by King, Susan
He's casten him in a dungeon deep
Where he cou'd neither hear nor see;
He's shut him up in a prison strong
An he's handl'd him right cruely.
—"Young Beicham"
Tamsin watched the fire blaze in the hearth and fumed to herself. She spun around as her father and Cuthbert came into the great hall, where she had insisted on waiting. Equally insistent, Rabbie had kept her from leaving the room by standing at the door, a truculent, grim guard. Now he moved aside as the two men entered. Archie crossed the room with a heavy stride, and Cuthbert walked more slowly.
"Da, how could you order William taken down and thrown in the dungeon?" Tamsin cried. "Uncle Cuthbert hit him so hard he went down in the courtyard! Dear God—"
"Eh, he's nae hurt. I just saw him," Archie said. "He's awake now, and there's nae harm done to his bonny face, if ye fret over that. He's shut in a dark cell, where he belongs."
"I thought you had high regard for the son of Allan Scott!"
"I did," Archie said. "But nae more." He sat heavily in a large chair that was angled toward the hearth. "Tamsin, are ye well? Are ye unharmed?"
"Fine," she snapped. "And you?"
"Well enough." He looked at her, and his gaze seemed to soften for a moment. "Yer hair looks bonny, all beaded and twisted-like."
"Th-thank you," she said, flustered. His regard for her, and the simple fact that she had missed her father and her home, confounded her for a moment, despite her anger.
"Is that the sort o' confinement Scott o' Rookhope offered ye? Maids to dress yer hair?"
"'Twas... pleasant there," she said. "I came to care a good deal for his mother and sister, and his wee daughter."
"And him? Rookhope himself? I will hope ye dinna care for that scoundrel," he growled, looking away.
She stared at him, still astonished by his complete change of heart regarding William Scott. She had wanted to surprise him with the news of her marriage. But he was surly and angry, and she could not mention her situation until she saw William, and learned what had happened to alter Archie's opinion of him.
"Ye sent a paltry word to me through Sandie Scott, only that ye were at Rookhope, and thanking me for a bundle o' gear." Archie's tone was petulant and reproachful. "'Tis all I knew of ye the full fortnight ye were gone."
"I would have sent a letter, but you dinna read. I didna hear from you either," she added.
"Busy," he said, "with that foul list. And with learning about Will Scott and Musgrave. Fiends all."
She fisted her hands on her hips. "I dinna understand this. Why do you say that? And why did you order Will Scott put in your prison? A fortnight ago, you thought rather differently about him!"
Archie glowered at her, but she saw a hint of sadness in his eyes too. "A fortnight ago, I thought he was like his father in more than his bonny face! I had him taken down because he's a scoundrel," he growled.
"No more than you! Less, in fact!"
"Hah! Ye were the one told me he was a ruffian, when I wouldna believe it. But ye've changed yer song, I think." He turned away to scowl into the fire. "And I want to know why," he muttered.
Tamsin rounded on Cuthbert. "How could you hit Will like that?" she demanded.
"'Twas the best way to get the task done," Cuthbert said, seated in a chair near her father. His thin face and silver hair reflected the firelight as he turned to look at Archie.
"This is foolishness! I want him taken out of that dungeon!"
Tamsin said. Archie stared into the fire and ignored her. "Then I'll do it myself!" She stomped toward the door.
"Rabbie," Archie said.
Rabbie, waiting by the door, stepped forward and took her arm. He pulled her back toward the hearth, where he pushed her down on a bench by the table. She shrugged his hand away. Rabbie stood nearby, arms folded over his chest.
"Ye willna go to him," Archie said. "I suspect there's been enough o' that at Rookhope."
"What has happened, Da?" She felt confused and frightened. "Why did you hurt Will? And what have you done with Musgrave?"
"Jasper's in the dungeon too," Archie said. "English side. We put Rogue's Will on the Scots side, just to be safe. I want nae Border treason on my head when all is done."
"What do you mean to do?" she demanded.
Archie sighed. "Pour us some wine while ye sit there, lass," he said gruffly. He gestured toward a clay jug that sat on the table beside a stack of wooden cups. "And have some yerself. 'Tis watered. Ye have nae head for the stronger stuff, nor ever did."
