The Heather Moon (14 page)

"He feels the same about his daughter. He thinks your actions, and misdeeds, and lack of morals, caused her death. Rumors say that you sought revenge on Malise through Jean."

He looked away. "I regret her death, Madame," he murmured.

"I know. William, Malise asked me to speak with you about taking a wife. Regardless of your dispute with him, you must believe that he loves his granddaughter."

"As do I. And I will see to her welfare myself." He folded his arms. "Madame, you are a gracious diplomat. I apologize if Malise has pressed you to intervene in this."

"But you do need a wife. Your daughter needs a mother."

"My mother and my sister dote on her. Katharine does not suffer for the lack of her
maman.
She is cared for in all ways."

She sighed. "And what of you? Such a vigorous man needs a wife, a companion."

"I am flattered by your concern, Madame. Your kind heart melts for the child's sake, I think."

"La pauvre petite.
Her mother was my cherished friend."

"I know. Please understand that I am in no hurry to marry." He drew a breath. "Someday, but not... so soon, Madame."

"I will tell Malise not to worry about his granddaughter's welfare. But you must promise me to find a wife to content you." She gazed at him solemnly. "I speak as a friend, William. I have never seen you
joyeux.
Always you seem to have a sadness in your heart."

He smiled, shrugged. "My daughter's existence eases any sadness I feel. As does your friendship, Madame."

"Give me none of your charm, monsieur, but truth now. Promise me to seek true contentment for yourself."

"I will do my best," he said. "Now, Madame, is that truly why you summoned me here?"

"There is another matter. My husband valued your advice regarding the Borders."

"He did not always follow the advice I gave him."

"But I will. You understand the ways of the Scottish Border, and you can help me now."

"I am honored, Madame. I will try to help."

"Word has come to me that Scottish Border lords have been approached by English, on behalf of King Henry, with offers of gold," she said.

"Madame," he said. "I have recently been approached myself. And so I intended to speak to you about this matter."

"Do you know who has accepted these bribes, and why?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. A certain English lord made the offer discreetly."

"The regent and Malise Hamilton believe that King Henry plans to attack Scotland again. Henry may think to purchase support from the Scottish Borderers. He favors bribery, abduction, and intrigue as methods of statesmanship."

"I have accepted this bribe, Madame," William said quietly. "I think you will understand why."

She paused. "Ah. You have decided on your own to act as a spy for me... when I was about to suggest the same to you."

He inclined his head in acceptance. "The English think all Scotsmen are in need of money, so they offered me a good sum. Now that I am in their favor, I intend to discover their plans."

She sighed in relief. "King Henry claims to support my daughter as the rightful queen of Scotland, but I fear that he means to harm her. The regent and my advisors do not believe that King Henry is heartless enough to take an infant from her mother." She fisted a hand in her lap. "But I cannot rest at night for fear over my daughter's welfare." Her voice caught.

William understood, utterly, the queen's need for assurance. "I know little of the scheme just now, Madame, but I will tell you what I suspect. As soon as I learn the rest, I will bring word to you."

She nodded gratefully. "That is all I ask. The regent will see to the consequences for those involved."

He leaned forward and spoke in low, urgent tones, explaining what he knew of the situation. Finally, he bowed his head. "I promise, upon my very life," he said, "that the little queen will be made safe."

Chapter 8

"A poore saffron-cheeke Sun-burnt Gipsie."

—Dekker,
Satiromastix,
1601

Tamsin stood beside an oak tree, outside the reach of the firelight, and watched the dancing. Her Romany kin whirled and laughed as the wild, poignant music of a viol, played by her cousin, rose into the treetops that encircled the clearing.

She swayed her hips while she stood in the shadows, and tapped out the rhythm with her right hand against her thigh. She hid her left hand behind her out of habit. In the Romany camp, she never wore her concealing glove, for her grandmother thought it an unnecessary and foolish vanity.

Nor had Nona Faw approved of the immodest doublet and breeches that Tamsin had been wearing when she had arrived in the camp. Tamsin had dipped quickly in a stream before donning a woolen skirt and thick plaid shawl over a loose linen chemise, her feet and legs bare. In the camp, she looked much like the other Romany women, but for the uncovered hair that showed she was as yet unmarried.

She glanced around and saw her grandfather talking with one or two men near the area where the horses were penned by ropes slung between the trees. Beyond them, the Border hills were silent and stark in the moonlight. She was relieved that neither her father nor William Scott had followed her here. The camp was tucked in a hollow between high, rugged hills, a difficult location to find unless one knew the site, as she did.

Earlier, she had told her grandfather that she and Archie had been out stealing horses in recompense for sheep Musgrave had taken. She explained that she and her father had been held by Musgrave, and that she had heard Musgrave talk of a plot against the Scots that would somehow use the Romany people, forcing Archie to help him.

She implored her grandfather to make no agreement to help Englishmen or Scots, including her father, until the matter had passed. John Faw had listened, promising to think about what she had told him and discuss it with his kinsmen.

Then her grandmother had called her away, asking Tamsin to help prepare a feast, since that night was the eve of a wedding. The festivities, celebrated by John Faw's band with another band of Romany, had begun several days before, as was the custom.

