The Raven's Moon (43 page)

"What is that?" Jock asked.

Rowan saw that all the others—except Jamie, who cried for his "mir-wah"—stared at him in stunned silence.

He unfolded the page and immediately saw that the page was filled with cramped handwriting in Spanish.

"Ah," he said. "This must be our white rose."

* * *

Mairi sat on a bench beneath a window near the wide fireplace at Abermuir, and looked out at the night sky. A bright crescent moon sailed over the scudding remnants of rain clouds.

An hour or more had passed since Simon had left her alone in this huge room, posting a trooper outside the doorway. Only a sullen serving maid had come in since then to give her a bowl of soup and a cup of wine. The soup had been watery, but the wine was good, dark red and vibrant, and Mairi had sipped and finished it. The warmth coursing through her now was partly heady wine, and partly the searing fire in the great hearth.

Weary but restless, she kept watch out the window, hoping—and dreading—that Rowan would come for her, though it would endanger him. The sight of Rowan on the crag in the lightning and rain haunted her.

She sensed threat and danger, felt it in the wind that pushed the last scraps of the storm past the moon. She shivered.

Waiting, tired but stubborn, she kept herself awake, uncertain of her status as a pledge. Would she sleep in a bedchamber or a dungeon this night? Some pledges were confined hospitably; others might be kept in wretched circumstances; still others could be released on their own avowal. But she did not know what Simon intended for her.

When the door opened at the far end of the room, she jumped a little, seeing Simon enter. His booted feet thudded on the floorboards, and his steel breastplate, which he still wore, reflected the reddish glint of the fire. He wore his helmet, too, as if he had just come from outside, or planned to ride out again.

Wondering if he had found Rowan, Alec or Iain, she swallowed the sour dread that rose in her throat.

"The rain is gone," Simon said, gesturing with a thumb toward the window. "There have been too many o' these demon storms lately. Some say such storms are an omen."

"An omen of what?" Mairi rose to her feet.

His dark eyes were flat, his bearded jaw swarthy. "Jehovah's wrath, so say the kirk ministers. We should all beware. The end o' the world is nigh." His nostrils flared as he walked closer.

Mairi rose and stepped back. "It is just poor weather."

"Disastrous weather—storms, floods, fires. God has begun to destroy the world. We'll see more rain before dawn."

"'Tis late and I am tired," she said, lifting her chin. "I have not been shown to my room. Or do you mean to keep me in your dungeon?" She had asked Rowan that same question once. The memory, the yearning, nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"Dungeon?" Simon chuckled and poured himself a cup of the red wine from a flagon. "I would not put a woman in a dungeon. I'm no ogre, though you may think it. And you are not the sweet lass I thought you were, hey." He sipped the wine and regarded her thoughtfully. "You are here as a guest."

"Guests may leave when they choose."

"Mm," he conceded, swallowing. "A kept guest. An honored pledge. Though you do not deserve privilege," he said. "The maidservant has prepared a bedchamber—next to my own." He watched her, licked his lips.

She felt sick inside. "How long will I be here?"

"Until I get Alec Scott and Iain Macrae, at least that long. The council has charged me wi' finding the spies."

"They are innocent of spying," she said quickly. "Find Heckie Elliot. Then you'll have your spy, and information."

He narrowed his eyes. "Heckie is a petty sneakbait and a common troublemaking reiver. He is no spy."

"He is in league with this spy ring. I'm surprised you do not suspect him already."

"Ah. I see your scheme. You think I will go after Heckie and leave your brother be."

"There is proof. Rowan can swear to it."

"Damn Blackdrummond. Why should I trust his avowal? He's a notorious ruffian. No one would believe him."

"Many would—most would. Simon, my brother had naught to do with this. He told me. And he tried to tell you."

"Lass, you're soft on your kin." He set down his cup and came closer. "I took you as a pledge because I want those men in custody. The council expects me to take care of this matter. I did not mean harm to you, lass, but your criminal behavior leaves me little choice but to take you in custody as well."

