The Raven's Moon (28 page)

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."

"What?" Rowan said, staring at Tammie. But the priest did not hear him above the outbursts of cheers and laughter.

"What?" Mairi said beside him.

"What?" Jamie repeated precisely, smiling. "What?"

Tammie grinned at Rowan. "Be ye papist or protestant?"

Rowan gaped at him. "What?" This could not be happening.

"Protestants," Tammie said knowingly to Dickie, who stepped forward and began to recite the marriage rites in his deep voice.

The crowd of couples stilled in reverence, bowing their heads and joining hands. As Rowan opened his mouth to stop the proceedings, he looked out over the hushed crowd.

He saw tears in the eyes of some of the girls, pleased flushes in the men's faces. He saw young mothers holding small bairns and standing proudly to be wed to the fathers of those children. He saw Lang Will with his arm about the tall girl. Will nodded to Rowan, his leathery face suddenly as handsome, as glowing, as any other's there.

Rowan gazed at them, stunned, while Dickie spoke the wedding rite. He wanted to disclaim his part in this. But these people were all being married in this moment. He was standing in for each of them, changing their lives.

Changing his own.

If ever there was a time for silence, it was now.

He looked down at Mairi. She was gazing out at the crowd, her cheeks high pink now, clear eyes sparkling. She looked up at him then—and in that moment, Rowan could not speak.

He could not protest. He did not want to. Suddenly he wanted this woman with a fervency he had never felt before in his life. He wanted all of her—body, heart and soul, past and future, regardless of who or what she was. Whatever came of this moment, he knew with a clear certainty that this was the right action, here and now, whatever would befall later.

A stunning sense of peace came over him—and he knew that his silence just now was more courageous than speaking out. He felt filled with courage and conviction.

Balancing Jamie in one arm, he looked down at Mairi, and tilted one brow to indicate the question that was in his mind.

She took a breath, nodded once, and took his hand.

Dickie, speaking all the while, finished the vows.

* * *

God have mercy, he needed fresh air.

Rowan sucked in a breath, but the room smelled stale and sour with smoke, ale, food, sweat. He rubbed at his aching brow. The chattering and laughter was at a near deafening level, and now Tammie was singing. The crowd joined in, and someone began drumming on the table.

Rowan saw Mairi standing beside one of the trestle tables, her back to him. She held Jamie in her arms, coaxing him to eat a bit of bread and cheese, while she talked with Lang Will and his new wife.

God, Rowan thought, she was beautiful, all serenity and smiles, and he could hardly think. In the hour since the wedding, he had been struck by the enormity of the risk they had taken.

Yet despite his astonishment, he did not regret the impulsive choice he had made. Somehow that alarmed him most of all. And now he sat watching his wife—his wife!—across a room filled with revelers.

Dread, anticipation, even fledgling happiness spun recklessly through him. He was not one to act spontaneously, without careful reserve. He was not the sort to snatch something that promised happiness and love. He had learned that matters of the heart needed far more caution than matters of physical risk.

He must have lost some essential faculty of reason, for he had overlooked his suspicion that Mairi might be a spy, or that he did not know enough about her.

All he knew was that she was delectable and appealing now, and he wanted her with his body and his heart. All he knew was that what they had done today would change everything.

He rose from the table and ran for the door.

Outside, he inhaled cold air gratefully. The singing was nearly as loud out here, and people crowded the yard as well. Reaching an old oak, he pressed a shoulder to the tree and watched from a distance, glad to remove himself from the happy turmoil.

Those in the yards were mostly men, rough-edged fellows in jacks and helmets, with weapons in their belts. Reivers, he thought—or warden's troopers. A few tipped flagons of ale to their lips and looked about warily.

Just then, Dickie the Mountain emerged from the inn. Seeing Rowan, he came forward.

"Look there," Dickie said, gesturing. "Rogues and troopers come here for a midday threepenny and some meat and broth, and instead they find a wedding feast and nowhere to sit." He laughed.

"Do you know them?" Rowan asked.

Dickie scowled. "Och aye, Tammie and me ride wi' some o' them. But we do not ride wi' that naughty lot over there." He tipped his head. "Heckie Elliot and his bairns, he calls 'em. Though they usually stay in their nest in Liddesdale. What do they want here, I wonder?"

"Heckie?" Rowan looked with keen interest at three men standing at the far end of the yard.

The biggest of the three muttered something to his burly brothers and then loped away to catch up to a girl carrying a brimming jug and a stack of wooden cups. The man had a clumsy walk, reminding Rowan of a mummer's trained bear.

"Which one is that?" he asked.

"Heckie. Fancies himself a braw man for the lassies. But most cannot abide him. The others are Clem and Martin."

