The Heather Moon (27 page)

"A strong tower," she said. "And difficult to breach."

"Aye. Rookhope is one of the strengths of the Border," he said. A flock of small black birds rose out of the forest and flew past the tower like a dark veil. "Ah, see there—some of the rooks for which the place was named centuries ago, when the first castle was built on this site."

"Rooks are called gypsy birds, did you know?" she asked.

"I have heard that, aye." He laughed low, as if to himself. "So the laird of Rookhope brings a gypsy bird to his nest."

She knew he made a pun. "Burd" was a Scots word for lass. "Aye, 'tis fitting," she agreed.

"Bluebonnets, just there," he said, as they followed the road, which she saw wound closer to Rookhope, "are called the gypsy flower." He gestured toward the blue blossoms on long, slender stalks that formed airy clusters along the edge of the earthen tract and sprinkled patches of color throughout the meadow. "They grow in abundance here. Named for the way they spread so freely over the land, taking root and sprouting where they will."

"They're bright and bonny, those gypsy flowers," she said.

He turned his head, and below the shade of his helmet brim, his gaze swept her up and down. "Aye," he murmured, and looked away. "I visited a gypsy camp with King James once," he said. "Though it was another band, not your grandfather's. I would have recognized him, and he me, otherwise," he said.

"King James visited my grandfather's band too," she said. "I was with them once when he came—I remember a very young man with long red hair and a lanky shape. He wore the guise of a beggar. He was alone, I think, though he came to see my grandfather at other times too. Certainly you werena with him. I would have remembered you," she added softly.

He shrugged. "I am near enough to the next man," he said. "Dark and tall. There are many like me."

She shook her head. "Your eyes are like those flowers there, bright blue. The color sparks, even from a distance."

He watched her for a moment, then unwound the scarf from his throat. "And yours," he said, "make this silk look dull."

She felt herself blush. He wound the cloth around his upper arm, tucking it with the nimble fingers of one hand. "How was it you traveled with the king?" she asked. "I know you were a friend to him, but I..." She hesitated. "I heard that you were a prisoner of the crown in those years."

He did not seem to mind that she knew that about him. "My father was hanged for a thief," he said. "And I was held as a pledge for my kinsmen. I was kept in a dark cell until they knew what to do with me. At the time, the earl of Angus had the young king under his thumb in captivity—a bored and intelligent lad greatly in need of a companion. I was given quarters near the king and allowed to share lessons and leisure time with him."

"Educated with a king?" she asked. "Fortunate, indeed."

"I suppose so," he said. "Though I would have traded it all for the life that was taken from me." Tamsin tilted her head, listening, waiting, but he said no more about that. "Even when James gained back his own freedom at the age of sixteen," he went on, "I didna acquire my own freedom legally until James granted it me when I was twenty. After that, I lived at court, and accompanied the king on his progresses about the country. I did a great deal of traveling myself, on errands for the crown."

"You stayed with the court after you were released?" she asked. "You didna go home to Rookhope?"

"Occasionally, but my family was no longer there," he answered. "The tower was held for me by kinsmen sent by Scott of Buccleuch, the chief of our name. My mother and my sister and brother were at Brentshaw, with my stepfather, Robert Maxwell, but I didna care to go there. So I lived wherever the court happened to be—at Edinburgh, Falkland, Linlithgow, or Stirling—or I stayed at a house I own in Edinburgh. Last year my mother was widowed again, and she wanted to go back to Rookhope with my sister, who is also a widow. Then I too chose to live at Rookhope," he said. "My daughter is in their care."

"Your kin are important to you," she said.

He nodded. "Aye." A curt answer, but deep pink stained his lean cheek, and a small muscle jumped in his jaw. Family, she realized, was essential to him. As were his private thoughts, for he said no more.

"After your confinement ended, you traveled with the king of Scotland?" she asked. "That must have been truly exciting."

His smile was rueful. "Aye. In my way, I have been a gypsy." He glanced at her.

"You went a-wandering?" she asked.

"On errands for the king, aye. I have been to England and Denmark, and to France, Italy, and Germany as well. And everywhere I went, lass," he added thoughtfully, "I saw traveling caravans of gypsies along the roadsides and in the fields, and at market fairs."

She nodded. "The Romany travel everywhere on the Continent, and in the eastern countries too, I hear. They are in great numbers in England and Scotland, although the English now are beginning to deport shiploads of them to Denmark. My grandparents came from France and traveled to England when they were young, wandering up into Scotland," she said.

"They havena traveled out of Scotland, then, for a long while," he said.

"They will stay here so long as they are welcome, I think," she said. "The Scots are more tolerant of the Romany than most other places. They have some freedom here to govern themselves."

"Have you been elsewhere?" he asked.

"Only in England, of a moonlit night." She smiled. "When I was small, I lived with my grandparents and spoke Romany and French. My father brought me to Merton when I was about six years of age. His grandmother—Mother Maisie—was there to help raise me, but I didna speak Scots or any English at all. Da hired a male tutor who spoke French to teach me Scots. I learned more than Scots from my dominie, for he also taught me to read English and Latin, and taught me some arithmetic too."

He glanced at her. "An educated gypsy lass? Unusual."

"You were educated with a king. We are both unusual in our education. And in our wandering natures, I think. Tell me about your journeys with the king."

He shrugged. "The most exciting moments were the times I accompanied him on his secret tours. He liked to go about his country disguised as a beggar or as a farmer. 'The Goodman of Ballangeich', he called himself then. We found trouble at times, especially in the inns, where there were often fights over gambling or Border matters. I dragged him to safety once or twice, when no one knew that they wrestled or argued with the king of Scotland. The more he went about, the more his disguises were for naught," he said with a fleeting grin. "The Scots are a canny lot. Some would say, 'Ho, there goes the king again', as he went by in his rags."