"I was cleared—"

"Your husband's reiving comrades avowed for you, which is legal but unreliable. Very well. I can keep you a pledge as long as I like. Do not fear that I will harm you, lass," he said quietly, and stepped close enough to rest a hand on her shoulder.

She tensed and stepped back."I gave the name of the man responsible. I once thought you were a fair man, Simon."

"Hah, and I once thought you were a bonny sweet lass, good enough to wed my nephew Johnny Kerr. But you're like many women, strong-willed and spiteful. I'll get what I want, your brother and Alec Scott. And you."

He reached out again, his hand heavy on her head, wrapping at the back of her neck. Her skin crawled. "Rowan will come here for me."

"Aye, and he'll betray his brother and yours to get you back from me. His riding family is notorious, all outlaws and sneakbait thieves."

"They're reivers," she said, and held up her head proudly. "Loyal to their own."

"Rowan is my deputy and he has his orders. If he wants you, he had best do what he is told." He caressed her shoulder.

Repulsive shivers ran through her. "Let go."

"Why did you wed him? What can he offer? I would have helped you, lass. But you went out on those foolish night rides, and ruined what I had in mind for you. And you took up with that rascal Black Laird." He traced along her arm. "I've been a widower a long time. I had my eye on you myself after Johnny died. He'd be ashamed o' you now, would Sweetmilk Johnny."

"He would be proud." She stepped away, shaking free of his touch. "You never thought to help me, only yourself."

The door opened then, and Hepburn beckoned to Simon. The warden went to the door, murmured with Hepburn, and returned.

"I have a wardenry to attend to," he said brusquely. "You and I will talk later. Come this way." He took her elbow and led her toward the wide hearth in the end wall. She blinked in surprise when he found a small door in the shadows and opened it. Through there, in the thickness of the wall, was a stairway.

"My bedchamber is up here," he said, guiding her, then pushing her to climb upward.

Mairi scrambled up the steps in the dark, enclosed staircase. As she went, she noticed a tiny window in the chimney wall, set with glass, and wondered vaguely why anyone would design a window in a chimney.

At the top of the steps, Simon opened a door. Mairi entered before him and stepped into a large, firelit bedchamber.

"You'll be comfortable here. I'll come up later, hey," he said, a smooth threat. Then he shut the door hastily. She heard a key turn in the lock, heard his boots descend the steps.

He had trapped her. Alarmed, she ran to the main door and pulled on the iron latch, but it was bolted from the corridor. Running back, she tried the handle of the small door.

It gave easily; Simon had neglected to secure it.

She opened the door slowly, wincing as it creaked. Stepping onto the top, shadowy stair, she stood listening.

She could hear muffled tones as Simon spoke to another man. The second voice sounded familiar, and she frowned, trying to recognize the voice as she crept down the staircase.

Passing the tiny glassed window in the chimney wall, she saw a tiny latch. Opening it carefully, she saw a little light and a drift of smoke. Smothering a cough, she lifted on her toes to peek downward.

The inside of the chimney wall was visible, as was an angle of the wide hearth. Then she noticed another opening in the other chimney wall, a tiny grate fronting the hearth. She had seen it earlier, thinking it a decorative carving in the stone hood.

But if she angled just so, she discovered, the two windows together formed a very useful spyhole. She leaned, turned, foun the right view, rose on her toes and peered downward.

Simon's back was turned as he faced the man with him. He was cloaked and hooded; Mairi could not see his face.

"So, what happened at the truce meeting—that was a disaster, hey?" The man laughed harshly.

"Aye, and where in hell were you?" Simon barked. "I expected you with a delivery. I paid you well. Where is it?"

"You paid me just part o' what was promised. If you want the stone, give me the rest o' my payment."

Mairi recognized Heckie's voice. When he pushed off his cloak hood and turned to slosh wine into a cup, she saw his face.

