The Raven's Moon

by Susan King

  Her knees trembled like flowing water as she kissed him again, renewing that blissful touch of lips and breath over and over. She let him touch her, though she knew this should stop. He was aware as well, for a pause preceded each new touch and taste, just long enough for his silent question, and she was complicit in the answer. Anything, she told him with her lips and arching body—anything in this moment is yours.

  She did not want to think—she just wanted to feel the texture and warmth of his hands on her skin, wanted to taste the moist, hot sweetness of his mouth on hers, wanted to cleave her body deeply to his, sink into a luscious pool of sensation.

  Then she heard a mumble and a snort from the other bed, and she started as if ice water chilled her. She lay still, hands on Rowan's chest. His heartbeat pounded beneath her fingers, echoing her own. She let out a shaky breath.

  In the other bed, a few feet away, Dickie snored steadily on, but Tammie muttered something and shifted restlessly.

  Rowan touched her shoulder and raised his head. She heard him sigh, long and low. Then he lightly kissed her mouth and sat up and away from her. She leaned up on her stronger elbow.

  Rowan sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. An ordinary gesture that he did often—but now it tapped a well of yearning in her. She touched his arm.

  He put his hand over hers. "Mairi—my pardon. 'Twas thoughtless, that."

  "Hush you," she said huskily. "Hush. I wanted it."

  "Did you, lass?" His voice, low and sensual, held warmth and fondness and something more.

  "I did, Rowan," she whispered. "I do."

  He bent to kiss her again, light and soft. "You were muckle upset wi' something when I first came in here," he whispered, sounding amused. "I pray 'twas not me."

  "I was, and I may still be, when I gain my reason back, wherever it's gone."

  "May it stay well away, then. What's that?" He stood just as a light tap sounded at the door.

  "Aye, what?" Rowan called softly.

  "Sir, I'm the runner," a light voice said.

  "God, the runner," Rowan muttered. "I nearly forgot." He went to the door and opened it. Mairi rose from the bed, her knees shaky, and followed him to the door.

  A lad stood in the dark corridor. "Lang Will says he will not come, sir," he said. The lad was just twelve or so, Mairi thought, but held a cup of threepenny in his hand, and downed it fast as any reiver, gulping and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "He says—where were you a week past, Blackdrummond, and now he cannot bring the wee lad out in the murk and the mist."

  "Damn." Rowan leaned in the doorway. "You'll earn another coin if he's here first thing in the morn, with the bairn."

  "He'll be here for the wedding. His lassie will see to that."

  "Well, you see to it, too. Early," Rowan said. The boy grinned, then walked away.

  Rowan shut the door and turned to Mairi. "We'll leave at first light, or whenever Lang Will arrives." He leaned against the door and looked down at her.

  Mairi gazed up at him, nodded. Shadows sculpted his beautiful face, eyelids heavy, jaw strong, lips sensuous. Her heart thudded like a storm, but suddenly she felt shy and uncertain. The spell of moments ago was broken. She glanced away, wanting the magic back but unsure how to regain it.

  He tipped up her chin with a finger. "Hey hey, lass," he murmured in a teasing tone. "Remember. You're as safe here as in heaven."

  "I know," she breathed out.

  He stroked his thumb over her lips, then leaned forward to kiss her, quickly and simply. But she felt passion rise in a current that seemed to pull between their bodies. She leaned toward him, but he drew back slightly.

  "'Tis just as well the lad knocked when he did," he whispered. He took her into his arms and rested his chin on her head, so that his heart thumped beneath her ear."Tammie might have my head otherwise, for being a rascal to you."

  "I think Tammie might sleep through anything."

  Rowan chuckled against her hair. "Still, he is—"

  "Hey?" Tammie mumbled, half sitting up. "Did ye call for me? Is it a raid?"

  "A priest with a reiver's ears," Rowan whispered. "Nay, man," he said. "Go back to sleep."

  "Ah, the Black Laird," Tammie said, lying down again. "Rowan Scott. Wait till tomorrow, lad, hey."

  "Why so?" Rowan asked, but the answer was a long, sloppy snore.

  Rowan took her hand and led her back to the bed. She lay down and he sank down beside her, stretching out. When she turned on her side to face him, he wrapped his arms around her.

  "Sleep," he said.

  Nestled safe in his arms, Mairi closed her eyes, and slept.

