by Susan King
Her gray eyes darted toward him and a pink blush stained her cheeks. He noticed her dark hair, braided loosely and slung over one shoulder, had a silky gloss. He wondered why that detail caught his attention. Pretty. Very pretty. Reason enough.
"I will watch the prisoner now," she told Christie. "Go home to your sister. Reivers visited last night. Heckie's Bairns."
Christie started. "Did they harm Jennet or—"
"She's fine." Mairi gave him a little shove toward the door. "But they took gear and animals. They took your horse."
"By hell! Sneakbait thieves!" the lad shouted, stomping out of the room and up the steps. "Those leeches will pay wi' their hides! That was Devil Davy Armstrong's horse!"
"He sounds like his father," Rowan remarked as the furor faded.
Mairi shut the door. "You knew Davy?"
"I did. I recall his bairns too, a wee blond laddie and a redheaded girl. Jennet?" He smiled. "Is Jennet Armstrong the fine cook I should thank—or is that you?"
"Jennet. How did you know Davy?"
"I rode out wi' my kin when I was as young as Christie. I was sixteen when Davy's son was born." He frowned. "Reivers rode on his sister's home last night?"
"Heckie Elliot and his lot. We've seen them several times of late. And thanks to them, we will not have the proper number of beasts to offer for our Martinmas rent."
"They were Elliots?"
"Some, and a few English. Heckie said next time they come, they will burn the place down—"
"Unless you pay their blackmail price."
"Aye. But we will not."
"Highlanders would not pay," he said, nodding.
"Have you blackmailed many Highlanders?" she snapped.
"In my experience, Highlanders are stubborn as stones." He strolled toward her. "Where's your own weapon? You wield the butt piece of the gun well enough to a man's head, but I do not know your skill with the shot. How will you guard me today?"
Her cheeks grew rosier, and she stepped back. "I heard you tell Christie that this is an honorable confinement. So you will not harm me. I will have your word."
"As a Borderman and a Scott, my word on it." He felt a slight wave of dizziness, and stopped to lean against the wall, a casual pose that provided an essential buttress. And an advantage, for the girl was but an arm's length away, and near the door.
He paused, enjoying the pleasant view—she was a beauty, with that skin and shiny dark hair, those soft gray eyes. And somehow it took his breath away in this dismal place.
Briefly he wondered how her skin would feel under his hands, and what the thick plaid and plain gown hid—he could see the strong, slim curves of her. Beneath the low, square bodice of her gown peeked a white shift of fine lawn, and the delicate shadowings of her collarbones and tops of her breasts.
A quick stirring ran through his body. He cleared his throat. "You do not wear your black doublet and breeks today?"
Her eyes flashed like silver. "Only when I ride at night."
"So you do not plan to take down any other messengers this day?" He spoke lightly, but frowned.
"Other—messengers?"
"The council had word that their messengers were being attacked in this area." He watched her keenly. "Why did you do it? And why, more to the point, did you come after me?"
"For your papers."
"Why would you want my council orders?"
"I need a warrant of execution," she said.
Her honesty surprised him. "What use do you have of such an order?"
"Blackdrummond," she said, "you are a Scott and a notorious scoundrel."
"Thank you." He tipped his head graciously.
The girl shot him a wry look. "But I will be honest with you. I cannot keep a March deputy here much longer—"
"If at all," he drawled, "now that I'm awake."
"—and I know that Simon Kerr wants you to capture the highway riders."
"How do you know that?"
"Simon told me. He rode by after the raid on our house last night. He said you would be searching for the Lincraig riders when you arrived." She shrugged. "I am the rider you seek."
He tilted a skeptical brow. "So easy as that?"
"I propose a bargain."
"Why should I bargain with a highway thief?"
"I hear you were a thief yourself."
"I was a reiver," he said sharply. "Thieves rob purses. Reivers trade cattle."
"Stealing is stealing. But I will give myself over to you—if you agree to what I want."
