Page 24 of The Falcon Laird
He grinned. “Did you hear that? She was wrong. I have never seen a lady more beautiful.”
Christian blushed fiercely, knowing full well that she was thinner than a lake-weed, and surely looked frightful with shorn hair and pale, sunken cheeks.
“You had me worried,” he went on.
She felt more heat rise into her face. The tender sense in his words thrilled her. “I feel stronger.”
“I see that. Are you still fevered? Have you been breathing in hot steam?”
“My fever is gone, Dominy says. My cough is better too. The kettle is just there, and I sat under the tent earlier. And I’ve had my fill of broth and bread. Almost. I am still hungry.”
Gavin smiled, but as a thought crossed his face, he drew his brows together. “I am glad to hear it. If so, there are some matters we must discuss.”
“I must thank you for your help. For rescuing me and seeing me through the illness. It was kind.”
He nodded, watching her. She noticed that his eyes were a deep, rich blue. But another frown shadowed the brilliant color in his eyes. Sensing that something troubled him, she wished she could ease it somehow. She owed him so much. More than steam and herbs had helped her recover, she was certain. Gavin’s warm, compassionate touch had given her strength, almost as if he had worked with the angel of her dream to help her heal. But she could never express that; she could only cherish the dream.
“Lady Christian,” he said, “there is something you must know if you are strong enough to discuss it.”
“I am well enough. Speak, sir.”
He cleared his throat, but looked around and stepped back. Dominy breezed past him, a bowl in her hands. Behind her cameWilliam with a loaf of bread. He had torn off one end to munch on it.
“Broth, with chicken,” Dominy announced, setting the bowl on the table. “And bread fresh from the bakehouse—oh William! Ye’ve eaten some of it.” She turned. “My lady, this is my son, William. Ye’ve not met rightly, since ye’ve been so ill.”
William bowed solemnly, handing her the loaf. “My lady, my sword is yours. I am your knight.”
Christian nearly laughed at the small boy’s earnest demeanor. “Thank you, sirrah!”
“If you like, my lady, I will roll bones with you,” he offered. Dominy gasped, and Sir Gavin stepped forward to rest his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Perhaps not the best game to play in a monastery, Will,” he said, sounding amused. “I am sure that when the lady is stronger, she might prefer chess to gambling with dice.”
“Thank you for the bread, William,” Christian said. “I would be delighted to play something with you later.” With a happy nod, William turned as his mother led him away.
Christian closed her eyes for a moment, hearing again the low chant wafting through the air. “Plainsong,” she said. “It is beautiful. I would like to go to Mass and take communion. Can you escort me there?”
He frowned. “When you are strong enough. But—”
“Would the monks object to a woman sharing communion with them?”
“I will ask. My lady—” He came toward the bed to sit on its edge, his weight sinking the straw-filled mattress. He looked at her somberly. “There is something I must explain.”
She looked up at him expectantly, and decided his eyes were the dark, frosted blue of juniper berries. This Scottish knight had rescued her from a vile prison, carried her back into Galloway,and seen her through a serious illness. Gentle, he was, brave and kind. And handsome.
Perhaps she was besotted with him. Perhaps in love a little, or perhaps she felt newfound gratitude and wellbeing. “What would you tell me?” she asked.
“Just after we left Carlisle, my lady, Robert Bruce and his closest supporters were excommunicated.”
She stared at him. “All?”
“The women as well,” he said, “by order of Pope Clement.”
“Oh! Then I cannot receive communion or go to chapel.” She bit her lip.
“I hardly think God would disapprove if you visited the chapel, but you should not take communion, that is part of it. But you were not cast out for your sins, only because you are close to Robert Bruce. But there is something more—”
“Tell me,” she said, seeing the glint of gold in his hair as he turned his head. Oh, aye, besotted. Excommunication should have struck terror into her very being, yet she felt no danger, no threat, physical or spiritual, in the presence of this man. And not after seeing the angel in her dream. She did not feel the dread the Church thought to assign to her.
