The Heather Moon

by King, Susan

  She went on, answering the dowager queen's keen, perceptive questions.

  "Madame," she whispered then. "I must warn you of danger."

  "Do you see that in my hand?" Marie whispered.

  "Non, madame," she said in rapid, quiet French. "Here in this room. Those two men forced me to come here. They are not gypsies. They want to steal your daughter."

  "Dear God," the dowager queen whispered. Her hand flinched in Tamsin's gentle grip, but she made no other sign of fear.

  "You must move her to safety. Is there another exit?"

  "There is," she murmured calmly, as they bent over her hand.

  "Take the child out that way," Tamsin murmured. "I will delay them somehow."

  Marie of Guise nodded and stood. "What an interesting fortune," she said, her face pale. "I am very grateful to you."

  The queen dowager went toward the bed, and the young nurse stood. Marie of Guise took her infant into her arms, kissing the child's flushed cheek. "Malise," she said quietly.

  Hamilton came toward her. "Madame," he said. "The gypsies have offered to entertain the child."

  "She is tired," Marie of Guise answered in Scots, smiling at the men. "Take my daughter away from here, quickly," she said in French, and handed Malise the infant. He lifted her and turned in one smooth motion, heading for a door in the shadows beyond the fireplace. Marie of Guise took the nurse's arm and they rushed after him, slipping through the doorway.

  Tamsin whirled to see the two men start after them, daggers drawn. She ran toward them, and reached up to yank on the bed-curtains with all of her strength. With a heavy rip, some of the curtains collapsed, and she flung a swath of violet across the men's path, entangling their feet.

  She spun again, and pushed over a tall, heavy carved chair positioned by the fireplace. As she backed toward the shadowed door, she skittered another chair, and then a stool, over the floor. The men stumbled, hollering and swearing, over the curtains and the furniture, coming nearer. She reached the door and yanked on its iron latch, slipping through and slamming it.

  The door led out to a windowed alcove, beyond which was a corridor and turnpike stairs. Neither the dowager nor Malise Hamilton were in sight, but she had no time to wonder where they had gone, or to look for them. She heard the two men thunder out into the hallway in pursuit.

  She pounded down the turning stairs, hand sliding along the curved wall, feet nimble on the wedged steps. Breath heaving, she ran through the doorway on the ground level, out into the courtyard, and straight into chaos.

  Throughout the court, the Romany were collecting their belongings and moving toward the south gate. Men, women, children, horses, and carts surged toward the arch. The noise, echoing against the surrounding stone walls, was deafening.

  Guards seemed to be everywhere, on horseback and on foot, some shepherding the Romany toward the gate, others arguing with them. A group of men, mounted and armed, rode through the court from the stables.

  Tamsin fled into the midst of the commotion, turning, searching for William, her grandparents, or Baptiste. She saw her grandmother with Romany kin and ran toward her.

  "Where is my husband?" she called out to her grandmother in Romany. "Have you seen him?"

  Nona shook her head. "They are rushing us out of here," she said. "They are impatient and rude, for we only brought them pleasure for the day!" She scowled, and then turned to help a woman who was clumsily loading cloth sacks onto a cart bed.

  Tamsin spun again, scanning the crowd quickly. She saw Baptiste hurrying through the middle of the court and ran after him.

  "Where is William?" she called. "Have you seen him?"

  "That way!" he said, pointing. "We found two of the men, but they rode out of the gate. We are going after them. Your rya has gone to get his horse, and I will get mine!"

  "Wait!" she called, as he sped away from her. "Wait!"

  She turned again, and saw her grandfather rushing toward Nona. He explained something to her, pointing toward the gate, then ran toward the Romany men who were handling horses in a corner of the wide court. Baptiste ran there too, and Tamsin went after them, skirts flying high.

  She whirled as she ran, still looking for William. Finally she saw him, mounted on a large black horse she did not recognize, riding beside Perris Maxwell on a gray horse. William set his helmet on his head and steered his mount through the crowd, moving toward the gate. She pounded toward him, calling over the din. He turned.

