Page 10 of The Falcon Laird
“Hmph. Who ordered the brazier and the blankets?”
“An English lord, just arrived today. I do not know his name.”
Christian blinked, remembering the warrior with the steady gaze and deep blue eyes. Not Saint Michael come to take her away, but an English knight? But the concern she had seen in his eyes had seemed real.
“Whoever he is, it’s a good man ordered that done, brave and kind.” Dominy hoisted Christian under the arms, helping her to stand, supporting her on one ample hip. “Get in here and help me, man,” Dominy gasped. “She’s too weak to stand and she’s slippery as a buttered eel in this damp plaid, though she weighs little more than a bairn just now.”
Christian tried to straighten her legs, but could not find the strength. Thomas opened the door wider and reached in, grunting as he leaned forward. The narrow door of the cage opened into the space between two merlon blocks on the crenelated wall.
“Bring her here, then, and I’ll lift her out.”
Dominy dragged Christian toward him, and the guard closed his big hands around Christian’s waist. He flopped her over his shoulder and slid backward through the door. Dominy clambered out after them.
“Carry her to the tower. But remember she is a lady, and no sack of barley grain!”
Thomas shifted Christian in his arms. She leaned her head on his shoulder and looked up at the wide twilight sky as he carried her toward the tower door. They went down a torchlit staircase as Dominy followed. Thomas set Christian down by an interior door and she stood, legs trembling.
“Wait here, Thom.” Dominy led Christian through the door and along a narrow dark corridor, withdrawing while Christian used the small privy area. A few minutes later, Dominy returned.
“Now we can talk without that man to hear us,” Dominy whispered loudly. “Can ye believe I ever thought him handsome? He has a nose like a Pascal loaf and a belly like a boar’s. Breath like one, too.”
Christian laughed; that felt good. She leaned against the wall and relished the musty, close air in the corridor, enjoying the warmth, the torchlight, the solid enclosure of stone walls. Shewas so tired of wind and mist and cold. Her legs were feeble and uncertain from months captivity. These brief moments in the tower, albeit two or three times a day, were havens of peace and comfort.
“Curse old King Edward,” Dominy grumbled. “Will the Scots not ransom ye from here, my lady? I fear for yer health, I do, if ye stay in that foul cage longer.”
Christian began to answer but began to cough, her throat raw with it.
Dominy frowned and touched a hand to Christian’s brow. “Yer cough grows worse and ye feel a bit feverish. The broth may help. There are onions and garlic in it.” She sighed. “By the saints, I wish I could help ye more.”
“You have done so much for me.” Christian’s voice felt weak. The broth would help her throat and her cough, but she had forgotten what true appetite was. She would force herself to eat; today she felt a small wellspring of hope. The golden knight had shown her kindness. She prayed he was a Scottish knight, sent by her cousin Robert Bruce to ransom her freedom.
“Dominy!” Thomas called. “Bring her out!”
“A moment! Wretched man,” Dominy added beneath her breath. “Wantin’ to take ye back there so soon.” She put an arm around Christian’s waist. “Dear saints, yer but bones and skin. And ye must be so cold there at night, though that brazier is a blessing from heaven itself. Can I bring ye aught else, then? Nay? I’ll bring ye an extra bowl of broth anyway. Come here.” Dominy wrapped her in a hug.
The embrace was so kind and comforting that tears sprang into Christian’s eyes.
*
“Then where inGod’s name has Bruce gone? The last word my commanders sent was that he was in Ireland!” King Edward shouted at Sir Oliver Hastings. Leaning against the wall, Gavin straightened, his interest caught.
“Robert Bruce has gone west. They say he is hiding in the western Isles. Clan Donald there supports him loyally. So do the Campbells, though we have some alliance with the MacDougalls. We are trying to find him. I suspect he will try to cross into Galloway at first chance, perhaps from the Isle of Arran.”
“Now? In winter?”
“Sire, the weather near the Irish sea is not so harsh as here along the border. A crossing and a campaign through Scotland is quite possible.”
“Bruce’s lands in Carrick may contain men loyal to him. But if you and the rest of my host had done as ordered, Robert Bruce would have no support anywhere.”
“My liege, we hold nearly every castle in Galloway and Ayrshire now. And I have lately taken Loch Doon. When Bruce lands, he will be quickly captured.”
“Nearly every castle, you said.”
“We had Kilglassie, as you know, but it is in ruins.”
“I just gave Kilglassie to Faulkener to hold. Come here.” He beckoned, and Gavin stepped forward.
“You gave Kilglassie to him?” Hastings asked in astonishment.
