The Heather Moon (33 page)

"Och," William breathed out. "I considered you perfect in naught but the chemise." His voice was so low and soft that it seemed to caress her. "The rest seems unnecessary to me. But if it pleases you, lass, then 'tis necessary." He gave her a little smile.

She tilted her head at him. Excitement coiled in her abdomen at his remark, at his hint that he preferred her in the chemise, that he found her attractive and desirable. She wanted to smile, and pinched it back, letting the humor and the happiness shine out her eyes, as she had seen him do so often.

"You dinna like this?" she asked, holding out the skirt of the gown, swaying a little.

He leaned a shoulder on the bedpost and played with a necklace of amber and gold, sliding the delicate firelit beads through his long fingers. "Tamsin," he said in a hoarse voice. "This business of being your handmaiden is too great a task for me. I think you shouldna ask it of me again. I dinna have the stamina it needs."

She lifted a brow. "You have done this for a hundred other ladies," she said, "at court."

He half laughed. "Never a hundred, believe me," he said. He fastened his gaze on her, keen and languid in shadows and firelight. "Come here."

Her heart pounded within the cage of her breast like the hammer of a bell. She wanted to step toward him. But she knew that if she entered the circle of his arms again, even to let him adjust her clothing, she would be lost forever.

She hesitated. His silence, his gaze, pulled at her, and she resisted. Her heart urged her forward, and fear held her back.

"I thank you," she said, looking away, settling the folds of her gown around her. "I am sure you are eager to be free of this frippery and foolishness. I will finish myself and come down to supper soon. I must comb my hair, and decide which wee cap I like best, and which of those bonny necklaces, and find stockings and shoes—" She stopped, aware that she was chattering, aware that he stood now, staring down at her.

"Aye. You can do the rest without difficulty."

"I can," she said, and snatched a pair of stockings and garters from the bed. She sat on the floor in a wide jumble of black brocade, and stuck out one bare foot and ankle to slide on the white silk stocking.

"Grant mercy," William muttered, and walked to the door.

She watched him leave the room, his body long and hard and lean in the black breeches and pierced leather doublet and shirt. He was right, she thought. She felt a little foolish in such fancy gear. She was accustomed to simple clothing, which he, too, seemed to favor. But the brocaded gown, despite its fastenings and constraints, felt pleasing as it surrounded her in a shining pool of elegance. She felt almost beautiful in it. And she liked too the look she had seen in William's eyes when she had spun before him.

She yanked on the silk stockings, and clumsily tied ribbon garters just below her knees to secure them. Then she stood and rummaged in Helen's generous pile, choosing the amber and gold necklace that William had fingered, and looped it around her neck. She tried to cap her head in a black crescent-shaped hood edged in pearls, from which a black velvet veil cascaded, but she could not make it stay. And the black shoes, when she found them, were strange, tiny slippers with no backs, just a shell for the toes, elaborately embroidered.

She was nearing complete frustration with the cap and hood, unable to fit them over her hair, when she heard voices in the library. William's low drone and Helen's lighter voice murmured together.

"Tamsin," William said. The door opened a bit, and he looked inside. "Come out here, if you will."

Curious, but feeling shy, she padded to the doorway in stockinged feet and wildly curling hair, the gown swinging around her. She went through the doorway into the candlelit library.

William stood there with Helen, who smiled past William's shoulder and gasped with delight when she saw Tamsin.

"Oh! I did wonder if the black was too somber for you," Helen said. "But I vow, you glow like a jewel in that gown! 'Tis bonny on you! Will, what do you think?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Bonny," he murmured.

Tamsin smiled and put a hand to her bare head. "I thank you for your generosity, Helen," she said, and stepped forward.

William stepped aside then, and Tamsin saw that Helen carried a small child in her arms, an infant, swathed in creamy silken garments. The child sucked a fist and stared at her as she came forward, round blue eyes and dark curls glittering in the warm light, cheeks blooming pink, a fat hand waving.

"Tamsin," William said, "this is my daughter Katharine."

Tamsin smiled. "Katharine," she said, making her eyes wide at the child, coaxing a drooling smile in return that made William and Helen chuckle. "Oh, Will, she is bonny."

"Aye," he said. She glanced up at him and saw him grin.

Helen shifted the child in her arms. "Would you like to hold her? After all, she is your daughter too, now that you have wed William."

Tamsin froze. She had not considered this when she and William had made their marriage arrangement. He had hardly mentioned the child, except to explain how imperative it was that he take a wife to keep his daughter safe in his custody. She glanced up at him again, a frown forming. He only nodded.

Helen leaned Katharine toward Tamsin. The baby came into her embrace in a wave of warmth and softness, a scant weight in her arms, delightful and comforting. She adjusted her hold on the child and swayed as if by instinct, patting the little back, savoring the sweet warmth in her arms.

Katharine stared at her, unblinking and calm. Then, without warning, her face crumpled and she began to wail. Tamsin jiggled her and shifted her to her right arm, patting the tiny chest with her left hand, unsure what to do. With a fast lunge, Katharine grabbed Tamsin's left hand, which was buried in the silk folds, pulled it up to her mouth, and began to suck.

Mortified that her hand was exposed—even worse, in the infant's mouth—Tamsin tried to pull away, sure that Helen would feel revulsion. Katharine's grip was intense, her mouth hot and earnest on the tip of the wedged hand. Tamsin looked up at William, almost pleading. He lifted his brows and shrugged.