  "Tamsin! Stay here! I'll be back for you!"

  "Will!" she called, running. "Stop!"

  He circled the huge, restive horse and loped toward her. "Go back inside," he said, bending down. "The men we were looking for have left the palace."

  "Two of them were in the queen's chamber," she said urgently. "They tried to take the queen. Malise Hamilton and the dowager queen took her safely away, but the men are still here somewhere." She looked around the courtyard frantically, and then saw the two men in headdresses. They merged with the crowd on foot: as some of the Romany eased into the arched gate tunnel. "There!" She pointed. "See those two men, in headgear!"

  He lifted the reins. "Go inside," he ordered. "I will be back." He turned the horse and galloped toward the gate, catching up with Perris. The men in the head wrappings and bright cloaks had already disappeared.

  Tamsin turned and saw Baptiste mounted on a white horse, a spirited stallion wearing only a blanket and bridle. Behind him, John Faw rode another white stallion, a matched, beautiful pair of animals. They guided their mounts toward the gate.

  Tamsin stood by the fountain and watched them. After they had gone, weaving their way through the throng, she turned and noticed the mounted guardsmen in helmets and steel chest armor, whom she had seen earlier.

  Now Malise Hamilton was mounted on a black horse in their midst. Tamsin wondered if he too rode out after the disguised men. He carried a bundle in one arm, and rode steadily toward the arch. His guardsmen called out to the gypsies to move aside.

  Something made her glance upward, then, to the western wing of the palace. There, framed in a pedimented window, Marie of Guise looked down over the courtyard. She opened the lower shutter and leaned outward, waving her hands in a way that struck Tamsin as odd, even alarming. The dowager withdrew from sight.

  A moment later, Tamsin saw her framed in another window, and another, as if she ran, stopping to look out.

  Puzzled, Tamsin glanced around the courtyard, and saw several guards running from one of the tower entrances, calling for their horses. Then she looked toward the gate, expecting the guardsmen with Malise Hamilton to stop. Instead, they spurred their horses and ordered the Romany out of the way.

  Just as Malise passed under the shadow of the arch, carrying his bundle, Tamsin glimpsed a bit of golden hair and lace, and heard the drift of a tiny, angry cry, despite the noise and commotion. She ran forward, craning to see.

  Malise carried the infant queen wrapped in a blanket. As Tamsin cried out, running closer, he tucked the blanket over the child's head, completely hiding her, and then disappeared into the mass of horses and people moving through the tunnel.

  Tamsin whirled toward the far corner, where some of the Romany horses remained. Their owners quieted the agitated horses. She ran up to one of the men, a distant cousin of hers, and snatched the reins of a glossy black horse from his hand. As her cousin gaped at her, she clambered onto the horse's blanketed back, pulled on the reins, and nudged the animal with her knees.

  "That is a valuable horse! Stop, girl!" the man shouted in Romany, as he chased after her.

  She reached into her bodice, pulled out the gold coin the disguised man had given her, and tossed it to him. Then she hunkered down and headed for the gate.

  The dark interior of the tunnel was densely packed, the echoes of voices and neighing horses shrill and loud. Tamsin edged the black along one wall, calling out in Romany for people to shift out of the way. She glanced ahead and saw Malise and his guard leaving the tunnel. They rode
into the dim evening light, and swiftly disappeared down the cobblestone hill that led away from the palace and through the town.

  Tamsin urged the black ahead, blocked at one point by a cart that had gotten stuck. The tunnel arch was neither wide nor long, but the Romany seemed unwilling to pass through a few at a time. A massive pair of wood and iron doors normally closed the outer end of the gate, and only one stood open now, slowing progress for all.

  Her horse began to buck and shift, and Tamsin feared, for a few moments, that she would lose control of the animal. She leaned forward and patted the muscled neck, speaking in soothing tones, and walked it steadily toward the exit.

