The Raven's Moon (22 page)

"Rowan!" Anna gasped.

"Och, woman, he would not do that," Jock said.

* * *

Riding through cold, misted rain back to Abermuir, Rowan was grateful to escape Blackdrummond, where Mairi sat surrounded by her new, very staunch, allies. No captive queen could have had better care or greater admiration. Still, he had won his argument. She would stay confined. But his family were determined that she would not suffer a moment's misery. She had won the hearts of the Blackdrummond Scotts.

All but one, Rowan told himself firmly as he rode through the drizzle. Mairi had worked some kind of magic on his own heart, some charm over his body. Now the cold light of a rainy day had returned him to his senses.

But his body throbbed at the very memory of her curled in his bed, a sultry smile on her lips; her eyes smoky in candlelight; her soft, pliant lips warm beneath his.

He muttered a curse and pulled his helmet lower over his brow. He vowed never take the thing off in rain again, no matter the noise on the steel. He had met Mairi Macrae that way, and now he was forced to master the urges of his body each time he even thought of her. That only interfered with his duty to find the truth in this matter of spies and wayward brothers.

Rowan drew a deep breath and rode forward. He wanted to know if the warden had captured Heckie Elliot. And he meant to ask—not politely—to see Iain Macrae. That interview was imperative now.

And if he rode out with Kerr and his troopers on another patrol, he might not return to Blackdrummond for a day or two. Good, he thought.

He had best avoid that bonny lass who was more of a sneakbait thief than any Blackdrummond Scott had ever been.

Chapter 15

"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!

There's never a Scot shall set ye free;

Before ye cross my castle yett,

I trow ye shall take farewell o' me. "

—"Kinmont Willie"

"Heckie Elliot and his lot got away," Archie Pringle told Rowan, handing him a cup of ale across the table in the great hall at Abermuir. They sat with Simon Kerr and John Hepburn, the land sergeant, for the meeting. "They took a hidden path south to Liddesdale. The warden's men lost them."

"The Keeper o' Liddesdale should trod after 'em," Simon said, scowling. "Walter Scott o' Buccleuch has been appointed to that post, and he's a worse rogue than Heckie."

"Buccleuch, Blackdrummond, or Lincraig—Scotts cannot be trusted, to a man." Hepburn looked pointedly at Rowan.

Rowan narrowed his eyes. "Have you some quarrel wi' me, Sergeant?" He allowed the menace to ring clear.

"Aye, he does, as I do," Simon barked, glaring hard at Rowan, his stubble-dark face suffused with an angry flush. "We were told that Mairi Macrae rode out last night—that she is the Lincraig thief! 'Twas you took her down and brought her back to Blackdrummond Tower."

"Where did you hear that?" Rowan asked.

"She attacked a man on that road last night and was seen. Caught in the red hand. I would not have believed it, but I had the report from one o' my men. He saw you out there, taking her down."

"I caught her," Rowan said. "I will say if 'twas in the red hand or not."

"She's the Lincraig rider we've been after all along." Simon slammed the table with his fist. "By hell! The wench lied to me for weeks.Who's been riding wi' her? Davy Armstrong's kin? Those damned Ferniehurst Kerrs, my own blasted cousins?"

"She was alone," Rowan said flatly. "I have her for now."

"And what gives you the authority to imprison her in your tower?" Simon barked.

"She rode over Jock Scott's land, and comes under the jurisdiction of the laird o' Lincraig. She'll be held at Blackdrummond Tower, where he resides."

"By hell she will!" Simon shouted. "You and Auld Jock will not take this matter from me wi' your cleverness! Bring her here to sit in Abermuir's dungeon beside her brother!"

"She is injured and cannot be moved."

Simon swore loudly and smacked the table again. "I knew the lass was a wildcat. Knew it long ago, when she was betrothed to my nephew."

"Betrothed?" Rowan asked, startled.

"To Johnny Kerr o' Cessford," Archie replied. "Sweet-milk Johnny, they called him. Two years ago, he was killed by a Scott o' Branxholm."

Rowan stared at Archie, stunned. One of his own Scott cousins had killed Mairi's betrothed? He suddenly understood the animosity she had shown at first, and her comments about untrustworthy Scotts. But she never mentioned Sweetmilk directly. Rowan remembered a young man with a fine reputation for clever reiving. The Blackdrummond Scotts had regarded him with a admiration. Rowan had not heard until now that Johnny Kerr was dead. Now a bitter swirl of jealousy formed in him.

"Still, I've always been fond o' the lass, and this news o' her on the highway sore disappoints me," Simon said. "I like fire in a woman, but this is too much."

"Females should be meek and soft as the Lord made 'em," Hepburn said. "So men can be hard, hey?" He laughed coarsely. "Bring her here, Scott, and let us interrogate her properly." He grinned, and raised his ale cup to his mouth.

"She will stay in my custody," Rowan said firmly.

"I'll look the fool if this word gets out," Simon snapped. "Bring her here, or I'll ride there and take her."

"Summon her to the next truce meeting." Rowan stared evenly at Simon, feeling tension between them like thick smoke.

"A truce day summons would be the proper legal action, sir," Archie told Simon.

"If
we'd
caught her riding last night, there would hae been Jeddart justice on the Lincraig hill," Hepburn said.

"Hang first and declare guilt later?" Rowan looked at him with disgust. "You cannot work Jeddart justice on a woman!"

"Much less the daughter o' the king's lawyer," Archie said.

"Good God, nae that," Hepburn said.

"Simon, let Blackdrummond keep her safe for now," Archie said. "What harm? We risk trouble enough with her brother here, and the father who he is."

