The Heather Moon (4 page)

Earlier tonight, William had dined with both Musgraves, listening to flattery and increasingly blatant attempts at bribery. William had agreed, finally, to support King Henry's cause in Scotland. He had not put his name in writing, but the unsavory verbal promise he had made had left him with a cold feeling in his gut.

But Musgrave had come to him with the bribe, and he felt an obligation to his queen, and to himself, to pursue it. He sensed a deeper, darker plot beyond King Henry's probable interest in stirring war between the two countries. William was determined to discover what the full scheme might be.

He glanced again at the Armstrong girl and her father. Although he had convinced Musgrave to regard him as an ally, William could not condone taking down a laird's daughter like a common thief. The reiving incident had nothing to do with politics and intrigue, and needed to be resolved quickly.

Frowning, he moved toward the girl. She shuffled back. "Easy, lass," he murmured, and took her by the shoulders. She stiffened under his touch but allowed him to turn her. He felt the fine make of her through leather and padding, strong bones and lean muscle beneath his hands. Tension seemed to thrum through her like drawn lute strings.

When he loosened the knots behind her head, her hair tumbled over his fingers, jarring his senses. The softness and heathery scent were distinctly out of place in a cold, dank dungeon. She turned her head to stare up at him, and he saw the delicate gleam of small gold rings in her earlobes.

She was lovely and fierce, yet he sensed her uncertainty. Sympathy surged through him. She reminded him of himself, years ago, in the first days of his royal captivity: bound, chained, grieving, and defiant, spitting like a cat but as terrified and vulnerable as a babe.

"Untie my hands!" Her voice was hoarse.

"Just the gag," Musgrave said. "I think her tongue is all we must needs deal with just now."

She ignored Musgrave and stared at William. "I must see to my father!" William realized that much of her intensity sprang from panic on behalf of her father. Her gaze pleaded with him, begged him to listen. "Loose the right hand. I dinna need the left. Please, sirrah."

He looked at the man lying in the shadows at her feet, fair head dark with blood, face pale and still. Without a word, William began to undo the ropes around her wrists. The hemp was twisted and the knots were firm.

"Rookhope, leave her be," Musgrave said.

"The man is sore hurt," William snapped. "You should have had someone tend to him sooner. Let her help her father." Musgrave lifted a brow at his sharp tone, but subsided.

William worked at the stubborn knots, and finally slid his dirk free from the sheath at his belt. He slipped the blade carefully between the rope and the girl's gloved hands, easing the edge into the knot.

She twisted to look over her shoulder, jerking her arms slightly; enough to throw off the course of the blade. The sharp edge sliced into her wrist and into the heel of his hand where he held the rope taut. Both winced, a shared intake of breath.

"Pray your pardon," William murmured. He slit through the knot and freed her hands. She circled her right hand around her left wrist protectively. He noticed blood on her skin, and reached out to take hold of her arm.

She yanked, but he held firmly. "Let me see," he said, and turned her gloved left hand to see a small cut on her wrist. The thin slice on his own hand stung and dripped, and spotted her wrist. He swiped at their mixed blood with his thumb.

She gave him a startled look, wide-eyed and almost frightened, and jerked her hand from his. Then she dropped to her knees and stripped the glove from her right hand.

With tapered fingertips and a gentle touch, she smoothed away her father's hair to examine his wound. Then she lifted her hand toward William. "I need a cloth. The gag will do." He gave it to her, and she wadded the cloth against her father's head wound, pressing firmly.

William turned. "Water," he said to one of the guards. Musgrave scowled but did not interfere. Within a minute or two, the guard came back with a sloshing wooden bucket, which William took and set down on the floor by the girl.

She dipped the cloth into the water and bathed Armstrong's head and face. When he shifted and groaned, she gave him a sip of water from her cupped right hand. "Da, easy, now. There."

She bandaged his head, though William noticed that she held her gloved left hand stiff and awkward, half fisted. He wondered if she had been injured in the raid, but she did not seem to be in pain.

After a few moments, Armstrong sat up and leaned against the wall. "Damned headcrack," he muttered. "Hurts like the de'il! Where are we, lass?"

"In an English dungeon—Musgrave's own," she told him. She kept a hand on his shoulder, curling her legs under her as she sat beside him.

"And about to pay for the crime of stealing my horses," Musgrave said, stepping toward them. "Tell me, Archie! How many were you altogether? My men reported four horses missing from my barn and the lock broken. Yet my men found only two horses and took down just the two of you. You could not have done this with only a girl. Where are the rest?"

"Rest o' what?" Archie asked, putting a hand to his brow.

"The rest of my horses," Musgrave said. "You took them."

"Horses? All I remember is snatching a few leather halters, and here ye accuse me o' stealing horses? What do ye take me for?" Armstrong huffed indignantly.

"I take you for a horse thief!" Musgrave snapped.

"We snatched halters," the girl said. "'Tis as he said." Her temper had calmed. She looked up at Musgrave and kept a protective hand on her father's shoulder.

Musgrave had said the girl was half gypsy. William could see that heritage in her smooth, honey-colored skin and in her thick dark hair. Her pale green eyes were remarkable in contrast. Archie had eyes of a similar color, though ordinary in his broad, handsome face.

He watched them, intrigued. A bonny young gypsy with an old scoundrel for a father, he thought. Thieves all. But he knew that his father had loved this particular rogue like a brother. He owed it to Allan Scott's memory to do what he could to help Archie Armstrong and his daughter.

Within a day or so, Musgrave might bribe Armstrong to help the English cause, or he could hang them both. But the Armstrongs did not need to be sucked into the mire of deceit in which William himself had stepped. He frowned, wondering how he could convince Musgrave to release them.

