The Heather Moon by Susan King Page B

tradition either ineffectual or far too harsh.
    Reivers and thieves as well as cattle drovers often took the ridge road, and William kept his gaze wary as he rode. He knew the track was most dangerous on moonlit nights, when reivers brought livestock secretly over the hills, either heading out of England or out of Scotland. But now all seemed quiet along the route, and the bay covered the distance with long, fast, efficient strides.
    Within an hour, William rode over moorland and hills that belonged to him, all part of Rookhope Ryde, as his property had been called in his grandfather's day. Daylight faded and the sky took on a dense pewter cast, edged with indigo along the horizon. The wind grew strong and cold, and the air heavy, as if a summer storm approached.
    Soon he saw the stark silhouette of Rookhope Tower, situated on the crest of a hill. Backed by acres of dense forest and fronted by a steep slope that led to a narrow glen, the stone keep was naturally protected by its setting. From the rooftop a wide view could be had of the surroundings, and access to the tower could be difficult.
    As he rode, he noticed the portcullis in the outer wall slide upward. Two horsemen streamed out through the opening and headed down the western side slope. A path had been worn over centuries there, since the incline was the most gradual of the slopes that surrounded the tower property. One of the men saw William coming along the road and hailed him with a wave.
    William narrowed his eyes and recognized them both. One, the younger of the two men, was a friend whom he was glad to see. The other, an older man, was closer to a personal enemy than any man he knew, though they had always maintained a veneer of chill politeness when dealing with one another.
    He frowned, and halted his horse along the road to wait. The men headed toward William in the failing light, clods of earth spitting away from the horses' hooves.
    "Will!" The man in the lead lifted a gloved hand in greeting. His handsome features were framed by a neatly trimmed auburn beard and cropped hair, and he smiled as he rode closer, halting his horse a few feet from William.
    "Good day, Perris." William nodded toward his friend, his greeting cool only because of the presence of the older man who pulled his mount to a stop beside them.
    "We were just leaving Rookhope," Perris said. "How fortunate to meet you out here. We thought we would miss you altogether, and have to return later this week." William smiled, flat and tense. He regarded Perris Maxwell as a kinsman as well as a friend, for his mother had married Perris's uncle, Maxwell of Brentshaw, years before. Bound by marriage kinship, they also knew each other within the royal court, where Perris, schooled in the law, acted as a royal advocate for the king's widow, the queen dowager, Marie of Guise.
    William looked at the man beside Perris and inclined his head. "Malise. Greetings."
    "William," Malise Hamilton said. His dark blue eyes and closely cut silver hair gleamed in the low light. "How fortunate, as Perris says."
    As always, when he saw Malise Hamilton, William felt tension infuse him. He and Malise were linked by tragedy and resentment, even hatred. Not only had Malise Hamilton been a member of the escort who had taken William away from Rookhope Tower the day his father had been hanged, but Malise was also the father of the woman William had loved and lost, the mother of his child.
    Because of the bitter, unresolvable bond between them, William found it wisest to simply avoid the man whenever possible. He summoned control over his anger now, as he faced the man but a hundred yards from the site where William's father had died and Malise had taken a young lad prisoner.
    They were further linked by the existence of Katharine. The thought of his infant daughter's welfare gave him reason to school his hatred for her grandfather.
    "We arrived at Rookhope this morning on official crown business, but you were away," Malise