  When the black finally stepped out into open air, Tamsin breathed out in relief and guided the sidling horse down the gradual slope to the town. The tiny copper bells fringing the blanket and decorating the bridle rang softly in the open air. As she passed the Romany who streamed along the main street of the town, she looked ahead for Malise and his guards, and for William and the others.

  At the outskirts of the town, she saw Malise and his companions cutting across a wide moor. The slightest nudge of her legs sent the black sailing after them. She hunkered low and pressed with her knees, and knew she could close the distance.

  A few moments later, she straightened, pulling back on the reins, peering ahead. Foolish, she told herself, to think she could stop armed men from taking the little queen wherever they wanted. Perhaps Malise Hamilton took the queen to safety.

  Then she remembered Marie of Guise's stricken face in that upper window of the palace. She was sure that Hamilton had not taken the little queen with the consent of her mother.

  Tamsin circled the black on the moor, feeling its power, tense and restrained, beneath her. Behind her, the Romany made their way out of the town and toward the moor. Turning, she saw in the distance a group of horsemen riding west toward some hills. Surely that was William and the others, in pursuit of the men disguised as gypsies. Controlling the horse as it sidled, she glanced eastward, where Malise and his guards rode away with the little queen.

  For another moment she circled uncertainly, knowing she could not stop Hamilton without help. Remembering the guards who had readied to leave the palace just as she rode out, she knew that the queen dowager must have summoned help, and that Hamilton would soon be pursued. Hamilton's track would not be lost. That knowledge decided her.

  She hunkered low and launched the black toward the west, and toward William. Of all men, he could stop Malise Hamilton from taking the queen. And of all men, he deserved the chance to try.

  Chapter 30

  "He is either himsell a devil frae hell,

  Or else his mother a witch maun be

  I wadna have ridden that wan water,

  For a' the gowd in Christentie."

  —"Kinmont Willie"

  William leaned into the wind as the black stallion, a loan from Baptiste, galloped over the moorland. Perris rode hard at his side, and John Faw and Baptiste Lallo just ahead. The horse was swift, powerful, and nimble, and carried an armed man and weapon-loaded saddle with ease, which, William was sure, the Romany horse was not accustomed to doing.

  The four men they had pursued had disappeared among the hills already. He glanced ahead and saw no sign of them. He thought about turning back to find more men and organize a fuller search, when he heard Perris yell to him.

  He turned. Perris gestured behind them. William twisted, and saw a horse coming after them, black like his own, streaming through the gathering darkness like a shadow. Then he caught a glimpse of the rider's long black hair billowing out, and her skirts flying back over bare legs. He swore, loud and fierce.

  He turned and rode back. "What are you doing here?" he called to Tamsin. "Go back!"

  "Hamilton!" she called out, circling her horse around his. "Hamilton has the queen!"

  "What?" he said, halting his horse.

  She pulled up beside him. "He took the queen," she said breathlessly. "I saw him, after you rode out. He rides with an armed guard, that way—" She pointed eastward. "Madame sent guardsmen after them."

  He twisted in the saddle and called to Perris and the others, who had turned to ride back. He explained what Tamsin had told him, and Perris nodded.

  "Dear God," Perris said. "I had heard rumors of a second plot to take the queen, a Scottish plot to wed her to the regent's own little son. But I had no proof. Since Malise is bastard half-brother to the regent, this doesna wholly surprise me though."

  "If they ride eastward, they may mean to take her to the regent's castle on the coast," William said.

  "We must go after this Hamilton," Baptiste said, listening. "The men who were dressed as Romany women are long gone. They did not take the prize they wanted, so what do we care? This Hamilton has the treasure you want!"

  "Aye," William said. He looked at Tamsin. "Go back to the palace. We will go in pursuit."

  She only looked at him, with a decidedly unconvinced tilt of her head. He saw that she had no intention of complying, and he had no time to argue with her. He simply wheeled eastward, and all of them pulled around and launched after him.

