The Heather Moon (9 page)

"One dungeon is as dark as another," she said fiercely. "And prison is no different than death to a gypsy."

Jasper waved a hand. "Take her out of here. I will waste no more time with this lot. Archie, I want that list of names and promises within a fortnight."

"Ye'll get yer list," Archie growled.

"Come ahead," William said. The girl turned her glare on him, still sparking like green fire. Taking a lesson from her father, he gave her a calm little smile and turned away.

"Will Scott," Jasper Musgrave said behind them. "Make sure that Archie meets his promise to me. Go with them when they visit those gypsies, and oversee Archie's damned list. I do not trust these two."

"Very well," William agreed. He ignored the girl's continued glare.

He opened the door and beckoned to the two guards who stood in the doorway. "Wait here in the hallway with these two prisoners until I come out," he said. He ushered the Armstrongs through the doorway, resting a hand on the girl's arm to guide her when she shot him a recalcitrant look. Archie followed her, looking grim. William gave him a somber nod and shut the door.

He spun toward Musgrave. "Tell me what this scheme is about," he said. "Or lose my influence entirely in this secretive matter of yours."

"Secretive," Musgrave said. "'Tis the word, aye, or we will all lose in this scheme."

William folded his arms. "Tell me."

"For now, I can only reveal to you the most basic of our intentions," Musgrave said. "Until I have the Border scum and the gypsies bound by signed oaths and payment in gold, I cannot discuss the details of the plan with anyone but Lord Wharton and King Henry."

"I might understand how Bordermen's promises could help King Henry," William said. "But gypsies?"

Musgrave sat back and twined his fingers over his belly, where the pewter buttons pulled tight. "What are the gypsies most known for, eh?"

William frowned. "Wandering in caravans through England, Scotland, and Europe... keeping to themselves, horse training, tinsmithing, basket weaving, palmistry to earn silver... of what use is any of that to you and your king?"

"Sleight of hand, fast-and-loose, clever tricks to take coin from a purse. Lying, stealing, horse thievery," Musgrave detailed. "Fortune-telling, dancing, singing, juggling—even at the royal courts, mind you! The wearing of strange attire, and a tiresome claim of descent from Oriental kings, so that the best among them say they are princes and earls, when they are in reality but vagrants and heathens." Musgrave smiled. "Now think you. What worse is said of the gypsies? How do English mothers frighten their children into obedience, hmm?" He looked pleased as he sat back.

"I believe that the gypsies," William said, forcing a casual tone, "are known for stealing children."

Musgrave nodded. "And how fortunate for us that they have earned a repute for that sort of thing."

William frowned as a realization struck him, bringing with it a cold chill.
You bastard,
he thought, staring at Musgrave. There was only one child whom King Henry would want in his custody. The king of England had already secured a promise from the Scottish crown to wed Queen Mary Stewart, eight months old, to Henry Tudor's little son Edward. But William had heard that Henry was not content with a promise for a future wedding. He had requested that the queen be raised at the English court, and he had been soundly refused. King Henry would not accept that refusal lightly, William knew.

"And what child," William went on, "would you hire gypsies to steal for you?"

"I think you can guess. And I think you know how much benefit both Scotland and England would take if a certain poor babe were raised by her kindly English uncle, who sits upon the English throne." Musgrave smiled.

William stared at him, eyes flat, expression mild. He dared not speak in that moment, for the fury that gathered in him.

"I do not trust gypsies well enough to do what King Henry wants done," Musgrave said. "I am not certain they would comply, in truth," he said. "My most trusted men will do the deed. Once I have my little band of thieves in compliance, the blame will come to rest on the gypsies. Clever, hey?" He grinned. "You are among the men I will trust. 'Tis said of you that you keep your word. And 'tis said that you are no longer a friend to the Scottish nobility. You will earn land and privilege, and more gold than you can dream of, in England."

William drew a long breath, schooling his outrage, seeking a countenance of reason and compliance. If he revealed his true reaction now, he would lose a unique chance to destroy this threat to the little queen of Scotland.

Not only was he loyal to Mary Stewart, but he was a father himself. His own daughter was near the queen's age. In the pit of his stomach and the core of his being, he felt a deep urge to protect Mary Stewart, as he would have done were his own child threatened.

A stroke of fate had included him among the conspirators. He was in place now on the board of play, a pawn—more nearly a rook, he thought wryly—who could see the game undone.

"I gave you my word to be involved in this scheme of yours," William said, choosing his answer carefully.

Musgrave nodded. "Good. I knew you for a scoundrel, Rookhope, just like your father. Now take those troublesome Armstrongs with you, and see that they obey their promises to me as well."

"Well enough." William put a hand on the door latch.

"Will Scott," Musgrave murmured. He turned over a parchment sheet and dipped his quill in ink. "You have a daughter of your own, do you not?" His mild tone gave William another spiraling, icy chill. "Under a year, born about the same time as your mewling, weak Scottish queen, I think. Your poor babe lacks a mother, does she not? Gone in childbirth, I heard. An unwed Scottish noblewoman. A pity." He shook his head slowly. "But if I were you, I would tread carefully for that child's sake."

"You wouldna dare," William growled.

"Of course not." Musgrave looked up and smiled, but his eyes were like shards of ice. "See this done, Will Scott," he said. "Each step of the way. I have your promise."

William stared at him silently.