"Halters!" Musgrave sputtered. "Halters!"

"Aye, a few leather bridles, three or four sets," Archie said. "'Tis hardly worth the taking doon o' a man and a lass in such a naughty manner as this! But do ye let us go, we'll return them, if indeed they belong to ye. Where did ye put those tethers, lass?"

"I let them go along the highway," she answered.

"By 'swounds—" Musgrave raised a fist. "Tell the truth!"

Archie rubbed his head. "I dinna quite recall what we did this even. After that fine supper we shared, Tamsin, what then? A peaceful game o' cards, as is our habit at eventide? Some music? How did we come by this place, lass?"

"We went for a ride by moonlight. Just you and me."

"Aye, 'twas a bonny night for that. Just ye and me."

"Liars, the both of you!" Musgrave shouted. "You took my horses, you rascal, Archie! And you've done so before!"

"What?" Archie blinked. "Who are ye, did ye say?"

"Bastard! You know me as well as I know you! You've plagued me for years!" Musgrave lunged forward. The girl kicked both feet out at Musgrave's thick leg, her ferociousness returned like a burst of flame.

"Hold!" William reached down and took her by the arms, lifting her to her feet so that he could keep her still, though she tried to shake off his grip. "Jasper, calm yourself."

"See you, Armstrongs," Musgrave snarled. "I am lately named a deputy to Lord Wharton, the warden of the English Middle March. And this is William Scott of Rookhope, whose name you surely have heard on your side of the Border. You had best tell the truth, or I will see you both hanged. How many horses did you take, who was with you, and where have they gone? Men and horses both."

"Eh, I took halters, Jasper, though yer men snatched eight sheep from my lands two nights past," Archie growled, struggling to sit straight. "Unhand my daughter! I know ye, William Scott. Rogue's Will, they called ye as a wee lad. Yer father was a fine scoundrel—the Rogue o' Rookhope, and none like he!"

"But his son favors the English," the girl muttered.

William was silent, distracted by his effort to hold the tenacious girl, who twisted against his grip. Her head scarcely cleared his shoulder, but she was strong and supple.

"Keep her in hand, Scott, or I'll have my guards take over the task," Musgrave snapped. "Behave, girl! You and your father were caught reiving in the red hand. You are a half-blood gypsy, and likely even more a thief than your father. I'd beware my fate, if I were you. Archie!" Musgrave looked down at Armstrong. "Think of your daughter, man! Do you want to see her taken by the hangman's rope, too, like your sons?"

The tension in the small cell was steel-sharp as Armstrong glared at Musgrave. Then he closed his eyes, his cheeks growing more pale. Within a moment, he heaved a sigh.

"Well," he said. "I do have a crack in my pate. Tamsin, did ye see a horse or two attached to them halters?"

She stared at her father. "I—I might have."

"Tamsin and I went for a wee ride by moonlight, and we found a few fine tethers," Archie told Musgrave. "Can we help it if 'twas a horse or two attached to 'em in the dark? Och, ye should watch yer property better, man, if it wanders about at night."

William kept hold of the girl and turned his head to smother a smile. He remembered that his father had delighted in Armstrong's antics and wit. A quick, unbidden memory, of his father and Archie laughing uproariously, warmed him, made him want to widen his smile. He frowned instead.

"Well enough," Musgrave snapped. "Well enough, you have had your jest, Archie Armstrong! Spend the night in this dark cell, the two of you, and we shall see how you plead in the morn."

"I'll note this well, I will," Archie said. "A sore wounded man and a fair young lass, held in a foul pit! I'll send word o' this to the queen o' Scotland!"

"Your queen is a squalling infant," Musgrave retorted.

"Aye, well, I'll complain to her mother," Archie grumbled.

"And her father before her, King James, was never fond of Armstrongs," Musgrave went on. "He hanged a gang of your surname a dozen years ago, and 'tis a pity he did not take you with them! But he's dead now, and the Scottish crown and the queen dowager will show you even less sympathy than you would have had of King James. Complain, man—if you can even pen a word!"

"My lass can pen well, for I had her tutored," Archie said. "'Tis true King James didna love Armstrongs. When he was scarce more than a lad, he hanged thirty o' my kinsmen, along wi' the greatest scoundrel of them all, my uncle Johnnie Armstrong." Archie paused and shook his head sadly. "But King James loved gypsies well. He gave a safe-conduct, and royal favor too, to Tamsin's grandsire, Johnnie Faw o' Lesser Egypt." He looked at his daughter, who nodded.

"Damned thieves," Musgrave said. "But I can use a few thieves. Tomorrow I will have an offer for you, Armstrong. You had best accept it, or you and the girl will sing neck psalms before dusk tomorrow." He turned to stomp out of the cell. "Rookhope, come ahead!" he roared from the corridor.

"I'll question them further and be with you shortly," William called. He turned back, still holding the girl's arm. "Armstrong, listen well to Musgrave. He doesna make jests."

"Bah," Archie mumbled. "He has naught to say to me but 'beg yer pardon.' I should remind him how many sheep and horses his men have taken from my lands in the past months." He leaned his head against the wall and touched a hand to his brow, which had begun to bleed again through the bandage. "I'll tell him that, when I can think proper-like." He winced and closed his eyes.

William looked down at the girl, who had ceased to tug against his grip. He had been aware of her warmth and strength all the while the others had been talking. Now he let go of her, half expecting her to snarl at him, shove at him.

Instead, she tilted her head and looked at him without fear or resentment. "Tell Musgrave that we took only halters, as my father said. Taking horse gear isna a hanging crime. Tell him that, so he will let us go."

He watched her for a long moment. "I would, if I believed you," he said.

Chapter 2