Rowan glanced at them sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Mairi and Iain's father is Duncan Macrae o' Dulsie, a king's lawyer and a Highland laird," Archie answered. "The son of such a laird cannot be hanged in Scotland unless the king himself declares him guilty. Much less the daughter."

Rowan frowned, remembering that Mairi had mentioned her father briefly. "A king's lawyer could arrange a pardon for his son quick enough," he said.

"Duncan Macrae is in Denmark. I do not know if the council has sent word to him," Simon said. "But the heavy storms the Lord continues to send us make it impossible for ships to cross to Denmark. There's meaning in cursed storms and freakish weather, month after month." He stared into his ale cup. "Some say it is the end o' the blasted world come upon us."

Listening, Rowan felt tense as a drawn latchbow. He wanted no more of this conversation or this company. "I had best speak with Iain Macrae now, before we all face our day o' judgment," he said with undisguised sarcasm. He stood. "Do not show me the way. I'll find it myself."

He strode across the room, boots ringing on the wooden floor, with its thin covering of dry, dirty rushes. Behind him, he heard Simon growl something.

Moments later, he heard a thumping sound, and turned to see Archie Pringle swinging after him on his crutches.

"I'll show you the dungeon," Archie said. "I have a key."

Rowan lifted a brow. "Thank you."

Archie shrugged. "I'm the senior deputy. I oversee the prisoners here. But Simon will join us. He will not let you speak wi' Macrae alone. Best hurry then," he murmured, as Rowan opened the door and they went through.

Archie led Rowan down a turnpike stair to the lowest level of the tower, where a smoking torch gave out a rancid yellow light. Two troopers in steel breastplates moved toward them. Beyond the guards, Rowan saw a wooden door trimmed in iron. Archie set a key in the door, swung it open, and stepped aside.

Rowan entered the tiny room. He was immediately aware of the faint, unpleasant, familiar odors of moldy straw, sweat, and urine. Too familiar.

He knew what it was to spend day after day, hour after hour in such a hole. He had spent months in a place worse than this before the English had moved him to the warden's house. In that black, stinking cell, he had unfolded a pristine page with shaking fingers to learn that Maggie had married his own brother.

A small window, a mere chink in the wall, shed gray light on the huddled form of a man on the floor. The man stood, swaying, to face Rowan.

"Iain Macrae?" Rowan asked.

Iain nodded. Tall and wide-shouldered, he was lean, with dirty blond hair and whiskers. Scant light fell over his features as he turned his head. Rowan saw that one cheek and eye were bruised and swollen, and his lip was cut and bloodied.

But the eyes were a distinct silvery gray. He knew the match to those eyes. Mairi had said that Iain was her twin. Rowan saw the proof in their identical, striking eyes.

"Rowan Scott o' Blackdrummond," he said, stepping closer. "I have some questions to ask you."

Iain narrowed his eyes. "Alec's brother," he stated flatly.

"I am. You rode out together one night, a few weeks past."

"We did." Iain obviously meant to say no more on that subject. Rowan saw the same stubbornness that he had encountered in the man's sister.

"How did you come by the Spanish gold?"

"Ask your brother," Iain said. "You'll learn more."

"Someone must have been involved in the handling of the stuff," Rowan said. "Was it given to you by arrangement? Or did you reive it by chance?"

"Why should I speak to you, Blackdrummond?" Iain sounded bitter and weary.

Rowan heard the rapid, heavy scraping of boots out in the corridor just before Simon Kerr entered the tiny cell. "We'll learn all we need to, do you speak or nae, Macrae," the warden said. "Rowan Scott has been sent by the king's own council to find Alec and hang you both. And who better for the task, hey? Many know there's trouble atween Blackdrummond and his brother." Simon smiled slyly. "Rowan Scott has a warrant from the council that will give you into English hands."

The look Iain gave Rowan was sharp, intelligent, and condemning. "You spent time in the English warden's house, Alec told me. Did they win you to their ways?"

Rowan felt a muscle pulse in his cheek. "Hardly."

"Rowan knows your bonny sister," Simon said in an unctuous tone. "Last night he took her down on the road for her crimes and he is holding her prisoner. And he watched your home burn to the ground, did our Blackdrummond."

Iain took a step toward Rowan. "You damned scoundrel. My sister is no criminal. And what of my wife—our home!"

"Your sister is a damned thief," Simon interjected. "And she kens well this matter o' spies."

Iain looked angrily at Rowan. "What of my wife?"

"She is fine, and at her mother's house wi' Devil's Christie and your child," Rowan said. "Reivers burned the house. Mairi is at my own tower. She's hurt, but she'll recover."

Simon leaned forward. "Bonny Mairi was caught in the red hand, riding after travelers on the Lincraig road." He grinned, broad and dark. "And we all can guess what manner o' safety she'll receive at the hands o' the Blackdrummond Scotts."

Iain fisted his hands. "If she's harmed, Blackdrummond, you'll pay the price in your own blood to Macraes and Frasers."

"You will not live to see that," Simon said. Iain took a step toward the warden, but stopped. Rowan saw the anger that tensed Iain's body and noted, too, the self-control that stopped him.

The warden laughed harshly and turned away. "This pup is nearly tamed," he murmured to Rowan as he strolled past. "Just a matter o' days afore I get the whole truth from him. Another solid flaying, and a dry, empty belly—we'll have him." He stepped through the doorway.

"I'll see you in the great hall now, Blackdrummond. And you too, Pringle!" His voice cut like thunder through the small outer passageway.

Rowan looked at Iain. "I do not condone the warden's manner o' dealing wi' prisoners. I want you to know that." He turned to go.