Page 78 of The Falcon Laird
“What better place for us to hide than under the heels of our enemies?” Robert asked.
“They can get in and out through the loch entrance without being seen,” Fergus said. “You will never know when they are there, or when they leave.”
“I fear for your life, sire. And my husband’s as well,” she said.
“A traitor to the English is a hero to the Scots,” Fergus pointed out.
“Death makes traitors and heroes equal. But aye, sire. Come by way of the water gate, and we will make sure no one ever knows,” she said.
Chapter Nineteen
“Imust tellGavin,” Christian said.
Fergus looked alarmed. “Heaven save us, he’s a Sassenach, and no matter how much you have come to adore him, you must not tell him who saw this day.” He spoke in low, earnest Gaelic as he guided his sturdy garron pony beside hers.
“It frightens me to think Robert might be discovered at Kilglassie. It is too much of a risk without involving Gavin. He can help.”
“Or he could lose his head if it goes wrong. Best he is innocent of it.” Fergus sent her a somber glance. “The Bruce could have commanded you to allow him to go there, but instead he asked. He already knew about the storage room and lochside tunnel. He and his men can safely hide there and you would never know if he had not mentioned it.”
“Then I wish he had not told me.”
“Christian, you cannot tell Gavin. You owe your loyalty to your king and cousin first. This is a harmless and quick thing, a night or two out of the storm. No one need ever know. Besides, we do not know how far your husband leans to the English side.”
“We do not,” she admitted. “But he may suspect something. Moira and Dominy already took the children back to Kilglassie. He will wonder that I come later, and he will not be pleased.”
“Then pray that he is only concerned about your health in this cold, and not with where you have been this day.”
Christian smiled. “I think he is more inclined to the Scottish cause than we know.”
“I wondered when John said that Gavin’s mother was descended from Celtic princes. Saint Columba himself is part of that ancient line. A man of miracles, Columba was. Your husband could not have finer blood than that.”
“And any Celtic priest would forgive him his English blood in light of that lineage,” she teased.
“Might do. He is a good man and your children will be descendants of holy Columba. I am pleased.” Fergus grinned. “But he should not know the whole truth of today.”
She did not answer, feeling keen tug of differing loyalties, the devotion she felt for her cousin and Scotland, and then the true fire of her soul, newly discovered, kindled by a man with Celtic and English blood. But to which did she owe her fealty? Both, she thought. Both.
The sky overhead was ominous, and the wind sliced like steel. “Kilglassie is not far now. Dark is coming quickly. You ride home to Moira, do. I will be fine from here.”
“I will escort you.”
“But the gale—”
“Ach, I can make it home before then. Come ahead.”
Shivering, she urged her horse onward, Fergus riding in tandem as they guided the ponies toward the castle, passing the twin pools along the burn’s course. Hearing shouts behind her, she turned to see men, armored and mounted on destriers, riding closer. On a glance, she counted well more than a dozen.
“Hastings sent men,” Fergus said. “Why would they go to Kilglassie now, in this weather, this time of day? I do not care for such traveling companions.”
“Hurry!” Christian clicked her tongue to urge her horse ahead. She turned to look again.
The men bore down on them with no sign of slowing. Christian’s mount went faster, grew restless beneath her. She dug in her knees and the garron surged ahead, heavy andpowerful, an animal accustomed to rough terrain but not to speed. Beside her, Fergus’s horse cantered with hers.
“Halt!” someone called. She saw Fergus lean forward, urging his mount to greater speed. She did the same, her cloak beating out behind her, the icy wind biting her cheeks and hands.
But the English chargers, with their longer legs, were closing on them. Had they been in the hills, the garrons would have pulled far ahead, for English horses with armored riders did not fare well on boggy or rocky ground. But here, where the ground rolled on, the larger horses had the advantage.
Seeing the fording place ahead, Christian guided her garron toward the water, and she and Fergus began to cross at the same time, wading through the cold wash. Her pony cleared the opposite bank with a forceful leap, Fergus just behind her, and they surged onward while the rising wind howled and blew.
