The Raven's Moon

by Susan King

  "Your honor is not worth much wi' me." Simon turned to address the others inside the tent. "We will hear the rest of the complaints after our midday meal," he announced. "Those summoned are expected to be present then. Tell your rascal comrades." He spun away and began to leave the tent.

  "Simon—" Mairi said. He ignored her and she walked after him, but Archie Pringle stepped into her path.

  "I'll see that the English keep their word, so that Iain can walk the truce field wi' you," he said. "Come back in a bit."

  "Thank you," Rowan said, putting his arm firmly about Mairi to lead her away. She jerked back, seething and upset. He took her arm again.

  "Let go," she muttered.

  "Play the good wife for a bit, if you please, and listen to me," he murmured as he guided her outside. "You cannot dispute this further without bringing suspicion back on yourself. The Border code allows wardens to hand prisoners to the other side. Scots can be tried and sentenced according to English laws that way. You could risk Iain's life further."

  "They could try him here. I offered to avow for him."

  "Do you think Simon would listen?" he asked brusquely as they walked across the muddy, crowded field. The rain had ended, leaving the air damp. "Iain is accused of a crime that is outside the jurisdiction of a truce day meeting. And Simon has a warrant from the king's council—"

  "Because you brought it." She glared up at him. "I wish I had found it—and taken it from you that night."

  "Your wild scheme would not have prevented this," he said sharply. "Iain would have been brought here anyway. Worse, if Simon had rendered warden's justice, Iain would be hanged already. Have some patience."

  "I cannot—"

  "Do it," he said curtly. "The day is not yet done. I will find a way to help your brother whether you believe it of me or not." He gripped her arm as they crossed the wide field.

  Loud cheers from the crowds watching the football match barely caught Mairi's attention, despite the groups of men yelling and heading that way.

  "Are you hungry? There's food here if you need it," Rowan said as they passed the cook shops with their savory smells.

  She shook her head and walked on. After a while, she felt calmer. "What can we do for Iain?"

  "Discover the truth."

  Mairi sighed. "That might prove impossible."

  "Come." Rowan led her to the tavern area, sat her at a table under a tree, and went to one of the cook shops. Mairi waited, glancing at the men who sat at the next table. They smiled and touched their hands to their helmets. She nodded, recognizing them from the wardens' tent.

  Rowan returned with a flagon of ale, a joints of roast chicken, and a large oatcake.

  "I'm not hungry," she said wearily.

  "Eat something. We can share it."

  She relented and picked at the hot food. Rowan sat across from her, but did not eat.

  "If Iain is innocent, there is proof somewhere," he said low.

  "If the English do not find him guilty first." Suddenly unable to eat, she set her food down.

  "There's a man here today who might be able to help. I still have that Spanish letter, remember."

  "'Tis in code."

  "We'll get it deciphered," he said. "I'll go back to the Debatable Land to find Alec. He knows something about this. Iain's freedom may lie with him."

  Knowing what that decision cost Rowan, Mairi touched his arm gently.

  "Tell me where you found that document," he said then.

  She sighed. "In Iain's loft," she murmured. "Hidden away."

  "Jesu." He shook his head in dismay.

  "He is not guilty," she insisted. "I asked him."

  "If Simon knew of this, Iain would be hanged already."

  "Tell Simon that Heckie and his gang are part of this. Simon should capture those ruffians and clear this matter up once and for all."

  "Rowan Scott!" Hearing the shout, they both turned. Tammie the Priest came toward them, flagon in hand, ale sloshing out of it. "We need a bonny braw man such as yoursel'!" He grabbed Rowan's arm.

  "For what?" Rowan asked.

  "We need a good forward man," Tammie said. "Our man's been injured." He pulled Rowan with him.

  Mairi hurried to catch up. "What are you talking about?"

  "The football match," Tammie said. "Dickie's the back man, and none can stop him. But our best forward man was taken down, see—" He pointed to a man who was being carried past them by others, groaning, his nose bleeding profusely, his clothing covered in mud and blood.

  "Oh dear God," Mairi said, gasping.

