The Raven's Moon

by Susan King

  But Rowan guided her down the other staircase into shadows. She missed her footing, and he put an arm around her waist. At the bottom, he took her along a corridor and reached out to shove open a creaking door.

  Shaking with pain, Mairi shuffled into a small, black room that smelled dank and old. Rowan left her side.

  "I'll leave you here, then," he said. His voice sounded oddly reluctant through the fog that seemed to surround her. "'Tis where we keep our prisoners."

  She dropped to her knees as blackness began to sweep her away. She inhaled against the horrid sensation that she was about to slip into that void.

  Rowan knelt beside her. "Jesu, I cannot leave you like this. It is more serious than I thought—what do you need, lass?"

  "A bed," she muttered hoarsely. "And a dram. And I will be fine." She reached out and he caught her fingers in a warm and solid grip. "And I need—"

  She almost said his name as darkness smothered her.

  * * *

  Rowan caught the girl in his lap as she fell forward. He touched her cheek, murmured her name. Cupping his hand over her shoulder, he felt, now, the odd angle of it even through her quilted doublet.

  "Wee silly fool," he murmured. "You should have said."

  He opened the neck of her garment and slipped his hand inside, shoving his fingers beneath her linen shirt and over the soft curve of her breast and swiftly past, to round his fingers over her shoulder. Then he realized that her arm was askew in its socket.

  Angry at himself for trying to make a vengeful, stupid point when she was in serious straits, he withdrew his hand, then maneuvered so that he stood and lifted her in his arms.

  She moaned. "Rowan?"

  "I have you, lass. Easy, now." He carried her effortlessly up the steps. His boots scuffled as he turned at the landing and climbed upward, past the great hall toward the sleeping level.

  Candlelight brightened the top of the stairs. He glanced up. Jock and Anna stood on the top step, watching him. Anna, wearing a shift and a shawl, held a candle. Her mouth hung partly open. Jock, in a shirt and breeches, merely frowned as Rowan looked up.

  "'Tis Mairi Macrae," Anna said in surprise. Footsteps sounded behind Rowan, and he turned.

  "What the de'il is going on here?" Sandie asked, stomping up the steps. "Rowan! You left Valentine and a lathered black mare roaming free in the yard. 'Tis not like you to do that—by hell, that's Mairi Macrae!"

  "Open the door of my bedchamber," Rowan said as he reached the top step. "And bring some wine. She needs to get swine drunk."

  "Rowan!" his grandmother exclaimed.

  "She's hurt, Anna, by the look o' her." Jock moved quickly to open a nearby door. "Fetch the drink."

  Rowan went into his bedchamber, followed by his relatives, who jostled through the narrow door as he laid Mairi gently on his bed. "Her shoulder is out of place. It will have to be set."

  "Och, she'll need more than wine," Sandie said.

  "Draw a flask of the Danish aqua vitae," Anna called as he left the room. "And knock on Grace's door. Loudly." Anna turned back. "Is she awake?" she asked Rowan.

  "Barely," Rowan answered, watching Mairi's restless eyelids. He swept off his helmet and unhooked his jack, tossing them onto the chair near the hearth. Yanking off his doublet, he shoved up his shirtsleeves and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Anna set her candle on the chest by the bed. "We'll take her doublet off, then. Why is she wearing men's gear? And how did she get hurt?" She began to undo buttons.

  "The lad can explain later, Anna," Jock said. He handed Rowan a dirk. "Use this."

  Nodding in agreement, Rowan reached past Anna's hands to slide the blade under the shoulder seam of Mairi's doublet, slitting the cloth along her left arm. Anna helped him draw the ruined garment off her, leaving Mairi clad in a loose linen shirt with torn sleeve, and breeches and boots.

  Mairi cupped her hand around her shoulder and watched Rowan. Her eyes looked haunted, dark-circled in the low candlelight, her cheeks deathly pale.

  "That shoulder needs to be set straight," Anna told Rowan. "I have an ointment that will help the soreness. I'll fetch it and have Grace prepare a room for the lass." She hurried out.

  "I was watching on the roof a while ago," Jock said. "I saw the beacons, and the fire. Iain Macrae's house, was it?"