The bride, Tamsin's young cousin, and groom had not yet exchanged vows. Tamsin's grandfather, as one of the leaders of the Romany in Scotland and northern England, would perform the marriage ceremony that night.

Near the bonfire, the bride, barely fourteen, flashed her dark eyes and her red skirt, and danced flirtatiously around her sixteen-year-old groom. He grinned and took her hand.

Tamsin, seeing the joy and the desire on their young faces, felt a twist of regret and yearning for the husband she would never have, for the wedding feast, the dance, the vows that would never happen for her. Her father's efforts to find a husband for her had failed; her grandfather too had tried among the Romany. She was unwanted and unmarriageable, that much was proven.

Or seemed so. The secret knowledge that she had, indeed, exchanged the precious Romany token of shared wounds, shared blood, with a handsome, desirable man made her heart leap within her. She scowled at her own fancy and folded her arms as she watched her Romany kin around the bonfire.

The music swirled again, and more people came forward to expand the circle of dancers. Tamsin tapped a foot rhythmically in the grass, accustomed to being on the outside of such festivities.

"Join them, girl," a voice said behind her. She turned to see her grandfather approach. He looked at her with solemn black eyes above his long nose and gray beard. "Go on, join them."

"Kek,
no, Grandfather," she said in Romany. "They will not invite me to dance with them. They think I am
wafri bak,
bad luck, especially at a wedding feast. You know they think I am born under a curse." She half smiled to show him that their opinion did not hurt her. But the truth was not so simple.

"If dancing would bring you joy, I will tell them they must invite you," he said gruffly. He stood beside her, scarcely taller than she was, wide-shouldered and muscular, a strong, dark man who radiated an earthy sort of power.

She shook her head. "No one wants to touch my hand in the circle dance," she said. "Many of them—especially those from the other Romany band—think that I carry ill fortune and will thus give it to them. Some of them even think I possess the evil eye because of my light-colored eyes."

"They are idiots," he said bluntly. "I called you Tchalai myself, for your eyes that remind me of stars. Though your father gave you a Scottish name, after his own kin." He shrugged. "You know that the Faws have never believed that you are cursed, Tchalai."

"I know, Grandfather," she said. "I thank you."

He grunted. "Tchalai, I have thought about the news you brought. We want no trouble with the
gadjo,
nor will I aid any man who mistreats my granddaughter or her father. We will break camp and leave after the wedding, so that no one will find us."

"I am glad," she said. "My father does not want to bring harm to your people. He only agreed so that I could leave that English castle."

John Faw nodded. "Your father is a good man, for a
gadjo.
Though he has not found you a husband." He slid her a glance.

She sighed. "He has tried, Grandfather."

"I know of a man who wants you."

Her heart thumped fast. The face that came to her mind belonged to William Scott. She frowned. Her grandfather did not even know the laird of Rookhope; and she was glad he did not know what had happened between her and that laird. She must be very tired from the ordeal of the last few days, she thought, to let such foolish thoughts distract her.

"What man?" she asked.

He pointed with his thumb toward the bonfire. A man stood on the opposite side of the fire, gaunt but handsome, with a large black mustache. "That is the groom's uncle, Baptiste Lallo. He wants three horses in trade for the two fine ones he brought with him. Or he says he will trade them for you as his wife."

Tamsin gasped. "You would trade me for horses?"

"I have not accepted his offer. I am thinking about it."

"But Grandfather, Baptiste Lallo's father argued with you, and split his band away from the Faw band. All Romany know that the Lallo group are thieves and rascals in England, where they roam! How can you expect me to go with him? How can you sell me to him, like a horse?"

He frowned. "Baptiste's father was a renegade, true, but Baptiste is sincere in his wish for peace with the Faw band. And he is willing to take you, girl. He wants you."

She glanced up, and saw Baptiste looking at her across the clearing. He smiled, his eyes gleaming black points. "But I do not want him!" she said.

"You need a strong Romany husband to tame the unseemly boldness you have learned at your father's knee," John Faw said. "I am thinking it was not good to let you go with Archie Armstrong those years ago. You are not the modest Romany girl you should be. But a Rom husband will teach you to behave with respect and modesty. I do not want you to become the unmarried girl among our people. It is not a fitting state for the granddaughter of the leader."

"I have decided not to wed." She folded her arms.

"Unless you marry, you will grow old scrubbing cooking pots and tending children who are not your own. Your father has not found you a husband, as was his duty. I will now do my best for you."

"Please, not that man," she said.

"This feast, this happy celebration tonight, could be for you, Tchalai. I will give you gold and silver and many fine things when you wed. We will dance for a week."

"I do not want to marry that man!" she cried.

"It is time to heal old differences among our two Romany bands. And I have not yet decided the matter," her grandfather added.

Tamsin bit her lip anxiously. Across the clearing, Baptiste Lallo nodded to her. "Grandfather," she pleaded. "The Lallo band has made a bad name in England for all the Romany."

"That was his father," John Faw said. "I will ask others what they know of Baptiste. And I will consider what you have said. But you will never have a marriage celebration unless we do something for you soon."