Page 8 of The Falcon Laird
The quiet of the abbey would be beneficial for an old, sick man, and the monks were clearly tending to him medically. Gavin saw the bruised cuts from recent bleedings on Edward’s long forearm, where his velvet sleeve had fallen back.
Edward rubbed his wide hand over his chest and shifted in his chair, his long legs angled awkwardly. The X-shaped design of the abbey chairs was unsuited to tall men, Gavin thought, seated in one himself, stretching his long legs out before him. Edward Longshanks, who towered above most men, looked uncomfortable.
“Have you plans to return to France?” the king asked.
“Not yet, sire. My castle at Fontevras runs smoothly with or without me. I thought to stay in England through the winter.”
The king nodded. “Fontevras remains yours through the tradition ofcurtesiein your widowing.”
“Aye, your Grace. When I die, ’twill revert back to my wife’s family, since Jehanne and I had no children.”
“How long since she died?”
“Two years, sire. She was so young.”
“A sad thing, her illness. My dear first queen loved Jehanne dearly. Eleanor would have been pleased to know that you married her niece, for she loved you well. She even gave you that name you go by. Angel Knight.”
“I was devoted to Queen Eleanor, my liege. I—do not use the name. She did, bless her memory.”
Edward frowned into his cup. “You were a young knight when Eleanor died, but a worthy one. I will not forget that you rode beside her coffin all the way from Lincoln to London. When I wanted stone crosses erected at each place we stopped for the night, you saw it done. Queen Eleanor’s angel, they called you.”Edward was silent for a moment. “Sixteen years have passed, and I love her still.”
“She was a gracious lady, sire.”
“I am indebted to you for that journey, despite what you did later.” The king downed a long draught of wine. “You betrayed me at Berwick, just as Robert Bruce has betrayed me,” Edward added in a low growl. Gavin realized the king was halfway toward sodden drunk.
“Sire,” he said. “I but spoke my honest mind to you at Berwick.”
“Only the fact that you showed devotion to Queen Eleanor saved you from a hanging then.”
“I endured exile and dispossession for my words to you. ’Tis past and paid for.”
Edward grinned slyly. “I made you pay at the French court. A nest of vipers, eh? I needed a clever man there to arrange truces and marriages. You did well.”
“I did what I could, Sire.”
“And now you have brought the French bishops here to convey the Pope’s approval for my son’s marriage. But so far, the bishops only want to discuss the situation with the Scots. The Pope has sent messages with them. Not all of his letters are to my liking.” Edward glanced at Gavin. “Do you mean to stay now?”
“If I may, my liege. I am at your service.”
“And where shall you live if you stay?” Edward grinned. “Men shall never say my memory was short. I dispossessed you, and now I owe you lands for capable service to me since then. I might give your disinherited lands back one day. But first I will grant you another holding within my realm.”
Gavin narrowed his eyes. “England, Sire?”
“Scotland. You will take over Kilglassie Castle in Galloway. Your cousin Henry had a garrison there. I have decided to grant those lands to you.”
Gavin was stunned. “My liege—”
“Go there and bend those stubborn Scottish rebels in Galloway to English will. I assume you have learned the proper attitude since your outburst at Berwick.” Edward slid him a sharp, fast glance. “We could call this return to Scotland a test of your loyalty.”
Gavin straightened in the hard curve of the chair. He had not anticipated Scottish lands. And he surely did not crave involvement in the morass of problems between Scotland and England. “I do not care for the current policies in Scotland, Sire,” he said softly, daringly. “I never will.”
“Have a care how you speak to your sovereign,” Edward warned. “You have been in France too long. They are overly sympathetic to the Scots. Surely you have better wisdom.”
“I have not changed my opinions, Sire.”
“See that you do. You owe your fealty to me. My opinions in this matter are therefore yours.” Edward glared at him. “Hold Kilglassie and garrison it. Robert Bruce may hide in Carrick or Galloway, and Kilglassie sits in the hills between those lands. I want Bruce found. You are one of the few knights who can match his skill with weapons. Hunt him down and bring him to me. Act as my arm in that part of Galloway.”
“Sire.” Clenching a fist, Gavin bowed his head in reluctant acceptance. He realized he had little choice in the matter. Necks were fragile in nature.
