The Raven's Moon (25 page)

"Some say the branches of a certain tree, when woven over the door or set around animals' necks, has a power to vanquish evil. Its branches can keep the beasts and the homes safe."

"What tree is that?" she asked.

He tilted his head. "The rowan tree."

She smiled. "And just how does rowan protect beasts?"

"Ah, well," he drawled, "the Blackdrummond tenants used to say that rowan would not protect the beasts unless the beasts were Rowan's."

Mairi laughed with delight and his answering chuckle thrilled her. "And what else does the rowan protect, beside the beasts?" she asked, teasing.

"Rowan protects his own," he said soberly. "Depend on it."

She looked at him, and a current of yearning flooded through her heart, quickly and completely. But she said nothing.

As she tilted her head forward, the helmet slumped over her eyes once again. She shoved it back.

They rode ahead in silence, while the haloed lights sparkled over the hillsides like welcoming candles.

Chapter 17

The morn is Hallowe'en night

The elfin court will ride,

Thro England and thro a' Scotland,

And thro the world wide.

—"Tam Lin"

Mairi leaned her cheek wearily on the heel of her hand, and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the hearthfire that blazed inside the inn. She was so tired she could barely lift her head, even without the cumbersome steel bonnet that lay on the bench beside her.

The inn was crowded, and some of the patrons blocked the welcome heat of the log fire. Men and women both were seated at tables, while still others moved about, their voices and laughter echoing inside the smoky, dim, low-ceilinged room.

Mairi inhaled the pungent odors of burning pinewood, tallow candles, ale, roasting beef. She glanced at Rowan, who sat beside her, sipping his ale. She took a drink from the flagon he had brought her.

When he spoke she could hardly hear him above the din. "Pardon?" she asked.

He leaned closer. "I said that the innkeeper send a runner to Lang Will Croser to tell him we are waiting here. Lang Will is supposed to bring the child here. Hey. You look tired, lass."

She nodded, and sipped again. The threepenny ale was warm and watery and did not sit well on her stomach after the beef and barley stew she had eaten. She pushed the cup away.

"I paid the innkeeper for two beds for the night," Rowan said. "Go up and rest. I'll wait for Lang Will."

"I'll stay. You brought me here to help with Jamie. And for no other reason," she added.

"Go up. I'll wait and let you know when they arrive."

"I'm not tired," she said stubbornly. Rowan sighed.

When the table rocked slightly under her arm, she glanced up. At the other end of the trestle, four men were tossing dice, cheering and swearing raucously with each throw of the bone pieces. One tipped over a flagon of ale, and liquid ran along the board. Mairi lifted her arm and bumped against Rowan.

"Spilled ale is good luck," he murmured, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. He rested his hand there for a moment. A delicious shiver ran through her and she closed her eyes, smiling softly.

"Hey hey," a gruff voice said. "Nane o' that here, now."

Startled, Mairi peered at a man across the table, a slightly built fellow in a dirty doublet. His grizzled face was framed by long silver hair that barely covered his scalp, and his toothless grin looked elfish and almost charming.

"Nane o' that," he repeated. "Save it for later, I say. That is a lass, not a laddie?" He winked at Mairi.

She sat up, dismayed to remember her lad's disguise.

"She's bonny, hey?" the man asked, eyes twinkling.

"Aye, bonny." Rowan touched her shoulder.

"Ye two lovers best behave till the morrow," the man went on. Confused, Mairi noticed that his speech was slurred, and thought he was far drunk. "A bonny lass, but in laddie's gear. Ye had a long ride through the 'Batable Land, hey?"

"Long enough," Rowan answered.

"If ye meant to hide her from reivers, ye've found a passel o' them here." The man sat forward. "Is this yer handfasted lassie, then?"

"My, ah, what?"

"Och, aye, they're all here this night just like the two of you. Reivers and their handfasted lassies, here for All Hallows' E'en." He gestured at the men and women crowding the inn. "This night, games and tipping o' the ale cups, and the lassies reading omens in them eggs dropped into boiled water, over there." He nodded toward some girls gathered around a bowl on a far table. "On the morrow—" He grinned.

"All Saints' Day," Rowan said. "What else?"

"The wedding, ye loon! 'Tis why most of us are here. The grandest marrying ye'll e'er see. Though the lasses may be more eager than the lads, hey." He winked and lifted his cup in salute. "Here's tae us. Wha's like us?" He paused for the usual response.

"Damned few, and they're a' dead." Rowan held up his own flagon.
"Slainte."

"Aye," the man said, and drank. Foaming ale ran down over his chin, and he wiped at it. "Och, this threepenny stuff is as thin as crone's milk. Cannot get proper drunk on it. I had some fine October ale after my supper, but the tun ran dry." He belched and held out his hand. "I'm Tammie the Priest. Tammie Armstrong."

Mairi thought Priest an odd nickname for a reiver, but she had heard riding names far stranger. She nodded politely.

Rowan took the proffered hand. "Rowan. And Mairi."

"Rowan who?" Tammie snarled.

"The Black Laird."

"Go to! I've heard the name." He frowned in earnest concentration. "Be ye notorious?"

"He be very notorious," Mairi said. She glanced at the young couples in the room, most of them laughing, teasing, or holding hands. "Which one is the bride?" she asked curiously.

Tammie belched again. "Och, ye'd be a fine bride. Fine, bonny bride, and this Black Laird yer braw groom." He grinned again, leaned his arm on the table, and then nodded his head forward, eyes half closed.

"Tammie, sir? Who's the bride?" Mairi repeated.

