Page 34 of The Falcon Laird
“And what have you seen from me?” he asked softly.
She hesitated, then shook her head. He had shown her kindness—and then betrayal.
“I have no wish to quarrel with you. But you seem to want naught else since you began to heal. You did not seem such avirago when I took you from the cage.” He threw a twig, lance-like, into the fire, where it snapped and popped.
She lifted her chin. “I was—grateful for your help. Then I discovered I am wed to another Sassenach without my consent. This feels like another of King Edward’s schemes to harm the Scots.”
He leaned toward her, eyes glittering. “Did you want to be left undisturbed in the cage at Carlisle? Would you prefer that to marrying me?”
She turned her face away as dark, foul memories of the cage pulled at her, the same images that sometimes ravaged her dreams. Tears leaked down her cheeks and she put up a shaking hand to hide them. Gavin Faulkener had saved her from that horrible prison. She owed him gratitude, not anger and spite. But he was English. She could never trust him. Ever. She tipped her head into her arms.
Gavin had shown her kindness and caring, and she desperately wanted that compassionate man to return. But the sarcasm and anger he had expressed reminded her of Henry. Cousins, they were, knights pledged to a cruel king. Hiding her face, she caught back a sob.
“Christian,” he said. She did not answer. He stood, walked across to the earthen floor, picked up his cloak, and returned to hold out two folded parchments. “One is the charter to Kilglassie. The other is a record of our marriage, which I had the priest write out. I want you to have no doubts.”
Sniffling, she opened the charter first, with its dangling blood-red royal seal. Scanning the French, she could read only a few words. But the writ of marriage was in Latin, which she understood.
Then a memory flooded back: candlelight and shadows, and Gavin’s hand, warm and strong over hers. A man droning on in Latin, a priest. She had clung to Gavin’s hand, answering aye,thinking her sins absolved. But she had answered a marriage vow.
She nodded and laid the pages aside. “Very well. I am wife to another Sassenach knight who intends to destroy the Scottish people, and find the Bruce.”
“Think you I am so foul a villain?”
“I do not know,” she answered, suddenly confused. “You follow the orders of a king who has no right to invade Scotland. Henry and his garrison destroyed so much. I cannot watch that again.”
Gavin gave a harsh laugh. “What could I destroy here?” he asked, waving his hand. “Naught but charred walls. There is no garrison, and none can house here. And I can hardly scourge the countryside in search of Robert Bruce. I cannot even provide food and shelter for us. All we have to live on are some doves and pigeons.”
“Wild doves. They have always been at Kilglassie.”
“Well, I hope you like to eat them,” he snapped, and walked away. Slamming a fist against the wall, he swore under his breath. “We could starve here, Lady Christian, with winter coming. We may freeze without good shelter. There is no fodder nearby for the horses.”
She tipped her head, surprised. “You sound as if you feel responsible for us.”
“Of course I do. Will you call me a Sassenach villain for that?”
“I will not.” She rose to her feet, realizing what she must do. But she been so tired that she had not thought clearly. She went to him. “Come with me. Bring the torch.”
He gave her a puzzled frown, but swirled his cloak over his shoulders and grabbed one of the flaming torches, waiting as Christian wrapped her plaid over her tattered gown.
She led him through a narrow doorway in the side wall into a small chamber once used for storage, though it was now empty,its walls and blackened by smoke. The charred scent irritated her throat and she coughed, then led him to another wall where an oak door, slightly burned, sat in a stone frame.
“Can you push that open?” she asked.
Handing Christian the torch, he shoved his shoulder against the door, which split and fell open. “What is through here?”
“The bakery,” she said.
“With luck, a loaf or two escaped the fire,” he drawled.
“More than that, I think,” she said, as she led him through.
Chapter Nine
“Be careful whereyou walk,” Gavin said as he took the torch from Christian and scanned the larger room, seeing charred wreckage in there too. Why would she want to search the bakery? Sighing, he waited for her to lead the way.
He regretted losing his temper with her. She was fragile still, and they were both tired and frustrated. Apparently her temper did not suffer from weakness; he had to admire the strength of her spirit.
“Those boards there were once two trestle tables,” she said, gesturing. “And look, the cupboards are burned as well.” Raising her skirt hems, she picked her way through a jumble of ragged planks. “The bakery lies below the kitchen, next to the great hall above. A great deal of cooking was done here, in that great hearth.” She indicated a spacious fireplace with baking ovens built into its side walls.