Helen stood beside her and stared at Tamsin's hand, its odd shape fully exposed, but for the tip captured inside the baby's mouth. Tamsin wanted to cringe, wanted to run, but stood, and held the child, and helplessly let her devour her hand.

"She does love to suck on all our hands," Helen said. "She is teething fierce." She smiled, her cheeks dimpling, hazel eyes sparkling. "I hope you dinna mind."

Tamsin felt tears rise, and swallowed them down. She looked at Helen and smiled. In that instant, the imperfections in Helen's skin seemed to vanish. To her, Helen was surely the loveliest woman, and the kindest, she had ever seen. "'Tis fine," she said. "'Tis fine. Let her suck on... on my hand if she likes. She's a bonny wee bairn."

"We think so," Helen said. "She's a good wee lassie."

"Aye so," William said gently. "Come here, my bonny Kate, you've harangued Mistress Tamsin long enough." He slipped his long fingers around the child's middle and drew her up and out of Tamsin's arms. Katharine reluctantly detached from Tamsin's hand, and turned to her father with a coo like a dove.

Tamsin pulled the ruffled cuff of her chemise over her hand. Though she was amazed that Helen, like William, did not seem to be bothered by the sight of it, she could not get used to such acceptance so easily. She was more comfortable hiding the hand, as she had always done. But her throat felt constricted with tears, and her heart seemed to swell with a sense of gratitude, of tenderness, toward all the Scotts of Rookhope.

Helen smiled again. "You look lovely, Tamsin. I am glad I chose that black and gold for you, and the indigo gown I left for you should do just as nicely. Would you like some help with your hair, and in choosing a cap? I have others, if the ones I lent you willna do."

"I—I—" Tamsin stammered, so overwhelmed by the woman's kindness that she struggled against the tears until her lip wobbled. "Nay, thank you, Helen, all the gear is lovely. I can finish the rest myself. I will be down for supper shortly."

"Good. Mother will be pleased to hear that you are feeling better," Helen said, and grinned as if she and William and Tamsin shared a delightful secret. She turned to leave the room.

William looked down at Tamsin, his eyelids relaxed, a gentle gaze. His daughter leaned against his shoulder, eyes closed, peacefully sucking on her own hand. With a fingertip, William reached out and traced the outline of Tamsin's jaw, tipping her chin up on his knuckle. The warmth of his touch seemed to flow from her chin down to her toes. She looked up at him through a sheen of tears.

"The endless variety of Nature," he murmured with a slow smile. His thumb grazed her cheek, while his gaze rested on hers. Tamsin closed her eyes for an instant, breathing in his touch, his kindness, his nearness. She hoped that he would stay, would bend down and kiss her as he had before. But he let go, and turned to carry Katharine out of the room.

Tamsin stood in the middle of the library for a long while, absorbing the tears that burgeoned within her, absorbing new thoughts, new ideas. She turned finally, skirt whispering on the rushes, and saw the table behind her, where the small wooden sphere sat on its brass mountings.

She reached out with her left hand and smoothed her palm over its engraved surface, tracing the tip of her wedged finger over the outlines of the lands of the earth, watching them spin slowly beneath her touch. She felt as if her own world, the small, personal, insignificant sphere of her existence, had somehow tilted, and righted again, and now whirled under a new sun. And she knew then that nothing in her life, or within herself, would ever be the same again.

Chapter 20

She came tripping down the stair,

And a' her maids before her,

As soon as they saw her well-far'd face,

They coost their glamourie ower her.

—"The Gypsy Laddie"

"How wicked of Musgrave to insist on keeping a lass prisoner as a warrant for her father's obedience," Lady Emma said. She bent over an embroidery frame as she spoke. A flaming candle in a sconce beside her chair gave a glow to her profile. "Pledging is common enough in Scots law. But an Englishman, keeping a Scots lass!"

"Mother, we know that Jasper Musgrave has a cold heart," Helen added from her place on the floor of the great chamber, where she played with Katharine.

"'Tis why I told him I would keep Tamsin at Rookhope for the duration of the pledge," William said, seated near the fireplace.

Emma cast him a quick glance as she worked. "But you didna expect to marry her at the time, you said."

"True," William answered. "That came about later."

She slid the needle through the fabric with nimble, capable fingers. "William," she said. "What did bring it about?"

He paused. "Fate."

"Ah." Emma seemed to want to say more. But she nodded and went back to her work.

He wanted to tell his mother more than that, and would, eventually. At supper not long ago, he had explained only the essentials of the marriage to his mother and sister in Tamsin's absence, for she had not come downstairs, although they had waited supper for her. William had reminded Lady Emma and Helen that he needed a wife in order to keep Katharine safe at Rookhope.

Although he simplified the matter, he had explained that he thought Tamsin Armstrong attractive and agreeable, and, as the daughter of Armstrong of Merton, suitable to be lady of Rookhope. His kinswomen had agreed politely, but he had seen tears gleam in his mother's eyes, and he wondered at her thoughts. She had voiced only quiet approval.

"You said that Archie Armstrong and Musgrave had some dispute over reiving," Emma said after a few moments.

"Aye." He sipped sherry from a small cup of German-made glass, green as Tamsin's eyes. "Those two squabble constantly."

"As if Archie Armstrong would be obedient," she murmured. "I knew him well, years ago. A big, blond, handsome man, with a kind heart and a blunt manner of speech. And a fine way with a jest, which sometimes got him into trouble."

William smiled. "Aye, that sounds like Archie."