"Break it, and I cannot guarantee the safety of your daughter."

He wanted to kill the man where he stood. But he could not, or he would lose track of this damnable plan. He did not yet know the whole of it. Heart pounding, William yanked open the door and slammed it as he stepped outside.

"Send a page to ready my horse," he ground out to the two guards who waited with the Armstrongs. "And tell him to saddle the horses these two own, as well."

"Hey, add one or two more while ye're at it—good English stock," Archie said. A little grin bloomed on his bruised face.

William, distracted from his simmering thoughts by Archie's boisterous tone, looked at the blond man thoughtfully. He and Archie had more in common than anyone suspected, now that both their daughters—and their queen—had been threatened by Musgrave. William sighed sharply, and remembered again how much his father had liked this man.

He liked him very well himself now. And he did not want to see Archie Armstrong, or Tamsin Armstrong, endangered because of his own situation. He smiled, quick and flat, at Archie, who grinned.

The girl, though, scowled at both of them before turning to stride down the corridor behind the guard.

Chapter 5

He called up his merry men a' By ane by twa an' by three Sayin' gae an' hunt this wild woman Mony a mile frae me.

—"Lord Thomas and Lady Margaret"

A pair of days in a dungeon had reminded her how essential the sky and the earth were to her well-being. Tamsin inhaled the fresh, breezy air and gazed at the green Border hills, dotted with grazing sheep, and at the bright summer sky, where clouds sailed fat and low. She patted her dapple gray horse's thick neck and smiled. She was glad to be free of walls and dark confinement, glad to feel the wind stirring her hair, and the gray's steady power shifting beneath her.

No matter her secret objections, she could not deny that William Scott was a far better jailer than Musgrave. Soon enough he would confine her inside his tower. But for now, she could feel air and sunshine again. Her Romany blood, and years spent with a wandering people, made physical freedom so necessary to her that she could not thrive without it.

She glanced at William Scott, who rode beside her. He sat his dark bay with easy grace, his gaze watchful beneath the sloped rim of his steel helmet. He was as stoutly armed as any Border rider, with a pair of wooden, brass-trimmed pistols and a crossbow, and an upright lance strapped to his saddle. He wore high leather boots and a back-and-breast of shining steel, the two-piece armor commonly worn by Bordermen who could afford it. Most Scottish Bordermen, like Archie, wore the more economical protection of thickly padded, iron-reinforced leather jacks.

Tamsin noticed that his gear was of excellent quality, the possessions of a wealthy man, though none of it was elaborate. A man could show his wealth and upbringing by unnecessary decoration, but William Scott did not. Even his speech was the Scots of a Border laird, rather than the English-influenced Scots of a courtier.

Intrigued and fascinated, she glanced frequently toward him as they rode and wished she knew more about him. He blended kindness with what she was sure was treachery. And he seemed perfectly at home among Border lairds and reivers, although he had spent years at the royal court as a friend to the king.

"Look there," Archie said. William turned his attention toward Archie, and Tamsin did too. "Merton Rigg." He halted his horse and pointed to the east.

Tamsin and William steadied their horses and gazed over a peaceful vista of hills and valleys. In the distance, a stone tower, surrounded by a wall, topped a rocky outcrop that jutted up from a bleak, uneven hill. Thick green trees surrounded the base of the hill, the whole forming a strong and pleasing picture from where they sat. Tamsin lifted her chin in pride as she sat beside her father.

"Half Merton, we call it," Archie went on. "The borderline between England and Scotland runs under the foundation, dividing the tower nearly in half. The kitchen and lesser hall, and two bedchambers, are actually in England, ever since the last treaty, a generation ago."

"I remember hearing about Half Merton when I was a lad," William said. "As I recall, my father said that you yourself were born in England."

"Aye, well," Archie grumbled. "My mother had a fast travail, and couldna make it to the Scottish bedchamber in time. But I'll trust ye to keep yer mouth closed about that."

William smiled, a subtle lift of his firm mouth that Tamsin thought attractive. His blue eyes sparkled like the sky, making her want to smile too. But she resisted.

"You can trust me," he told Archie. "And your daughter? Is she Scottish or English, by the location of her birth at Merton?"

"I was born in a gypsy wagon. In Scotland," she said.

"A Scottish lass for certain." He gave her another of those quiet little smiles and turned to scan the hills.

She looked along the earthen road, which split a hundred yards from where they sat. One fork would take her to Half Merton and familiar surroundings. The other road would lead her to Rookhope and the unknown, with a man she did not wholly trust.

But her father seemed eager to trust him, and especially eager to see his daughter go with him. She sighed, knowing exactly why Archie liked the arrangement.

Now that he knew William Scott was not wed, her father probably planned to offer her hand in marriage to him before long. She frowned, fisting her left hand, feeling the slight sting of the healing cut on her wrist. She could not tell anyone the secret that she carried.

Even if William Scott was a loyal Borderman—which she knew he was not—he would never prefer a half gypsy to the ladies of the court, who had beauty and refined manners. She fervently wished that her father would hold his tongue, but she was sure that he would pursue the matter and distress all of them.

Sitting there, she made an impulsive decision that would serve both her father and herself—at least for a while. She looked at William. "I intend to stay with my father," she said firmly. "Farewell, William Scott. Thank you for the escort." She turned her horse to head for Merton Rigg.