Page 102 of The Falcon Laird
“My family?” Gavin asked.
“I knew your mother was in that nunnery. She was famed for something—miraculous healings, holiness, I know not. But I sacked the place deliberately when I found out who she was. Edward reprimanded me for that, but I pleaded ignorance and told him I only followed his orders.” He shrugged. “I made a penance for killing nuns. But I knew I had made a deep strike at you.”
“Jesu,” Gavin growled. “Your hatred is venomous.”
Behind him, Christian spoke. “Oliver Hastings,” she said. “Stop now, or you will not be able to bear the weight of such great sins. You will lose your very soul.”
Hastings laughed, low and viciously. “My soul craves revenge, my lady, and will not accept forgiveness, or your good advice.” He glanced at Gavin. “If I had been aware how much this Scottish girl here meant to you, months ago in Carlisle, I would have made certain she did not survive that cage.”
“You knew she was Henry’s widow, and therefore a relative of mine. Even if I did not know it at the time you captured her.”
“I treated Lady Christian with respect at first,” Hastings said. “I wanted the gold. But when she would not cooperate, I suggested to the king that he construct a cage for her, as he had done for two other of Bruce’s women.”
“Respect! You beat me,” Christian said. “You would not let the guards bring me food or blankets.”
Hastings shrugged mildly and looked at Gavin. “I wanted her to feel the consequences of her silence. I would have done more, but her damned guards hovered like nursemaids.” He scowled. “Then you came, Faulkener, and took her away. And you took Kilglassie as well. Edward knew I wanted this holding! I was sure there was gold here.” He took a step forward. “When I discovered that she was here with you, alive, I swore to myself that I would expose you both as traitors.”
Gavin listened, his mouth gone dry, his gut twisting with anger. Every fiber of his being strained with the urge to kill Hastings, but he resisted—not to save his own soul, but to save his wife. Her safety was paramount in his thoughts as he watched Hastings.
Advancing toward the doorway, Gavin was intent on getting her out of the room before Hastings made a move for him, andbefore any guards came through the well wall. He had to assure that Christian got free.
Then he intended to release his rage at last.
Taking another careful sideways step, balancing the sword and keeping his other hand on Christian’s arm, Gavin moved into the wedge of light that spilled in the doorway. The steps that led upward into the corridor were just behind them now.
“Go!” he yelled, shoving Christian. “Go!” She stumbled up the steps and fled out into the corridor.
“You will not shut me in here!” Hastings yelled, and ran forward. Gavin mounted the steps, facing Hastings, blocking the door. Behind him, Christian ran past the doves to the outer entrance.
“I have no plans to lock you in here,” Gavin said, shifting his sword menacingly. “Come collect your debt full on.”
“Do you threaten me, traitor?” Hastings asked softly.
“I only warn you,” Gavin said, letting the heavy blade hover in the air, gracefully, dangerously. He blessed the ancient laird who had left him such a fine weapon.
“My men will come through the well at any moment,” Hastings said, lifting his sword and widening his stance.
“Then you will have to fight fairly until they do,” Gavin said, and lunged.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Loud and relentless,the clash of swords rang out in the corridor where Christian stood. She backed against the rock wall near the entrance, feeling the wind and sunshine at her back. Glancing outside in a panic, she wondered if she should climb down to try to fetch help from somewhere.
She turned to see Gavin step out of the chamber, slicing his sword menacingly at Hastings, who advanced steadily into the narrow space of the corridor with him. Gavin glanced toward Christian and deliberately kept between her and Hastings. He angled his position until Hastings, facing him, was backed against the wall, near the dark, empty spot where the block had been removed from the well. The sloping pile of stone rubble hampered the swing of Hastings’s sword. Gavin had cornered him.
Hastings could not easily turn to escape through the well in the narrow space, and he could not move forward. He swiped his sword viciously toward Gavin, spitting angry curses as he tried to sidle past him. The razored edge of Gavin’s sword, still keen after so long in the hidden chamber, cut through the air, and Gavin held his widespread stance, alert and cautious.
Each time Hastings moved, Gavin forced him back again and again, but most of his blows were deflected off Hastings’s armor. Without armor himself, Gavin was more agile and quicker on his feet, but in greater danger. Although none of Hastings’s strikes had landed, Gavin had nicked his opponent in the vulnerableareas at the sides and neck of his armor, where the chain mesh, closed with leather strips, was more easily penetrated.
Christian soon realized that Gavin had the advantage of greater skill, more space to maneuver, and a clever mind. When Hastings made the next thrust, Gavin stepped aside almost gracefully and smashed his iron blade against Hasting’s head.
Hastings faltered, nearly losing his balance. As the point of his sword dipped, Gavin kicked it out of Hastings’s grip. Then he waited, assessing, swaying dangerously, a golden wildcat ready to pounce on a cornered rodent.
Christian glanced outside again, where something had caught her attention. Far below, she saw many men: fifty, seventy or more emptied out of boats silently and climbed up the cliff toward the lower tunnel entrance. She recognized Robert Bruce’s followers, a ragged, heavily armed assortment of knights and nobles and farmers, carrying long staves and bows, many with broadswords sheathed at their backs. They swarmed up the handholds and ledges in the promontory and disappeared into the other tunnel.
“Robert!” she screamed. “John!” She had seen both men climb toward the other tunnel. But her cries were lost in the whip of the wind. Though she called out again, no one looked up.
She heard a deafening crash and whirled in fright. The well wall had collapsed inward. Two men, Hastings’s serjeants, tumbled into the corridor, gaining their feet quickly and drawing their swords.
