Page 30 of The Falcon Laird
“How is it you are with a Sassenach?” Iain asked in Gaelic. “Are you hurt? We will have his heart for our supper!” He pointed the lance at Gavin, calling out in Scots. “Get off the horse and let her go!”
“Lady Christian is my wife,” Gavin called back. “She is ill. Let us pass. We are going to Kilglassie Castle.”
“Kilglassie!” the other man said. “It is no place for anyone.”
“Let us pass!” John roared, charging toward through the water, broadsword out. “Clear the way!”
Faced with the formidable prospect of an armored knight on a huge destrier, waving a broadsword with relish, Iain and hisbrother exchanged quick glances, then turned and ran back to the bank.
John came after them, bellowing threats and brandishing the sword as the young men disappeared into the trees. After a moment, John sheathed his sword and grinned at Gavin.
“They will not trouble us now!”
“Jesu,” Gavin muttered, shaking his head. “I wonder. But he does love a victory.” He urged his horse forward and glanced at Christian. “Friends of yours, my lady?”
“They are,” she answered. She craned her head to look toward the bank, anxious to catch another glimpse of the Macnab brothers, knowing where there were two, there might be more.
“Hold, now,” Gavin said, bracing her as he pulled at the reins. “Easy, now,” he said distractedly.
She was not sure if he spoke to her or his horse as they cleared the stream in silence. Reaching the bank, Gavin cantered over to John. “Are they gone?”
“I think so.”
“Likely they have friends in those woods. We had best ride swift for Kilglassie. It is a league or so from here. Is that so, my lady?”
Christian nodded. “You can see it near those hills, that way. But it grows dark quickly.”
Dominy rode closer. “John, will they return?”
“Nay, they’re gone. Ride by me, now.” He gestured for her to move her horse into place beside him. William, riding in front of his mother, shook a small fist. “Harrow! Those beggary old shrews are gone!”
“Aye, lad,” John said. “You’ve a cheery way about you, but remember what the abbot told you.”
“God loves our sweet words,” the boy chirped.
“Aye, he does that.”
Gavin waved to them. “Come ahead.” He leaned to urge his horse into a canter over a broad moor. Curled against him, legs dangling over the charger’s side, Christian leaned too, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold on. They rode rapidly, moving three abreast over a wide, rough moor edged by dense pine forest. In the twilight, the hills soon showed black against the murky sky.
Reining in his horse, Gavin looked around. “The castle is due west from here,” he told John.
Christian was loath to help him, but fatigue swamped her simmering anger. She needed to rest. They all did. And she wanted to be home, much as she dreaded seeing it now. She pointed. “There,” she said. “Through those trees. That loch, see.”
Gavin spurred his mount and followed the direction of her gesture. Beyond a stand of trees, he drew the horse to a halt at the top of a slope. A long, wide loch lay at its base, its dark, silky surface rippled in the gloaming.
Stark and silent, the castle rose from a rocky promontory that thrust out into the loch. No welcoming light warmed the bare stone window frames. Silhouetted against the twilight, four corner towers rose broken and roofless, their thick walls shattered at the top.
Gavin stared for a long time. “A ruin,” he finally said.
Christian sat straighter, weakness and sudden grief making her limbs tremble. Tears gathered in her eyes. She gazed upon the dark, unwelcoming walls of her home.
“Burned out,” she said. “Last summer.”
“You knew?”
Her head spun. She felt herself slipping into exhaustion. She gripped his arm to steady herself. “I knew,” she whispered. “I burned it myself.”
Chapter Eight
