raven's heart. She could not lie to her and tell her that her freedom would not be taken away. For all intents and purposes, the poor lady was a prisoner now.
Margaret drained the wine cup and threw out her hands in supplication. “It is the plotting of greedy, evil men which has brought me to this pass! My ambitious brother lusts to rule both countries, and my greedy husband has plotted to sell my son's birthright to Henry. What purpose will it serve if I languish for years in prison, and the baby I carry is denied its freedom?”
Raven's loyalties were almost torn in half. It was not too difficult to refuse to aid a treasonous queen, but it was almost impossible to turn her back upon a woman who was carrying a child.
Margaret took Raven by the shoulders. “I have lost wee Jamie, and I understand that it must be so, for he is the rightful King of Scotland, but for the sake of this child I now carry, can you not find it in your heart to help me?”
Raven's resolve wavered. How could she in all conscience refuse to help a woman in such a plight? She saw the fear in Margaret's eyes and marveled that though she must be exhausted, she was willing to ride further to save her child. “I will help you,” Raven said softly.
“I must get to Huntford on the English Border, where Lord Dacre's men await me.”
Raven recoiled when Margaret uttered the name Dacre. “I cannot take you to the Border, but I will lead you to the Border Forest.”
The steward was helpless to prevent them from leaving in the face of the women's determination. He shrugged his shoulders. Only weeks ago he had served the queen at her wedding; surely he could not be expected to act as her jailer.
In the stables, one of Margaret's young grooms brought forward the white horse that she had ridden all the way from Edinburgh. Raven saw that it quivered and trembled. “This mare is spent,” she said, running her hand along its belly. “I think she is carrying a foal.” She spoke to the groom. “Take the queen up before you; she is in no condition to ride alone.”
Raven wrapped Heath's cloak closely about her and led the small cavalcade through the deserted bailey. As she turned her mount east in the direction of the Border Forest, riding slowly in deference to the mother-to-be, she began to shiver. It was not from cold, Raven realized, it was from fear.
CHAPTER 29
Sim Armstrong, lying in the bracken beside his tethered pony, raised his head. He was aware of all that had happened that night at Cavers. He had seen the fleeing queen ride in with her pitiful number of attendants, and watched Kennedy ride off with the Douglas moss-troopers. It could only mean that the plot had been discovered and none save Margaret had escaped. His brother Mangey didn't know this, of course. Sim chuckled and fingered his rope. He had decided to wait for Mangey no matter how long it took, but now it looked like his plans would change. Perhaps for the better. Sooner or later, everything came to he who waited.
Sim did not mount the shaggy pony, but led him in a wide circle until he came to a clump of trees that gave him cover. Then he mounted and headed straight for the forest, only a few miles away. He rode swiftly, intending to reach the Border Forest long before Raven Carleton and the little band she was leading to safety. He did not slow until the forest trees closed about him; then he pricked his ears, sniffed the air, and peered through the darkness with expectant eyes. It wasn't long before he scented the Armstrongs, and he imitated the cry of a nighthawk they had always used as a signal, to separate them.
He had to ride a full four miles into the forest, close to the English Border, before he spotted Mangey, and lo and behold he was riding beside Dacre's spoiled, arrogant son, Christopher. So once more, Sim Armstrong adapted his plan to fit the situation. Sim fondled his rope and thought of Raven Carleton, then licked his lips as he wondered just how much money young Dacre had on him tonight. He hoped it was enough to make it worth his trouble. Sim gave the nighthawk signal and watched Mangey rein in his mount, to look about him.
Then with equal amounts of daring and cunning, Sim Armstrong showed himself for a split second. It was such a fleeting glimpse, only a brother would have recognized him.
“Firk, it's Sim!” Mangey plunged after him through the trees, and a disconcerted Dacre tried to follow him, but at a much slower pace, which put a great deal of distance between the riders. Sim circled back and allowed Chris Dacre to see him from behind. Dacre, thinking he was Mangey, swallowed the bait and spurred after him. Sim chuckled; it was like leading a bairn around a mulberry bush.
Raven courageously rode slightly ahead of Margaret and her party, watching and listening for any sign of riders. She was ready to turn tail and run at the first indication of mounted men. She knew she was approaching the Border Forest, for it lay before her like a black serpent on the horizon. As she rode cautiously forward, nothing moved; all was still and deceptively quiet. When she reached the first line of trees, she slowed her horse to a walk as her eyes adjusted to the velvet darkness, and allowed the others to catch up with her. As she urged her horse through the trees, searching for a path, she could hear her own heartbeat drumming in her ears. After long minutes of seeking, Raven at last came into a small clearing. She saw the beaten track and drew rein. “If you follow this path, it will lead you through the forest toward England.”