  * * *

  The moon rose white and huge, casting a silvery sheen over the hills and moorland. While the surrounding shadows darkened, William and the others rode near enough to see Malise and his men ahead of them. Perris spotted the queen's guards riding over the moors, and pointed them out to William, then turned and rode back to meet them.

  William led the rest onward. All four rode Romany horses, hearty and swift, trained to obey the slightest shift of the rider's leg or hand. Tamsin rode to his left now, and he glanced at her. Despite his concern for her safety, he was glad that she was there.

  When she looked at him, he gave her a little smile and tipped his helmet. Then he surged ahead, knowing that she and their Romany companions came fast behind him.

  He heard a shout, and looked back to see Perris and the guards riding not far behind now. William waved them all onward.

  Within moments, they joined forces with the royal guards. Few words passed between them, since time did not allow it. Command and consent were made by gesture, expression, and intuition. They rode together, swift and quiet, and came on the heels of Hamilton's guardsmen.

  The royal guards cut into them like reivers into a herd of cattle, splitting them apart, driving them away. Lances and swords flashed in shadow and moonlight as guard met guard. William stormed through their center, twisting only to wave Tamsin out of the way, and to gesture to John Faw and Baptiste to keep her back.

  William saw Hamilton on a pale horse and edged toward him, hampered by the tumultuous movements of the horses around him. Hamilton sliced away from the group and took off over the moorland, his bundle secure in his arms, his helmet glinting as he repeatedly looked behind him.

  William urged his horse after him, clearing past the other horses at last. He launched out over the moorland, his mood grim, dark, determined. Within moments, he noticed that Baptiste, John, and Tamsin rode beside and behind him, their speed in keeping with his, hoofbeats thudding, quickening his heart to a fierce pace. The other guards had ridden in pursuit of Hamilton's men.

  As he drew nearer, he saw the pale blur of a tiny head, heard a small cry snatched back by the wind. Fury, desperate and pure, rolled through him. A profound need to defend and harbor that small soul poured after it, filling him to the brim with steadfast purpose. He rode onward, the horse responding to subtle commands.

  He did not look to see who rode with him. The thunder of their combined hoofbeats seemed to shake the very earth.

  Then, as the shadows thickened and the moon rose higher, William felt as if the horse slowed, as if its long, sure strides became less certain. He heard it snort. Sensitive to the horse's signals, as the black was to his, William glanced down.

  The tufted, uneven ground gleamed in the moonlight. Ahead, where Hamilton rode, the dark shadows of the grasses mingled with tiny, endless chains of shimmering pools
like black mirrors.

  Marshland, William thought, and swore aloud. Of course, he thought, for they rode eastward toward the sea, where the watery, treacherous bogs that plagued much of Scotland increased. He pulled up gradually, allowing his horse to pick its way through the morass. He looked down and saw the horse's feet dipping deeper with each step into the bog.

  He called out and whirled to warn the others back. They too glanced down and saw the danger, and hesitated, a few of them retreating to the more solid ground that they had left.

  Tamsin rode forward on her horse, a black twin to his own. She looked at him, and he saw that she felt the same resolve that he did. Danger surrounded them, and the earth had its own power to draw them down and defeat them, but they would not stop.

  He nodded in silent affirmation when she sent him a pleading look. Together they urged their horses over the soft ground, riding cautiously, glancing down, then ahead. If Hamilton could ride onward, William thought, so could they.

  Moonlight created a wide path to follow, turning the watery patches to polished jet, while the tufted ground had a rough texture. The horses moved carefully, while William scanned the gloom, looking for more certain ground.

  He saw Hamilton skimming the marshland like a shadow, like a fool, riding too fast, forcing his horse ahead, glancing backward nervously. Then, as William watched, Hamilton's pale horse stumbled, recovered, then stumbled again, floundering, forelegs sinking in the bog.

  William pushed the black then, taking the risk, praying that the horse's instincts were as good as he thought they were. He did not look behind him, but encouraged the horse with knee and hand and voice. He kept his gaze intent on the man and child, and the faltering horse, not so far ahead now.