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one man after another had refused to marry a girl with such a flaw—that hand could taint the lineage, they thought.
    At first she had felt the humiliation keenly. But as the refusals continued, she concluded that she did not want to wed. No man would accept her and love her for what she was, and she would not marry a man who had to be bribed or forced into it.
    Had Archie ever approached William Scott, he would have reacted like the others. So if Scott knew that part of a Gypsy wedding ceremony had just taken place, decided by fate, he might be horrified.
    She closed her eyes against tears and told herself that the moment was unimportant, an accident, nothing more. Her father would treasure a union between his daughter and the son of his comrade. But this accidental marriage could never be real.
    Besides, she would never let her father, or William Scott, learn that the marriage ritual had taken place.

 
     
     
    Chapter 3

     
    "To seik het water beneath cauld ice, Surely it is a greit folie—I have asked grace at a graceless face, But there is nane for my men and me!"
    —"Johnie Armstrang"
    The ropes that bound her wrists were uncomfortably tight. Tamsin bit back a wince and shifted her shoulders where she leaned, seated, against the cold stone wall. Two guards had come into the cell that morning with more bread and ale, having brought food and blankets late last night. They had tied her hands and her father's again before leaving.
    Now she flexed the left, still encased in its glove, and glanced at her father. He sat beside her, his eyes closed, but she knew he rested rather than slept. Shadows filled the cell, though daylight leaked through a high window slit. Torches flickered on the wall beyond the slatted iron door, and she heard the guards talking quietly.
    Archie had roused earlier to eat some bread and sip the ale. His forehead was bruised and his movements were slow, although he spoke with spirit and made light of his injury. Tamsin was certain that the blow to his head, from the flat of a sword at the time of their capture, had drained his strength more than he would admit.
    Surely fate had ridden with them, she thought, shivering. She felt as if a shift had occurred in the fabric of her life, as if a wind moved past, heavy with storm and promise. Somehow she felt as if she might never be the same after this. She could only hope that whatever destiny awaited her, and her father, was not the most final of fates. William Scott had been correct in saying that Jasper Musgrave could exercise his power as a deputy warden. Tamsin was not prepared for death. Nor, she suspected, was Archie.
    "Da," she said, looking at him. "You're tired. Rest on my shoulder. Here." She sidled next to him.
    "Go on, ye wee bit, ye canna hold me up," he grumbled affectionately. "Ye fret like an auld woman. I'm fine."
    "Your forehead is purple. You look like you fought with Auld Nick himself, and lost."
    "Tch! Insults! Would I lose a fight w' the de'il? And I am a bonny-looking man. Well," he said, flashing a weak grin, "but for that young Rookhope, hey."
    "Oh," she said. "He isna so bonny."
    "He's much like his da, tall and dark as a raven, but with his mother's blue eyes. A man pretty enough to make a lassie's heart go all soft-like." He smiled. "Hey? What think ye?"
    She made a face. "I think you've heard too many ballads."
    "Och, ye must like him some, hey?" She heard a hopeful note in his voice and knew she must convince him otherwise.
    "Scott of Rookhope wouldna suit me," she said, a little flippantly. "Besides, he's a friend to Musgrave. And likely wed. Did you even consider that? Your constant search for a husband for me—and thus a reiving comrade for you—is tiresome. You ask near everyone we meet. I wonder that you didna ask Musgrave if he needed a wife!"
    "Hey, I have my limits, lass," he muttered. "I did wonder about his son Arthur, but they say he's newly betrothed." He smiled mischievously, and she knew he teased her. He