  Chapter 18

  There's ancient men at weddings been

  For sixty years or more

  But sich a curious wedding day

  They ne 'er saw before.

  —"The Earl of Mar's Daughter"

  Rowan leaned against the wall near the blazing hearth and watched Mairi cross the room. The mulberry-colored dress she wore—where had she found that?—swayed bell-like around her, its stiffened bodice making her appear even slimmer than she was, though her breasts swelled gently above the square cut neckline. He tilted his head and felt content in the moment, as he had been another time, just watching her move.

  She walked gracefully and confidently through the crowded main room of the inn, and Rowan noticed the glances that several men gave her as she passed. Her glossy dark hair, newly braided around her head, looked demure, framing the oval of her face, brightening her dewy pink cheeks and gray eyes.

  "You look bonny this morn," Rowan said as she came close. She smiled, and all of heaven seemed to rest there.

  "As do you," she said. "You shaved."

  "Aye." He rubbed his clean jaw self-consciously. "Tammie made sure I shaved and bathed for the wedding. He even brushed my doublet." He glanced down at her. "Did you bring the gown with you?"

  "I did not," she said, passing her hand over the skirt. "Tammie borrowed it from the innkeeper's daughter for me to wear for the wedding. And he paid the serving girl to fill a wooden tub for a bath as well. Very insistent, he was."

  "Quite a wedding this must be today." He smiled again and she did, too. The rich color of the gown gave her a lovely glow. She turned and lifted up on her toes to see through the throng that filled the room.

  The inn's main room, with its low raftered ceiling, seemed even more crowded this morning, Rowan thought, as he looked over Mairi's head. The trestle tables had been pushed against the walls, loaded with platters of food for the wedding feast. Most of the men wore doublets and breeches without a jack or steel bonnet in sight. The women's gowns were simple, pretty things of wool or linen with narrow ruffs and touches of lace, and some wore neat head kerchiefs. A few small children ran underfoot or sat in their young mothers' arms.

  The wedding guests chatted and laughed, apparently among friends and kin. There were smiles and glowing faces, though a few of the men frowned and even looked anxious. Rowan had not yet determined which couple might be the bride and groom.

  He smiled as he watched, and realized that the mood of the guests had affected him, too. He felt curiously light inside, without the dark seriousness that he had felt coming here to this dangerous region. Or perhaps his heart had changed last night when he had realized that he loved Mairi.

  The thought felt less like a happy glow than a fast punch to his middle. Sweat broke out on his brow.

  But he knew it was true. Last night, he had wanted Mairi so much that his body had burned and ached with it, hard as new iron. Yet the feeling was more than a physical need that wanted quenching. Somewhere among the heated kisses, he had realized that he cherished the girl as well as desired her. And he would never have taken her fully last night, lusty and unthinking. That was neither his way nor his intention for her.

  He glanced down at Mairi, who stood beside him, smiling. She was oblivious to her beauty and sensuality, unaware that her gentleness, her willfulness, her innocence
and her guilt equally allured and intrigued him.

  If they were ever to make love—and he dared not think beyond that—he wanted her to desire it as he did, savor with him an aching, beautiful passion. Was it even possible—could that exist for him, with her? Clenching a fist behind him, telling himself to leave off such thinking, he sucked in a long breath and blew it out.

  "What?" She glanced up at him and smiled. He shook his head, signifying nothing, filled with all he could not express. "Have you seen Lang Will yet?"

  "Not yet. He might be outside, where there's a host o' people who cannot even fit in this room."

  She looked surprised. "Are there so many here?"

  "Tammie said that many handfasted couples would be here for the All Hallows' Eve wedding today."

  "Handfasted?" she asked. "So many here have bairns of their own, I thought they were wed already."

  "Handfasting allows couples to live as man and wife for a year and a day. If they agree, later they will wed."

  "We do the same in the Highlands," she said. "So one couple made the decision for today," she said. "I wonder who. The runner said Lang Will's lass would make sure he was here." She smiled.

  Rowan noticed the young runner just then, standing by the open door of the inn, looking through the crowd. Rowan raised his hand and called out. The runner waved.

  Then a tall man stepped into the inn, ducking his head beneath the lintel. He carried a small, dark-haired child. The runner pointed toward Rowan, and the man made his way through the crowd.

  Taking Mairi's elbow, he guided her forward with him.

