The Heather Moon (29 page)

William touched his mother's shoulder. "I know 'tis a surprise. I will explain all of it in better form later."

Tamsin thought she saw the glint of tears in Emma's eyes, quickly blinked away. "I am sure you will be happy," she said. Her voice caught on the last word. "Helen, do take Tamsin to her lodgings. Perhaps she would like to rest before dinner. We shall have a bath brought for her."

"I'm certain I have a gown that I can lend you," Helen said. "We are similar in size, I think."

"My thanks," Tamsin said, convinced that Helen and Emma both thought she desperately needed a bath and decent clothing. She shoved at the mass of her hair, and pulled against William's grip again. He let go, but lifted his hand to her shoulder. The simple warmth of his touch seemed like a blessing.

"Go on," he murmured to Tamsin. "I will send Sandie to Merton Rigg tomorrow to fetch your things."

Tamsin nodded, grateful for his considerate thoughts for her. But she knew that her own clothing, even her best gown, would not compare to the finery to which William and his kinswomen were accustomed.

"Come with me, Tamsin," Helen said. "I will show you Will's chamber, where you can refresh yourself. You and Will must be hungry after your journey and your... your wedding. Midday dinner isna ready yet but we shall share some toast with sugar and perhaps some good Greek malmsey wine, served in the great chamber, where you and I can celebrate that we are good-sisters now, and you can tell me about yourself. Perhaps Mother and Will can join us." Helen smiled, and Emma nodded in silent answer.

"Th-that would be fine," Tamsin said.

"'Tis Wednesday, so 'tis a fish day, of course, and we have fresh salmon for dinner," Helen chattered as she took Tamsin's arm and tugged her along the length of the room. "Jock and Sandie caught some salmon in the river. Mother will hover over the cook to be sure 'twill be prepared just right. We hoped you both would arrive today in time to share midday meal with us. But we couldna have guessed at this good news!"

Tamsin nodded, feeling overwhelmed by Helen's enthusiasm. She glanced over her shoulder a little helplessly at a grinning William as she was pulled in his sister's wake.

* * *

Tamsin stirred a silver spoon through pink, parsleyed slices of salmon and golden onion, cooked in butter and pepper, that lay nearly uneaten on her wooden trencher. Thick chunks of carrots and leeks, and a hunk of bread, wheaten and fresh, sat untouched on the trencher. A silver goblet, filled with wine, reflected the bleached linen tablecloth and the forms of those who sat at the table in the great hall.

She lifted the cup to sip pale Rhenish wine, tart, cool, and undiluted. At Merton, and among the gypsies, wine and ale were generally mixed with water to extend the supply. Rookhope must be a wealthy household indeed, she thought, to serve expensive wines, cooled in cellars and served in silver, at dinner in the middle of the week. This was not even a holy feast day. She had also sipped sweet malmsey while she sat with Helen and Emma chatting in the great hall. And just before dinner, Emma had handed her a cup of a dark Bordeaux wine that she had felt obliged to drink with them.

Conversation continued in a quiet buzz around her. Although she said little, she strove to listen to the discussion of the recent ban on heretical treatises throughout Scotland. She would have liked to have followed it with better understanding, and perhaps comment with acuity, as the others had done. In truth, she knew little about such matters, and kept losing the thread of the discussion.

She knew that she should force herself to eat more, since she had not eaten since dawn. But her stomach seemed tied in a knot. Laughter rippled about the table. She had not heard the jest, and anxiously picked up the wine goblet to sip from it and cover her confusion. The delicious, enticing warmth of the wine slipped past the knot in her center as the food could not, easing her nervousness a little.

"Nevertheless, your brother must be more cautious," Lady Emma said. "He follows the writings of the Protestant leaders on the Continent with avid interest. I wrote to beg him not to purchase any more works—now that such things are forbidden to be imported or sold, or even read, within the realm of Scotland, he needs must be especially wary."

