by Susan King
“Many Scotsmen care more for freedom than safety.”
“I can understand it. But my wife and children, and my gear and my table, are safest kept in England.”
“Children?” Gawain glanced at him.
“We’ll have one by the end o’ the year, Maude says.” Laurie grinned, quick and fresh, his cheeks pinkening.
Gawain smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Good news! No wonder you like to keep on the safe side.”
“Aye so. What of yourself? I heard you took to the hills with renegades. I thought you had joined your own at last. Yet now you have declared anew to Edward again.”
“Laurie, no one knows of my birth here but you. ’Tis best you forget it if you feel inclined to speak of it aloud.”
“Pray pardon, Gawain,” Laurie murmured soberly. “I know you have English property to protect, though I didna think ’twas a large holding. Did Henry decide to grant you something more, though you are not his true eldest son?”
“ ’Tis not the land that I think to protect, but the family.”
“Ah,” Laurie said, nodding his understanding. “Ah.”
Gawain rode in silence beside his friend. He had known Laurence Kirkpatrick since they had attended lessons together at a school taught by monks in Northumberland. They had squired together, and had been knighted in London under Edward Plantagenet’s sword in the same ceremony.
Long ago, when they had been young boys, Gawain had confided the secret of his Scottish birth to Laurie, his close friend. At times, Laurie seemed full of bluster and reckless humor. Yet Gawain knew him for an honorable man, and trusted him implicitly.
“What of your new assignment in the north?” Laurie asked. “I hear you have been given command of a garrison.”
“ ’Tis temporary only, while the current commander is out chasing Bruce in the hills,” Gawain said. The writ for his assignment had been handed to him by De Soulis that morning. So far he had scanned it only briefly, but he was stunned by the conditions and restrictions placed upon him.
“Do you know the details of it yet?”
“Not all of them. King Edward wants a written report of the lay of the land. I am to ride about, scribble notes, collect them together, and deliver them to the king’s army commander. As for the rest—well, this will not be an easy post, or easy tasks.”
Laurie laughed skeptically. “I hear one of the tasks given to you is impossible!”
“Ah, the one where I am to tame a girl according to my whim, eke an oath of loyalty out of her, and display her as the captive Swan Maiden of Scotland?” He pinched his lips together sourly.
“Och, aye, ’twill win a lady’s affection,” Laurie drawled.
“And then I must bring her to court as an example of Scottish obedience, making sure she spits out that oath of fealty for the king. Just as I had to do,” he added darkly.
“You didna gain the king’s forgiveness this last time, my friend. He means to make an example of you.”
“It seems so.”
“And all this is to be done while you garrison the girl’s own castle and take the lay of her lands?” Laurie shook his head. “Under the eye of that black dog, the sheriff?”
“I hope not, for I have old arguments with him.”
“Easy to do,” Laurie said. “You know what they say of him.”
“Only that he is the king’s Master of Swans in the north, and sheriff of some small Scottish shire.”
“They say,” Laurie began, leaning sideways and lowering his voice, “that his black armor has some spell of invincibility over it. That he practices dark arts to keep it so.”
Gawain wrinkled his brow skeptically. “I have heard no such rumor, and I rode with him years ago, when he wore black armor—this suit, or some other, I do not know. But ’tis absurd.”
“Look at that mail—have you ever seen the like?”
Narrowing his eyes as he turned to look at the sheriff, Gawain studied what he could of the chain mail beneath the man’s surcoat—the sleeves, hood, lower hem, and leggings. The links shone like polished jet. “It looks blackened with grease and lampblack to me,” he said.
“I have heard,” Laurie added, “that he traded his soul for that suit, made in some foreign place.”
“ ’Tis well made, and no doubt expensive. But not worth a man’s soul. ’Tis a foolish rumor you would do well to ignore.”
“They say,” Laurie went on quietly, “that never a point can pierce it, or ever has. The man canna be wounded.”
Gawain shook his head. “If such armor were to be had for a decent price, we would all be wearing it.”
“Well,” Laurie said, “he looks of a size with you. Since he has already paid for it, you should borrow it from him if you ever go into battle. I couldna get my arms into it, myself. Pity.” He sighed.
Gawain grinned. “Sir Laurie, I have missed you.”
“Aye, and now tell me this—is the girl’s property worth all this annoyance?”