  "Will Croser?" he asked the man. "I am Blackdrummond."

  "God's good day." The man, with craggy features and kind dark eyes, studied him, while the child clung at his shoulder. "I know that bonny braw face," Lang Will said then, grasping Rowan's hand. "You're much like your brother, sir. Here, this is his son. See, Jamie, this is your Uncle Rowan. Your Da wants you to go wi' your uncle to see Great-grandfather Jock."

  The little boy blinked at Rowan, who drew in a breath, touched by some deep feeling he could not name. Jamie's small face was pale and scrubbed clean, his features sweetly rounded, pink mouth wrapped around a fat finger. His bare head was a thicket of glossy brown curls and his eyes were azure blue.

  Maggie's eyes, Rowan thought, and drew in his breath. "Jamie," he said softly. "I'm Rowan, your uncle. I'll take you to see Jock and Anna."

  Jamie sucked his finger, eyes wide, then removed the finger with a wet popping sound. "Jock," he said clearly. "Jock." Rowan saw that the child had a few small white teeth.

  "Aye, Jock wants to see you," Rowan said. Jamie laid his head on Will's shoulder and stared at his uncle.

  "What a bonny lad," Mairi murmured, and smiled at Jamie. "I'm Mairi. We will go home to see Jock and Anna, aye?"

  Jamie nodded, then turned, distracted, to look around the room as he sat high in Lang Will's arms. Rowan felt relieved. The child was healthy, calm and seemed to understand what was said to him.

  "He does not talk much. Can he walk?" he asked Will.

  "Aye, he'll talk all day if you let him. And walks fast, though ye maun watch out for him. He's shy now. 'Twill pass."

  "Well," Rowan said, feeling awkward. "Well." What now, he thought. He looked helplessly at Mairi, and again at the boy. "Hey, lad. Can you say Rowan?" He thought "Uncle Rowan" might be too much for now. "I am your Da's brother."

  "Da," Jamie said, and launched himself toward Rowan so quickly that Will nearly dropped him. Rowan caught him around the middle, surprised at the solid weight in the little body.

  Jamie looked at Rowan. "Da na here. Na here." His face crumpled. "Da. My Da. My Da." He repeated that fretfully, whipping his head around as if looking for Alec.

  "Da said go wi' Uncle Rowan," Lang Will told Jamie, patting his back. "Go wi' Rowan, now, and see Jock."

  "My Da, mine," Jamie whined. Rowan jiggled him and looked at Mairi for help. She watched Jamie, her lip pouting in sympathy, a glaze of tears in her eyes.

  God's good night, Rowan thought in irritation as he wobbled the fretful child in his arms. A weeping bairn and now a weepy lass.

  "Da, my Da," Jamie wailed.

  "He's muckle set on his father," Lang Will explained over Jamie's litany. "We just left him, y'see."

  "Where is Alec?" Rowan asked sharply.

  "He rode wi' us and left us. He did not want to see you."

  "I cannot blame him for it. Is he well?"

  "Well enough, but fretting over his laddie's welfare. Wants him safe, y'see. When the runner said 'twas you come to fetch Jamie, Alec was muckle glad o' that."

  "Was he?" Rowan was surprised. "What are his plans?"

  "Jock," Jamie said suddenly, changing his song. "Jock, Jock!" He planted his little hands on Rowan's cheeks and peered into his face, nearly touching noses. "Jock here?"

  "Nay, Jock is at home," Rowan answered, looking over the little head toward Lang Will. "What more of Alec?"

  "Jock na here," Jamie said somberly, shaking his head. "Da na here." Rowan nodded, distracted, trying to listen to Will.

  The tall man shrugged. "The Debatable Land has hills and dales enough for a man to hide a lifetime," he said. "Alec doesna know where he'll be one day to the next. Troopers are looking for him, and have asked around after his son, claiming to be sent by Jock to bring him to safety. None true until now. Alec wants Jamie gone from here as fast as can be managed."

  Rowan nodded. "Tell him I will see to it."

  "I will. He wanted me to ask you about Iain Macrae."

  Beside him, Rowan felt Mairi stiffen. "Iain is in Simon Kerr's dungeon," he said, "waiting the next truce day between the Scottish and English Middle Marches."

  "Where he will be condemned to die for Alec Scott's crimes," Mairi added bitterly. "Tell Alec that Mairi Macrae sends that message to him."