  Rowan nodded, unsurprised that his grandfather knew about the evening's events. Jock Scott's reiving years had given him the habit of staying up late at night. "Heckie Elliot and his lot came through the dale to fetch black rent," he answered. "The warden is trodding after them. Devil's Christie Armstrong was wounded in the raid."

  "And the lass? Was she hurt by reivers?"

  "She was attacked." Rowan saw Mairi watching him with wide, fearful eyes. Then Sandie came back, leather flask in hand, and Rowan turned, grateful for the interruption. He was unsure how to explain this to his very astute grandfather.

  "This Danish hot water will take the sting out o' any hurt," Sandie said, handing Rowan the flask.

  Freeing the wax plug, Rowan held the mouth of the flask to Mairi's lips. She grimaced as she swallowed.

  "You need more for the pain," Rowan insisted, and held the flask until she took another sip.

  "Good lass!" Sandie said with approval. "Enough o' that stuff, and she'll swarf out like a candle flame."

  Rowan turned. "Perhaps you should watch from the roof," he said. "Let us know if aught else is going on."

  "Let us see if more beacons are lit," Jock said. "Come ahead, Sandie. Anna will tend to the lass."

  As the door clicked shut behind them, Rowan offered Mairi the flask again. She sent him a wary glance, but sipped.

  "Well, you have what you wanted," he said. "A bed and a dram. More. There you are."

  She sipped, and glanced at him. "What will you do?" Her voice was growing husky from the drink.

  "I'll put the arm in place. I can do it," he assured her. "I had a comrade whose arm went out like that."

  "And then what will you do with me? I am your prisoner."

  "First we'll deal with the hurt." He put the flask to her lips again, and she sipped. A drop of liquor slid over her lip, and Rowan wiped it away, easing his finger along the sweet curve.

  She closed her eyes, resting. Rowan sat, watching her as the candlelight flowed over her face. He studied the black, lacy crescents of her eyelashes, the brighter blush in her cheeks.

  "Do you feel the spirits yet?" he asked softly.

  "Mmm," she whispered, nodding. She lifted her head to sip as he held the flask. "Muckle strong," she said, lifting her delicate, dark eyebrows. "Enough."

  "You're privileged," Rowan said. "My grandmother is covetous of her Danish aqua vitae." He smiled.

  Mairi smiled too, a winsome lift that, with the high pink flush in her cheeks, gave her a soft and dazzling beauty. "Aqua vitae—water of life. This tastes like our Highland uisge beatha, which also means water of life."

  "Aye. How is the pain?"

  Mairi grimaced, shaking her head. He gave her another sip.

  She shifted her hips to slide lower on the bed, exhaling a long sigh. "Ach, 'tis warm in here."

  "We do call spirited drinks hot water," he said.

  "Because it burns as it goes down?" she asked.

  "I'll take off your boots," he offered.

  She nodded and Rowan drew off one long boot and then the other, dropping them on the floor. When he turned back, Mairi raised her ankle to rest it on her upraised knee. Her stockinged foot hovered in his face.

  "Take these off as well," she said.

  He drew the knitted wool down her slender leg and pulled it loose. She raised her other leg as if in silent command, and he took that stocking off too. His glance skimmed the graceful curves of her calves and ankles and the fine bones of her feet.

  She shifted on the bed, and uttered a breathy little groan. The sound struck Rowan, unexpectedly and deeply, in his groin.

  He cleared his throat. "How is your shoulder now?
"

  "Hurts less. You're a fine physician, Blackdrummond." She smiled, and a drift of glossy hair fell over one eye. Rowan brushed the silky lock back with a finger and lifted the flask to her mouth.

  "Just a bit more," he said. "Slainte. "

  She smiled. "You know some Gaelic."

  "Only that much. Health, is it?"

  "It is. Slainte," she murmured, and rounded her lips over the leather mouth to swallow. Drawing back, she touched her tongue to her lower lip, an unconscious, languid gesture that made Rowan suck in his breath.

  She tilted her head to watch him. Her eyes, shadowed under half-raised lids, were smoky gray beneath thick lashes. The luscious curves of her breasts heaved softly beneath the linen shirt as she drew in a deep breath and sighed it out. Rowan could not seem to stop his gaze from roaming over her.

  She took his wrist and lifted his hand with the flask. "Suas e, sios e." She placed her hand over his on the flask. "That means up with it, down it. Now you." She pushed the flask toward his lips. "Drink. Suas e, sios e."