  "Och, he'll be fine, but he tried to run wi' the ball. A man could be killed for that move, at least mauled. Reivers treat their football matches as serious as their cattle forays," he added. "Ye look like a man who could kick a ball far, hey, Rowan Scott."

  "I have no time for ball matches, Tammie," Rowan said.

  "Och, ye'll want to play this one."

  "Why?" Mairi ran along with them, listening earnestly, holding her skirt out of the mud.

  "Oh, I just ken it." Tammie grinned. "Hurry, man."

  They had reached the far end of the field, where two groups of men clustered in the middle of a muddied, trampled area. A few hundred men and a scattering of women lined the sides, yelling and gesturing. Some threw scraps of food onto the field, followed by loud insults.

  "The match began while some were waiting for their complaints to be called," Tammie explained. "Now the crowd is demanding reivers against officers. More than fifty men are out there now, wi' more joining. One side, troopers, the other side, reivers, English and Scots both." He gestured, then looked at Rowan. "Though ye're a deputy, the reivers want ye playing on their side." He pointed. "Look there, Kerr and Forster have come to watch. Ha! Now we shall see a ba' game."

  Mairi noticed the wardens walking toward the field with some of their troopers. Archie Pringle was with them, limping along. Further back, two troopers escorted Iain. Mairi began to step forward, but Rowan reached out, taking her arm and shaking his head to tell her to wait yet.

  "They say Archie Pringle was a fine forward last truce meeting," Tammie said. "But they took him down and he cracked his foot. He made the goal, but the other side did not like it much. Go in, Rowan Scott, and show 'em what the Black Laird can do wi' a ball, hey. I'll wager ye can kick it high."

  "High enough, but not just now, Tammie—"

  Tammie shoved him toward the field. "Go, man. Blackdrummond is here!" he shouted. Others turned.

  Rowan gave Mairi a wry look as he undid his jack and doublet and handed them to her. He ran onto the field in shirt, breeches, and boots, as most of the players wore.

  "If it rains, will they stop?" Mairi asked. Tammie just laughed in reply. She set down Rowan's gear and pulled up her hood against the drizzle, watching Rowan as he joined the men already on the field, including Dickie the Mountain, the largest man there. Most of them were half-covered in mud.

  "Just watch, lass, ye'll be muckle entertained," Tammie said. "Those trees there mark the reivers' goal—and the troopers have the burn's edge. Well, the goal is in the water, or it will be declared foul." He grinned.

  She saw, then, Rowan handling a large, leather-wrapped ball. He drop-kicked it toward the burn, and he and others raced in pursuit, several struggling and stumbling in their attempts to kick it in toward the trees or the burn. One man managed to swipe it away with his hands and throw it behind him, sending everyone in pursuit.

  "Can he do that?" Mairi asked Tammie.

  "Few enough rules in this, to be sure, but the ball can only be kicked forward—ye can throw it backward, though."

  Mairi nodded, watching as several men went down in a pile, fists flying while one mud-coated man wriggled out and threw the ball. A trooper caught it and kicked toward the trees.

  Rowan and others scrambled to their feet and ran in pursuit. Dickie stomped forward and slammed into three men at once, taking them down in a jumble of limbs.

  "Hey hey!" Tammie yel
led in delight, and Mairi laughed.

  Another trooper kicked the ball, and more men ran and fell over each other and the ball, while the troopers shouted victory.

  "Bah! Blessed Mother Mary could play better than that!" Tammie hollered. A fistfight erupted under the trees, Dickie pinned another man, and men kicked and tossed the ball back toward the stream, while Mairi tried to keep Rowan in sight.

  Then he caught the ball and kicked it with finesse, so that the leather sphere spun through the air and landed near the burn's edge. Mairi cheered, jumping beside Tammie as the crowd, watching, began to roar.

  "Run!" Tammie screamed. "Kick it to the water!"

  The men rushed forward in a mass. One dived past the rest, grabbing the ball and running toward the side.

  "Where is he going?" Mairi asked.

  "Och, he's drunk," Tammie said in disgust.

  A few caught the fellow and took him down in a pile, while the ball shot straight up and was caught by a player coated in mud. Tall, lean, he kicked the ball as effortlessly as Rowan had done—sending it back to the burn to roll along the bank.

