The Heather Moon (10 page)

William reached out a swift arm to snatch the bridle. "You'll go home in two weeks," he said firmly.

"I'll go home when I will!" she replied.

His blue gaze was sharp. "You'll come with me now."

"Och, let the lass go to Half Merton for a bit if she likes," Archie said. "We needna tell Jasper, hey? We'll have a good supper, and ye can ride to Rookhope wi' her later."

"Nay, Da," she said. "I want to stay at Merton."

"He's given his word to keep ye, and he will."

"Da, how can you—"

"Hush!" Archie said brusquely. Tamsin stared, for her father rarely scolded her. "She'll need her gear," Archie told William.

"Lassies like their baubles and things. Let her get what she needs, and have supper wi' us before ye go on to Rookhope wi' her."

"I do need my gear," Tamsin said quickly. At Merton, she could dig in her heels and stay. Even if her father insisted she go to Rookhope, she could appeal to Cuthbert and his mother, her great-grandmother, who also lived at Merton. A little time under the scrutiny of Cuthbert and Maisie Elliot might render William Scott eager to escape on his own.

If she had to, she would slip away and seek her gypsy kin, she thought, determined to stay out of Rookhope's dungeon.

"Gear? I thought gypsies traveled with naught but the clothes on their backs and the cleverness in their souls," William said. He looked at her and lifted a brow.

"There's another reason I want ye to come to Merton first," Archie said. "If ye will have the keeping of my bonny unwed daughter"—Archie emphasized the words, and Tamsin shot him a dark scowl—"for a fortnight, she will need a companion. 'Tis proper, see ye. I'll send someone from Merton along wi' ye."

"Oh? Who might that be?" William asked.

"My uncle, Cuthbert Elliott, or my own granddame, Mother Maisie," Archie said.

"Cuthbert and Mother Maisie are both far too old to sit in a dungeon for a fortnight," Tamsin said. "Cuthbert is threescore and ten, and Maisie is nearly another score older."

William lifted his brows in surprise. "I wouldna expect them to ride with us to Rookhope. Let them stay at Merton."

"But they're still sprightly," Archie argued. "They wouldna be much of a bother to ye. Tamsin needs someone there to see that all is proper, see ye."

"Your lass is safe with me. I willna disgrace her," William said, his previously friendly tone hardening. Tamsin saw his jaw clench, saw his eyes flash, blue and hard. "My mother and sister are at Rookhope. They can act as Tamsin's guardians, if you think she needs protection from such as me."

"Nah, nae protection," Archie said. "Just witnesses."

"Will you make your mother and sister spend time in the dungeon to keep me company?" Tamsin asked. She knew she sounded sarcastic, and did not care. "Or will you let me out for a little each day, to take in sunlight and air for their benefit?"

He sent her a sour glance. "A few days in a dungeon might tame that tongue."

"'Twould likely make it worse," she retorted.

Archie smiled indulgently at them. "Tell me," he said after a moment of tense silence between Tamsin and William. "Your mother, Lady Emma, is at Rookhope again? I know she left there, years ago... after ye were taken away as a lad. A fine, bonny lady, yer mother. I didna know she had returned. I heard she had married Maxwell o' Brentshaw."

"She did, fifteen years ago. He died last year, and she came to live at Rookhope again."

"Ye stayed away from Rookhope a long while, lad. Years more than the span o' yer confining."

"I had a place at the king's side," William said. "I went to Rookhope Tower only occasionally, until last year. Now..." He shrugged. "A few of my kin live there with me." He slid Tamsin a glance. "Though we rarely use the dungeons."

"Then you must get someone to sweep them out," she snapped.

"Indeed I will," he growled.

"A fortnight might nae be long enough for you two," Archie observed. "Ye may have to keep her longer, Rookhope... er, until Musgrave and I work out our differences."

"I think not," William said.

Tamsin leaned toward her father. "I know what evil scheme you have in mind," she said between her teeth. "Stop."

Archie blinked at her innocently.

William looked out over the hills, his hand still on the bridle of Tamsin's horse. She tugged at the reins, and he let go easily, surprising her. But he sent her a warning glance.

Swiftly, acting on impulse, she leaned forward and kneed her horse, surging along the road in the direction of Merton.

William swore and shouted her name, echoed by Archie. She heard the steady thud of hooves behind her. If she had her way, neither of them would catch up to her. She was a skilled rider on a swift horse, and lighter by far than her pursuers.

She guided the gray off the road, urging him to a long, easy gallop across a flat meadow. Then she tucked low and let him sail over a hedge. She knew the land here, knew the swells and slopes, and veered the horse toward another track that would take her around behind Half Merton. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed her father and Scott riding toward the hedge.

Galloping low and swift along a straight track, she soon neared a forking of the path. She saw something in the earthen crossing, and reined in so quickly that her horse whickered and turned. Tamsin leaned over to look at the ground.

A few stones lay in the dust, along with some scratchings in the earth. The stones outlined a small heart, with several long intersecting lines, one ending in an arrowed point.

The design was a
patrin,
a sign left by Romany to indicate the direction they had taken, and understood by their kind. Such signs were hardly noticed by unpracticed eyes, and made little sense except to the Romany. Tamsin could read the symbols as clearly as she could read English, French, and Latin.

The heart referred to a specific location, more than a dozen miles from the crossroad, in the territory of Liddesdale. And the straight lines, with one angled point, showed the direction the group had taken.

Tamsin circled her horse in the road and glanced toward Merton, so close that its crenellated tower roof rose into the sky, separated from the road only by a wide swath of trees. Then she looked back at the men riding behind her. She saw Archie point toward her, and saw William Scott lean low to urge his horse faster along the track.

Tamsin turned the horse and took the left fork.

