Page 3 of The Falcon Laird
One man dismounted and threw himself on her, pinning her to the ground. The massive weight of his body in armor and padding was crushing. She could hardly move or breathe, though she bucked and cried out beneath him.
“Let her up.” The voice above her head cut like cold steel.
The soldier came off her, grunting, and jerked her to her feet. Her hair covered her face in wild dark ropes until she tossed back her head defiantly to face a tall knight in a red surcoat.
Dhia, she thought; Dear God! Of all the English commanders who had visited her husband at Kilglassie, this man, Oliver Hastings, was the most vicious, or so it was said. A priest had once told her that when King Edward turned his wrath toward Scotland, the devil had sent Oliver Hastings to carry out the king’s word to the letter.
“Ah. Lady Christian.” Hastings stared at her, dark eyes narrowed, mouth grim. The neat black beard edging his jaw gave his face a lean precision. “How interesting to find you here with Bruce’s women. I saw Kilglassie Castle. Bruce favors scorching Scottish earth, I hear.”
She raised her chin. “King Edward has no cause to invade Scotland. We have cause to resist.”
“Soon you can tell the king your pretty speech. And he will recognize you for a traitor.” He drew off his leather gloves, slapping them against his right palm. His eyes were flat and dark. “King Edward has declared that the Bruce’s women are to be treated as outlaws. No mercy. Any man may rob, violate or murder the lot of you without reprisal.”
Christian’s heart thundered in her chest. “No reprisal here on earth,” she said low.
“That may be. But you are without protection now, my lady. Still, you will be safe in my care, provided I can rely on your compliance.”
Panicking, she stood silent, waiting.
“Kilglassie is not far from Loch Doon Castle, my newest holding. We took the place from Bruce sympathizers several weeks ago.”
Christian drew in a sharp breath, wondering what had become of Michaelmas, yet unable to ask. She did not want Hastings to know that her child was staying so near his property.
“Before Kilglassie was burned, I trust you moved whatever was of value.” He looked at her expectantly.
“What do you want?” she asked. “Say it out.”
“Kilglassie holds a treasure that supports the throne of Scotland. King Edward wants that hoard—he has the right, as king of both England and Scotland, or so it should be.”
Her heart beat hard, more in anger than fear. “My own husband searched and could not find it,” she snapped. “Why would I give it over to you?”
“He was a fool. I am not. And once the king discovers that you were the one burned that castle, he will be furious. He will demand the gold you kept there. Remember,” he added softly, “how much you need my protection. Tell me where it is hidden.”
“The treasure of Kilglassie has not been seen for generations.”
“I said I am no fool, my lady.”
“And I am no liar.”
He smiled. “A rebel who does not lie? A wonder indeed. That treasure exists and you hold the truth to it. King Edward lays claim to whatever relics support the throne of Scotland.”
“Robert Bruce has the true claim to the throne, and so the right to Kilglassie’s gold.”
He sighed. “Very well, keep your secret for now. But remember, rebellion earns its due.” He held out a hand. “Come with me.”
Christian’s breath caught, pinioned by a cold, piercing blade of fear. “What will Edward do?”
Hastings gave a stiff smile, his hand outstretched. “My lady. Have you ever imagined hell?”
Chapter One
January, 1307
Carlisle Castle, England
“Abird,” Gavinsaid thoughtfully. He gazed over the parapet edge. “A small bird in a cage.”
Fog drifted through the boards of the square cage, a timber and iron enclosure, attached to the outside wall of the parapet. Inside, he could see the form of the woman wrapped in a blue plaid and huddled on the wooden floor. She lay still as a statue, reminding Sir Gavin Faulkener of some gruesome portrayal of death or the plague. Sad, he thought. How cruel.