"I had to give some o' the gold to the English. Call it a tax," Simon said. "The rest is safe. You'll be paid."

"Aye. Now. I've done a muckle lot for you. I rode to Berwick and killed a man for that Spanish letter."

"Which you then lost," Simon said. "The Spaniards send another messenger, a risky thing wi' that damned lass riding out playing the saint for her brother."

"I collected black rent and cattle and sheep from those who were in disfavor wi' you, and gave you a share in all I snatched. I want what I'm owed, Warden."

"You failed to do what I ordered. You lost the gold to those two rogues, and the letter. I've had naught but trouble from all quarters after that accursed night. I should have hanged you."

"You need me. I took that gold off that beach for you, wi' deputies and wardens crawling nearby. And I've been to hell and back looking for that damned black stone. That raven moon."

"I do not have the letter or the stone. And Rowan Scott may well know now that you and I are art and part in this." Simon cursed and turned toward the fire.

Mairi listened, heart thundering, fingers trembling on the wall. She had been a fool not to see it sooner—Simon was behind this. As often as he went after Heckie, he never caught him. And he had been eager to blame Iain and Alec, allowing them to be punished to screen his own deeds.

"I trusted a lackbrain reiver wi' a task that needed a good brain and common sense," Simon said next. "The council sent Rowan Scott to sniff out the truth. You've left enough clues!"

"I'll get the stone, and him," Heckie snapped.

"If you had come to the truce meeting, you could have taken him down then."

"Wi' all those Border officers there? Some o' them are honest, Simon, unlike you. I'd have been hanged quick."

"I would have made sure you were only fined. Now I have to take care of this mess myself. I have his bride here now. He'll come for her. When he does, I'll kill him."

"Better hope he has the stone wi' him," Heckie said.

"I will get what I want. I do not need you any longer."

"You had best keep me content. I know what you've been up to, Sir Warden," Heckie sneered.

"Will you try to get your black rent from me now, Heckie Elliot?" Simon asked smoothly. "I'll arrest you whenever I like."

"And word will go to the council," Heckie said. "I'm a reiver, man. If I'm meant to hang, I'll hang. But you'll go down wi' me. Be sure of it."

Simon sipped the wine. "You've made your point. I'll give you something for your trouble. But I want the black stone by tomorrow."

"Aye." Heckie set his cup down. "How much?"

Simon watched the low fire, scowling. Mairi drew in her breath, seeing the demonic glint in his eye, heightened by the red glow of the fire. She felt the awful spin of dread in her gut, the signal of danger. She wanted to cry out.

Suddenly Simon turned, flashing a dagger from its sheath, raising his arm. He plunged the knife into Heckie's back from behind, and watched the man drop, writhing, to the floor.

Mairi clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

Simon kicked at the body and threw Heckie's cloak over him. Mairi leaned against the wall, face pressed to the spyhole, her heart pounding as she stared at the scene.

Then Simon whirled and looked directly up at the spyhole, frowning. He headed for the hidden staircase.

Spinning, Mairi raced quietly, quickly, to Simon's bedchamber, yanking open the door with trembling hands and stumbling inside as she heard him thundering up the stairs.

She flung herself on the bed and sat, hands folded.

He burst open the door and seemed to fill the space with his robust form, his fury. "What did you see?" he demanded. "What did you hear?" He came toward her, his face twisted with rage.

She ducked past him and ran for the little door, scrambling so fast down the steps that she nearly fell. Reaching the hall, she ran across its dim expanse, skirting around the still, cloaked form on the floor without looking at it.

Simon stomped after her. "Stop!" he roared.

She turned uncertainly, thinking that Hepburn stood just outside the door. Seeing another small door in a far corner of the huge room, she raced toward it. With no idea where it led, she yanked on the handle, leaped across the threshold, and slammed the door behind her. Shaking all over, she searched for a latch, a lock, but found none.