The Heather Moon

by King, Susan

  With reluctance, she had left Helen's beautiful things behind, folded carefully in the great wooden chest in William's bedchamber at Rookhope. She had placed the delicate emerald and gold ring on the table in William's room, though tears had pooled in her eyes to do it. When she had dressed, she had paused over her black leather gloves, the left one shaped for her hand, and then had tucked them away. The freedom to use her left hand without shame would remain one of the finest gifts she had gained at Rookhope.

  Her only remembrance of the elegant things she had worn at Rookhope was in her hair, which Helen had arranged in a coil of braids at the back of her head, interwoven with green glass beads and covered in a silken net. She had left it undisturbed, covering it in the rain with a flat woolen bonnet that she had among her own few things, which Sandie had fetched from Merton Rigg a fortnight past.

  "Will Musgrave be at Merton already, think you?" she asked.

  "He might be. His note to me said that he intended to meet with all of us this night. I'm sure he sent Archie the same word. 'Tis late enough now that they could be waiting for us to arrive."

  She nodded and rode on. The route to Merton ran along a drover's track that skimmed the tops of rainy, heather-covered hills. After a few minutes, she noticed that her horse had slowed to a walk, as if the gray expressed Tamsin's reluctance. Aware that she might lose William as soon as they reached Merton, she would not have minded had the ride lasted forever.

  The bay horse slowed too, and Tamsin glanced at William. He rode with a straight back, one hand casually on the reins, the other resting on his thigh. The space between their horses was less than an arm's length, and every so often their thighs or knees would brush.

  "Tamsin." His quiet voice startled her out of her thoughts. "A message came for me late today."

  "I saw the messenger arrive, with his blazoned pouch and arm patch, so I knew 'twas civic business. You spoke to your mother about it afterward, but you didna mention it to me. I thought it none of my matter, so I didna ask."

  "It is your matter. I wanted to tell you later, when we could be private. I had a letter from Hamilton's advocate."

  She glanced at him in alarm. "What did he say? Please God, the court willna let Hamilton take Katharine!"

  "The judges of the Court of Sessions reviewed his complaint against me, and found it unworthy of their time. They refused to even summon me for an interview. They consider the child to be in suitable custody—"

  "Oh, Will!" Tamsin exclaimed, turning to him in delight. "'Tis wonderful! Now Hamilton has no complaint against you!"

  "No legal complaint," he said. "Aye, 'tis wonderful." He smiled, but seemed subdued.

  "'Tis good to know that Katharine will stay with her kin at Rookhope." Her heart plummeted a little, for she knew that she would not be there with them.

  "The judges accept that Katharine is in good care," he answered. "The advocate wrote to me that the court approves of her situation, since her father, as they said, is known to be a friend to the late king and the queen dowager."

  "Did the news of your marriage help, too?" she asked.

  "I never sent word of that," he said.

  She stared at him. "You never told Hamilton or the advocate about the marriage?"

  He shook his head. "Apparently my position in the royal court—my reputation—decided the case in my favor. Just as one can be found guilty by repute in Scots law, they found me deserving by repute, I suppose." He smiled, flat and bitter. "Ironic, that."

  "Then you didna need the marriage after all," she said, feeling somewhat stunned.

  "I didna need it." He watched her. "But it did serve to protect you from a poor predicament, and for that I am glad."

  "I—I am happy that this has ended so well for you," she said. Her voice faded. She felt outside that circle of happiness now, despite her genuine joy for all those at Rookhope.

  "The advocate informed me that Malise has submitted another complaint for the rights to property Katharine inherited through her mother," William said. "My friend Perris Maxwell will act as my advocate and draw up an arrangement of rental and the sharing of profits. Malise can oversee the land, so long as the deed remains in my daughter's name. 'Tis what Malise has wanted all along, that property. I hope to hear little more from him."

  "I am glad 'tis over," she said again, wishing she could be more glad, in truth, than she was. She looked up at the haloed moon, and at the moors and slopes, sheened silver and pewter in its light. She slowed her horse to a near standstill, wishing she could put off the moment she dreaded, the complete dissolution of their arrangement.

