The Raven's Moon by Susan King Read Free Book Online Page B

Rowan sat, then leaned against the cold wall. He felt swamped in pain and dizziness. The blood rushed in his head and his stomach lurched and he wanted to puke. The lass waited quietly—and divided into two hazy images that merged and split and blended again.
    "Stay still," she said.
    "You stay still," he replied, touching his aching brow and a cloth wrapped there. "I should not have taken off my helmet. That rain—was not loud enough to merit this," he muttered.
    "Leave your head be, Rowan Scott." Her voice was calm, with a magical warmth in that cold, dismal room.
    He squinted until both of her became one again. "How do you know my name?"
    "The paper in your—"
    "You took it?" He realized that his leather jack was gone, his doublet as well. The shirt he wore was not his, too small; he still had his damp breeches, but the woolen hose were not his either. His boots were gone too. "What the devil. Where did you find the paper?"
    "In your boot."
    "Ah." Good, he thought. The thieving wench had not found the other document that he carried. "Where is my gear?"
    "Wet, and drying now."
    "And my horse?" Valentine was a valuable animal and a worthy prize for any Border reiver. He might never see his horse again. The thought infuriated him.
    "Stabled and fed," she replied. "You will have him back."
    He did not trust that. "And my weapons?"
    She smiled a little. "Would I leave them in your reach? Your dirk and sword, pistol and lance are safely put away."
    "Pouch? And coin?"
    "Safe as well."
    In your pocket, he thought. He tried to absorb all this. Clearly the girl and her companion—he remembered two riders in the rain—had taken him for ransom, a money-making tactic common along the Border. He had been captured and imprisoned more than once, and ransomed in his youth. And he and his Scott kin had taken their share of prisoners, too, collecting coin or cattle in return for a bit of Blackdrummond hospitality.
    "Which riding family are you?" he asked. He was puzzled, though, for the girl's speech was soft and precise, unlike the broad Border accent that was common here. Frowning, he struggled to make sense of his situation.
    "My cousins are Kerrs." Her tone had a chill in it now.
    "Godamercy," he muttered. The Kerrs here had feuded with the Blackdrummond Scotts for years. "So I am a hostage," he said. And physically incapable of doing much about it for the moment, he thought. "I assume you will ransom me."
    "Ransom?" She frowned. "Not that."
    Scowling against throbbing pain, Rowan tried to think. "What place is this?"
    "An old tower," she said.
    "Ah," he said. "Lincraig Castle?"
    She did not answer, but looked away.
    Lincraig, not far from Blackdrummond, belonged to his grandfather. Rowan had not been inside Lincraig for years, but he recognized it now. But why would Kerrs confine him on Scott property? If the lass found the letter in his boot—and if she could read it—then she knew that he was Blackdrummond.
    He briefly considered what it would take to grab this Mairi Kerr, subdue her, and walk out. Even the thought exhausted him. He tilted his head back against the stone wall.
    "Do not move. Your head is sore hurt."
    He cocked a brow at her. "Aye, thanks to a wee lass with a great pistol. Why did you hit me?"
    "You were attacking my friend."
    "Ah." He pressed the bandage slightly and winced.
    "Leave it be."
    She stood then. She was not tall, though long-legged and slender beneath male clothing that was too large for her. The thick, tousled braid fell over her shoulder, sheened dark in the candlelight.
    Her face was sweet, her eyes wide and honest. She puzzled him. He could not reconcile that delicate face with the vicious attack against him, and the theft of his gear.
    "What riding family sends a lass to do their work?"
    "No family sent me."
    "You chased me like a highway thief. You gave me this head wound, and took everything but my breeks."
    She opened her mouth to retort, but seemed to think better of it. "I will come back