Tamsin huffed a little in exasperation, but turned to pour the wine, handing a cup to her father. Rabbie and Cuthbert each took a cup too, but Tamsin did not fill one for herself.
"Now what of William?" she asked Archie impatiently.
Archie frowned, looking into the fire. "I was wrong to trust that lad," he said. "And I am rarely mistaken about a man's character. I liked him well and thought him the equal o' his father. But ye were right about him, lass." He took a sip, and paused to shake his head.
"I was right?" Tamsin asked, bewildered.
"He is a treacherous sort, as ye tried to tell me when first ye laid eyes upon him. I've proof o' that now. He and Jasper Musgrave are involved in a heinous scheme."
She gasped, and felt a sensation like falling, like losing strength suddenly. She had hardly thought about Musgrave's scheme, or William's role in it, for days. The newborn flare of her feelings for William, and her growing affection for his family, had taken all of her attention. She had relied on a blithe trust that William and Archie would work that matter out. How foolish of her, she thought now.
"Heinous?" she asked hesitantly.
"Wicked," Archie said. "But this night, I've seen to the matter myself. They're both in my dungeon, and there they will stay. It may be I'll hang them myself," he mused.
"Hang them!" Tamsin stood, knees trembling.
"Or it may be, I'll let the Privy Council do that. See ye," Archie added, "Jasper doesna know he's in my dungeon." He smiled slyly, glancing at Rabbie and Cuthbert, who grinned.
Cuthbert leaned toward Tamsin. "Musgrave thinks he's in the hands o' the Privy Council," he said. "We'll have a confession out o' him soon, that sneakbait! Yer da is a canny man!"
"I dinna understand," Tamsin said faintly, sitting again.
Archie rubbed his hand over his jaw. "We captured Musgrave when he was on his way here. Riding alone, the auld fool, because Arthur was too drunk to come wi' him."
"And that was yer da's doing, too," Cuthbert crowed.
"Tell me what happened!" Tamsin demanded.
"Arthur Musgrave told us his father's plan, and 'tis a naughty thing indeed," Archie said. "We had to stop Jasper from completing his scheme. So we ambushed him, bagged his head, and tied his hands. I didna speak, for he knows my voice. We rode him all over the territory, and then came here and went round the walls till we were nigh exhausted."
"Why would you ride around the tower?" she asked.
"To make him think he was on a long journey!" Cuthbert said.
"We went around Merton Rigg for hours," Archie went on. "Rabbie told Jasper that he was the regent himself, and that Jasper's wicked scheme had been discovered. Hah!" He sat back, grinning. Cuthbert hooted with laughter, and Archie and Rabbie joined him.
Tamsin gaped at them, then stared at her father. "You have Musgrave down in the dungeon, fooled into thinking he is somewhere else, under the custody of the regent?"
"Aye," Archie said, grinning. "He wouldna be so frightened if he knew he was at Half Merton! He pleaded for his head to stay on his neck, he did!"
"Begged mercy of the Scottish regent—me!" Rabbie said.
"Hoo! Hoo!" Cuthbert guffawed. Archie and Rabbie slapped knees and punched shoulders and laughed with him.
Tamsin folded her arms over her chest and glared at each one in turn. "Swine drunk," she said. "How else would you come up with such a prank? Jasper Musgrave has been a naughty scoundrel, aye,
but this is a cruel trick indeed!"
"We're nae drunk," Cuthbert said, recovering. "Well, nae that drunk." Rabbie snickered, and Cuthbert grinned again, but quickly went serious under Tamsin's stare. "We had but some July ale at an inn in Kelso."
"And we paid good coin for it," Rabbie said. "Arthur Musgrave downed enough ale to make a dozen swine drunk."
Archie sat straight, his demeanor more serious. "'Tis how we learned about Musgrave's scheme. We were out collecting the signatures for the list—"
"The list of Bordermen willing to help King Henry?" she asked.
"Aye," Archie said. "We saw Arthur Musgrave bemoaning himself, cupshot and alone. We sat down and ordered more ale and let him think we were his comrades. He's just lost his bride to Jock Scott o' Lincraig, who stole her away and married her himself. A neat trick, that. And a fine reiver, I've heard. I thought to approach Jock one day about taking ye to wife, lass. Too late."
