Page 44 of The Falcon Laird
He was quiet for a moment. “I see that. It is a special thing. And you have captured the magic of that heritage here. But the harper needs rest too. God keep you the night, my lady.” He stepped back. “Thank you for the music.”
“It is my privilege,” she said.
Later, finding herself unable to sleep, Christian got up after a while, took up her cloak, and went outside. Looking up, she saw Gavin on the parapet, silhouetted against the night sky. She had ventured out, hoping the brisk air would tire her. But she was alert, and Gavin’s words kept ringing in her thoughts.You have the touch of an angel; thank you.
He turned, his cloak billowing out, but did not seem to notice her. If anyone had an angel’s touch, this English knight did. She smiled ruefully at that, realizing he had shown her more kindness and caring in weeks than Henry had shown her in years of marriage. But she had seen the hardened knight in Gavin Faulkener too, saw he could be an oppressor here rather than a savior. She must be careful.
She sighed, recalling then that Fergus wanted her to act against Gavin and gather information to give to the Bruce. True, she had done similar in the past, relaying news she learned from Henry, and had little struggle of conscience over it. Her loyalty and obligation to her cousin Robert Bruce had always been stronger than her loyalty to the English husband who generally treated her with cold disinterest.
But now, though she was intensely loyal to her cousin and the cause of Scotland, she felt a true conflict. Gavin Faulkener both compelled and confused her. At times she craved his kindness and his touch—so much it frightened her. Recalling stolen kisses in the underground storage chamber, she drew in a breath. She fervently wished he was not an English knight. But wishing would never change it.
She sighed, grasping the leather cord that lay against her neck now, touching the cool stone wrapped in gold filigree. It warmed quickly in her hand.
Michaelmas had returned the ancient jewel to her last night. The child had worn it all the months that her mother had been gone. Now that she wore it again, its weight familiar and good, Christian was strongly reminded that the gold of Kilglassie might not exist.
Though long rumored to lie somewhere in the castle or its surroundings, the ancient treasure had never been found. If it truly was here, the fire might have destroyed it. Kilglassie’s old legend had very little substance after all this time. She was the keeper of a pretty pendant, a garnet wrapped in ancient gold linked to an empty legend.
But she would do her best to protect that legacy. She was not just the keeper of a family legend. She was also a harper with a greater obligation to guard the old tales, and to believe in their worth.
Gavin turned onthe parapet and glanced into the bailey below. He saw a slight, slim figure, and quickly saw that Christian moved gracefully across the yard, pausing to look up at the sky. Frowning, he went down the outer steps, careful where the stones were broken, to ask if all was well.
“Christian,” he murmured.
She turned at his approach, startled. “I could not sleep. I was just walking.”
“You need rest. It is hours before dawn yet.”
“I thought some night air would help.” She turned to walk with him, and he matched his long stride to hers. “You have already made some progress here, I see,” she said, gesturing toward a place where rubble had been cleared and a wall repaired.
He nodded. “Some. But John and I have no skill to make real restorations here. Dominy has more masonry skills than we have, to be sure.” He turned to her, wanting to ask about something that weighed on his mind recently. “I know something of castle design, but I need to understand how this was before. If you could show me around and explain what needs to be done, that would help a great deal.”
She tilted her head in thought. “I will,” she agreed. “We need a safe roof over our heads before the winter rains set in. We have been fortunate to have dry weather of late.”
A draft of cold wind stirred their cloaks at her words. Taking her arm, Gavin drew her into the shelter of another broken doorway. Keenly aware that she stood so close, he paused, careful not to touch her. Somewhere behind them, he could hear the occasional ruffling of sleeping doves.
“We should repair this as quickly as we can,” he said. “The king ordered me to report to Hastings at Loch Doon to request supplies.”
“War comes before all things for King Edward,” she said stiffly.
“He wants necessary repairs made so that a hundred men can be sent here.”
“That—would be impossible here.”
“True, and he will be informed. But he will expect improvements nonetheless. The gate, the roof, the floors—much that needs to be done right away is simply for basic comfort and safety. The place would not be ready for a garrison for months. Perhaps years.”
“You will need coin for that, your king is not generous. Henry had difficulty acquiring means and supplies when he needed them.”
“I will pay laborers myself. What town is closest?”
“Ayr is closest, but the English have it.”
“I am English, as you like to remind me. When is the market there?”
“A weekly market every Saturday and a great fair twice a year.”
“I can hire workers through the guilds in Ayr, perhaps.”
“You can. But wait to see what help Fergus Macnab will bring you. He can be trusted.”
