Page 6 of The Falcon Laird
Gavin winced. The queen had given him the sobriquet years ago, in part because his shield and badge featured an angel. Although the Faulkeners, who had been royal falconers generations ago, had featured falcons on shield and badge, his father’s ancestors had added a winged angel along with a falcon silhouette. The design had prompted Queen Eleanor to claim, with affection and amusement, that young Sir Gavin carried an angel because he was as beautiful as an archangel. He knew he resembled his beautiful Scottish mother, that similarity hardened in her blond son. He had his mother’s Celtic gift, too, an ability to help others heal, though he kept that strictly to himself.
But as a young knight, he had enjoyed the attention of the queen and ladies of the court. He had charmed them, enjoyed their favor, thought himself special and gifted. He should have known it could not last.
That had been before the queen’s death, before Berwick, and before he had married Jehanne. He had changed much since Jehanne’s death. He had become arrogant. Now, he was glad to be cleansed of that. But that humility came at a high price.
Years ago, the darling knight of Queen Eleanor’s circle, he had expected a pleasant future with a lovely, kind noble heiress, had expected to remain adored in the court. But war had disrupted the pleasantries at court, and he had been sent to fight for Edward. And before that, he had spent months watching helplessly as his wife wasted away in the insidious grip of a lung illness. When she died, he was not just humbled—he was devastated.
Jehanne had needed his help, just as this Scottish girl did now. But he was no savior. He had not been able to help Jehanne recover, and he could not help this wretchedly ill girl now.
Once he had believed that he could. Once he had believed that he was gifted, blessed, special. But his soul had grown hard, lost in shadow. No one would call him angel now. Least of all this dying girl.
He knew the signs—the rapid, shallow, noisy breaths; pale skin and bluish lips; coughing and weakness. The lung illness had a fierce hold over her. She could not be saved.
Yet suddenly, he wanted to tear open her cage and carry her away to safety. But that was a foolish notion fit for aroman de chevalerie.
“King Edward has little mercy where the Scots are concerned. He will not listen to me in this matter,” he told John, turning away.
His uncle laid a hand on his sleeve. “We cannot leave here without seeing her free first.”
“What would you have me do? Steal her away? I have no assurances to give you.”
“The sentry said Oliver Hastings brought her here last September,” John said then.
Turning, Gavin stopped. “So the king’s demon still rides for England.”
“Still acts as Edward’s sword arm in Scotland, aye.”
“No doubt he relishes every stroke.”
“I hear he visits this girl whenever he is in Carlisle. Orders food withheld, blankets removed. The guards say he questions her mercilessly.”
Gavin fisted his hands. “He has a taste for cruelty. What does he want from her?”
“The sentry did not ken the issue between them. She will not talk to Hastings, though he has beaten her, they say.”
“Jesu,” Gavin growled. “Must you tell me this?”
“Aye,” John said quietly.
Gavin glanced toward the girl. Though his heart seemed to twist in his chest, he turned away and began to stride along the wall walk. “She will likely die before the king grants me an interview.”
“You’ll help her, then. Angel knight—it is still in you, lad,” John said as he walked with him.
Gavin gave a flat laugh. “I spent eight years in the French court. A man emerges a cynic or a sinner from there. Never a saint. She is dying, and worse, a Scot. The king will not listen.”
“You can convince him.”
“You credit me too well. I spoke my mind before, at Berwick, and earned myself charges of treason and exile. The king could have ordered me hanged. I am scant hope as that girl’s savior. Remember—Edward despises the Scots with a poisonous fury.” He stalked ahead, then saw a sentry nearby. “Bring a coal brazier and blankets to the prisoner,” he snapped.
The guard blinked. “My lord—”
“Now!” Gavin roared. The man nodded and ran along the wall walk.
“Ah,” John remarked as they walked on.
“Little enough to do for the girl.”
“That and getting permission to remove her to a convent, is little enough well done.”