  "Tamsin," William said. She glanced at him. He too had slowed his horse, and now circled to face her, stopping in the middle of the drover's track, as she did. "Do you want this ended between us?" he asked.

  She lifted her chin slightly. "We agreed to end it when we were free. You are free now." No words had ever been so hard for her to say.

  "Am I?" A statement, more than a question.

  "Aye." She could not look at him. "'Tis what you wanted."

  "And you? Are you free?"

  She sighed, knowing that she would never be free of the hold he had over her. "Not I," she murmured. "But if you wish to end the marriage in the Romany way, as we agreed, we will do that in the morning. If you wish," she repeated, desolate.

  He sat silent, scanning the hills. After a moment, he took off his helmet, set it in his lap, and raked his fingers through his tousled hair. "'Tis true that I didna need the marriage, after all," he said. "But I need it now."

  She stared at him. "You need it?"

  "I do." He watched her.

  "Do you have... some other dilemma?" she asked.

  He sighed, half laughed. "Must I say it out plain to you?"

  "Aye," she breathed. "Say it plain."

  "Stay with me," he said.

  Her heart surged. "Stay?"

  "Aye." He shifted the bay closer. William's knee touched hers, and he leaned toward her. "I have thought about naught else these two weeks," he said. He reached out and tilted her chin toward him with gentle fingers. "Truth to tell, I thought I might go mad with wanting you, and yet keeping my distance."

  She sighed, closed her eyes, opened them again. But her hopes tripped over her fears. She told herself she had misunderstood his meaning. "'Tis the fire of lust that makes you speak to me so."

  "Lust," he murmured, "is a paltry flame compared to this." He brushed his thumb over her jaw. "There have been times in my life, I admit, when I mistook lust for love. But now, after these weeks with you, I know the difference between them." He moved closer, until his hand curved around her waist and his breath grazed her cheek.

  "They are very close in nature, I think, lust, and... and love," she said, her heart pounding fiercely.

  "Aye." His lips traced over her skin, and she began to melt under that warmth. "One is a fire in the body," he murmured. "The other is a fire in the soul."

  "Ah." His lips were so close to hers that her breath caught within her. "And which am I, for you?"

  "You," he whispered, "are all to me, and more." His mouth found hers, and his arm encircled her, curving her into him across the small space between their horses. She looped an arm around his neck as the kiss deepened, lengthened. The misted, moonlight night surrounded them in silence like a blessing.

  She drank in another kiss, and another, like water drawn from a newfound well, endless and plentiful. He sat back, his fingers sifting over the curls that wisped loose along her brow, and smiled at her, that small smile that she loved.

  "Tamsin..." He framed her face in his palm. "I canna let you go now. Fate may have brought us together, but since then, you have taken hold over my heart. I dinna think, in truth, that I ever wanted the dissolution of the marriage."

  "Nor did I," she said breathlessly, and circled her arm around his neck again. The horses faltered at the sudden movement, and William took her arm to balance her.

  "Ho," he said. "You'll fall int
o the heather."

  "Fall with me," she murmured, and leaned forward to kiss him, feeling him smile beneath her lips. His easy laugh, his joy, flowed into her. "Heather makes a fine bed for a gypsy and a reiver to share," she said, her breath quickening at her boldness, at the thought of what she suggested.

  "My lass," he said, looking down at her. "My sweet, bonny gypsy. Hold on. I willna bed you now, in heather and moonlight, no matter how much you tempt me."

  "Will you not?" she asked, wishing he would.

  "Not when we could be in our soft, warm bed—if you will lend it back to me."

  "I will," she answered lightly.

  He smiled, but then grew somber, tracing his fingers along her neck, where his touch sent shivers through her. "I would bed you properly, my love," he said. Her heart danced at that, and at the deep, true sound of his voice. "But first we will make the marriage complete, with vows said before a priest."

  "As your mother wants," she said, nodding.