  Wild shouts erupted, and Mairi screamed beside Tammie now, while Rowan and others chased after the ball, which was now caught by one of the troopers.

  "Tricksters!" Tammie yelled. "Lackwits! Burn in hell!"

  Mairi blinked at him, then turned back to watch the game.

  * * *

  Rowan saw only the ball as he ran for the man who held it and dove, bringing the trooper down. Scrambling with others, Rowan felt a knee in his back, an elbow in his side, and someone fell on his head. He wriggled free as the ball popped loose. He stretched for it just as another man collided with him.

  He rolled, seeing dark hair and a muddied face, and recognized the one who had kicked the ball back toward the burn. Here was a man to assist and protect, along with the ball.

  Rowan shoved at a burly trooper who lunged at him, and realized he pushed at Geordie Bell. The other reiver stood, kicked, and Rowan spun to race with other toward the burn, in a frantic pack. Once again the ball landed precariously on the bank and then tipped into the water. Rowan waded into the water among others, turned, and came face to face with the other kicker. His heart nearly stopped.

  "Alec," he gasped.

  His brother grinned. "Hey, lad."

  "What are you doing here?" Rowan pushed his hair from his eyes, stunned.

  "Helping a friend," Alec said, and dove into the fray as the ball popped up again and men splashed and shouted.

  As Rowan whirled to look for his brother, Geordie emerged with the ball and scrambled to the bank, with others after him. Rowan waded to the bank and ran down the field, searching.

  The crowd was a blur of faces—Mairi, Christie and Sandie, Jock and others, but he did not see Alec. He wiped a hand over his muddied face, running toward the players heading down the field. As they turned to run back, someone rammed into him and he encountered the ball. He kicked it toward the burn, and saw it snatched in midair.

  A horseman galloped across the field with the ball tucked under his arm, riding a black horse like a streak of dark lightning. Rowan ran in pursuit, and saw the horseman enter the burn, then hold the ball over his head.ic players, all of them yelling and pumping their legs in pursuit of the horseman, who turned in the stream and held the ball over his head.

  Tammie the Priest sat the horse, grinning and waving the ball overhead, taunting the others. Then he surged out of the water on the English side of the burn.

  Now the spectators as well as the players ran, some shouting while others laughed. In the chaos, men plunged into the water to chase Tammie, yelling insults. Simon Kerr and Henry Forster ran past, with Archie Pringle walking more slowly. He grinned at Rowan.

  "Ever see such a match, hey?" he called as he passed.

  Rowan stopped to catch his breath, looking around, and suddenly narrowed his eyes.

  Alec sat a gray horse beneath the trees, leading a bay horse by the bridle. Then he cantered toward the warden's troopers, where just one man now guarded Iain.

  Rowan took off at a run, just as Alec rode toward Iain, who reached out and grabbed the bay's reins, swinging up to mount. Both men then galloped off the field, quickly disappearing down a slope.

  Barely stopping to stare, Rowan changed direction, running toward the spot where he had left his helmet, doublet, and jack, grabbing them up. He headed for his grazing horse, glancing around for Mairi, with no time to find her. He could only assume that she was safe with his kinsmen, watching the commotion near the burn.

  The crowd had been so distracted by Tammie's antics that no one but he and one guard had noticed that Alec and Iain had escaped.

  If he knew his brother, that had all been planned.

  Shrugging on his jack, he grabbed up Valentine's reins and mounted, launching in pursuit.

  * * *

  Dark clouds gathered overhead as he rode. Through the gray light, he glimpsed Alec and Iain in the distance, heading north. Leaning low, Rowan rode in pursuit over moor and bog land, crossing shallow burns and climbing rocky hills. Rain spit down and thunder rumbled eerily above the wind.

  They were following a circuitous route—meant to confuse pursuers—heading north into the Middle March. Rowan halted Valentine on a slope, saw the two horsemen vanish between the hills far ahead, and he took off again.

  He covered one league after another in the rain and the cold, keeping Alec and Iain in sight—until he lost them in a downpour among a maze of rocky slopes. But now he knew that they were heading for Lincraig road and Blackdrummond.

