Page 15 of The Falcon Laird
“Dead, my lord. Certain dead,” Dominy affirmed. She wrapped a blanket around the girl, swaddling her like a babe. “Mayhap your man there could carry her away. This may be plague.”
“Let me see her.” Gavin swung a leg up to climb inside.
“Plague, say you?” John peered over Gavin’s shoulder. “The body must be burnt quick! We must get her out. And then burn all our clothes!”
“I thought you spoke only French here,” Gavin hissed.
“I’m muckle versatile.”
“Then lose that Scots lilt,” Gavin said.
“If it is plague, no one should touch her,” the guard said.
“Best stay away, sir,” John told the guard. “My lord and I, we survived the plague in the Holy Land. Devil of a thing, and people rottin’ in the streets like—”
“John,” Gavin said between his teeth.
“I thought you were in France,” the guard said.
“We have been everywhere. But we do not fear the plague,” John answered, ignoring Gavin’s glare. “Get out o’ the way and let my lord examine the body. Stand back, now.” John placed a hand on the guard’s shoulder to lead him firmly away. “We will take care o’ this. My lord has permission from the king to take the lady away. He has a parchment on it, signed and all.”
Gavin entered the cage. Dominy wrung her hands and wailed as he knelt beside the woman who lay on the floor like adiscarded cloth doll. He pulled back the blanket covering her face.
She lay still in the moonlight, her skin as pale and perfect as a marble tomb effigy. He noticed the delicate oval shape of her face, the slender dark brows, the lashes like black crescents over hollowed cheeks. He touched the side of her cheek and felt her sigh beneath his hand. Her skin, feathery soft, was warm. Feverish. She seemed to grow warmer beneath his touch.
Yet he admired her quick wit. Ill though she was, she had caught hold of Dominy’s scheme with ease. She lay still, but she was breathing shallowly and seemed awake. His hand lingered as he stroked her cheek to reassure her that he meant her no harm. She did not move.
As he touched her, a sudden shiver went through him, a surprising rush like lust, plunging to his loins and swelling there. He pulled his hand away as if he had been burned.
Not lust, but a spontaneous, elemental urge to act. For one wild instant, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her away. His hand clenched as if he were ready to slice his sword at anyone who dared to bar his way.
He wanted her to live. The conviction was strong and sudden. Gavin knew that he would do whatever he could to make certain that the girl at least had the chance to survive.
King Edward’s ordersechoed once again in his brain, and he sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. The king had placed him in a difficult position. Gavin had no interest in a hoard of Scottish gold, and less interest in pursuing Robert Bruce.
Berwick, ten years ago, had turned him finally and utterly against the English cause in Scotland. His mother had been Scottish, and he had spent part of his childhood in the Lowlands. As a young English knight, he had felt uneasy and disloyal acting against the Scots. He still did.
But he had wanted land and a castle. He had waited years for a grant from King Edward, who was notoriously ungenerous to his lords. Gavin had no doubt that a marriage to this Scottish girl would strengthen his claim to the property.
If Robert Bruce prevailed over the English, Gavin’s claim to Kilglassie would be based on his marriage to Lady Christian. As her widowed husband, he would possess Kilglassie under Scottish or English law. He was not by nature a manipulative man, but his years as ambassador had taught him to be cautious and never to overlook small details.
Glancing down at the girl, he sighed. King’s demands aside, he knew she would die if he did not get her out of this cage as soon as possible. Nor would his conscience let him sleep in that distant Gallovidian castle if he left her here to suffer.
“Is she dead, my lord?” the guard asked.
He glanced up. John, crammed between two sentries now, peered at him through the doorway. Dominy watched him warily.
He had naught but the king’s cupshot word that he could remove the girl. And he knew better than to trust Edward’s promise regarding a Scot. A whorl in his gut told him he must act now.
“She is alive,” he told them. “But close to death. I am taking her out of this cage.”
“My lord,” Thomas said. “The captain of the guard will have to decide—”
“I have the king’s permission to remove her to a convent. Your companion has seen the king’s signature on it.” The other guard nodded. “She is too ill to delay. We go tonight.”
He lifted the girl in his arms and stood. She was a limp, slight weight, an easy burden. John reached into the cage, and Gavin handed her out to him. Assisting Dominy, who needed amoment to squeeze her ample bottom through the opening, he then climbed out.
“The captain will have my head unless we have direct orders from the king on this,” Thomas said.
