Page 64 of The Falcon Laird
Macdouell took the torch. “You’ll not listen to this conversation and carry tales back to Bruce spies. Be gone.”
Fergus managed to look hurt. Christian knew he must be keenly disappointed, since his opportunity to listen to English plans had been so quickly thwarted. He bowed his head to the others and left the room.
“You have a letter from the king?” Gavin asked.
Hastings extracted a folded parchment from the pouch that hung from his belt. “King Edward has sent letters to all hiscommanders in Scotland,” he said. “This one has your name on it.” He slapped it into Gavin’s open hand.
Breaking the seal, Gavin scanned the contents quickly. “This is no more than a whining complaint,” he said. “Edward expresses his astonishment that none of us have captured the Bruce, and points out that I have been here a month at least. He threatens to replace me if the Bruce is not caught soon.”
Macdouell, holding the torch, nodded. “We all received such letters. We’re ordered to report our plans immediately. And he says our silence makes him suspect that we’re all cowards. King Edward is impatient, lying in his sickbed at Lanercost, with no chance of riding at the head of his army in Scotland.”
“So he shoots out threatening letters instead of fire arrows,” Gavin said, tossing the letter onto the bed. “He winds down to his death.”
“He will recover,” Hastings said. “And he will see the Scots brought down. He is determined to conquer Scotland, just as he took Wales.”
“Edward will never take Scotland,” Christian said.
“Get out of here!” Hastings shouted at her. He turned to Gavin. “Place that treacherous woman under confinement. She is a spy nurtured in an English nest. You let your stones speak louder than your reason when you took that rebel into your bed.”
A long step forward, and Gavin grabbed Hastings by a handful of mailed hauberk. “I have heard enough of your abusive tongue,” he growled. “You have delivered your letter. If you have aught else to say, say it politely in the presence of my wife.” He let go so abruptly that Hastings stumbled into Macdouell, who nearly dropped the torch.
Gavin turned to Christian. “Do you wish to leave, my lady?” Nodding quickly, she walked toward the door and took her cloak from a peg on the wall. Gavin opened the door for her.
“Send up some wine,” Ormesby called after her.
“She might poison it,” Hastings said, straightening his rumpled surcoat.
“What an interesting suggestion,” Christian said as she slammed the door behind her.
After she hadsent Dominy to the solar with a flask of French wine and clay cups, Christian went in search of Fergus. A stonemason had told her that the priest was in the great hall.
An unusual silence met her ears as she approached the hall. The hammering and chatter had stopped, though it was only midday. The vast chamber was empty but for one man.
“Fergus!” She went toward him. “What are you doing here? Where have the carpenters gone?”
Fergus placed a finger to his lips, beckoning to her. “Come here,” he whispered in Gaelic.
“Where are the workmen?” she asked again, walking toward the corner, where Fergus stood beside the new well-shaft, a twin to the one in her bedchamber.
“I sent them away,” Fergus said quietly. “I told them I had to bless the well and needed privacy.”
“And is the well blessed, then?”
Fergus grinned. “Blessed, and full of voices from heaven.”
She leaned forward, puzzled, and tilted her head to listen.
“…Bruce and his men have been sighted in the hills above Kilglassie,” she heard Hastings say. The voice was faint but clear. “…a ragged group of outlaws, evading our men.”
“Oh!” She pulled back. “We should not—”
Fergus elbowed her aside. “Does it bother you? Move, then, and I’ll gladly spy for King Rob.” He leaned into the draw-hole.
She watched him, straining to listen, but heard nothing. The voices only seemed to carry inside the shaft. “What are they saying?” she hissed after a moment. Fergus waved a hand to silence her.
She tried to press her ear toward the opening, but Fergus’s bulk blocked the way. Impatiently she hopped from one foot to the other. Finally she tapped him on the shoulder.
Fergus withdrew his head. “They are saying they want to draw Rob out of the hills and onto fighting ground favorable to the English,” he whispered. He stuck his head back in the hole.