"Geordie is a sensible man, Mother," William said. "He will use good judgment. His intellect is of the curious sort. He wants to understand the twists and turns in the changing fabric of the Church, and he is deciding whether to remain a man of the Church or return home."

"Safer and smarter to be a godly man than a man of God in such times," Helen said. "Men who preached the new ideas have been burned at the stake for heresy. Geordie must be wary, as Mother says."

William sat beside Tamsin on the long side of the table, with Lady Emma on his right. Helen sat across from them, beside Sandie Scott. They ate with good appetite and took part in the conversation with energy, while Tamsin watched and listened, occasionally nibbling and sipping.

"The salmon is delicious," William said, as he sliced into the fish and took another mouthful.

"I hear Scottish salmon are fetching a crown apiece in the English marketplaces," Emma said. "This was free from the river." She smiled at Sandie, who grinned.

"Hey, mutton, beef, whatever you delight after, Lady Emma, are yours for free," Sandie said. "Borrowed from the English, and served by the moonlight talents o' the surname o' Scott."

Emma laughed lightly. "Better I dinna know from whence it comes," she said, her tone a gentle scold. "Keep your reiving tales to yourself."

"Tamsin, are you enjoying your dinner?" Helen asked. "You havena eaten much."

"'Tis delicious," Tamsin said. "My thanks. I find that I am not as hungry as I thought."

William glanced at her. "That wine is fair strong," he murmured under his breath. "Try some of the bread, at least, if you are not hungry, or you will be ill."

She shook her head, stubborn and silent. She could not easily eat the bread with one hand, for she could neither cut it nor tear it without revealing her hand to all at the table. She fisted her small hand in her lap and sipped at the wine again. It tasted cool and fresh, each sip sweeter and smoother.

Helen leaned forward. "After you came to live with your father, Tamsin, did you spend much time with the gypsy people?"

"I spent summers with my mother's people. I still see them whenever they come into the area."

"'Tis a fascination to me," Helen said. "And so, you say you speak their Egyptian language. Can you also tell fortunes, as the gypsy women do?"

"I speak Romany, which was spoken centuries ago by the race of kings and princes from whom the Romany people descend," Tamsin said. "And my grandmother taught me palmistry, and how to read the picture cards."

"Oh! You can read the
tarocch?"
Helen said. She reached out to lift the pewter jug that held the wine, filling both her cup and Tamsin's as she spoke.

"Aye, I can." Tamsin sipped at the refreshed wine. From the corner of her eye, she saw William watch her with a slight frown. She sent him a little scowl and drank again. He sighed and turned away to answer a question his mother addressed to him.

"We will have our palms read, Mother," Helen said. She smiled. "I would like to see Tamsin read the
tarocchi.
I know there is a game that can be played with the picture cards, but I have never met anyone who could read fortunes in them."

"Nae just the gypsies tell fortunes," Sandie said. "Scots can too. I have an old aunt who divines the future in sheeps' bones, and people have been visiting her for years for her skill. She makes a good bit o' silver doing that."

"It seems much nicer to read the future in picture cards," Helen said. "Tamsin, will you do that for us? Will has a set of
tarocchi
cards—Marie of Guise gave him a bonny painted set for a New Year's gift a few years ago."

"I have them somewhere, aye," William said. "I havena played the games of
tarocchi
and
minchiate
in a long while."

"Perhaps some evening you can look at our palms too," Helen said. She looked excited, flushing prettily, and Tamsin smiled at her.

"I would be glad to do that," she said. She felt a little bubble of air come up, and pressed her fingers to her mouth.

"Eh, I'd rather play at the cards and win some pennies out o' your purse, Helen," Sandie said. "A good game of ombre or trump, nae that fancy tarockie."

"Sandie, where is Jock?" Lady Emma asked.

"He's gone back to Lincraig, and to visit his brother at Blackdrummond," Sandie answered. "He and I mean to ride out tonight, if you would be interested, Willie," he added.

Helen gasped. "'Tis their wedding night!"

"Another night, then," William murmured. "Has some of the livestock been taken from the fields again?"