"Give yourself to me?" he asked softly, stepping closer. He slid his gaze over her graceful form and lingered on the luscious curves of her bodice.
Her cheeks brightened considerably. Rowan liked that bonny splash of color—and liked how telling it was in her.
"I mean, I will give myself into your custody," she amended. "And I will set you free from this dungeon."
"What is to stop me from taking you here and now?" he asked in a low growl.
Those cheeks looked hot enough to melt ice. "You gave me your word. A Border promise is sound, when sincerely made."
"True. But why should I take you into custody? Have you had some fit of righteous thinking? Fearing the Lord and such?"
She lifted her chin. "You will take me as a pledge for my brother."
"I see." He did not. What the devil was she plotting here? "And just who is this important brother?"
"The warden holds him prisoner at Abermuir Tower."
He frowned. "For reiving?"
She nodded, but Rowan saw the hesitation in it. There was more to this than beasts and household gear. "Was there murder involved?" he asked quickly.
"Nay. Iain is falsely accused, but Simon intends to give him into English hands at the next truce day. But if I serve as the pledge for my brother, he could go free."
"What of you, then?"
She glanced away. "Simon will not harm me."
He stared at her, trying to absorb all of this. "God have mercy," he said slowly, "you will have me ride to Kerr's castle with you, the highway rider, already in my custody? And then you want me to demand his prisoner's release in exchange for your wee bonny hide?"
"Simon wants the Lincraig rider taken, and I am the one."
"Are you so daft?" He tried not to laugh. She looked so earnest. "I am to say that a slip of a lassie took me down on the Lincraig moor? And others, for that matter? Simon Kerr would never believe it. And I do not have authority to release the warden's prisoners. That is his decision."
"Please," she said quickly. "You can help us. I have been thinking about this."
"I can see that. It is quite a scheme." He smiled.
"Iain is one of your tenants. A laird owes right of protection to his tenants."
"My grandsire handles the rents in my absence. Ask him to take you to Kerr and demand Iain's freedom. Granddad was always clever at gaining fat ransom fees."
"You are the deputy. You do it." She held out her hands, wrists up, as if begging to be tied.
His lips twitched. "If you have such a wild urge to be a pledge, go to Simon."
"He said me nay. But he does not know that I have been riding out on the Lincraig road."
"Then he's in for a surprise."
She frowned. "I hoped that you might help me."
He sighed, realizing the lass was utterly serious. Reivers' womenfolk sometimes took the news of their kinsmen's imprisonment hard. But she was willing to sacrifice her own freedom—though Rowan wondered if the truce day hearings might free this brother of hers.
"Your brother will not be held for long," he said. "Cattle stealing does not run to hanging often as it should. He could be declared clean on truce day if he pays a fine. Except where murder has been done, the English wardens just want the satisfaction of pressing the charge. Truce day juries are mostly reiving men who look after their own. He'll go free."
She shook her head. "Simon wants to hang my brother. He says he is a spy."
He narrowed his ey
es, considering that. So this was Kerr's errant spy? "And you claim he is innocent," he said softly.
"He only helped Alec Scott bring back some cattle."
"I am guessing you know Alec Scott is my brother."
"Aye, and your brother rode off into the hills and let mine be jailed for Alec's crime." Her eyes flashed, fists tightening at her sides. "Simon told me he found Spanish gold among Iain's booty, but Iain knows naught of it. Your brother knows the truth of it. Perhaps you owe us a favor after all, Blackdrummond, for your brother's due." She folded her arms over her chest.
"Alec should settle his own debts. So—this is why you ride the road, and why you seek a warrant of execution. To delay your brother's execution for treason over that Spanish gold."
She lifted her chin, but Rowan saw a flicker of fear in her stormy eyes, and a tremor in her soft lower lip.
"Few men would risk what you take on for your brother," he said softly. Honor burned bright in her eyes, he thought, fascinated. Though she might go about it in odd ways, she was capable of a fine and rare loyalty. The kind that did not exist in his own life.
