Page 108 of The Falcon Laird
“Tell us about the battle again,” Patrick said.
“Later,” Gavin said, turning the boy firmly in the direction of the great tower.
“I want to hear about how the wee doves saved us from the evil English commander,” Robbie said.
“Not a tale for wee ears,” Gavin said, giving the boy a gentle shove in the direction of the tower.
“John, I forgot to tell you that my mother wants you to come inside and have some spiced wine,” Will said. “She made it just for you, since you saved us all today by taking us to shore in the boat. She says you’re very brave, and a fine man.” Will looked speculatively at him. “Are you saddled with a wife? My mother has no husband.”
John cleared his throat, his face reddening. “Will, my lad, if you had said your bonny mother was waiting, I would not have told such a long tale. Now go in and tell her I will be there soon.”
“You are blushing like a bridegroom, uncle.” Gavin chuckled.
“It is possible I found my own dove, lad.” John laughed, embarrassed. Smiling, Gavin turned to see Michaelmas wandering away from the others, crossing the deserted courtyard toward the portcullis, which still hung crooked in its grooves.
Glancing up at the gate, Gavin knew that the portcullis would be fixed as soon as the massive chains purchased in Ayr arrived; the smith was eager to attach and align them. As for the rest of the repairs at Kilglassie, much was completed, and much was still left to do. But he would see all of it done, each detail discussed and carried out, just the way that he and Christian wanted.
He turned to look at the great tower, hoping that Christian would come outside before the light faded. There was something he wanted her to see.
The sun slipped lower, casting a deep rich glow over the high walls. He glanced up, struck by the beauty and strength of his home. He would do whatever he could to keep it this way, whole and peaceful and safe.
“Gavin,” John said quietly, “look.” He pointed toward Michaelmas. As they watched, she knelt on the ground and scooped something into her hands. Her pale braid glinted like new gold.
Curious, Gavin walked toward her. She held a small dove, which made a weak cooing noise and fluttered helplessly as she held it.
“It is hurt, poor wee birdie,” she said, as Gavin approached. “I saw it over here, hopping around. It cannot fly. See, this wing will not come high like the other one.”
Gavin nodded, watching the bird’s awkward movements. He wondered if he should take it from her, and use the miraculous gift he had newly discovered in himself.
Michaelmas murmured to the bird, stroking its feathers, stilling its movements. Gavin watched, fascinated, awed by the sight of a beautiful child holding a wild thing with simple grace and perfect ease. A few steps behind him, John stood silently.
Michaelmas grew silent, too. Gavin wondered if she was praying over the wounded bird. She looked beatific, angelic, and pure. Once again, he was struck by her curious resemblance to his mother.
She smiled and opened her hands. The little dove cooed, pecked gently at her finger, and flew away in an easy, rapid flurry of wings.
Gavin stared after the bird. Still smiling, the child rose to her feet. “It is all healed, now,” she said, and turned to walk away.
He took her arm. “Michaelmas—what did you do?”
She shrugged. Her eyes were summer blue, infinitely innocent, and wondrously familiar to him. “I helped the wee bird get better”
“How did you help the bird?” he asked her. “Have you ever done that before?”
She nodded. “I do it with birds, mostly, when the lads knock them down with stones, or shoot at them with their arrows. Once I helped when Robbie hurt his elbow,” she added. “It was bleeding and then it stopped.”
“How?” he asked, gripping her arm. “How do you do this?”
She shrugged again. “I close my eyes and think how the birds look when they’re beautiful and flying. I think how much I love them, and my hands get warm with love, see, and that helps. The other time, I thought about how Robbie’s skin should look smooth. But I did not try to feel love then,” she added, wrinkling her small nose.
He blinked, taking it all in. Michaelmas reminded him so much of his mother suddenly: the wide blue eyes, the pale blond hair, the gently shaped mouth and nose. The grace of healing in her hands.
“Does Lady Christian know about this?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “I have never told anyone,” she said. “I was not sure if it was sinful or not. But I like it, so I think perhaps not.”
“It is no sin to help a person or a bird or an animal heal,” he said. He touched the silky crown of her small head. “It is just your way of loving them. I can do it too,” he added.
She stared up at him. “You can?”