  "As I want," he said. He drew her into his arms gently, and she rested her cheek on his leather-covered shoulder, surrounded by his strength. "When I witnessed Jock and Anna say their vows before a priest, when I saw the love between them, I knew then that I wanted the same with you."

  "You said no word of it when you came back to Rookhope," she said. "You could have come to me and swept me away, like Jock did with Anna. I wouldna have protested."

  He leaned his cheek against her brow. "I was afraid, I think," he murmured.

  "Of me?"

  "Something within myself made me pause, waiting for the suitable moment, perhaps. But when you looked at the tarocchi cards, you made me think, made me burn to tell you."

  "Was it what the cards revealed about fate?" she asked.

  "Fate, aye," he said, kissing her brow. "Even more, 'twas what you said about doubts and fears, and having the power to change my life. I wanted so much to tell you my feelings then that I almost took you in my arms in front of my mother and my sister."

  "Instead you ran out, with some talk about tenants."

  "Aye. I rode about my lands and thought it through. Tamsin, I have never been a cowardly man, or hesitant in my life," he said. "But you have taken me down like a rogue in the night, ambushed me, spun me around."

  "Until you chose the right path," she said.

  "You showed me the way I needed to go," he replied.

  "The way you needed most to go, I did too," she said, and lifted her face for a slow kiss that spun her like a whirlwind. "Fate brought us to this," she said.

  "Then let us hope fate will be satisfied that we have obeyed, and leave us be," he answered. "We had best go on to Merton and tell your father."

  "This news will please him well," she agreed, smiling. He lifted her left hand in his, the small wedge curving over his fingers, and kissed the back of it as if he kissed the hand of a queen. Then he turned her hand and placed a kiss in the cup of her palm.

  Something trembled inside her, and she fluttered her eyes closed. Pleasure swirled through her, along with the poignant, powerful realization that he loved her without restraint, without fears or judgment. She had sought that love all her life, had thought never to find it. Now she had gained it at last, and with the son of her father's dearest comrade.

  When she looked at him again, she could not trust her voice to speak. She gave him a trembling smile, the best she could make through a sheen of tears, and lifted the reins. William stepped his horse around to move forward with hers. Then he took her hand again, holding it tight in his.

  As she rode beside him, she felt as if the whole of her heart lay cradled in his safekeeping.

  * * *

  "What is that light? A fire?" Tamsin asked after a while, as the drover's track brought them over Armstrong lands. Ahead, the tower of Merton Rigg rose above a mass of treetops, a thrust of dark stone edged in moonlight.

  William looked where she pointed, frowning as he tried to discern the origin of a golden light that moved steadily through the trees. "A torch, I think," he said. "We'll know soon."

  He wondered if reivers were out, even on such a damp night. The thought concerned him. He urged the bay to a faster pace, while Tamsin rode behind him.

  The track sloped down, then up again, meandering along the spine of the hills. William and Tamsin climbed a peak, then stopped to look down, where the view toward Merton Rigg opened wide. The tower rose on a mound of land, surrounded by a wall and ditches in widening concentric rings. Dense woodland formed a dark backdrop beneath the fat, blurred moon.

  A bright light, amid a dark cluster of horses, moved along the base of the outer wall. William narrowed his eyes and saw several riders, one of them carrying a blazing torch. The torch fire streamed, glowing hot and yellow, as the men rode around the perimeter of the wall.

  They approached the open portcullis, but then rode past it to circle the wall again. As William and Tamsin watched, they came around the outer curve and went around yet again.

  "What the devil...?" William asked, half to himself.

  "'Tis my father and some of his kinsmen," Tamsin said. "I recognize the shape of his helmet. He's not holding the torch, though. He's at the center of the group. It looks as if he's got the reins of the horse beside his."

  William narrowed his eyes, watching the scene. "Aye," he said slowly. "He's with eight or ten others. They just keep riding around and around. Grant mercy," he muttered, confused by the sight. "They've gone round four or five times since we stopped to watch. And they're going around yet again."

  "Are they running a race?"

  "No one has tried to pass another. They canna be exercising those horses, at night, in the mist like this. They ride as if they are heading somewhere, yet they only circle the tower."