  He repeated the phrase. Mairi laughed. Her fingers over his, on the neck of the flask, were light and soft, sending a swirl of need through his body. He sipped, feeling the hot comfort of the liquor, and lowered the flask.

  Mairi smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded, but Rowan frowned. She had no head for spirits, he realized. She showed the effects of the aqua vitae quickly and was more than half way drunk.

  "Enough," he said, replacing the wax stopper.

  "A fine physician," she repeated. "But a foul deputy. Why did you take me down?" The glistening thrust of her lower lip sent another lightning bolt through his groin.

  Rowan rested his hands on either side of her hips. The feather bed sank slightly beneath them. "I did what I promised to do if you rode out again," he murmured.

  "Blackdrummond always keeps his word." Her breath drifted sweet over his face, and his heart thumped heavily. He was fascinated by her soft lips and luminous eyes, by the warm scent of her in his very bed.

  "Aye," he whispered.

  "What will you do with me now?" Her gaze wandered over his face, returned to his mouth, flickered up to pierce his gaze.

  "What should I do with you?" He watched her mouth.

  She closed her eyes, lifted her face. "Mmm."

  Rowan bent down, a breath away from her lips. For the space of a heartbeat he stayed, wanting her so much his body throbbed with the need. But he held still, his heart thudding.

  Mairi looked at him, her eyes wide and translucent in the candlelight. Rowan had the sudden wild thought that her silver-gray eyes looked like deep water, and her fragile, beautiful soul was shining in the depths.

  She placed her hand on his bare forearm. Her touch melted the last wall of his reserve, drawing him in like a river current.

  "Mairi," he whispered.

  "You," she whispered in turn, and lifted her good hand to pull at the neck of his jack, bringing his head down—and she touched her lips to his in a tender and unexpected kiss.

  The pillow of her mouth was soft and warm, and he tasted sweetness mingled with the sting of aqua vitae. Rowan began to pull away, but Mairi sighed into his mouth and gave in to another kiss.

  His heart thundered as he slanted his mouth over hers, slid his hand beneath her head to thread his fingers through the glossy silk of her hair. She circled her right arm around his neck, sighing again, softly.

  Rowan cradled the delicate shape of her jaw in his hand, feeling the exquisite velvet of her skin. His fingers traced her throat as she tilted her head back, and her mouth moved under his, renewing the kiss. He knew this should stop—he knew it, and did not end it.

  The neck of her shirt opened wider with her movement, and Rowan grazed his fingers along her collarbones, along her upper chest, feeling creamy skin over small bones and a steadily beating heart. The delicacy of her skin assailed him, lured him. Her body and her mouth were enticing, wondrous.

  Inhaling sharply, he sat up. He was a fool—she was injured and drunk. She did not know what she was about—and she was in pain, even if she did not feel it just now.

  Mairi blinked up at him as Rowan pushed his fingers through his hair, steadying his breath and calming his body.

  "Rowan—"

  "Hush." He touched a finger to her lips. "We should tend to your shoulder—else I will forget why you are in my bed."

  She nodded, and drew open the neck of her shirt, exposing her shoulder. Rowan slid his fingers inside to round his hand there, focusing on what he must do.

  Frowning, he eased his thumb carefully along the curve of her shoulder to judge the angle. Mairi pulled in a sharp breath.

  He removed his hand. "I did not mean to hurt you."

  She shook her head. "Not you. I cannot move my arm."

  "It is out of joint. I can remedy it if you'll allow it." Good, his reserve was back. But something profound had happened between them; something was forever changed. The kiss had brought him to a new, strange place with her. He needed to find his ground there, distance himself for the good of both of them.

  She turned her head and her shirt slid down, so that the upper slope of her breast, pale as down, was visible. Rowan tightened his jaw muscle against vivid images of his hands upon her, her hands up on him, bringing solace and pleasure. He concentrated on the awkward tilt of her shoulder.

  "Did this happen when I pulled you from the horse?" He dreaded that he might have caused this.

  "Clem Elliot tried to pull me from my horse before you were there. He grabbed my arm—so hard, and then he fell, and I pulled away to keep from falling too."

  "When I saw him, he screamed that you attacked him."