"Yer bonny lassie is a bonny bride, hey, Black Laird?" Tammie raised his chin and suddenly began to sing in a rich, deep voice. Mairi blinked in astonishment. She looked at Rowan, who shrugged, shook his head.

Tammie the Priest was well into a song about a lassie being wrapped in someone's plaidie and taken away to be wed, when one of the dice players at the other end of the table leaned over.

"Hey! Tammie!" he yelled, and pushed at the old man's arm. "Find yer bed, y'auld fool." He turned to his companions. "He'll be in puir shape on the morrow, hey." They laughed.

Tammie kept on singing, never losing the rhythm. The men chortled and went back to their gambling.

"Ach
," Mairi said softly. She reached over and touched Tammie's arm. "Tammie? Are you well? Can I help you?"

Tammie smiled. "By sea and sky, she shall be mine," he sang, "the bonny lass amang the heather..."

Rowan stood and walked around the table. "Come on, man. I'll help you to your bed. There you go, step this way."

"Och, Rowan the Black Laird! I've seen ye afore, laddie. What's yer riding family?"

"Scott."

"Go to! Anither Scott!" He narrowed his eyes to peer at Rowan. "Ah! The Black Laird—ye're like him, that wild Alec. Ye're his brother!" He looked delighted.

"Come ahead," Rowan said as he lifted Tammie's arm around his own shoulder.

"Och, a fine lad, Wild Alec Scott. Havena seen him for a while—he's a broken man now, hey?"

"So I hear." Rowan stepped forward with Tammie.

"Och aye," Tammie said. "I'm a broken man too. The English warden's been on my tail a' this year. Bed's up the stairs, God thank ye." He turned his head. "Where's Rowan's lassie?"

"She's here," Rowan said, gesturing for Mairi. She came around to help guide Tammie across the crowded room.

"Bonny Mairi," Tammie crooned, grinning like a wizened elf. She helped him move forward.

The innkeeper's wife, a wide, hefty woman, walked past them carrying a large jug full of foaming ale. Mairi heard Rowan ask her about Tammie's bed. The woman pointed up the stairs, said something and turned away to pour ale into a cup thrust into her path by one of the gamblers.

Rowan scowled and Mairi wondered what the innkeeper's wife had that bothered him. With Tammie between them, they climbed several steep wooden steps to a narrow corridor with four doors. Rowan led them down the dark passage and shoved open the last door.

Tammie leaned between them as they entered a small, dim chamber. A candle burned on a shelf, revealing two beds in the crowded space. One bed was empty, but a huge, bulky shadow shifted in the other. Snores resounded in the air.

"The innkeeper's wife said to put Tammie in one of these beds and use the other for ourselves," Rowan said.

Mairi blinked at him. "What?"

"Both the sleeping places I paid for seem to be in this room. And that bed's full already."

"That's my brother, Dickie the Mountain," Tammie said.

Mairi did not doubt that riding name, judging by the huge shape under the bedcovers.

"Where will you sleep, lass?" Rowan murmured. "With Tammie Armstrong—or me?"

Mairi stared at him, speechless.

"Och, do not fret y'selves," Tammie said. "I may be a broken man, but I'm a priest. And Dickie's a minister. Yer lassie's as safe here as in heaven."

"She's safest wi' me," Rowan muttered.

"Is there nowhere else for you and your brother to sleep?" Mairi asked Tammie. He shook his head.

"Our bairn will be wi' us soon," Rowan said. "It is best for the lass to sleep here alone wi' the lad."

"Eh?" Tammie said. "Yer bairnie? Is it so?"

"Aye," Mairi said quickly. "He's a small lad. But loud."

"Och, ye need a wedding quick, ye do," Tammie muttered. "Dickie, they need a wedding, man. Shove over, now." He stumbled and fell into the bed holding his snoring brother.

"We'd best go down the stairs, I think," Rowan said.

"That bed will be taken if ye leave it," Tammie muttered.

Mairi sighed. "I'll wait here and save the bed." When Rowan began to protest, she held up a hand. "Tammie will not bother me. Come tell me when Lang Will arrives."

Rowan sighed and began to unhook his jack. Mairi widened her eyes, thinking he meant to stay with her, a wild thought that appealed, thrilled her. "I'll leave this with you," he said, taking off the garment and dropping it on the bed. "I'll come up when Lang Will brings the child," he said.

She nodded, embarrassed to have thought he would stay here. Of course he needed to watch for Lang Will.

"Keep this for me, if you will. My dirk will be safe with you, will it not?" He smiled, a little wry lift of his lip.

She took it and grimaced at him in the dark, then sat on the bed. Covered with a woolen blanket, the straw mattress barely gave beneath her. She slipped the dirk under the flat pillow.

"I would not want to use a blade—" she began.

"Then hit someone with it if need be," he said. "I'll be back soon." He paused to glance at her, hesitating. "Tammie and Dickie, if either of you move, you die. Understood?"

Only deep snores answered him.

"Go." Mairi gestured for him to leave, then removed her jack and lay on the unforgiving bed, settling back.

* * *

Winds howled, rain pattered the walls, and Dickie snored earnestly, Tammie joining him in a whining harmony that was driving Mairi mad.

After a while she sat up and punched the lumpy feather pillow. When Tammie snorted loudly in his sleep, she threw the pillow at him. Miraculously, both men quieted.

She snatched the pillow from the floor, pummeled it again, and shifted in the creaking bed, drawing up the blanket. Finally she sighed in frustration and sat up to lean against the wall.

Rowan's jack lay beside her on the bed. The pocket flap caught her attention—a bundle of white cloth poked out. As she tucked it back, the cloth slid open, revealing a gilt frame.