Page 68 of The Falcon Laird
“I will ask the mason. When I went down there after wee Patrick, one of the rungs was rusted enough to loosen. The stone is cracked there.”
“Could it spoil the water?” Christian asked.
“Hopefully not, but we will watch it. The fire may have weakened the mortar in the well shaft,” Gavin replied. With a nod for Christian and ruffling of Patrick’s head in passing, he left the chamber.
Fergus turned to Christian. “We must find out which of the workmen speaks to Hastings.”
She ran to the window and looked through increasing rain. Near the gate, she saw Gavin approach Hastings. Under cold gray clouds, Gavin stood without a cloak, his hair wet and darkening. As they spoke, one of the laborers walked near them, and Hastings turned to say something.
“A carpenter, a red-haired man,” she said. “Who is that?”
Fergus joined her. “He is one of those going into the forest to cut and split the logs. Out there he will have freedom to meet with Bruce’s men if they are about. English, too. I have seen him talking with my older sons, so he may be playing a double game.”
Christian widened her eyes. “He might bring word to Bruce, and then information to the English against Bruce? What should we do, Fergus?”
He was silent as the carpenter walked away and as Hastings motioned to a soldier to bring his destrier about. “Good!” Fergus said. “They will leave soon. Lady Christian—you wanted to see your cousin. Now may be the time for it.”
She tilted her head warily. “Is that possible?”
He shrugged. “Iain and Donal can arrange it, if it is. Here is a thought. Moira has some heather ale she wants to give you. Tell your husband you will spend Friday next with Moira at our croft.”
“I can do that.” As she spoke, she realized that Gavin and Hastings were arguing about something. Again she wondered where Gavin’s heart and loyalty truly lay in all this. Where hers lay, now that he was part of the changing tableau of her life.
“Say naught of this to your husband. You must protect your king at any price.”
“But—”
“Any price,” he repeated. “We cannot risk a meeting with your royal cousin if Gavin Faulkener might learn of it. We do not know the depth of his English loyalties, nor what promises he has made.”
Listening, she felt swamped by a sudden desperate need—not for the wariness Fergus advised, but for trust. But she did not know how much respect Gavin had for the Scottish cause. His uncle was Scots, his mother had been Scots, he had that in him too. But she simply did not know where he stood.
“Very well, Fergus,” she said.
“It would bea disgrace for Scots—or mere babes!—to find a treasure that you cannot,” Hastings said, gathering his charger’s reins. Rain spattered over his red cloak as he looked down from his high saddle at Gavin, who stood in the muddied courtyard. “If there is anything of value in that well, you had best get it out this very day.”
“There is naught there,” Gavin said flatly. “It is a children’s game.”
“Make certain of it.” Hastings looked over his shoulder. “That carpenter will return with information for you soon. Send word to me immediately.”
“If there is something worth reporting.”
Hastings narrowed his eyes to black slits. “I will send a messenger to the king at Lanercost tomorrow. I should have an answer back in two days. Edward will not be pleased to learn that you have acted on your own regarding the Scotswoman, and he expects a garrison installed here. Be ready to command your king’s men, Faulkener, or ready yourself to be drawn behind a horse’s arse to the gallows and hanged for treachery.”
“Do not dare to call me a traitor,” Gavin said in a low, graveled tone.
“I was at Berwick, so I will call you traitor until your dying day after what you did there.”
“You forgot your deed that day, apparently.”
“I have not forgotten what you did, Faulkener,” Hastings snarled. “Or the trouble you caused me.”
“Then we both claim debts of each other.”
“Gladly.” As Hastings looked past him, Gavin noticed Christian coming toward them, swathed in her cloak and carrying his own.
“Your cloak,” she said, holding it out to Gavin. He nodded thanks and took it from her.
“The perfect wife for the perfect knight,” Hastings said acidly. “Watch your back, Faulkener. She was not exceedingly kind to her first husband. She cannot be trusted. But then, traitors suit each other.”