  Tamsin craned her neck forward, straining to see. "Do they have a ball between them, on the ground? Could they be playing at the football, on horses, at night?"

  "I misdoubt that," William said. "Has your father ever done anything like this before?"

  "Nay." She paused as the group circled past the gate and disappeared again. "It must be a prank," she said. "He likes to annoy Cuthbert sometimes." She shrugged. "I canna imagine what else 'twould be. My father does love a good prank."

  "We'll find out soon enough," William said. He rode down the hillside, allowing the horse to walk slowly through the heather. Tamsin came behind him, and within minutes they rode close enough to see the faces of the men riding with Archie.

  "They're Armstrong kinsmen," Tamsin said.

  William watched as the group came around the curve in the wall again. He recognized Archie at the center of the cluster, and saw a familiar form beside him, huge and cumbersome, though the man's face was obscured. "Perhaps 'tis Musgrave he seeks to annoy," William said. "Look there. Archie has Musgrave's horse by the reins."

  "What? If he had Musgrave, he would shut him in a dungeon, not lead him around the grounds. This looks foolish to me." One of the riders broke away as the group tore past the portcullis and headed around the far curve again. "There is one of my father's cousins. Now we'll learn what game this is," Tamsin said.

  The man galloped to meet them, and waved them toward the open gate. William saw a man of Archie's age, rough in appearance, dressed in a jack, long boots, and a dented helmet. Armed with pistols and a lance, he was typical of the Bordermen hard and brave enough to inhabit and ride the Debatable Land.

  "Rabbie!" Tamsin called. "What is my father doing?"

  "Greetings, Tamsin," he answered. "Archie has a task to finish. He asked me to escort ye and yer friend inside, quiet-like. Keep your voices hushed." He waved them ahead.

  "What task could he have?" Tamsin asked quietly.

  "He means to go twenty times and more 'round the walls."

  "With Jasper Musgrave? Why?" William asked.

  Rabbie looked at William. "Be ye Will Scott o' Rookhope, the Rogue's own son?"

  "I am," William said.

  "I rode wi' yer da," Rabbie said. "And
he was a finer man than ye, I have heard. Now get ye inside too, and nae quarrel about it."

  "Rabbie!" Tamsin exclaimed.

  He waved them both ahead of him. "Through the yett, now. Archie said ye're to go to yer chamber until he comes inside, lass. I am to see that Rogue's Will waits elsewhere."

  "Elsewhere? You mean the great hall. I'll wait there with him," Tamsin said. They rode beneath the overhanging iron teeth of the raised portcullis and through the tunnel arch cut in the width of the outer wall. The gate opened on a small courtyard, heavily sloped at one side, where the keep itself loomed huge and massive in the darkness. A few torches, ringed in the mist, spilled pools of weak light over the damp cobblestones.

  Another man ran forward as William and Tamsin dismounted. He nodded in response to Tamsin's greeting, and led their horses away. William turned, his glance sweeping the shadowed yard, the huge keep, the small stable and other wooden outbuildings set up beneath the encompassing wall.

  While Tamsin spoke with Rabbie Armstrong, William circled a little where he stood. He watched the man walk the horses into the stable, and turned again to see an older man come out of the keep and proceed down the wooden steps that led from the doorway, placed above ground level. He moved slowly, as if with age, and waved to Tamsin.

  "I willna go to my chamber like a wee bairn," Tamsin insisted to Rabbie. "I'll stay with our guest, wherever he is to be put. Dinna look so horrified. Ah, there is Uncle Cuthbert come to greet us properly. He will tell us what this is about, if you willna do it."

  "Och, Tamsin, be a good lass and do what ye're told," Rabbie said. "Ye dinna want to go where this laddie is going."

  "And where is that?" William asked, turning toward him.

  "Och, well," Rabbie said. "To the dungeon, then."

  William realized that someone stood behind him in the same instant that he felt a heavy blow to his head. He heard a scream, and knew it was Tamsin. He wanted to ask her what was the matter, but the cobbled stones rushed upward to meet him.

  Chapter 25