"We've had trouble with Heckie and his brothers in the Middle March. I met him elsewhere, once," Rowan said thoughtfully. "Outside an inn."

"Eh? I hear you are a deputy in the Middle March. And brother to Alec Scott." Dickie grinned. "Many know your name, man, the Black Laird o' Blackdrummond." Dickie answered. "Hey, now you've a bonny new wife. My blessings on you both. You'll be muckle happy wi' her. And that bairn needs a father and his Da's name." He wiggled his brow.

"He has both," Rowan said. He felt that he could trust Dickie, and he wanted to learn what the minister knew about Alec. He had not yet had a chance to question Lang Will about his brother. "The lad is my nephew," he said. "Alec's son."

Dickie's mouth dropped open, his chins wobbling. "Tammie said you and the lass were parents to the bairn, and came here to fix your handfasting legally wi' the other couples."

"Your brother is a fine man, but he has a way o' half listening and deciding matters to his liking, but I do not object to the marriage," Rowan said affably. "What do you know of my brother, then?" He watched the Elliots all the while.

Dickie shrugged. "I rode wi' him years past, wi' Lang Will Croser and a few Armstrongs and Scotts." He glanced at Rowan. "My brother and I rode wi' you, too, four years ago, but you will not recall us. That was the raid that ran to a hundred men, Scotts and Armstrongs after the Kerrs. But I recall you, the Black Laird, riding hard wi' your grandfather and your brother. My own cousin, Devil Davy Armstrong—bless that rogue's soul—was there too," he added.

"I thank you for taking part in that ride," Rowan murmured.

"We heard you were taken down by the English and held for a bit. Welcome back. Will you ride reiving again? I'd go wi' you and proud to do it. Tammie too, I trow."

"My thanks. Tell me what you know of Alec lately."

"Och, that lad's had trouble. I spoke the marriage vows for him and a pretty lass, just after you were taken down. I heard later the lady died and left him a son."

"Aye," Rowan said.

"And now this, hey, the council after him and he's a broken man. He's hiding in the glen here—you knew that," Dickie continued. "He's well liked here, is Alec Scott—as are you, Rowan. We do not care what Alec's crimes may be. None here will betray him to any that come looking for him. So that's his bairn, hey?"

"It is, and I've come to take him to his kin."

"Alec cannot ask for a better brother." Dickie smiled. "I'd best go in now or that feast will be picked clean. Coming in to eat?" Rowan shook his head, and Dickie went toward the inn.

Cannot ask for a better brother.
He sighed.

Heckie Elliot laughed loudly at something his brother. He turned and saw Rowan and paused, grin fading. He muttered something to his brothers and they sauntered across the yard.

Wondering if Heckie remembered their encounter at another inn, Rowan decided he had best make sure that Peg and Valentine were both saddled and all the gear ready, including the weapons. He strode toward the barn.

Somehow, he thought, Heckie Elliot and his lot were linked to the spy chain. They had harassed Iain Macrae as well, and then Iain had been caught with Spanish gold, including the medallion Heckie had taken off of Rowan.

But as yet, he could not sort out the scattered threads in this curious bit of weaving. Behind him, the sounds of celebration in the inn faded, replaced by the crunch of his boot soles over stones. Shafts of sunlight sliced through the clouds, and he looked up, eyes squinting.

On the crest of a hill, a solitary horseman sat unmoving, watching the inn. He wore a dark jack, and the peak of his steel bonnet gleamed in the sunlight.

Rowan stopped. He knew the shape of the morion helmet, recognized the wide shoulders, the black hair that waved beneath the steel brim. Alec Scott sat that hill, staring at him.

Rowan felt their gazes meet and hold, even at such a distance. He knew he should should seize the chance, fetch his horse, ride after his brother as the council wanted him to do. But he stood still.

Then he heard his name and turned. Mairi ran toward him, carrying Jamie and the sack with the child's things.

"Rowan, we must go–we must leave now!"

Confused, he wondered if she had seen Alec too, and if she was intent on pursuing him, even with the bairn in her arms.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Heckie Elliot and his brothers at here—they have not seen me, and they do not know you, I think. Please, for Jamie's safety, we must be gone from here." She tugged on his arm.

Rowan glanced toward Alec, still silhouetted on the hilltop. Mairi stood with Rowan and looked there, too.

Then, slowly, Alec touched his helmet brim and raised his hand, palm up.

Now, suddenly, Rowan knew why Alec was there. His watchful presence had nothing to do with spies, or Heckie Elliot, or a feud between brothers. Those were matters for another day.

Lifting his own hand, Rowan reached out with his other hand to touch Jamie's head lightly. He nodded as if to tell the father that the boy was safe, and in good hands.

Alec gathered the reins and rode away, disappearing behind the hill.

Chapter 19