Page 16 of The Falcon Laird
“He has a signed order,” the other guard said.
Gavin nodded. “I saw the king at Lanercost this evening. He gave me the order and bid me tend to it.” He glanced toward John, who stood holding the girl in his arms, looking anxious.
“Is it the plague?” Thomas asked. “I carried her in my arms today. She coughed when I held her. The priests say such diseases can be spread by touch, by unclean sputum and blood and evil humors.” He shivered.
“It is not the plague, man,” Gavin said. “She has caught a lung disease from being exposed to the cold and wet here.” He turned to John. “Go on. Tell the stableman that we need our horses readied, and that we will need a cart for the girl.”
John nodded and strode away, carrying Christian, while Dominy hurried along behind them.
“What should we tell the captain of the guard, my lord?” Thomas asked.
“Tell him the lady is done with English hospitality.”
“Removed the ladyin the dead o’ the night, like thieves, we did,” John said, grinning widely as he sat on the crossbench of the two-wheeled cart in which Christian lay. He chuckled with pride and looked over at Gavin. “D’you think the king’s host will hunt us down for what we hastened past them?”
Riding alongside the cart, Gavin glanced at the silent girl huddled beneath blankets in the back of the cart. The ride out of Carlisle had been rough and fast and cold, over deeply rutted roads slick with icy patches, but Gavin had heard barely a sound from her beyond an occasional cough. “They will surely pursue us if they discover that we had no signed order to take her as wedid,” he told John. Turning, he scanned the dark, rolling terrain, which was lit only by a thin slip of a moon. “All seems quiet. We have not been followed.”
John grunted, and gave the cart reins an unenthusiastic snap. “I cannot believe I agreed to drive this thing. A knight of my experience. It is a disgrace.”
“We surely had no time to find ourselves a driver. And it is only until we reach a religious house. Your own horse is tied to the back.”
“Aye, a fine destrier, and now he’s a packhorse,” John muttered. He glanced at his bay charger, which carried, across its empty saddle, a few hastily rolled packs of gear that contained items of clothing, weaponry and armor, and several bags of silver coins, mostly English pennies and French deniers.
Gavin stilled his black destrier and glanced at the sky. A deep gray-blue tint spread over the horizon, and the air felt cold, heavy, waiting. “It is getting toward dawn.”
“We should continue north as quick as we can,” John said.
“First we’d best see to the girl. Stop under those trees, John.” Walking his horse off the roughly cut road, Gavin waited beneath the bare, spreading branches of a pair of oak trees. As his uncle drew the cart to a stop, Gavin dismounted to look at the girl.
In the faint light, Christian lay curled in the flat cart bed, swathed in blankets and still as death, her delicate face almost ethereal. Gavin reached out to touch her apprehensively, his heart thudding, knowing she could have died in the last hour. But her small, bony shoulder shifted beneath his touch, and she began to cough, a deep congested barking.
She was having difficulty breathing. Gavin slid an arm beneath her shoulders to lift her a little. Her head fell against his chest, and she looked up at him, her eyes like great dark smudges in the starlight.
Balancing the girl against him, he shoved another blanket beneath her head to incline her torso. “Can you go on, Lady Christian?” he asked her. “The way will be just as hard as it has been. Harder, in fact.”
She nodded. Gavin adjusted the blankets around her. “There. You’ll be more comfortable, my lady.”
She laid her hand on his mailed sleeve; he could hardly feel the weight of her light touch. “You took me from the cage.” Her voice was a dry rasp. “Rescued me. Thank you.” He detected a gentle accent to her English, a musical lilt common in native Gaelic speakers.
“You are safe now, my lady.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Gavin.”
“Sir Gavin. Did my cousin pay a ransom? Did the English king—”
“Hush now, and rest.”
“I thought you were Saint Michael when I first saw you.”
He leaned close. “Did you?” he asked, aware that fever could cause the mind to wander.
“I did.” She closed her eyes and turned her head away. Still frowning, Gavin mounted his horse, then glanced at the sky. A thin rinse of rose and gold showed above the dark hills.
“How is the lass?” John asked.
“Alive. Pray we can get her to a religious house before the saints take her to heaven.” A cluster of moving shadows along the road caught his attention. “Hold! Look there.” A single destrier drew closer.