  "I did hit him with the pistol," she admitted.

  "Ah."

  "But I did not attack him! He chased me as I rode for the Armstrongs, so I struck him. I had no choice."

  He nodded, sensing her sincerity, and he took her hand, readying to adjust the shoulder.

  "You took me down when I had done no crime," she said.

  "I would have taken you down soon or late. Better me than Clem Elliot."

  "He would have ransomed me, not arrested me."

  "Or worse," he answered. At the thought of what Clem might have done to her, he tightened his jaw in anger. Hearing the click of the bedchamber door, he turned his head.

  His grandmother entered the room with Grace behind her. The serving maid set a bucket of water and some cloths on the wooden chest, and left when Anna motioned her out.

  Anna placed a clay pot on the chest, and pushed up the sleeves of her shift. "How do we do this?"

  "Sit behind her," Rowan directed. Anna slid in beside Mairi and helped the girl move to lean against her. "Hold her, and place your hands just so," Rowan said, showing her how to support the girl. He placed a knee on the bed, readying himself.

  Anna braced the girl. "Lean this way, dearling. There. Lift your head. There you are."

  "Love you, Anna," Mairi said, smiling. "Rowan—"

  "Hush you," he said quickly.

  Anna raised a brow. "She's had plenty of Danish hot water, I think," she said wryly.

  Rowan nodded, focusing as he raised Mairi's left arm gently. She winced, but was so relaxed that he knew the aqua vitae had taken good effect. He judged just how he would pull and rotate. Then he nodded to Anna.

  Kneeling, he rounded a hand over Mairi's shoulder girdle and braced his other hand against her upper chest. Beneath his fingers, he could feel bone and lean muscle and the steady thud of her heart.

  "Relax, sweetling," Anna said to Mairi. "Our Rowan is a gentle lad." Mairi laughed.

  With a sudden tug, Rowan pulled her arm down and rotated slightly upward, quickly guiding the arm into its natural position. Mairi sucked in her breath on a high cry, just as Rowan heard a distinct, meaty pop as the bone found its proper niche.

  He released her arm, and Mairi uttered a deep, throaty groan, her face drained of color. She shuddered, leaning heavily against Anna.

&
nbsp; "Mairi? Are you right, now?" Rowan placed shaking fingers on her clammy brow, alarmed.

  "She's swooned, poor dove," Anna said. She shifted out from under her and laid her back on the feather-stuffed pillows. "She'll be bruised and sore tomorrow, and days after. Here, lad, pull the coverlet over her and tuck it, just there. Good."

  Rowan sat again on the edge of the bed while Anna picked up the clay pot. Scooping out a fingerful of slimy brownish stuff, she smeared it over Mairi's shoulder and upper arm, and covered it with a soft bandage.

  Breathing out, Rowan wiped his arm over his brow, grazing past the fading bruise on his head, still tender. He lowered his arm to see his grandmother watching him.

  "Well done. You look tired," she said.

  He nodded. "I'll make a pallet in the hall."

  "No need. Grace readied the next bedchamber. Take that. We should not move her this night."

  "Aye. Let her sleep."

  "I've sent Grace out to find cold stones from the stream to apply to her shoulder. That will help the swelling. Tomorrow, hot cloths will help the pain and stiffness."

  "Good," he said, standing there, staring at Mairi, feeling spent but not wanting to leave.

  Anna brushed a lock of hair from Mairi's brow and glanced at Rowan. "In the morning, you'll tell me how she came by such an injury in the middle of the night, and how she was with you. For now, we're tired and we all need to sleep." She stood.

  "Thank you, Granna," he murmured.

  She touched his arm. "Whatever else went on between you and Mairi Macrae this night, you did well by her just now." He nodded wearily as she left.

  Reaching out, he took Mairi's hand and raised her fingers to his lips. Then he went in search of a bed for the night.

  Chapter 14

  When cockle shells turn siller bells

  And fishes flee frae tree to tree

  When frost and snaw turn fire-beams

  I'll come down and drink wine wi thee.

  —"Jamie Douglas"

  The winds of the previous night brought rain in their wake. Rowan went down the stairs the next morning, having slept later than he expected, and found the great hall quiet but for the patter of rain. Two narrow windows and the dim glow of the hearth provided meager light, as if the night had never lifted.