* * *

She was gone by the time they reached the crossroad. William cursed under his breath and circled his horse.

"She's off to Merton," Archie said, pointing to the right.

"I saw her ride left," William answered impatiently.

"She has nae reason to ride that way. If she did, likely she means to circle around to Merton along that road."

William looked down at the ground, as he had seen Tamsin do just before she rode off. An arrangement of stones and lines in the dust caught his eye. "What is that?" he asked.

Archie peered down. "Stones, Will Scott."

"More than that. Gypsies leave signs for other bands of gypsies to recognize. I have seen similar markings in the road before, though each one differs. Tamsin surely knows what this one says. She took the left fork for a reason." He looked up. "I think I'll find a gypsy camp in that direction—and your daughter as well."

"That could be, though I dinna know what those markings mean. She does have some canny 'Gyptian tricks." Archie glanced at William. "As ye may find out."

"I have scant tolerance for gypsy tricks just now," William said. "But I must find the lass."

"Go to, then. I've just been treated to two days o' Musgrave's sorry hospitality. My belly is empty, and my headcrack pains me sore. I'm riding on to Merton. If she's gone to Johnny Faw and that gypsy lot, she'll return home to Merton when she's ready. She does what she wants, that lass, but she always comes back to her da." He smiled. "Be patient, lad."

William sighed and looked along the empty road. "I dinna have the leisure to wait upon her whim," he said.

"But ye gave yer word to Musgrave to hold her for a fortnight, and ye'll do it, hey?"

William thought Archie looked oddly hopeful. "You seem eager to obey Musgrave's wishes of a sudden."

"Jasper knows I'm a disobedient sort, 'tis why he threatened my lass. I dinna want her in his keeping. But yer custody o' my Tamsin is a different matter."

William looked at him. "Why?"

"Ye said ye would keep her safe."

"Aye," William said slowly. "Why do you want me to keep her at all? She's run from me. I would think you'd applaud that."

"I do applaud her spirit. But I have my reasons to want her in yer custody." Archie paused. "I dinna know why ye support a man like Musgrave, but I'll wager 'tis secret games o' some sort. Politics, and suchlike, which I dinna care for, myself."

William eyed him steadily. "I have my reasons as well."

"And I'll ask nae questions. I trust ye for a man o' yer word and I'll hold ye to it. Ye said ye'd keep the lass well."

William inclined his head, studying Archie. The man's eagerness in this made him wary. "I think you might have some plan of your own, Archie Armstrong."

"Me? Och, my thinking is simple, man. If ye keep Tamsin, Musgrave will think I'm doing what he wants," he said blithely.

"Ah," William said. "And will you?"

Archie paused. "I willna do what that coney orders. But I want my lass safe, so I want her wi' ye."

"You intend to break your word to Musgrave."

"Word given under force and duress is meaningless. When I give my word in honor, I keep it. But I willna do what Musgrave demands. Nor that sneakbait rascal, King Henry."

"You take a great risk."

"Aye. And I will trust ye to say naught to Musgrave." Archie watched him. "I see yer father strong in ye, lad. Nae just in yer bonny face, but in the help ye gave to me and my lass. And I think yer heart is as loyal and good as was Allan's. Am I wrong?" he asked softly.

William looked away, his throat tightening. He felt gratitude wash through him, sudden and deep, bringing him to the surprising brink of tears. Archie, who had known Allan Scott better than most, had given William a precious part of the father he had lost with but a few honest words.

He strove for his voice. "If you wish to go against Musgrave," he finally said, "'tis your matter, and I'll say naught of it. And I'll keep your lass safe at Rookhope for so long as must be."

"Aye, then." Archie nodded. "I'll take her back when Musgrave loses his interest in keeping a hold over me."

"That may never happen," William said wryly.

"True," Archie said with a little grin. "Then ye needs must keep her, hey." He grew solemn. "Musgrave may go after me when he finds I dinna support King Henry's secret matter after all."

"Aye. He wants that list."

"Och, now, I didna say he wouldna have a list."

William frowned. "What do you have planned, Archie?"

"If Musgrave doesna have to tell his scheme, then I willna tell mine." Archie grinned.

"You're an auld scoundrel." William smiled reluctantly. "And your daughter is a troublesome lass. I had best find her, I think."

"'Twould be wise," Archie said.

William sighed. He had few enough threads to follow in unraveling the English plan. The Armstrongs, father and daughter, were his best link just now to the whole truth of the scheme. But now Archie and Tamsin had gone in unexpected directions, the girl quite literally.

He knew now that Musgrave meant to organize an English effort to steal the Scottish queen. But he did not yet know how, or when. More details were necessary if the attempt was to be thwarted, and the girl and her father could lead him to those details.

His obligations were coming together like paths in a crossing, he thought, looking down at the road. In addition to the promise he had given Musgrave to remain involved in the scheme—and he would, he thought bitterly—he had also promised Archie to watch over the girl.

"Go on to Half Merton," he told Archie. "I must go home to Rookhope first. But then I intend to ride out in search of your daughter."

"Good. I'll send word to ye if she's at Merton. Otherwise, you can ask any farmer or Borderman in this area if the gypsies have passed through here, and so find them fast enough. But be warned, the gypsies can be a naughty lot if a man tries to take away one o' their women."

"Then I'll have to convince her to come with me willingly."

Archie studied him for a moment. "I will give ye one caution, Will Scott, from a father," he said. "Treat my lass wi' courtesy. Or ye'll find me as stout an enemy as a friend."

"You have my word on it." He paused. "I too am a father. I have a daughter but eight months in age."

"I thought ye had nae wife!"

He looked away. "Katharine's mother died at her birth."

"Ah. Then I will wager," Archie said softly, "that ye would give up yer life for that wee bit lassie o' yers."