Free The Heather Moon by Susan King

to see Archie Armstrong, or Tamsin Armstrong, endangered because of his own situation. He smiled, quick and flat, at Archie, who grinned.
    The girl, though, scowled at both of them before turning to stride down the corridor behind the guard.

 
     
     
    Chapter 5

     
    He called up his merry men a' By ane by twa an' by three Sayin' gae an' hunt this wild woman Mony a mile frae me.
    —"Lord Thomas and Lady Margaret"
    A pair of days in a dungeon had reminded her how essential the sky and the earth were to her well-being. Tamsin inhaled the fresh, breezy air and gazed at the green Border hills, dotted with grazing sheep, and at the bright summer sky, where clouds sailed fat and low. She patted her dapple gray horse's thick neck and smiled. She was glad to be free of walls and dark confinement, glad to feel the wind stirring her hair, and the gray's steady power shifting beneath her.
    No matter her secret objections, she could not deny that William Scott was a far better jailer than Musgrave. Soon enough he would confine her inside his tower. But for now, she could feel air and sunshine again. Her Romany blood, and years spent with a wandering people, made physical freedom so necessary to her that she could not thrive without it.
    She glanced at William Scott, who rode beside her. He sat his dark bay with easy grace, his gaze watchful beneath the sloped rim of his steel helmet. He was as stoutly armed as any Border rider, with a pair of wooden, brass-trimmed pistols and a crossbow, and an upright lance strapped to his saddle. He wore high leather boots and a back-and-breast of shining steel, the two-piece armor commonly worn by Bordermen who could afford it. Most Scottish Bordermen, like Archie, wore the more economical protection of thickly padded, iron-reinforced leather jacks.
    Tamsin noticed that his gear was of excellent quality, the possessions of a wealthy man, though none of it was elaborate. A man could show his wealth and upbringing by unnecessary decoration, but William Scott did not. Even his speech was the Scots of a Border laird, rather than the English-influenced Scots of a courtier.
    Intrigued and fascinated, she glanced frequently toward him as they rode and wished she knew more about him. He blended kindness with what she was sure was treachery. And he seemed perfectly at home among Border lairds and reivers, although he had spent years at the royal court as a friend to the king.
    "Look there," Archie said. William turned his attention toward Archie, and Tamsin did too. "Merton Rigg." He halted his horse and pointed to the east.
    Tamsin and William steadied their horses and gazed over a peaceful vista of hills and valleys. In the distance, a stone tower, surrounded by a wall, topped a rocky outcrop that jutted up from a bleak, uneven hill. Thick green trees surrounded the base of the hill, the whole forming a strong and pleasing picture from where they sat. Tamsin lifted her chin in pride as she sat beside her father.
    "Half Merton, we call it," Archie went on. "The borderline between England and Scotland runs under the foundation, dividing the tower nearly in half. The kitchen and lesser hall, and two bedchambers, are actually in England, ever since the last treaty, a generation ago."
    "I remember hearing about Half Merton when I was a lad," William said. "As I recall, my father said that you yourself were born in England."
    "Aye, well," Archie grumbled. "My mother had a fast travail, and couldna make it to the Scottish bedchamber in time. But I'll trust ye to keep yer mouth closed about that."
    William smiled, a subtle lift of his firm mouth that Tamsin thought attractive. His blue eyes sparkled like the sky, making her want to smile too. But she resisted.
    "You can trust me," he told Archie. "And your daughter? Is she Scottish or English, by the location of her birth at Merton?"
    "I was born in a gypsy wagon. In Scotland," she said.
    "A Scottish lass for certain." He gave her another of those quiet little