The Heather Moon (40 page)

He nodded, listening silently, his fingers over his mouth, a gesture, she thought, of skepticism. "And this one," she said, as she turned over the last card in the row of the future. "Ah. The Fool." She frowned. "You have some confusion with regard to some matter in your life, a matter of great importance, for this is a powerful card. 'Tis a card of fate. Let fate guide you, the cards say."

"That figure signifies the force of fate?" he asked.

"Aye," she said softly.

She had not influenced the cards by her manner of mixing or laying them out. Nona had taught her well and thoroughly. She expressed only what the cards themselves told her, by virtue of their symbolism and the way in which each one reflected and enhanced the meaning of other cards on the table.

But she knew, without doubt, what issue was addressed. And she did not miss the significance for herself as she looked at the cards in the last row. Somehow, the
tarocchi
counseled her with the same wisdom they offered William.

"The Fool looks like a gypsy or a vagabond to me," Helen remarked. "Clothed in rags, with a walking stick and a sack."

"Aye, the wandering soul, open to guidance, and chance," Tamsin answered. "William has something of that in him." Her hand trembled as she touched the final card. "This may show us what direction fate would lead you."

He laid his hand over hers. The sudden touch, the warmth, startled her. "Nay," he said in a quiet voice. "I dinna want to see it. If I have a choice to make, I will do it on my own, without fortune-telling. Without fate," he added in a near whisper, to her alone.

Tamsin nodded, unable to speak. She knew the choice he faced involved her and the uncertain matter of their marriage and their attraction to each other. The cards had shown aspects of William's life and his character. Yet each had mirrored her own life and feelings, too.

The final, unknown card made her apprehensive. What if it showed a shattering between them, rather than a joining? She was afraid to look, and glad he had stopped her.

"Well enough," she said. "We will leave it as 'tis."

He nodded, and kept his hand over hers. The heat of his touch seeped into her bones, into her blood. She turned her hand in his, palm to palm, thumbs linking, a natural gesture for a wedded couple. Emma and Helen smiled at them.

"Amazing," Helen said softly. "Much of that seemed to describe William's life. Tamsin didna purposely choose those cards, nor did William, for they mixed them well. Chance decided which cards were laid on the table."

"Or fate," Tamsin murmured, watching William. He lifted a brow, a quick gesture of admittance that fluttered her heartbeat.

"So much of the past and present seemed true," Helen said. "But William has already made a choice guided by fate. He married Tamsin impulsively."

"Aye," Emma said. "And wisely." She smiled. "A wonderful game, Tamsin. I would like to see more of that, another day."

"Will, has Tamsin looked at your palm?" Helen asked.

"Aye, once," he said. "She saw a man of honor, as I recall. And I think she questioned that honor." He smiled at her, a patient smile that crinkled his eyes and seemed to pool affection there. She smiled in return, tentatively, yearning for him to care for her as much as she cared for him.

"Let me look again," she said. He turned his hand, which still held hers. She smoothed her fingertips over the grooves etched in his palm. "Aye," she said. "I see honor, intelligence, a strong love for family, good health. A tendency to stubbornness, but a fairly calm temperament."

"Health, wealth, the love of a good lass, the vanquishing of all my enemies," he murmured. Tamsin scowled at him playfully, for she heard the teasing in his voice.

"What about love?" Helen asked. "Do you see marriage there? Can you match it in your own hand?"

"'Tisna so simple as that," Tamsin said. "I see several loves here," She frowned. "But they cease after a certain point, and the line shows one strong, intense attachment."

"As it should be," Emma said. "Tamsin, 'tis you there in his hand."

She was not so sure she agreed. That deep-cut, heartfelt line could mean Katharine's mother. She saw a mark that signified the advent of parenthood, near the sign of that love.

Tamsin slid her fingertips over William's palm, savoring the feel of his quiet power under her hand. She caught sight of a minute, finely cut line, and looked closer.

The tiny crease ran parallel to his life line, identical to the one that she had in her own palm. The line revealed that he had a twin for his soul, a love that was rare and sure.

She caught her breath, wondering if, indeed, they were meant to be together. She remembered that her grandmother had been certain that they belonged with each other.

But free will could change whatever was in their lives. The choices made in a lifetime could alter the lines in the palm. Those tiny marks of destined love could mean tragedy as well as joy. Even fated love was not always found, kept, or claimed.

Her heart beat hard as she slipped her hand from his. That minor parting felt like a small rent in the fabric of her life. She wanted to repair it by placing her hand in his again. But she folded her hands in her lap.

William inclined his head, his gaze steady on her, a gleam of bemusement showing there. "My thanks, Tamsin lass. 'Twas entertaining."

She nodded, knowing there was more truth than play in what had happened. She began to gather the cards. William rose from the bench and spoke softly with his mother, who asked him about Jock and Anna's plans following their wedding. Helen chased after Katharine and lifted her out of her walker, which stirred the child to noisy fussing.

"And why," Emma said, "if you went to a priest's house to witness Jock and Anna's wedding, did you not invite the man to come here to Rookhope? I am most anxious to arrange a marriage within the Church for you. Gypsy vows will do, I suppose, but I want to hear Christian blessings spoken over you."

Tamsin felt her cheeks flame. She did not hear William's murmured reply above Katharine's cries, but thought it sounded casual and noncommittal. Some of the cards slipped from her hands and scattered on the floor. She bent to pick them up.