"Nae lately, we dinna intend to return reiving favors to any rascals just now. Jock has a rendezvous with the lassie he fancies, over on the English side."

Emma sighed. "The Forster lass. Losing his heart to a girl betrothed to Arthur Musgrave isna the wisest thing he has ever done, though Jock has a serious head on his shoulders in general."

Tamsin sat upright. "Arthur Musgrave?" she asked.

"Aye," William answered her. "He's betrothed to Anna Forster, Ned's cousin. But she and Jock met a few months ago, and seem to be taken with one another, though her family has matched her with Jasper Musgrave's son."

"She willna wed Arthur," Tamsin said. She felt bolder of a sudden, and sat straight. "I saw that in his hand. He will lose her to another—but he will find a wife later, and have much happiness, I think. Aye, I think so." She nodded, then scowled. "Though he's a naughty scoundrel, that Arthur," she muttered. "Truly naughty."

Helen gasped. "You foretold that Arthur would lose Anna to another? Mother, did you hear? We must tell Jock!"

"Dinna tell Jock," Tamsin said quickly. "If 'tis his fate to be with Anna, 'twill happen, even though she is betrothed just now. Fate will bring them together, if they are meant to be with each other." She looked up at William and obeyed an urge to smile widely.

William laughed, short and curt, and looked away, rubbing long fingers over his jaw, shaking his head.

"William," Emma said. "Have you spoken to Jock about his fancy for the English lass? He might find trouble for himself."

"He loves the lass, so I have said naught. He is a canny man, Mother. He knows the risks."

"He risks heart as well as life." She sliced her salmon into dainty pieces as she spoke, using her spoon and knife.

"We canna complain, so long as he is happy," William said.

Tamsin, watching Emma carefully, picked up her spoon and endeavored to hold it in the same way, frowning as she concentrated. The handle seemed slippery, and the spoon clattered to the floor. She bent to look at it. William leaned over to snatch at it, handing it to her with a sour look. She smiled her thanks.

"You can leave your spoons out, Willie," she said, and giggled. He frowned, as if he did not think much of her jest.

Someone chuckled. Tamsin looked up, but the others seemed to be eating rather earnestly just then.

"Aye, 'tis true, Jock seems of glad heart lately," Emma said after a moment. She sighed, and dabbed at her mouth with an embroidered napkin. Tamsin lifted her own napkin to her lips in careful, studied imitation, wanting to get the elegant gesture just right. "Though I fear Anna Forster might break his heart before he sees reason," Emma continued.

"She willna break his heart," William said. As he spoke, he moved Tamsin's goblet out of her reach. She blinked at him, though he did not look at her.

"We will have Tamsin look at his future in the cards!" Helen said.

"I canna do that, unless Jock asks it of me," Tamsin said, shaking her head solemnly. The movement made her dizzy.

"I will ask," Helen said.

"Jock will laugh," Sandie answered. "He doesna take wi' gypsy tricks. He'll make his own fate and fortune, that lad."

"'Tisna a gypsy trick to see fate in our lives," Tamsin said. "Fate works for us all. Fate brought Willie—"

"Tamsin," William said. "Perhaps you might like to rest for a while."

Ready to refuse, she looked at him, and the turn of her head set the room spinning. She set her napkin on the edge of the table, where it promptly slid to the floor. She looked at it in dismay. "I think," she said, "that I will rest for a wee while." She stood. "Lady Emma, the hospitality was delicious."

"She liked the food," William told his mother.

"Tamsin, I ordered a hot bath placed in William's bedchamber for you," Lady Emma said.

"And I chose some gowns and things for you to borrow, if you wish," Helen said. "I put them in your chamber."

"That is kind of you," Tamsin said. One bare foot seemed to roll under her, and she wavered a little as she stepped away.

"Do you want an escort?" William asked.

She tilted her head. "Think you I am a tipsy"—she leaned toward him—"gypsy?"

"Tamsin," he growled.

"I can find your chamber again. Helen took me there earlier to wash my hands. And my feet," she answered in precise tones.