Page 13 of The Falcon Laird
Gavin hurried forward. He had been delayed at Lanercost waiting for the king’s chamberlain to prepare the necessary documents and explain the location of Kilglassie. Then he had ridden the five miles back to Carlisle in a fury of speed and tumultuous thought.
Reaching the parapet, he strode out across the dark wall walk, which was lit only by a few torches. His quick steps echoed loudly and brought one of the guards forward to stop him. Gavin explained his identity and why he was there, casting surreptitious looks around through the darkness as he spoke.
“We have no orders to release the prisoner, my lord,” the guard said. “Comte de Fontevras, you say, my lord? Ambassador to the French court?”
“And now Baron of Kilglassie. I have the order for the lady’s release directly from King Edward. Here is the signed document.” Gavin displayed a parchment with a dangling seal.
The guard peered at Edward Plantagenet’s signature and nodded. Gavin tucked the charter for Kilglassie inside the lining of his cloak, relieved that the guard could not read. But he could not chance it again, else he might find a guard who would scrutinize the page. In truth, he had no official letter of releasefor Lady Christian yet; the king had promised it on the morrow. He had only Edward’s word, and experience told him that was not nearly enough. He had to do this now.
Moving quickly around wall walk, he approached the spot where the cage was attached. Nearby stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, with the closest sentry still a few hundred paces away. Muttering under his breath, Gavin strode forward as his uncle turned to see him.
John placed a hand on the hilt of his broadsword. A steel mace swung at his belt, and the blade of his dirk, grasped in his mailed fist, caught the moonlight. He looked brutal—and somehow delighted. Gavin gave a breathy groan.
“You are here to help, then?” John’s mustache twitched, and his brown eyes held an eager gleam.
“Help with what?” Gavin dreaded the answer.
John threw back his shoulders proudly. “I came to rescue the wee lassie. And this is the verra surcoat I wore when I rescued the Saracen princess, years ago, with your father.” Gavin recognized John’s embroidered blue surcoat as one the man kept for special occasions, though now it barely stretched to cover the breadth of his middle.
“How is it the king’s guard let a Scotsman up here, armed and ready for war?”
“Ach, I spoke French to ’em. They think I am the bodyguard for the king’s ambassador to France.”
“I suppose you are. Fortunately you were not arrested. You are enjoying this far too much,” he added. “We are too conspicuous on this wall walk. What is your plan? Flatten the guards and tear open the cage? Swing down the castle walls on ropes and gallop off to safety, if we had horses below?”
“We could.” John frowned, considering the ridiculous suggestion. “At Acre, when I brought the Saracen princess out o’ her bower, I killed the harem guard with a fast blade to the belly,lifted the princess over my shoulder, and went out the window on a rope to meet your Da. But that will not do here.”
“You are a full thirty years older, for one thing.”
“I could twist open the lock,” John whispered. “And take her to some abbey. Lanercost is closest.”
“Where the king rests and holds audience? Hah! I hate to ruin your plan, but I already have the king’s permission to remove her to a convent. We just have to find one close enough.”
John let out a breath. “Honestly I am glad to hear it.”
“I am sure of that. But I have no written order yet. It is to be done tomorrow—but she needs to be gone from Carlisle tonight, before Edward can change his mind.”
“We still make a rescue?” John asked eagerly.
“If we are quick, clever—and lucky.” Gavin paused. “John—the king granted me the castle of Kilglassie to command. I am ordered to garrison it and join the search for Bruce.”
“Henry Faulkener’s Scottish castle? That would be this lady’s castle? Did the king finally forgive you for Berwick, then? Or is this a trap, a mean jest? Do not trust it. You do not want command o’ that place, I am thinking.”
“I do not. It is some kind of test, I think. If I do not comply, I will have a rope around my neck this time.”
“He knows you have no taste for his Scottish war.”
“And he does not like that,” Gavin agreed. “I have too much respect for the Scots to take part in this war. The years in France kept me out of the dispute. But I cannot refuse this grant. Edward has a murderous streak if he is refused something. So I must take over the castle. But I swear to you, if Robert Bruce is to be captured, it will not be by me,” he muttered.
“I will have your back, lad.” John glanced toward the cage, its latticed top visible over the parapet wall. “If you have possession o’ Kilglassie, what then for Henry’s widow? It is her property by right.”
“She has no rights, according to the king. Truly I doubt she will live out the week. Also—the king has decided that I should marry her.”
“What is the use o’ that?” John looked incredulous.
Gavin shrugged. “Something about gold hidden there. Edward wants it. So I am to charm the truth of it out of the girl.”
“Jesu,” John muttered. “Charm and marry a dying lass. We’re rescuing her from a madman.”