“You cannot abandon us now!” Margaret cried. “We are supposed to be met, but clearly they haven't arrived yet!”
“Then you must wait for them here. I can go no further!”
Their voices covered the sound of the approaching animal, and Raven saw the mounted man
emerge from the trees beside her before she heard him. A cry of fear erupted from her throat. The horses behind her blocked her from wheeling about; only the path that led deeper into the forest lay open. Then suddenly she sagged with relief as she recognized the ill-favored Borderer. “Sim Armstrong, thank God it is you, I feared it was—”
Before Raven could utter the name she dreaded, another man rode up behind Armstrong, and though it was too dim to positively identify him, she feared she had conjured Christopher Dacre. For a moment nothing seemed real; she knew this could not be happening, it must be a nightmare. She dug her heels into her horse's flanks, and it plunged forward along the forest path.
Christopher Dacre's pupils widened when his eyes fell upon the female who had betrayed him. He had no idea that he had been deliberately guided to the bait, no notion that the Armstrong he had followed was not Mangey. Lustful revenge for Raven Carleton consumed him, blocking out all other thought or emotion. He spurred his mount brutally and went plunging after her. Ever since she had run off with his prisoner, he had fantasized about the revenge he would take, and suddenly fate had delivered her up to him. Now he would make sure that Kennedy never got her. He would take the greatest pleasure in ravishing her, then he would indulge in the ultimate revenge and kill her.
“Wait here,” Armstrong ordered Margaret and her attendants, then he urged his pony down the path that Dacre had taken. Sim Armstrong relished the euphoric feeling of control that rushed through him; he had never been in a position of control in his life before, and it was a heady sensation, akin to playing God. Raven Carleton was the coveted prize desired by two men, and he was the one to decide which man he would bestow the prize upon. Heath Kennedy had given Sim his freedom, and now he would repay him. He fondled the rope, then looped it firmly in his fingers.
Armstrong rode up close behind Dacre, then moved alongside his horse and delivered a powerful blow to the rider. Christopher, thrown off balance, ducked his head quickly at the unexpected attack, and in that moment Sim Armstrong had the rope around his neck before Dacre knew what was happening. The Borderer bared blackened teeth in a smile of satisfaction as he began to twist the rope. Dacre became unseated from his horse as he struggled to breathe, and the horse continued down the path. Armstrong galloped after it, tightening his grip on the rope so that Dacre was dragged along behind. As he reached for the horse's reins and it began to slow, Sim heard the telltale crack that told him Dacre's precious neck had snapped.
He was out of the saddle in a flash and tethered his pony and Dacre's horse to a tree. Then he knelt and, ignoring the bulging eyes and protruding tongue of his victim, slowly and thoroughly searched Chris Dacre's pockets. When he found three sovereigns, Sim began to chuckle. Three gold sovereigns and a blooded saddle horse—not bad for a night's work. But the very best part, the thing that warmed the cockles of his heart, was that Mangey would be blamed for the murder. Lord Thomas Dacre would hunt Mangey Armstrong and run him to earth like a cornered weasel. Sim removed the rope from the neck of the corpse and coiled it up with loving hands.
Raven fled into the forest as if Satan himself were pursuing her. She could not swear that the man she had seen was Christopher Dacre, but she had sensed his presence, and her fear had taken over. She imagined she could hear his horse pursuing her, yet when she glanced desperately over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the dark gloom of the forest. She left the path in a calculated attempt to escape pursuit and again looked back. Guiding the horse between the trees was slower, but she could not take the chance of continuing along the path. It was difficult to gauge the right direction, but she focused all her thoughts on finding her way back to Hawick. Eventually the trees started to thin out and she realized she was nearing the edge of the forest.
Before she rode out across the open dale, she stopped and listened, and when she heard only silence, she concluded that no one was pursuing her. She wondered if the danger had all been a flight of fancy, because of the darkness and her fear of the Dacres. Yet deep in her soul she believed she had been in the presence of evil tonight. Raven drew Heath's cloak tightly about her and rode like the wind back to the safety of Cavers Castle.
Raven opened her eyes when she heard her name spoken, and for a moment wondered where she was. She saw that she was in bed, in a strange chamber, and Heath Kennedy had just entered the room. Then everything that had happened came rushing back into her consciousness. She had not arrived back at Cavers until dawn, when she had sought out a bed and pulled the covers over her head. Obviously she had slept the day away. “What time is it?”
“I think it is time for an explanation,” Heath said quietly.
Raven drew up her knees beneath the covers, feeling guilty. “First tell me if the king is safe.”
