by Susan King
"Reivers, hey," Simon said. "We ride out at dark. Did you post men on the roof to watch for beacons?" Archie nodded. "And did you send word out to the rotten rascals who petitioned me last week?"
"I sent riders to their towers and houses wi' your promise to find the Lincraig riders before week's end," Archie said.
Rowan looked at Simon. "What's this about?"
"Some Bordermen sent me a petition. They're complaining that the thieves on the Lincraig road are mere purse shifters, giving reiving men an unfair name around the March. Hah! Blast all scoundrels to hell, I say!"
"You swore to find the highway riders before week's end?"
"The reivers want justice. They threaten to ride down these highwaymen themselves, and hang 'em from the nearest tree, March laws be damned." He shifted his bulky shoulders. "Takes a braw man to deal wi' reivers in this March," he muttered. "I hope you are up to the task, Blackdrummond."
"Have no worry, sir," Rowan drawled.
"Sir, you have muckle matters to concern you now," Archie said. "There are other letters from the council and two from the English warden that need to be written and sealed. Perhaps you could send Scott after the highway riders so that you can tend to other matters. The postal riders must go out tomorrow."
Simon belched. "A Scott could handle this task well enough, I suppose, if he is an avowed deputy." He looked at Rowan. "Act as my arm in this matter, and deal out a dose o' the warden's justice to these Lincraig thieves."
"I'll do just that," Rowan murmured.
Chapter 12
"O saddle to me the black, the black,
O saddle to me the brown,
O saddle to me the swiftest steed
That e'er rode frae the town."
—"Bonnie Babie Livingston"
Mairi's fingers were steady as she poured a tiny stream of gunpowder into the pan of Christie's matchlock pistol. She closed the little lid, heard its solid click, and laid the gun on the table. Then she glanced toward the hearth, where Christie slept on a low pallet before the fire.
Mairi shifted on the bench to glance at the closed and barred outer door. The hour was near midnight, and the house was quiet, with the sleeping breaths and snores of its occupants, Christie and the dog, Jennet inside the curtained box bed, and Robin peaceful in his cradle.
But Mairi could not rest. She had an anxious foreboding. Something dangerous approached. Dressed in Iain's dark clothes, she waited.
For what? Her stomach clenched. She did not know, but the air felt heavy, inexorable, inevitable. Some dark certainty urged her to load Christie's matchlock, though she knew little about using the weapon. Still, if needed, it was ready.
She sighed and rested her head on her arms. Moments later, she heard a rustle and saw Christie sitting up in the darkness.
"Mairi, what is it?"
"Naught. I could not sleep is all."
He came to sit beside her on the bench, clutching a blanket around his shoulders, his blond hair mussed. "You're dressed to ride out," he whispered. "Why? There was no word of messengers when I was at inn at Kelso earlier today."
"I know, but I wonder if we should ride out to the Lincraig road. Something is in the air, Christie. I feel it. Perhaps the messenger is coming who has the order that we need to stop."
"I'll ride out to the Lincraig road if you like."
She shook her head. "Stay here and guard. I'll go."
"Nay. Reivers may be about," he insisted softly.
"All the more reason for you to stay with Jennet and the bairn. I'll just ride by the old ruin. I can manage not to be seen. No harm will come to me there." She stood.
"Mairi—"
"I've loaded the pistol for you," she said.
Christie nodded. "Just a little while. If you don't come back soon, I'll ride out after you."
"I'll be safe. Watch well. Sleep in the day."
"Och, Armstrongs are kin to owls, y'know."
Mairi slipped quietly out the door.
* * *
The wind swept through trees silvered by moonlight. Mairi sat her black mare and looked down the slope to the road. Her hands flexed on the reins.
She had sat here an hour and more, seeing nothing. Yet the ominous foreboding still haunted her. Something, someone surely rode this night. She sighed, wishing she had the full gift of Sight that her brother and mother possessed, rather than elusive feelings. She did not know what danger would come.
The moorland lay like a dark, rumpled quilt below the Lincraig hill. She watched—and then startled to attention.
