Page 94 of The Falcon Laird
“We have been surviving with the help of these supplies and this space,” Gavin said. “The castle was a ruin when I arrived. You have me and these people to thank for the condition it is in now.”
“Your love for the Scots is too damned evident, Faulkener. I warned Edward against placing you here in this crucial location.”
Christian, standing beside Gavin, looked at Hastings. “Sir Gavin has done nothing wrong.”
“I will find proof of it if I want to, my lady,” Hastings replied.
“Even if it is not true?”
He shrugged and shoved the door open and the guards escorted Gavin and Christian inside.
“As yet we have found naught, but I will complete the search you have neglected to do. But since Kilglassie’s small dungeon is damaged, I have no choice but to put hostages here.”
As the torchlight spilled into the room, Gavin saw several faces turned up toward them from the shadows. Fergus and the children, John and Dominy, and a few of the workmen—men who he knew were loyal Scots—were seated on the floor, their hands bound behind them.
“Màthair!” Michaelmas cried out. Christian lurched forward out of the guard’s grip, and stumbled to her knees as she reached out to fold her daughter into her arms. As Christian moved, the golden pendant around her neck swung free, glinting.
“Here! Give that to me,” Hastings said. He broke the cord with a harsh snap. “This must be the piece that Henry once described to me. He said one ancient gold pendant proved the existence of the rest.”
“That has been in my family for generations,” she said.
“It proves naught. Return it to her,” Gavin said.
Clutching the thing in his hand, Hastings turned. “She is a traitor too.”
“The king pardoned her of treason charges,” Gavin said.
“But that order is old now,” Hastings said smoothly.
“Ah. Edward needs small reason to change his mind on a promise if it suits him,” Gavin said.
“And because he once had reason to declare you a traitor and an outlaw, your wife can receive the same treatment. It is Edward’s rule for Scottish women.”
“What of the others?” Gavin asked, looking toward Fergus and the rest. “You cannot mean to charge children, mothers and priests with treason. King Edward may be furious toward the Scots, but even he will not accept those accusations from you.”
“Perhaps not,” Hastings said. “But they will stay here for now. The priest, I suspect, supports Robert Bruce. Your uncle is a Scot, and therefore subject to arrest at any time. These children will develop into rebels unless they are taught otherwise before it is too late. And they have offended me.”
“Offended you?” Gavin asked in surprise.
Hastings pointed toward Will. “That one there has a foul tongue in his head. He knows more curses than I have ever learned. And that loud one, over there”—he indicated Robbie—“called us tailed dogs. I should have cut their tongues out.”
Despite the grave situation, Gavin felt proud of the children, glad their wild curses had bothered Hastings. The man sounded like a whining, malicious child.
Gavin knew of the contention held by French and Scots that English hid canine tails beneath their tunics, so were no better than scavenging mongrels. Few Englishmen took that insult with grace or humor; he had seen the remark cause violent fights. He smiled at Robbie and winked in the shadows.
“When I was a child, my father beat me often to keep me humble,” Hastings said. “Children are evil creatures by nature. Children and women,” he added in a grinding voice, sliding a glance for Christian.
“You did not learn much humility,” Gavin said. “But you have your father’s taste for punishing those who are weaker than you.” He glared at him. “What is it you want, Sir Oliver? Is it the gold—or the praise you will get from King Edward if you find it?”
“He will be pleased. We need that gold.”
“Even if you find it, he will not reward you for it. He will take whatever you have and please himself. He will not spare a thought for you.”
Hastings shot him a sneering glance and turned away to scan the dark corners of the vast chamber. “My men have searched this room thoroughly. We will take what we need from this place”—he waved a hand toward the barrels of grain and wine and chests of household goods that were stacked around the room—“but we have yet to find anything of real value. These supplies will feed and clothe and arm English soldiers. But there is more, I know it. I can feel it.” He whipped around to stare down at Christian. “Are there other rooms here?”
“Only this one,” she answered stiffly.
Hastings dangled the twinkling pendant from his fingers. “Tell me where the rest is hidden, my lady, or by God, you will pay dearly for your silence.” He dropped the thong around his own neck, clutching the pendant. “By the design of this, the treasure must be a sight to behold.”