“Yes, by the time we arrived at Newark, Ram Douglas had all under control. Young Jamie is being returned to Edinburgh to his uncle John Stewart, the Duke of Albany, and Archibald is voluntarily handing the regency over to him.” Heath paused, waiting for her to speak, and when she did not, he said, “Raven, last night you pledged that you would stay put. I trusted you.”
She took a deep breath and plunged in. “Heath, I swear I had every intention to stay put. I helped to ease the queen's nausea, but when I suggested we put her to bed, she began to cry and pleaded with me to help her get to England. I kept saying no, but before she was done, her plight melted my heart. Heath, I didn't do it because she was English, I didn't do it because she was a queen, I did it because she was a woman. The thought of her losing her freedom, being held a prisoner and having her baby in captivity, was unendurable to me. … I led her to the Border Forest.”
“Blood of God, have you any idea of the peril you were in? The forest was crawling with Armstrongs and Dacre's men, who were to take the royal party to England.” He closed his eyes to blot out the thought of her being at the mercy of the venal Armstrongs as he had once been. “Do you fear nothing, Raven? Does danger excite you so much that you enjoy risking your life?”
She closed her eyes and shuddered, just remembering. “Last night I was more afraid than I have ever been in my life. Danger does not excite me, and I will never risk my life again!”
Heath's face went taut. “What happened?” he demanded, his eyes filled with apprehension.
She could not cause him more concern; she had brought him enough trouble and worry, and she could see the lines of fatigue etched around his eyes. “Nothing happened. I was terrified of the darkness, and consumed with guilt for aiding Margaret, and afraid of what you would think of me for betraying your trust.”
Heath sat down on the bed and took her hand. “I cannot fault you for having the soft heart of a woman, Raven.” He shook his head remembering. “Archibald was blaming Margaret for everything last night to save his neck. It so sickened me that I too may have helped her escape to the safety of her own country.”
Shortly after she arose, Raven bade goodbye to the steward and the cook before she followed Heath down to the stables. Though he looked weary to the bone, he insisted that they return to Eskdale. She watched as he put a leading rein on the white horse. “This mare is mine.” He rubbed a comforting hand across her back and down her belly. “When Ram and I saw Margaret riding her at the wedding, it tipped us off that Archibald had been dealing with Dacre. Now that I have all my breeding mares back, my score with the Dacres is settled; I hope we never cross paths again.”
They arrived back at Eskdale, but before Heath climbed the stairs to his tower for some much-needed sleep, he cocked an eyebrow at Raven. “Will you stay put?”
She flashed him a smile. “This time I will,” she pledged.
Heath undressed and crawled into bed, but before sleep claimed him, her words echoed inside his head. This time I will. Would she say those words before the priest if he brought him again? Raven had come to Eskdale because of the plot she suspected, not because she could not live without him. Now that the plot was foiled, would she stay with him? He suspected that she would, yet she
had never told him she loved him. If he told her that he was the heir to the Lordship of Galloway, it might well induce her to marry him. Hot pride rose up within him and he immediately resolved to keep it secret from her; and he would keep his other resolve too. If they were to wed, Raven would have to do the proposing! His decision made, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
* * *
It was the tantalizing aroma of food that roused Heath the next morning. When he opened his eyes and saw that Raven had brought him breakfast, his spirit soared. If only she could be the first thing he saw every morning when he awoke, he would ask for nothing more. He sat up against the pillows, and to his great delight she climbed on the bed and sat cross-legged with the tray between them.
“Let's do everything together today. I've been thinking of all the lovely things you did for me when I was hurt, and I have decided to repay you.” She poured a small jug of cream onto the porridge and stirred in a generous helping of golden syrup. Then she dipped her finger into the bowl and offered it to him.
Heath licked the tip of her finger, completely bemused with her tantalizing performance. If he was not mistaken, Raven was attempting to woo him, and he decided it would be most pleasurable to see how far she would go. She proceeded to offer him delicious samples of the food she had prepared for him, and in doing so managed to touch and tease him in a dozen wicked ways. She managed to turn breakfast into a sensual game, and Heath decided he was ready to play his own game.
Because he had taken a figurative step backward from his pursuit of her, Raven was overtly pursuing him. It was obvious that she wanted him to make love to her as she continued with her tempting seduction. Heath hid his amusement and concentrated on keeping an iron control over his desire for her.
“It is so warm in here.” Raven removed the bed robe she was wearing to reveal a short nightie that Ada had sewn. It had been cunningly designed so that flower petals cupped her breasts. The centers of the lavender flowers, however, were her nipples, bursting through tiny slits. She deftly lifted the tray from the bed and leaned across Heath to set it on the floor. When she stretched down, it hitched up the short nightgown, leaving her bare bottom temptingly exposed. When he didn't rise to the bait, she sat back up and asked, “Do you like to play games?”
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