She chuckled. "Did you visit gypsy camps with him?"

"Aye, though I didna visit your grandfather's band myself. James mentioned an Egyptian earl named John Faw, who once cured his horse of a sickness, for which the king was very grateful. He must have meant your grandfather."

She nodded. "He did. He met with my grandfather a few times, even invited him to bring his troupe to the royal court to perform. Three years ago, when my grandfather brought his band to Falkland Palace, the king wrote out a note of privilege and safe conduct for him."

He frowned. "Was that your grandfather's band? I heard about the performance—many were impressed—and the writ."

"Then you know what came after."

"Aye, the king issued another writ a few months later. He took away the privileges of the first, and declared that all gypsies must leave the realm of Scotland. He seemed in a temper over it, as I recall."

She nodded. "The Romany are condemned by England and Scotland both now, and so they go back and forth across the Border to avoid deportation and persecution in both countries. My grandfather was hurt by King James's betrayal of friendship."

"James had a fickle nature. Why did John Faw lose favor?"

"My grandfather hit him," she said.

William lifted his brows. "Hit the king?"

"About two years past, the king came to the camp guised as a farmer. He was drunk, for he had come from an inn where he had been dicing. When he came to the camp that night, he fondled one of the women in a rude manner. My grandfather hit him over the head with a bottle of wine that the king had given him."

William blinked his astonishment. "John Faw was lucky—he might have lost his life for such a deed."

"Perhaps he was saved because King James regarded him as an earl among his own people. And he had great respect for my grandfather's skill with horses. The king even consulted my grandmother about his future."

"Did she predict long life and good fortune? James had neither, in the end."

Tamsin stared at the blue flowers that lined the roadside. "She saw the truth, before anyone else," she said. "She knew that the king would come to an early death. I know she warned King James of ill health. But sometimes a heeding is for naught. Sometimes fate is too powerful a force."

"Fate," he said, "works its will with many."

"Aye." She glanced at him, feeling somber. "So now the king is dead, and his wee daughter has the throne."

"A teething bairn on a monarch's throne is far more trouble than you can imagine."

"'Tis well for the Romany," she said. "The Scots Privy Council canna be bothered with them just now, and my grandfather still has King James's writ of safe conduct. He uses it freely. Many Scots dinna know about the second writ banning us, so that he still gains privileges for his people." She tilted her head. "Have you seen wee Queen Mary?" she asked curiously.

"Aye. A bonny bairn, and a mighty difficulty for Scotland. Henry of England hovers over her cradle like a vulture."

"She has many who will protect her," she said.

"She is safely tucked away at Linlithgow, but I for one would feel more at ease if she were at Stirling Castle. Our infant queen needs a fortress 'round her, I think." He frowned.

"I visited Falkland Palace once," Tamsin said. William looked at her with surprise. "The king invited my grandfather's people to dance and play music one summer three years ago. I went with them. The noble ladies wanted their fortunes told, and I helped Grandmother to read palms and cards. I saw the queen, so tall and lovely, and the king with her, magnificently dressed. The palace was huge and beautiful, with tapestries on the walls, and glass windows, and velvet on the chairs. I saw fine gear everywhere, and grand ladies and lords." She looked at him. "I didna see you there, though. I am sure of it."

"I avoid the grander celebrations, as a rule. I prefer smaller gatherings." He glanced at her. "Such as we have at Rookhope. After supper of an evening, we gather for games and music. You will enjoy that, I think."

She glanced away quickly. The thought of meeting his mother, sister, and daughter suddenly terrified her. "I am not used to such things," she said cautiously.

"You said that you play at the cards," he said. "You will do well with my family. You will see."

"And what shall I see?" she asked. Frightened by the prospect of meeting his family, loath to show her fear and trepidation, she let anger rise in its place. "What will you tell them? 'This is my wife, such as I will keep in my dungeon?' Or, 'This is my prisoner, such as I will keep in my bed?' How do you mean to explain me to them?"

"'This is Tamsin Armstrong, our guest,'" he said calmly. "Just that."

"Ah. Just that. 'Twillna last long, this marriage, will it?" She looked away, shoving back the mass of ringlets that fell past her shoulder. The summer day was warm, and her tartaned plaid had grown heavy. She untied the cord that fastened it and let the plaid fall behind her.

Smoothing a hand over her chemise and worn brown kirtle, casting a glance at her bare feet, she wished that she had a comb, a fine gown, a pair of shoes. William's kinswomen would be appalled by her appearance. She curled her gloved hand in her lap, aware that she feared their revulsion most of all.

"Tamsin," he finally said. "What has stirred your temper? Do you have regrets?"

"Not I. Likely you will soon regret this," she grumbled.

"I willna. But I might regret my promise to keep you out of the dungeon," he growled. They rode along in silence, drawing closer to Rookhope, climbing a track that led up a hillside toward the tower.

William glanced at her. "My mother and sister expect you," he said. "Dinna fret about meeting them."

She looked at him in surprise. "They expect me?"

"Aye. I stopped at Rookhope after I left your father. I had supper there, and explained to my mother and sister that Musgrave wanted you to act as a pledge."

She frowned. "What will you tell them now?"

"We shall see." He was silent for a few moments. "My mother—Lady Emma—and Helen are caring souls. You will be at ease with them, I promise you."

"What of your daughter?"

"You will find her a delight, I think," he said. "Katharine is but a bairn, scarce eight months in the world."

"A bairn?" she asked, amazed. "I thought her much older."

"She was born but two weeks before the queen of Scotland. The queen dowager is her godmother." He paused, then said quietly, "Her mother died the day the child was born."