Far off, a light winked, a tiny star in the blackness. Moments later, another gold star bloomed. She waited breathlessly, the skin on the back of her neck prickling.
Beacons, signaling the approach of a reiving party. This was what brought her sense of unease. A band of rogues rode the night. The half-moon was high enough for it.
She should have listened to Christie and stayed home. But she had been desperate to recover any message that the council might send along this night. The time for that was nigh.
A third golden light flared, brighter, closer this time.
She spurred the horse, Peg, forward, and rode down the hill and over the moor. Reining in the horse beneath some trees, she looked again. The third beacon was larger, close now, flaring wild and hot into the night sky.
Then she cried out. No beacon, but a house fire a league or so away—near Iain's house. Too near. Fear struck through her and she spurred the horse.
Mairi urged Peg to a gallop, bent low, wind and black mane whipping at her face. She reached the hill nearest Iain's home and reined in, horse sidestepping anxiously, ribs heaving under Mairi's knees.
The thatch roof of her brother's house flared bright as a torch. Mairi rode closer, halting when she saw several horsemen silhouetted in the light of the fire. They were herding cows and a cluster of sheep. She heard the dog barking, heard the crackle of burning thatch, smelled the heavy smoke that rose into the night.
She heard her own scream of protest as she rode forward.
By the time she reached the yard, the reivers had ridden off, herding the beasts before them. Mairi leaped from her horse's back, stumbling and running toward the house. Bluebell ran past her, chasing the riders, who were now just distant specks skimming over the moonlit hillside.
Jennet knelt on the ground a few yards from the house. She looked up in the red, flickering light. "Dear God, Mairi," she said. She clutched her son to her breast.
"Was it Heckie?" Mairi fell to her knees. "Oh! Christie!"
The boy lay on the ground, his pale face and blond hair reddish in the hot light. Sparks seared the ground as Mairi reached out to touch his shoulder. Blood darkened his shirt.
Mairi slipped her hand along his throat and felt a faint, uneven beat there. "He's alive. We have to move him away from the fire."
Jennet set the babe down on the ground, safely beside a rock, and helped Mairi drag Christie down the hill away from the burning house. She retrieved her son and went to the stream at the base of the hill, returning with a wet cloth torn from her shift.
"Here," she said. "We cannot fight the fire, but we can try to save Christie."
Mairi peeled away the bloody shirt and gasped to see the black, ugly hole in the boy's shoulder that oozed blood. Jennet pressed the cloth against the wound, hands shaking but gentle.
"Heckie and his gang rode here and broke the door o' the byre. Christie had his gun loaded. He lit the match and fired the powder, but missed. Clem Elliot shot him. I thought he was dead when he fell."
Mairi touched Christie's brow. His breathing was uneven, and she felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at his still face.
"They fired the roof and took the beasts," Jennet continued. "They took Blackdrummond's dappled hobbie. And Heckie,"—she stopped and laughed bitterly—"told me he would leave me one cow and a sack o' grain for the bairn."
Mairi bit her lip and raised her gaze to the roaring fire on the rooftop. "This bea
con will bring help," she said. "Neighbors will see it and come. I will ride out to fetch the Armstrongs that live nearest. They will take you and Christie to your mother's home." When she rose, her legs shook and she faltered, then stood strong again.
Jennet bent over her brother, rocking her son to her. Mairi ran toward her horse—Peg was a reiver's mount, trained by Iain to wait placidly even amid chaos. Running, she saw Christie's pistol on the ground and picked it up. Shoving the heavy gun into the saddle holder, she mounted quickly.
As she left the yard, Bluebell sped past her, barking furiously. Jennet called out for the dog to come to her.
Smoke from the burning thatch stung Mairi's eyes. Wiping tears away, she headed for the road.
* * *
Following the beacons in the night, Rowan galloped over moors and hills with twenty troopers and Simon Kerr, all well armed and determined. Not long ago, the fiery signals that warned of approaching reivers had been clearly visible from Abermuir's roof, where Rowan had stood with Archie Pringle. As soon as the first light flared, Rowan had called the warning to Kerr, who decided to ride out. The horses were already saddled in the yard, and the group rode out quickly.