  By the time he gaied the road, the truce day field was hours behind. He was stiff and cold, wet and growing angry—and felt driven to ride on and find Alec. He had to know the truth of this whole matter, riding after his brother and hurtling toward the moment when he would have to confront Alec and all that had haunted him for three years. He had waited too long to clear these lurking demons from his soul.

  In twilight and rain, he halted Valentine at a crest overlooking the Lincraig road. Thunder cracked overhead, and Rowan knew he should find shelter—then he saw a group of riders coming along the road, fifty and more warden's men with helmets and lances, with lanterns sputtering like stars in the rain.

  He recognized Simon in the lead under the dim light of a torch. The warden and his troopers were returning—perhaps the uproar following Iain's escape had caused the warden to leave the truce meeting.

  Thunder exploded and rain sluiced down, soaking him, and he began to turn to go seek temporary shelter in the old Lincraig ruin, when he noticed the small, dark clad figure riding beside Simon—a slight figure in a black cloak on a black horse.

  Mairi. He clutched at the reins. Simon had her, and was likely taking her to his tower at Abermuir. Either she had succeeded in becoming a pledge for her brother—or she had been forced into it.

  Under him, Valentine stirred anxiously, rearing on his hind legs. Rowan felt the danger—as surely did the horse—and he knew that Mairi was in danger.

  "Mairi!" he screamed, but rain burst from the clouds and a boom of thunder preceded a flash of lightning that split the sky like a glowing vein.

  Turning the horse, he urged him down the slope toward the road and the moor. The ground was boggy from the rain, and he rode at a careful pace, slower than he wanted, in order to protect the horse in the darkness.

  Lightning broke white in the sky, illuminating the moor, the old castle, the troopers and their captive on the road. The horse whinnied again.

  "Mairi!" Rowan shouted.

  He saw her turn, glimpsed her pale face in the darkness. And he lunged the horse forward in desperate pursuit.

  * * *

  Mairi peered through the rain, pulling her cloak around her. She could not see Rowan now, but she had heard him shout beneath the thunder. He had seen her.

  And the vision was coming true—the one that she had seen in the black stone, and Iain had glimpsed first in the placid surface of a puddle.
Rowan, riding through a dark storm, shouting her name, chasing her in fury and desperation—both she and her twin had foreseen this. She felt a chill of fear for Rowan's life, Iain's too.

  She turned back, her hands trembling on Peg's reins.

  "He cannot reach you now," Simon growled beside her. "Not in this storm, with all these men guarding you. I'll send word to Blackdrummond that if he wants you back, he'd best bring me Iain Macrae and Alec Scott."

  "Let me go," she said. "Please."

  He laughed. "You wanted to be a pledge for Iain—well, here you are. And Rowan Scott will do whatever it takes, barter his own brother's life, to gain your freedom."

  She did not answer, tucking her chin down against the rising fear within. The vision would complete itself once it had begun. Rowan was in pursuit, and that would lead to Iain's execution. Iain himself had predicted it.

  And by marrying Rowan, she had brought the disaster that much closer.

  Chapter 26

  "Away, away, thou traytor strang!

  Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!

  I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,

  And now I'll not begin with thee. "

  —"Johnnie Armstrong"

  "Rowan! Hold!" Hearing the shout and then hoofbeats, Rowan turned to see riders—and recognized Jock in the lead. He waited.

  "Simon has Mairi," he said curtly as his grandfather approached. With him were Sandie and Christie, with Archie Pringle and Geordie Bell behind them.

  "We know," Jock answered. "After Alec took Iain, the March wardens were furious. Simon blamed Tammie for it and named him an outlaw again. He sent troopers to catch Alec and Iain, but lost them."

  "I lost them too," Rowan said. "But they rode toward Blackdrummond."

  Jock nodded. "No surprise to me. But Simon will search there. He took Mairi in payment for Iain's escape—none of us could stop him."

  "I'll stop him," Rowan growled.

  "Every Scott and Armstrong, aye, and every Kerr, in this March would open a feud wi' him if he harms her."

  "He will not have the chance," Rowan said. "I will have her back tonight. No man takes my wife for a prisoner and keeps her long—or his life, for that matter." He gathered the reins.