"Aye, too late," Tamsin said decisively. "Go on."
"We bought ale for Arthur until he was as fou as any man I've ever seen. After a while we learned a good bit from him."
"And what does any of this have to do with William Scott?" Tamsin asked. "I want him brought out of that dungeon. If you dinna do it soon, I will do it myself, I warn you."
"Lass," Archie said, "listen." He looked at Cuthbert and Rabbie, who had grown as solemn as Archie. "Archie Musgrave said that his father and William Scott are part of a plan designed by King Henry himself, the greatest scoundrel in all England."
"What plan?" Tamsin nearly shouted out of frustration.
"Jasper and Will mean to snatch our wee queen out o' Scotland and give her over to King Henry's custody," Archie said.
Tamsin stared at him, stunned. "That isna true," she said after a moment. "That canna be so."
"Has Will Scott told you different?" Archie asked.
"He's told me naught. But he wouldna do such an awful thing." She folded her arms to show her conviction. But her gut spun uncomfortably inside. Why had she not pressed William for better answers to the puzzle of Musgrave and his scheme? Had she trusted him in that matter only because he drew her to him, like a lodestone luring a bit of iron?
"Arthur said Will Scott agreed to help Jasper, and accepted a price of three thousand crowns," Archie said.
"Surely Arthur was lying," Tamsin said.
"A man that drunk doesna lie easily," Cuthbert said.
"But Mary Stewart is but a bairn! William has a daughter just her age! I canna believe he would agree to abduct a child, and his own queen!"
"Believe it," Archie snapped. "She willna be harmed, Arthur swears it, just taken over the Border into English custody. Arthur thinks that I am art and part in this scheme, too, and Cuddy and Rabbie with me," Archie said. "He told us that Will Scott fell from good regard at court, but that he can still get close to Queen Mary, so he agreed to help the English—for coin."
"Nay," Tamsin said in quiet, desperate denial. "Nay. He wouldna do such a foul thing."
"Political dealings," Archie said. "Power. Many Scots want King Henry to take over the realm o' Scotland. This country is poor, and lacks a strong leader. Some Scots want to give us up to the English for the sake o' comfort, and hang Scottish freedom. Rookhope must be one o' those disloyal bastards."
"All those years at court," Cuthbert said. "I told ye years ago, Archie, 'twould ruin that lad."
"Aye." Archie nodded. "Tamsin, the English pay coin and land to Scots who help King Henry's cause in Scotland. Henry wants the wee queen raised at his court. He's pestered the Scots Privy Council, who agreed to betroth her to his son, but they willna allow her to go to England until she is at least ten years old. Henry wants her now."
"So he devised a scheme to take her," Tamsin said.
"Exactly. We couldna allow this to go forward, once we learned of it," Archie said. The other men nodded.
"We had to save our wee queen," Rabbie growled.
"So we took Musgrave, and we took Will Scott too," Cuthbert said. "We'll let the regent know we have 'em. 'Tis over, Musgrave's sorry scheme."
"What frets me is that Jasper said we were too late to save the queen," Rabbie said. "He said the attempt was already begun."
"Nae without the gypsies, or without my list," Archie said. "Jasper didna know he was talking to me, after all."
"William canna be art and part in this," Tamsin protested. "Arthur lied—he would do anything to ruin Will's good name."
"Good name!" Archie burst out. "He doesn't have that wi' me any longer!"
Tamsin stood. "I'm going down to ask Will about this."
"What makes ye think he'll tell ye the truth?" Archie asked.
"He will," Tamsin said. "I know him."
"Sit," Archie ordered. "Rabbie, go fetch the lad. I want to hear this too." Rabbie nodded and left the great hall, his booted feet echoing.
Tamsin sat and rubbed her fingers over her brow, curling her left hand into its customary fist. Waiting, tense with dread, she could not look at her father.
Archie went to the table to sit beside Tamsin. He took a pack of cards out of the leather purse strapped at his belt, and poured them from one hand to the other with a ruffling sound. Then he began laying them out in suits, a game with himself that he called "patience," which she knew he played when he was troubled about something.
The silence was broken only by the crackle of the fire and the flutter and snap of the cards. Tamsin leaned her head on her hand and watched Archie lay the cards in neat rows. Not so long ago, she had arranged the tarocchi for William. The cards had shown no dishonesty in him, she thought. Had the cards been correct—or wrong?
