Page 17 of The Falcon Laird
“What—a woman!” John exclaimed. “The servant?”
Gavin rode out of the tree cover to intercept her. “Dominy!” he called quietly. “What are you doing here? Go back!”
She drew her horse to a halt. “My lord! I am so glad I found ye! Is the lady well?”
“Well enough,” he answered, while John rumbled the cart toward them. “Did something happen back at the castle? Are we being pursued?”
“All is well.” The woman adjusted her bulky cloak and patted its folds. “I came to join ye.”
“What!” John said. “Whose charger is that? It is a knight’s animal.”
“He’s mine,” Dominy answered, smoothing her hand over the dappled charger’s broad neck. “He belonged to my husband and was stabled at Carlisle. But now we will come with ye.”
“We?” Gavin asked, eyeing the front of her cloak. It was shifting. He frowned.
“And why should we have a woman along, then?” John grumbled.
“Ye’ve a woman in yer cart,” Dominy pointed out. “And women take care of women. I can help.”
“Sir Gavin will watch after her,” John said. “He does not fear a sick lass.”
Gavin stepped his horse closer to Dominy. He reached out to flick open her cloak. A slight, dark-haired boy blinked up at him, his head nestled against Dominy’s comfortable bosom.
“A bairnie!” John growled.
“This is William. My son. He is six years old.”
“William.” Gavin nodded to the boy, who blinked up at him. “Dominy, we cannot allow—”
“Please, my lord. We’ve been living at the castle, Will and I, since my husband died at Turnberry—in Ayrshire, it is, in Carrick lands. He was fightin’ the Scots. He did not even want to do that, and he died. And I do not want to stay at Carlisle any longer. I beg you, sir, let us come.”
“We have no use for women and bairns,” John said.
“Ye must take the lady to an infirmary. I know the best place to take her. I can show ye where to cross into Scotland where wewill not be seen. Due north of here, the land is boggy this time of year. So we should head northwest to ford the firth at low tide, where it runs shallow, and cross to Galloway. I can show ye just where.”
“She could be useful,” Gavin said to John, who sputtered in frustration.
“And I will stay with the lady wherever you leave her. Please, my lord,” Dominy said. “My son will be better off away from knights.”
“Ach, and wha’ are we?” John said. “Wet-nurses?”
Dominy scowled at him. “Two knights are better than two thousand.” She looked at Gavin. “My lord, the only Scottish convent that I know is still untouched is Lincluden, but it is well to the north and too far for her to travel just now.”
“What d’you suggest, lassie?” John drawled sarcastically.
“We must avoid the first monastery we find, for their hospital tends lepers. And we must ride past Caerlaverock Castle, which is garrisoned to the brim with English, who ye might wish to avoid just now, with the Lady Christian in yer care. There is another monastery I would direct you to. They will do well by the lady.”
Gavin nodded. “Very well, Dominy. Come with us for now.”
“My thanks, sir,” she said. “William, thank the baron.”
“I thank you, sirrah,” the boy said in a light, clear voice. “You are no whoreson.” He smiled innocently. Gavin blinked in surprise, and John gave a startled laugh.
Dominy shushed her son and looked at Gavin. “He means to compliment you, my lord. But he’s spent too much time in the garrison quarters. He hardly knows how to speak as a child should.”
“I see,” Gavin said in dismay, looking at the boy. Will’s wide grin showed more than a hint of mischief. “He had best watch his speech in the monastery.”
Dominy nodded vigorously. “He will, he will.”
