Page 101 of The Falcon Laird
“Ah,” said a voice from the doorway. “I was sure you knew where Bruce was hiding. And where the gold was kept. This is quite a find, your golden treasure room.” Oliver Hastings leaned against the doorframe, his red surcoat a brilliant slash of color. His stance was deceptively casual, for his hand was on the hilt of his sword.
Gavin leaped to his feet, pushing Christian behind him. Hidden in shadow, she bent to lift and then shove the iron sword into his hand. “Oliver,” he growled cautiously, grasping the hilt.
Hastings stepped down into the chamber, looking up at the glittering walls. Then he returned his sharp, nervous glance toward Gavin. “So Kilglassie truly does contain treasure. You were so absorbed in your discussion, you did not hear me come through the wall in the well. No wonder you would not tell anyone about this, Lady Christian. I too would have kept this secret to myself.”
“We did not know about it until now,” Christian said.
“My lady, I cannot believe you just discovered this place. You must have known all along. There was talk of the well when I was here last. I should have checked it then,” Hastings said. “I should have known not to trust Faulkener to take care of it.” His narrowed gaze flickered over the sparkling, veined walls, over the jewelry and the casket on the floor. Greed, a yearning, desperate hunger, pinched his features.
Gavin noticed that Christian’s golden pendant now hung around Hastings’s neck, prominent against his red surcoat. Hastings lifted his sword in protection, and glanced down, touching the toe of his boot to the assortment of golden objects.
“Not much of a prize, these few things,” he said. “The nuggets have immediate value, and the rest is passable enough. But this chamber is the real treasure. King Edward will be greatly pleased. He will want to set up mining immediately to extract the gold. It will support our treasury nicely.”
“The English king will not have it!” Christian burst out. Gavin squeezed his fingers around her arm to warn her to silence.
“My lady, you should have told me this was here months ago when you had the chance. I might be more inclined, now, to favor you, since you are shortly to be widowed again.” He snapped his glance toward Gavin. “Just how did you get out of that storage chamber? And where are the others?”
“Before you confine captives to a room, I suggest you first learn the layout of the castle,” Gavin said. “The others are safely gone. You will not find them.”
“I will send out a search for that priest. He can lead us to the Bruce, I think.” He sighed heavily. “I warned the king not to give you charge of this place, Faulkener.” Hastings cast his gaze upward in mock resignation, unable to resist another furtive, assessing glance toward the gleaming walls.
Taking Christian’s hand, Gavin moved cautiously toward the door. He wanted her out of the room, where she could escape down the cliffside. And he hoped to maneuver Hastings out into the corridor, where the other man’s left-handed fighting style would be hampered. Gavin fully planned to use the ancient sword gripped in his fist. He shifted it, lamp light and shadow distorting the subtle movement.
“Kilglassie has been rebuilt at no cost to Edward, and is whole and strong,” Gavin said. “He has little to complain about.”
“But he was distressed to learn that one of his favored commanders is a traitor,” Hastings returned. “The Angel Knight is hardly the saint that the king believed him to be. I warned him. I alone knew that your treachery ran deep. I alone knew that what you did at Berwick you would do again.”
“What I did at Berwick was not treason,” Gavin hissed. He was tired of these accusations from Hastings. He wanted nothing more, just then, than to plunge his sword into the man’s belly and be done with it. He clenched his fingers tightly around the sword. And knew, suddenly, that his hatred and disgust for Hastings could draw him to the very edge of his own humanity.
“What you did was the essence of treason,” Hastings said. “You did not obey and support your king.”
“Any man with a conscience would have done the same,” Gavin answered in a flat voice. “There were many men who wereshocked at the king’s orders, but said naught out of fear. And blood lust affected the rest. Including you.”
“Edward should have punished you properly for your treachery at Berwick. But he did not.” Hastings sneered, shifting his sword in his hand. “He loved you too well. Christ’s tree! You have been blessed with luck for some reason. But count that luck at an end.”
“Do you pronounce judgements now, in place of your king?” Gavin asked softly. “I do not think your authority extends that far, Oliver.” Surreptitiously, he urged Christian toward the door. They stood now in heavy shadow, so that her movements were shielded behind Gavin. Hastings glanced again at the walls, as if he could not keep his gaze from the lure of the gold ore. Then Hastings swiveled to watch him through narrowed eyes.
“It is treason to insult your sovereign king,” Hastings said. “You called King Edward a murdering savage to his face when you rode through Berwick that day. You told him to stop the carnage or face peril for his soul. I was there. I witnessed your disgraceful deed in front of common people and soldiers.”
“Do you recall what you were doing when I stopped the king’s escort and spoke my mind?”
Hastings stared at him. “I was following my king’s orders. As you should have done.”
“You were holding a blade to the belly of a pregnant woman,” Gavin said between his teeth. Behind him, he heard Christian gasp. “I arrived in Berwick when the massacre was nearly done. Not only soldiers and men, but town merchants, their wives, their children lay in those streets.” The vile memories sickened him, but he continued. “The cobblestones ran with the blood of thousands. When I rode in, the streets stank like the back of a butcher’s yard. I spoke angrily to the king because I could not believe the slaughter that I saw. I lost control of my sense of reason, just as you must have lost yours. When we rode on andhe saw you with that poor woman in your grip, he finally ordered the killing stopped.”
“Edward punished me for your moment of conscience!” Hastings shouted. “I forfeited my inheritance that day! Because the Angel Knight, the perfectchevalier, could not countenance the slaying of Scots. Nor could he pay for his traitorous act!”
“I was dispossessed and exiled for what I said to the king.”
“Exiled! You should have been hanged! You only lost a castle and a modest demesne.” Hastings leaned forward, his eyes wild and black, his knuckles white around the sword hilt. “I lost two wealthy and important baronies! And I spent months in the tower in London. Your exile to France—hah! More reward than reprimand. King Edward made you ambassador to Paris a year later. But I have naught, Faulkener! Naught!”
“You possess Loch Doon and another castle near Edinburgh.”
“Scottish castles!” Hastings spat. “I have no castle on English soil! But Edward has finally begun to listen to me. Now he knows that you are a Scots sympathizer.”
“He has outlawed me. That should please you.”
“Aye, it does. Because that order gives me the right to kill you here and now with no fear of punishment from Edward. You ruined me, Faulkener.” Hastings, facing the door, stepped toward him. “I thought to make your family pay, but that has not given me satisfaction.”