"There is one thing more that we learned about Will Scott," Arthur said after a while. "Did ye know that at court, they called him the 'bonny laird'?"
Tamsin shook her head as she rubbed her creased brow.
"Hey, Cuthbert," Archie said. "Sing for us."
"Sing?" Tamsin looked up, confused.
Cuthbert cleared his throat and began to sing in a voice that was true, but thready with age.
The bonny laird went to his lady's door
And he's twirled at the pin.
"O sleep ye, wake ye, Jean my lass,
Rise up and let me in."
Tamsin listened, watching Cuthbert. A shiver went through her. Jean, she remembered, had been the name of Katharine's mother. She turned to stare at her father.
"Ye'll want to hear the rest," he murmured, glancing at her.
Cuthbert continued the song. Tamsin frowned. The melody and the story were similar to other ballads that she had heard growing up. Her great-uncle was fond of singing them. He had collected a chestful of black-letter broadsheets of current and old songs.
Now she heard the tale of a handsome laird and a young lass, the daughter of the laird's enemy. The laird convinced the girl that he loved her, and then got her with child, all to gain revenge on her father, who had hanged his own father.
"O Jeanie, what ails ye?" her father spoke.
"Does a pain cut in your side?"
"I have nae pain, but a lover's gift,
And my laird must wed me betide."
Archie snapped down a few more cards while Cuthbert sang. "That wee bairnie that Rookhope fathered," Archie murmured. "He seduced the mother a-purpose. She was a Hamilton. 'Tis a muckle popular song now, going about in broadsheets, and they say 'tis true. Rookhope was sent from court in disgrace. Did ye know that?" he asked. "Did he tell ye?"
"Nay," Tamsin whispered. "He never told me any of this."
"Well," Archie said, "'tis a good thing I got ye away from him. And to think that I wanted ye to wed that lad!"
"Never," he continued, laying out cards with fierce precision while he spoke, "never would I let ye wed a man who would mistreat a lass so poorly. Thank God I got ye away from him before he worked his charms on ye."
Tamsin bowed her head while Cuthbert began another verse. When the door of the great hall creaked opened, she could not
look up, even when she recognized the step of the man who approached the table. Cuthbert stopped singing.
"Sit, Will Scott," Archie said. "I'm sure you'll want to hear this song. Go on, Cuthbert."
"I've heard it before," William said calmly.
"Aye? And what would you tell us about it?" Archie said.
Tamsin looked up then. William sat on a stool a few feet from the table. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes shadowed, jaw tight. He wore shirt, breeches and stockings, his boots and doublet cast off somewhere. His hands were joined in front of him by a ring of knotted rope.
"Sing, Cuddy," Archie growled.
Fair Jean went to the wood one day,
And took with her some silk
She leaned her back against an oak
And bathed her bairn in milk.
"O daughter, my daughter, what do ye hold
So close under yer cloak?"
"I'm weak, so weak, and dyin'," she said,
"For I leaned against the oak."
Tamsin thought of the young girl, betrayed by the man she loved in an intimate and cruel way. She did not want to believe that William had caused such a tragedy. Yet she could not stop imagining him with his arms around a shadow of a girl who carried his child in her womb.
Cuthbert went on with the song. The last verse rang out, thickening the tension in the hall.
The bonny laird rode to his tower o' stone
Wi' his bairn upon his knee.
"Ye'll never see your grandsire again
For he is mine enemy."
Tamsin caught back a sob. "Tell me," she said, looking at William. "Is it true?"
He looked at her steadily. "In part."
"Which part?" she asked.
"I want to know, Rookhope," Archie thundered, "how ye could do that to a lass! 'Tis said that this song is the truth, and that ye fell from royal favor on account o' what ye did to her, and she a lady-in-waiting to Mary o' Guise herself."
William said nothing. He stared at Archie, his face set. But Tamsin saw fury in his eyes, blue as the heart of a flame. She felt her own anger build in waves, until she wanted to stand and scream at all of them—her father, her kinsmen, and William. She felt as betrayed as Jeanie Hamilton, as devastated. Ripped apart in moments, while Jeanie had suffered far longer.
