Page 4 of The Falcon Laird
Her slight form shifted beneath the wool. Now he saw a tangle of dark hair; long, slender fingers; a narrow foot in a leather boot. He heard her cough.
“God’s bones! Caging a woman?” Gavin glanced at his uncle beside him. “Whatever prompted King Edward to do this? I have never heard of a Christian sovereign who dared to treat a woman in such a manner, no matter her rank.”
“It is similar to a barbaric device I saw in the Holy Land, thirty years ago,” Sir John Keith said. “But from the man called the flower o’ chivalry, it is a muckle savage thing.”
Gavin nodded grimly. “The king’s hatred of the Scots cuts deep. Uncle John, I can well understand why you, as a Scotsman, are horrified by this.”
“Aye, and it is partly why I wanted you to meet me up here.”
Gavin reached out to tug on the small door of the cage, so close to where he stood. Locked. Scanning the unusual structure, he noted that it was barely six feet in length and width, lashed and nailed into place on the outer side of the castle wall. The planked base was nailed to the jutting wooden beams that normally supported hoardings, the timber constructions that protected soldiers during battle. The door had been placed in the opening in the crenellated wall.
The girl coughed again, long and deep, and turned her head. The dark hair sifted away from her face, revealing pale skin and purple shadows beneath her closed eyes.
“Jesu,” Gavin muttered. “She is ill. How long has she been exposed out here?”
“Since September.”
Gavin swore softly. “It is past Yuletide now. What a show of English chivalry. And her crime?”
“Her only crime is being a cousin to the Bruce. She was captured with his other womenfolk in the Highlands. King Edward has declared them rebels and traitors.”
“He knows the principles of proper conduct in war. Noncombatants, especially women, merit protection and charity.”
“Edward ignores the rules o’ chivalric conduct when it suits him. He claims the Scots are under English jurisdiction and not a separate sovereign land.” John looked at Gavin. “Edward had other cages made at Roxburgh and Berwick for Bruce’s sister and the young countess of Buchan. Did you not hear of it?”
“I knew royal women were captured. I did not know the rest of it.” Gavin set his mouth in a grim line.Berwick.Just the name of the town sent a chill down his spine. Within Berwick’s walls ten years ago, he had witnessed enough savagery to change him from an idealistic young knight to an outspoken traitor. Hisactions had cost him much. He had spent years redeeming his reputation to gain back what he had lost.
Now, looking at this Scotswoman, he did not care to have the esteem of a king who would do such a thing to a woman.
He glanced at his uncle. “We only arrived at Carlisle this morning, and yet you’ve learned all this, and have been up here most of the day, from what the sentry told me.”
“I saw the wee lass like this, and could not leave her. I thought you’d want to know, but you were at Lanercost Abbey in audience with the king and that pack o’ French bishops we brought here. Truth be told, I could not bear another moment with those mitre-heads. They complained all the way from Paris like spoiled bairnies.”
“It is tedious to be an ambassador, for certain. You were clever to ride away from our traveling party to wait here at Carlisle.”
“Edward would not approve of a Scot in your entourage, even your own uncle. It will be a relief to return to France, where they welcome Scots.”
Gavin loosened the leather thongs at his throat and shoved back his chain mail hood. His hair, dark gold, blew across his eyes, and he pushed it back. “We will not return to France for a while. I’ve decided to stay the winter. The king owes me good English land for my services to the crown. I mean to ask payment while I am here.”
“Aye.” John sighed. “But seeing this lass, I regret spending years in English service if it makes me part o’ this.”
“So your old Scottish soul yearns to fight in support of Robert Bruce?”
“You’re half Scots by my own sister. Will you trust a king who would do this to a lass?”
Gavin shook his head, watching the cage. The Scottish girl reached out a thin hand to pull her plaid close. The cold wind stirred her hair. The tips of her fingers were red with the chill.
Warm layers of wool and quilted linen beneath his chain mail and cream-colored surcoat shielded him from the cold. His dark blue mantle, lined with fur, whipped around his legs. He wished he could spread his cloak over the girl. “Edward sets her out here like some bit of flesh bait. A lure for the king of Scots.”
“Aye. Robert Bruce is in hiding, a renegade since the spring. Edward cages her and the other captured Scotswomen as a taunt.”
He gave a grim nod. “What do you know of this one?”
“Widow to an English knight. Father and brothers dead—they were rebels who ran with William Wallace and later with the Bruce. The lass inherited a castle in Galloway that Edward sorely wanted. Still does.”
“Does she have a name?”
“Lady Christian MacGillan.”