When Rowan saw the third beacon, blazing hotter than the others, he guessed its source. Promising to investigate the fire, he took three troopers and separated from the warden's party.
Dread spun in his gut as he rode. Grim certainty told him that the burning house was Iain Macrae's. Urging Valentine to a gallop, he skimmed the ground with the three others close behind as the wind howled around them.
Jehovah's breath did not power the wind this night, Rowan thought—it was like devil's own exhale, dark and dangerous.
As he cleared a hill near Iain's home, he saw the yellow flames that devoured the roof and soared into the night. Reaching the yard, he slid down from his horse and ran toward the red-haired woman bent over a man on the ground. She looked up.
"Jennet?" he asked, dropping to one knee. "I'm Blackdrummond."
"I know," she said. "Heckie and his comrades were here. They took our beasts. Took your hobbie too. Clem Elliot shot my brother."
Rowan looked at Christie, seeing the blood and the shallow breathing. Then he glanced around in alarm. "Where is Mairi?"
"She rode toward Lincraig—"
Rowan stood. "I'll go after her. My men will get you and the lad to safety. This one needs attention."
"My mother's house is a few miles from here."
"Walter!" he called to one of the troopers. "Make a litter, and you and the others take them wherever Mistress Macrae wishes." Bluebell circled anxiously, and Rowan rubbed her head. "Take the dog, too," he added. "God keep you, Mistress Jennet." He turned to grab his horse's bridle.
* * *
Riding furiously, Mairi looked over her shoulder again, but saw only black hills beneath the floating half-moon. Yet she felt danger keenly, sharply, like a knife through her soul. Leaning low, gripping the reins, she rode on.
The reivers had gone this way, but Mairi hoped they were far ahead by now. Ambushes often occurred after a raid, and that knowledge made her wary. But she was one rider, not a party of armed and fierce pursuers on a legal hot trod, carrying burning peats on lances. Surely they would not bother one rider.
She wanted only to reach the house that belonged to Jennet and Christie's Armstrong kin. Legally or not, the Armstrongs would ride out after Heckie and his gang, though a feud might well begin.
She covered another mile or so, passing the old castle on its hill. Glancing sideways, she saw the shadows of some riders who cut across the moor far from her, toward Abermuir and Blackdrummond. She ducked low and rode on. If Heckie and his lot were not done for the night, they might cross her path. She could not be seen—she had to fetch help for Christie.
In the noise of wind and hoofbeats, she did not hear the horseman who approached from the left, so that he surprised her utterly. As his horse pulled alongside hers, she glanced wildly at him and veered away. Recognizing Clem Elliot by his large build and heavy beard, she near panicked.
Clem grimaced in the moonlight and grabbed or her. With her left hand, Mairi grabbed the pistol sheathed in its holder. She had no time, and little skill, to fire the powder, but she could wield the heavy ball end.
With a hard swing, she aimed toward Clem and caught him on the jaw, but lost her grip. Clem lurched, then lashed out at her with vicious strength.
Grabbing Mairi's arm, Clem yanked hard, dragging her toward the gap between their horses. She clung to the saddle, but his greater strength pulled her closer, the two horses lurching, bumping, the wind fierce. Crying out, she lashed out frantically, catching his horse in the head.
The horse careened sideways. Thrown off balance, Clem slid from his saddle, pulling Mairi's arm as he went down, but he let go before he hit the ground.
Mairi yanked upright in the saddle, but the pain slamming through her shoulder was intense. Moving her left arm brought searing agony. Twisting the reins around her right hand, she held on, dazed, leaning over the saddle as her horse sped onward.
She did not see the other rider until he drew up beside her. When he reached out and grabbed her around the waist, she had no strength to fight him.
"Mairi," he said, and she sank toward him.
* * *
Rowan pulled the girl across his saddle like a sack of barley. He righted her quickly, seating her in front of him and strapping his arm across her chest as he took the reins again.
She uttered a hoarse cry and twisted, then stilled against him. Expecting far more argument than that, he circled his horse around and caught the dangling reins of her horse to lead the animal back with them. Then he rode for Blackdrummond Tower.
