Page 63 of The Falcon Laird
“Aye, and in our custody still,” Hastings said curtly. “Two in cage-houses, fairing well, healthy and whole. Bruce’s wife is held in the manor house of Burstwick, and her daughter is in a convent near London. And Lady Christian Seton, another sister of Bruce, is in a convent because Edward recently executed her rebel husband. See, the king has compassion, though you Scots insist that he is an ogre. But none of these ladies will be ransomed or released until Bruce is found.”
“He will not be found,” she said firmly.
Hastings smiled. “Then the Scotswomen will be our prisoners forever. And you will soon join them once again.”
“She is free now,” Gavin said, “and will stay that way.”
Hastings looked at Gavin, his eyes two black slits in his neatly bearded face. “She remains an outlaw and a rebel, and a supporter of Robert Bruce. And bringing her here to Kilglassie shows treasonous intent on your part.”
“My husband only took me home,” Christian said. “What crime is that? But your king expected me to die of my illness, and so it becomes treason for me to live. What folly.”
“Hold your tongue!” Hastings exploded. He came toward her, glowering so intensely that Christian shrank back. “You and Faulkener have planned this together. Have you given him the gold you would not give me?”
“You mean the gold I would not give to your king?” she asked. Anger, and Gavin’s hand on her arm, gave her greater strength. She glared back at him.
“Leave her be, Oliver,” Gavin warned. “She nearly died because of Edward’s treatment of her. Now that she is the wife of an English commander, she has a right to English protection.”
“We offer her none. Edward promised her a pardon only if she told you where that gold was hidden.”
“Gavin knows the truth of the gold,” Christian said.
“What has she told you?” Hastings asked quickly.
“Only what she knows. The gold was destroyed in the fire.”
“I do not believe that.”
“I have been through every part of this castle in the last month,” Gavin said. “The masons have turned nearly every stone over in their repairs. You have seen the extent of the damage for yourself. Naught could have survived that fire. Naught.”
Gavin’s hand slid down to grasp hers as he spoke. She knew then that he would not tell Hastings about the underground room full of provisions and weapons. Straightening her shoulders, she glanced up at her husband. The lean grace of his profile was suddenly very dear to her.
Hastings looked from Gavin to Christian, narrowing his eyes. “There is some treachery here. And I will find it out.”
“Do you not trust me, Oliver?” Gavin asked softly.
“Trust a man who would defend a Scot at the slightest provocation? Never. Remember that I saw you at Berwick.”
“The slaughter of thousands is hardly a slight reason to defend the Scottish people,” Gavin said, his voice cold and hard. “But you cannot understand that, since your sword was the bloodiest of the lot in Berwick.”
“I warned King Edward against placing you here in a strategic position,” Hastings said. “But you will show your true colors here, and he will see the traitor that you are. The Angel Knight will fall from sovereign grace at last, I think.”
“Only the king’s demon would care about that,” Gavin said.
Hastings’s thin lips grew white. “Where is that gold? Edward lays claim to any object that supports the kingship of Scotland.”
“Whatever ancient hoard was hidden here is surely gone,” Gavin replied evenly. “Melted away into the very walls. Bring that word back to Edward.”
“I will,” Hastings said. “And I will bring him news of you and your bride. Be certain of his interest on that matter.”
The door opened then, and Fergus came into the room holding a flaming torch. The warm light brightened the room as he stood near Gavin and Christian.
“Sorry,” Fergus said to Gavin. “Candles are scarce in Scotland. We usually import them from England or Flanders. When you send to the market town next, Gavin Faulkener, remember to order candles.”
“Savage place,” Hastings snapped. “Decent candles cannot be had, bread is unheard of outside the monasteries and the towns, log fires and tanned leather are rare as gold. Even the priests hardly know Latin.”
Fergus filled his chest proudly. “I read and write Latin, English, French, and Gaelic,” he said. “If you’ll allow me to read those letters for you—” Fergus stopped when Hastings sneered openly at him. “Ach, well, I’ll just hold the torch while you go on with your business, then.”
“You will not hold it,” Ormesby said. “Give the thing to Macdouell there, and be gone.”
