The Raven's Moon (10 page)

Simon stared at her. "Are you daft?"

"Please," she said. "You must let me do this."

He reached down and tipped up her chin, his glove cold on her skin. "How far would you go to save him, hey?" he asked in a low voice.

Something prickled along her spine. His hand moved to squeeze her shoulder.

"Iain should not die for what Alec Scott has done. I will pledge for him. 'Tis simple, and legal."

"A nice enough pledge," he said. "I am tempted. But 'tis nae simple at all." The cold glove moved to her cheek. "How much value do you place on your brother's life?" he murmured.

"Priceless." She stepped away. "I would pledge honorably."

"I will think on it," Simon stared intently at her, then lifted the reins. "I must catch up to my mosstroopers." He turned the horse, kneed it forward.

Mairi stood watching. The ghost of Simon's heavy touch lingered on her face. She rubbed it away and turned.

Chapter 7

"Thanks for thy kindness, fair my dame,

But I may not stay wi' thee."

—"Lord Maxwell's Goodnight"

Shoving his fingers through his hair, Rowan rose to his feet, setting a hand against the cold wall. The headache had eased and he felt stronger, though some dizziness lingered.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, he glanced around. For three days at least, he had been locked in this small cell. The tower walls may have crumbled long ago, but the rusty iron lock on the door held fast. He had tested it enough to know.

Silvery daylight filtered through the narrow window. He stretched his hand out to catch the light full on his fingertips. Beyond the aperture, he could see clouds and sunlight.

Blackdrummond Tower was not far from here, and his grandparents would be expecting him to arrive. He had to get out of here.

With a sigh, he sat again, picking up an oatcake from its cloth wrappings, nibbling, setting it down again. He swallowed some water from a flask. The lanky blond lad, Christie, had brought food, broth, fresh water more than once, quickly leaving it and disappearing again.

Rowan touched the bump on his head—the swelling had greatly reduced. He was strong enough now to overpower his young jailers, if they appeared again.

He had not seen the girl lately, though he remembered her soft touch, her dulcet voice, her kindness. He had slept like a babe in her arms, that first night.

And felt the fool for doing so. He should have wrung her pretty neck for putting him here, in this condition.

He stood again, growing restless, prowling the chamber, running his fingers over the stone blocks that formed the walls. A means of escape was not yet clear, but he would find a way.

Rattling the door ring in his hand, he yanked. Rust powdered into his hand, but the lock refused to give.

"D'you want something?" The lad's reedy voice came to him through the thick oak of the old door.

Hearing the door bar slide free and the latch rattle as the key was inserted, Rowan stepped back. When the door swung open, he saw Christie's head poking inside.

"Are you well, Master Scott?" he asked. "Mairi would be angry wi' me if you took bad again."

"I'm fine," Rowan said.

Christie stepped inside, holding a silver-barreled gun in his hand. Rowan tilted a dubious brow at the weapon.

"Pardon." Christie sounded embarrassed. "Mairi would not let me bind your limbs because you had such a crackpate. But I ken your reputation well."

"Best be cautious," Rowan said easily. "You know of the Blackdrummond Scotts? Would I know your kin?"

"They call me Devil's Christie. My Da was—"

"You're Devil Davy Armstrong's lad!" Rowan grinned.

Christie straightened proudly, and Rowan saw the resemblance to the lad's father in the long face and ash-blond hair. But Christie's blue eyes were his mother's. Rowan remembered that handsome redheaded lass fondly.

"Devil Davy was a brave, fine man. I was sorry to hear of his death."

"Kerrs took him down. My da was proud to ride wi' you and your kin, Blackdrummond. Said so to my mother, he did."

"He'd be proud of you, lad," Rowan said. "You and the lass are riding bold, indeed, to go out on the highway as you did." He narrowed his eyes. "Do your kin ride wi' you and Mairi?"

"Just us alone."

"This Highland Mairi, is she your cousin?"

"My sister is wed to Mairi's brother." Christie looked flustered, as if he realized that he had said too much.

Rowan nodded slowly. He could easily overpower the lanky boy, but the weapon, an older matchlock style, was trained quite steadily on him. And Christie looked at him with almost reverence. Rowan respected that weapon and the lad's admiration. He might need that loyalty someday.

"Put down the pistol, lad," he said. "I will not attack you. I assume this is an honorable confinement for ransom?"

Christie shoved the gun into his belt. "Not, uh, quite."

"Then why do you two ride the highway after dark?"

"Christie, do not answer him," a lovely lilting voice said as the door shoved wide. Mairi entered the room.

"Good afternoon." Rowan crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. The girl wore a plain gown of blue-gray wool with a plaid over her shoulders—a change from the black doublet and hose she had worn before.

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."