Mairi sat oddly subdued and silent in his arms. When she glanced up, he was struck by how pale she was in the moonlight.
"We need to go to the Armstrongs—the other way," she said, her voice strained and low. "Take me there."
"We are going to Blackdrummond Tower."
"But I have to help Christie—" she struggled against him.
"They are fine. Troopers are taking Christie and Jennet to her mother's home," Rowan answered. "We saw the fire and rode to Iain's house. Do not fret for them. Fret for yourself instead," he added grimly. "I saw you assaulting a man on the road, and ride away. Another king's messenger?" he snapped.
"Clem Elliot," she said between clenched teeth. "He attacked me."
"Did he, the bastard," he growled. "I passed him as he was trying to catch his horse. He was loudly cursing Mairi Macrae."
Valentine cleared a narrow burn, landing on the other side, and Mairi cried out suddenly, grabbing her shoulder.
Rowan looked down. "What's wrong?"
"Naught. I just twisted my arm."
"You might have had worse. The troopers were out tonight to take down the Lincraig riders. Reivers out after you, too."
"So you have done it," she said hoarsely.
"I told you I would," he murmured.
They rode the miles in silence, beneath the white moon and the whining wind.
Chapter 13
He turned her ower, and ower again,
And oh but she lookt white!
—"Edom o' Gordon"
Agony swamped Mairi when Rowan lifted her down from his horse, once inside the barnekin walls of Blackdrummond Tower. As her feet touched the ground, she stumbled, and Rowan caught her, jolting her shoulder. She cried out.
"Your arm hurts so much as that?" Rowan asked.
"'Tis just pulled," she said hoarsely.
"Are you sure that is all?"
Nodding, she stepped away, although she shook with pain. The injury was worse than she would admit; she feared the shoulder was out of joint. Yet she was angry with him and unsure of her safety, and would not show her vulnerability.
Rowan believed that she had attacked another rider on the Lincraig road. So he had pursued her and dragged her off of her horse for that reason, as savagely as Clem Elliot had
tried to do. Rowan Scott had taken her down, just as he had promised. Now he would arrest and imprison her.
But she had no strength to explain anything to him. The pain in her shoulder took all her strength and will. She wanted to lie down, sleep until the pain subsided. Perhaps rest would be enough to relieve the pain. Later she would tell Rowan the truth.
"This way," Rowan said, taking her right arm and turning her toward the stone tower.
She stumbled along beside him. "Am I under arrest?"
"I caught you in the red hand. I told you that I would take you down—whoa, can you walk?" His arm came around her waist to support her.
"I'm... tired," she said huskily.
"Well, you can rest here," he said, and banged on the heavy door of the tower.
Rowan knocked twice, shouted once, and finally the latch rattled and the door opened. Sandie Scott peered out at them, his eyes pinched from sleep, a gleaming pistol in his hand.
"Och, Rowan," he grumbled, lowering the weapon and stepping aside. "I thought 'twas bold reivers." He looked at Mairi. "What—"
"We left our horses in the yard," Rowan said, guiding Mairi past him into a dark, short corridor.
"But who's that lad with you?"
"Horses, Sandie," Rowan said, as he opened a second door and led Mairi through. Sandie, grumbling, went outside.
"What will you do with me?" Mairi asked.
"I am not yet decided."
Another pain jabbed through her shoulder, and she swayed toward Rowan.
"Mairi?" His voice was close, deep, safe. She leaned against him for a blessed instant, breathing in the scents of leather and smoke, absorbing comfort. She closed her eyes. "Mairi, lass," he murmured.
Then she pulled back with a cry of protest and pain. Rowan Scott was the Black Laird, notorious reiver, deputy—she had to remember that, no matter how good he felt.
"I'm fine," she said.
"Aye, well. Come with me." He touched her back, and she stepped ahead into a small foyer.
Torchlight crackled overhead, revealing two sets of turning steps. One stair, she knew, led upward to the living quarters, where there would be light and warmth, and balm for her pain. Lady Anna could tend to her arm up there.