"Tamsin," Emma said. "Helen and I are going to put Katharine down for a rest, and then we will sit in the great hall to have some muscatel before supper. Join us there, dearling."

Tamsin nodded. "I will."

"I must ride out to talk with some of my kinsmen and tenants," William told his mother. "With the Forsters and Musgraves angry at Jock, all those of our surname should be wary after dark." He looked at Tamsin. "I will be back by supper, or shortly after that. Later this evening, before set of sun, we will ride over to Merton Rigg to see your father."

"Aye," Tamsin said. "I have packed my gear."

"Packed?" Emma asked. "Will you stay at your father's for a while? I know you mean to meet with Archie and with Jasper Musgrave, but I hoped that you would come right back to us. But of course, you must tell Archie about your marriage, and he might want you to stay with him for a few days. Then I want to see you two right back here." She smiled and reached up to pat her son's shoulder.

William glanced at Tamsin as he left the room. That flash of blue was enigmatic and powerful. She could not tell if he agreed with his mother or if he meant to leave Tamsin at Merton Rigg forever, a discarded mock wife.

Helen and Emma followed him out, and Tamsin sat alone at the table, gathering up the rest of the picture cards and slipping them into the black silk pouch.

Her hand lingered over the last card, still facedown on the table. She hesitated, then turned it over, revealing the Star, an image of a woman holding a golden starburst.

"Ah, Will," she whispered sadly. "Hope and salvation are yours, if you would but choose that path." Happiness waited for both of them, she thought, glittering bright and full of promise, like the little picture she held.

But William had not wanted to see the final card. Perhaps he already knew what direction he would take. She feared that he would decide to turn away from her, and from their marriage. The
tarocchi
had hinted that the fool in him, the gypsy part of his soul, struggled with the wise man.

Chapter 24

One gentle Armstrong I doe ken, A Scot he is much bound to mee; He dwelleth on the border-side, To him I'll goe right privilie.

—"Northumberland Betrayed by Douglas"

The rain softened as they left Rookhope for the brief ride to Merton Rigg, and soon changed to a mist that haloed the rising moon. Hillsides thick with heather became a sparkling silver carpet touched by moonbeams. Tamsin sat her gray's back quietly, watching the countryside, marveling at its silent beauty.

"There will be few reivers out on such a night," William murmured, looking up at the sky. Lavender lingered there, since darkness came late on Scottish summer nights. "Too soft, this night. The rain will come down again, I think, before long. We may be the only reivers out here, lass." He sent her a brief smile.

She touched the sleeve of her old leather doublet, knowing he referred to the male clothing she wore for the journey back to Merton Rigg. Her own gear—breeches, boots, shirt, and doublet—would do, she thought, since she was about to return to her old life.

With reluctance, she had left Helen's beautiful things behind, folded carefully in the great wooden chest in William's bedchamber at Rookhope. She had placed the delicate emerald and gold ring on the table in William's room, though tears had pooled in her eyes to do it. When she had dressed, she had paused over her black leather gloves, the left one shaped for her hand, and then had tucked them away. The freedom to use her left hand without shame would remain one of the finest gifts she had gained at Rookhope.

Her only remembrance of the elegant things she had worn at Rookhope was in her hair, which Helen had arranged in a coil of braids at the back of her head, interwoven with green glass beads and covered in a silken net. She had left it undisturbed, covering it in the rain with a flat woolen bonnet that she had among her own few things, which Sandie had fetched from Merton Rigg a fortnight past.

"Will Musgrave be at Merton already, think you?" she asked.

"He might be. His note to me said that he intended to meet with all of us this night. I'm sure he sent Archie the same word. 'Tis late enough now that they could be waiting for us to arrive."

She nodded and rode on. The route to Merton ran along a drover's track that skimmed the tops of rainy, heather-covered hills. After a few minutes, she noticed that her horse had slowed to a walk, as if the gray expressed Tamsin's reluctance. Aware that she might lose William as soon as they reached Merton, she would not have minded had the ride lasted forever.

The bay horse slowed too, and Tamsin glanced at William. He rode with a straight back, one hand casually on the reins, the other resting on his thigh. The space between their horses was less than an arm's length, and every so often their thighs or knees would brush.

"Tamsin." His quiet voice startled her out of her thoughts. "A message came for me late today."

"I saw the messenger arrive, with his blazoned pouch and arm patch, so I knew 'twas civic business. You spoke to your mother about it afterward, but you didna mention it to me. I thought it none of my matter, so I didna ask."

"It is your matter. I wanted to tell you later, when we could be private. I had a letter from Hamilton's advocate."

She glanced at him in alarm. "What did he say? Please God, the court willna let Hamilton take Katharine!"

"The judges of the Court of Sessions reviewed his complaint against me, and found it unworthy of their time. They refused to even summon me for an interview. They consider the child to be in suitable custody—"

"Oh, Will!" Tamsin exclaimed, turning to him in delight. "'Tis wonderful! Now Hamilton has no complaint against you!"

"No legal complaint," he said. "Aye, 'tis wonderful." He smiled, but seemed subdued.

"'Tis good to know that Katharine will stay with her kin at Rookhope." Her heart plummeted a little, for she knew that she would not be there with them.

"The judges accept that Katharine is in good care," he answered. "The advocate wrote to me that the court approves of her situation, since her father, as they said, is known to be a friend to the late king and the queen dowager."