  "I will," Lang Will said mildly, raising his eyebrows and looking at Rowan, blinking in surprise.

  "Thank you, Will," Rowan said.

  "We love the lad, we do, at our house, and I know you will look out for him. I'll tell Alec so, if I see him again." He looked around. "I must find my lass and my mother, too, both are here. Will you stay for the wedding? Ah, there's Tammie the Priest and Dickie the Mountain now, see, so it starts soon."

  Rowan saw Tammie and his enormous brother coming through an interior door. He and Mairi and the child best clear out now, he thought.

  Lang Will smiled and touched the child's head. "I'll see you again, wee Jamie," he said fondly. He glanced at Rowan. "There's a sack wi' his gear by the door, wee clothes and suchlike. You watch him well, Rowan Scott."

  "I will," Rowan said. Jamie raised a hand in a waggling wave as Lang Will moved through the crowd.

  "Hey hey, the bonny lassie and her braw Black Laird!" Tammie shoved toward them, waving vigorously, his weathered face beaming. "Och, and yer bairnie, is it! He does look like his da, hey! A wee Black Laird!" He grinned at Jamie, who drew back in Rowan's arms, lip quivering.

  "We'll be starting the wedding now," Tammie told them. "Och, here's Dickie." Tammie waved and shouted to his brother.

  The crowd seemed to part in a wave a moment later, as a huge man walked toward them. Rowan had not seen Dickie the Mountain outside the bedcovers, for the man had slept later than the others, but he recognized him by his fitting name, and by the elfish grin that was identical to his smaller brother's.

  "Hey Tammie," Dickie said. "We're ready. They are coming inside now."

  "Good!" Tammie took Rowan by the shoulder and pulled him to the side. "Stand just here, wi' yer lassie and bairn."

  "We'd best stand out of the way for the bride and the groom to come in," Mairi said, looking up at Rowan. Her cheeks were a pretty rose, as if she found the event exciting. Lasses did, he supposed. He had no interest in marriage festivities himself, and was more concerned about leaving quickly with Jamie.

  But the wedding was about to start, so they should wait.

  He stood b
y the hearth, fairly ear Tammie and Dickie but in shadows, and with the crowd growing quiet, he could not disturb things to move now. With Mairi's shoulder snug against his chest and the child's weight sweet in his arms, he felt good, glad to stand here for the moment. Content, somehow.

  Dickie the Mountain and Tammie the Priest stood side by side in front of the hearth, a mismatched pair with twin elfish smiles. The crowd packed into the inn's single room hushed expectantly.

  "Greetings all and God bless yer heads!" Dickie said in a resonant voice. "We are gathered this day for a solemn, sanctified reason—to perform a wedding!"

  Rowan glanced around, wondering when the elusive bride and groom would appear. He saw Lang Will's craggy face at the back of the room, and saw a tall, pretty blond woman with him.

  "Some o' ye do not care for the teachings o' the new kirk," Dickie said, "so my brother Tammie the Priest is here to say papist blessings for those who want 'em."

  Tammie stepped forward, reaching out to take Mairi's arm and draw her toward him and Dickie. She looked surprised as Tammie positioned her and then beckoned to Rowan.

  He came forward, thinking perhaps Tammie wanted the child to throw flower petals or some such wedding nonsense. Mairi was frowning—her cheeks were pale now, not rosy.

  Tammie turned toward the crowd. "Who's to be married this fine day?" he asked in a booming voice.

  "We are!" came a chorus of shouts from the crowd.

  Rowan looked around, startled. All the couples gathered there were lifting their hands. "We are!" they cried, a sea of smiling faces. Lang Will's hand was raised with the others.

  Rowan whipped around to look at Mairi. She stared up at him, eyes huge and silvery, alarm in them. He must look the same to her, he thought wildly. Good God, he thought, glancing about for a fast escape. Something was wrong here.

  In his arms, Jamie inexplicably laughed, a cooing sound, as he clapped his hands and pointed at people.

  "These lovers," Tammie said, pulling at their arms, "Rowan Scott the Black Laird, and his bonny Mairi, have been handfasted so long that they have a fine bairnie now." He grinned. "This bonny pair will stand up and take the vows for everyone in this room who've been handfasted a year and more, and have come here on All Saints' Day to be wed, as is the old custom o' this glen."