"He has been wronged, and no one to right it but me."
"Is he as clean as you think?" he murmured, facing her. She backed against the door. "He took up wi' Border reivers. And he took up wi' Alec Scott."
"If Alec were my brother, I would defend him until I knew the truth," she said.
"No doubt. But if Alec favors spying these days, he'll pay the price for it someday. He will be caught." He leaned a hand to the wall just over her head.
She stared up at him, touching her teeth to her lower lip fretfully. "Will you or won't you take me as a pledge for Iain?" she asked. "I am the Lincraig rider Simon hunts."
He breathed out, stirring the dark, silky tendrils near her forehead. "If I decide to take down the Lincraig rider, lass," he murmured, "I will do so when I please. On the highway or on the moor. Or in your own house."
She watched him like a fledgling bird might watch a hawk. "And then?"
He lowered his forehead to nearly touch hers. "And then we shall see," he whispered, "what we will do."
"You could still take me as a pledge," she offered.
Rowan smiled and drew back a little. "Rare stubbornness," he said. "And rare loyalty. But filled with a foolish notion."
She lifted her chin. "Take me pledge now, or I will ride again. I have not found the warrant yet."
"Stubborn," he murmured. "You may get yourself killed. And I am not the only one who will come after you, if you spoil travelers again on that road."
"Spare me, then, and take me for a pledge now."
"I do not make bargains with daft Highland lassies."
She swore in Gaelic, breathy but vicious, and whirled to yank at the door latch. Rowan placed his hand over hers.
"Leaving? Then you leave with me," he said. "I am done with my wee rest." He pulled the door wide, grabbed her arm, and walked out of the cell with her into the close, dark corridor.
"Let go!" She pushed at him, but he kept an iron grip on her arm. "You gave me your word!"
"I said I would not harm you. But I never promised to stay here." He drew her, struggling, up the stone steps. "It seems you did not intend to ransom me, so I'm free to go."
"I would not take a penny for you!" she yelled.
"I had value enough when I rode past you on the Lincraig road," he remarked, pulling her up another step.
"I wanted your papers! Ow! Where do you take me?"
"To your horse," he said. "I think you should go home."
"And where are you going?"
"Home," he answered mildly.
"Let go!" She wrenched free of his hold. Losing her balance on the step, she tilted, and Rowan caught her deftly around the waist.
"Listen, wild lassie," he growled, "I will not harm you. Trust me for that. But I am leaving and so are you."
He let go of her then. Taking the risers in pairs, he reached the top of the staircase and emerged into the cool air.
"Wait!"
He heard her scurrying up the steps behind him, but he was already crossing the courtyard with long strides over the old, broken stones. Just inside the crumbling outer wall, a black horse was tethered to a stone.
"You will not steal my horse!" Mairi called out.
"I do not steal horses," Rowan muttered. He walked past the animal and through the gateless opening.
His rapid stride brought him quickly out into the middle of the moor. The day was bright enough to make him squint, but the cold wind cut through his thin shirt and mud seeped through his knitted hose. He had no boots still, but could ignore any discomfort now that he was unconfined and outside. He walked on, ducking against the wind.
Behind him, he heard a horse, but did not turn.
"Where are you going?" Mairi called.
"Go home, Mairi," he said, and walked ahead.
"You do not have your boots!"
"Then give them back," he answered over his shoulder.
She drew the horse alongside of him. "We will be clear that I did not steal your things," she said firmly. "I only took them to dry them by the fire. You things were dripping wet."
"Then make certain they are dry, for I will soon come get them from you," he said, marching on through the muck.
Something soft and warm descended over his head. He snatched at it. She had thrown him her plaid, still warm from her body. He began to toss it back.
"Keep it," she said. "The wind is cold." He draped it over one shoulder and walked on.
"Take me as a pledge," she said. "Please!"
He stopped to look squarely up at her, and she drew the horse to a halt. "When I take you for riding the highway, lass—and I will," he added, "I will take you on my terms. Now go home." He resumed walking.
Her horse kept pace with him. "Will you tell Simon Kerr where you have been?" she asked. "That we held you?"
He glanced up. The sun made a halo behind her, shining reddish through her hair. Rowan sensed her uncertainty, suddenly. She was not the virago she would have him think. And for some reason, she did not want to be taken by Simon Kerr. She did not trust the man.
"I will not tell him. Now go home. I will capture you later," he said. "I do owe you for the head-banging."
But he would not be so foolish as to tell Kerr that a lassie had clobbered him and locked him in an abandoned ruin for three days. He walked on.
"Rowan Scott," she called. "I need your help."
"Go home."
"Blackdrummond, listen—"
"Keep my gear and my horse well for me until I come for them," he called back.
"I might let the reivers have them," she snapped.
"Do that and you'll pay dearly for it."
The wind whistled, the cold muck seeped through his stockings. He walked on, aware that Mairi Macrae watched him for a long while.
Chapter 8
"O when he came to broken brigs,
He bent his bow and swam;
And when he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran. "
—"Rob Roy"
Rowan stopped, yanked off his soggy stockings, and tossed their sorry remains in a small pool. Adjusting the plaid about him, he climbed craggy hills thick with old grass, and finally crossed an earthen road, pausing at the base of a slope.
Blackdrummond Tower rose high and stark, as if it emerged out of bare rock, an impenetrable Border tower on a high outcrop. Built when Rowan's grandfather had been a child, the stronghold was protected by its forbidding setting. Only single riders could maneuver the steep slope, and the roof offered a view that extended for miles.
He walked closer. Within the stout barnekin wall, the four-story stone tower thrust upward. Narrow windows pierced the grim facade like suspicious, watchful eyes. But the smoke spiraling up from the chimney reminded him of warmth, of pride, of home. He broke into a run.
Farther up the long slope, sheep grazed. The man tending them sat against
a boulder, bonnet tipped low over his face. Rowan gave an eerie wolf's howl.
The shepherd leaped up, drawing a dirk. Rowan laughed and waved, and the man stared, then shoved the knife back into his belt. "Master Rowan!"
Rowan "Sandie Scott! Greetings!"
"The Black Laird's come back at last!" Sandie took Rowan's hand, his grin joyous. Rowan hugged his cousin, once his father's most loyal riding companion, and stood back. Sandie looked older, his beard nearly white, his reddish hair sparse now. But mischief still twinkled in his brown eyes.
"You look banged about. And wanting for gear," Sandie said, frowning at Rowan's appearance.
"A long journey, Sandie."
"We thought to see you a few nights past. The Auld Laird's been waiting for you. And Lady Anna was ready to ride out searching for you herself."
"I was delayed," Rowan said. "I could not send word. Are my grandparents well?"
Sandie grimaced. "Well, I've seen 'em better. This business wi' Alec has been a sore fret to both. But they're tough as old meat, that pair. Auld Jock is troubled betimes by the bone-ache in his legs, and doesna ride out much on account o' it. But Lady Anna is more spry than most."
"You've stayed with them all the time I've been gone, Sandie," Rowan said. "I thank you for it."
"Och, I've been wi' them all these years, I would not leave now, when my beard is white. And where would I go, but riding again, or livin' in the Debatable Land, where the worst scoundrels nest? I'd be in a dungeon fast enough. Auld Jock keeps me honest, he does."
"Lady Anna keeps you both honest," Rowan corrected.
Sandie chuckled. "She's reformed me and Auld Jock, though it took years. And yourself, in that English prison?"
Rowan shrugged. "I was kept in fine quarters. I read some excellent books."
Sandie burst out laughing, throwing back his head in delight. "Books! Your younger brother should try that, eh, to cure his mischief. Books! I ne'er read one in my life. Cannot do it, see. But when I was imprisoned in Carlisle for thinnin' out the English herds, another prisoner taught me the letters in my name, at least."