“Hardly. Elladoune once belonged to her father, but ’twas forfeited years ago. She has no hereditary claim to it, since she has older brothers in Robert Bruce’s army. ’Twill never be mine, if that is what you are wondering.”
“I see.” Laurie glanced at him. “So you must train her to speak before the king, or lose your head? Unpleasant.”
“Risky, more than unpleasant. She is a bit wild, and comes from true rebel stock. The task is unsavory … and the castle is too damned close to Glenshie,” Gawain added in a low voice.
Laurie glanced over his shoulder at the sound of hoofbeats. “Ah, look. Here comes Sir Soul-less,” he drawled.
Gawain turned to see Walter de Soulis riding toward them. He noticed, also, that Juliana slept in the jostling cart, her collar and chains glinting in the light. She leaned against one of the hay bales carried for extra fodder. All around her were piled sacks of provisions, weapons, and armor. She looked lost and vulnerable amid the trappings of war.
“Avenel,” De Soulis said, guiding his horse to ride beside Gawain. “I trust you have read over the king’s writ.”
“Close enough to wonder why I have been given this assignment,” Gawain said.
“Were I you, I would not wonder about that. I would be grateful that my head is still on my shoulders.”
“There is that,” Laurie commented. De Soulis glared at him.
“The king’s writ does not state how long I am to be posted at Elladoune,” Gawain said. “What do you know of that garrison?”
“A hundred and fifty to two hundred men have been housed there for several years,” De Soulis answered. “Just now, the castle is all but deserted. The garrison commander has taken his force into the hills. The king ordered a thousand men to hunt Bruce.”
“More than a thousand will be needed,” Laurie said pleasantly. “Two thousand, even three. Even then Robert Bruce will not be easy to track—vanished into the mists, he will be.”
“You must have some duties elsewhere, sir,” De Soulis said. “Kirkpatrick, is it? Sent to us from Sir Aymer de Valence?”
“Aye. For now, according to your own orders, I am to guard the lady. As you can see, I am doing so. I will let you two near her, but no one else can come so close.” He smiled.
De Soulis slitted his eyes and turned to Gawain. “No doubt you heard of the defeat of Bruce’s troops at Methven a few weeks ago,” he said. “Bruce fled with a handful of men.”
“I heard so.” Gawain had also heard that the battle had been an easy victory for the English and a devastation for the small Scottish army. “Then I am to take over Elladoune until the commander returns from his foray.”
“Watch over it, aye. The commander of the king’s armies, Aymer de Valence, is heading for Perth with near three thousand men. He is at Roxburgh now. We will be there by late today.”
“I thought we were going higher into Scotland than that.”
“First we must confer with the king’s military advisors for a few days. De Valence
will decide who will hold Elladoune permanently. Until it is settled, you will have to do.”
Gawain flared his nostrils. He suddenly understood the value of silence as a weapon, which Juliana wielded daily. He stared at De Soulis until the other looked away.
“I am living at Dalbrae Castle in Glen Fillan,” De Soulis went on. “ ’Tis near enough to Elladoune to keep an eye on it.”
“Sir Gawain can manage, I am sure,” Laurie said. “After all, he has me for his next in command.”
“You?” Gawain asked. De Soulis looked equally surprised.
“According to my renewed writ of knight service, I am to be second in command there,” Laurie answered. “Aymer de Valence himself gave me the post. I have a copy of the writ with me if you wish to see it.” He fumbled at his belt pouch and produced the parchment, waving it briefly at De Soulis.
“Good,” Gawain said. “We need someone stalwart and loyal at Elladoune.” De Soulis scowled, but nodded.
“ ’Tis an honor to serve under Sir Gawain Avenel,” Laurie said sternly. “Indeed, all the Avenels are known for fealty.”
“So they say, but I hear there is one bad apple.” De Soulis spurred his horse to ride ahead, where he fell into pace with the knights in the lead.
“Coward,” Laurie growled, glaring after him. “Stay around after you deliver an insult, and sip the brew you stirred.”
Gawain looked at Laurie. “You did not say you were sent to Elladoune.”
“Had nae chance yet, with that black crow around. My wife is a cousin of De Valence,” Laurie answered. “When I heard yesterday that you were to take over a garrison in Scotland, I went to him and requested the post, and got my gear together quick as I could. Barely had time to write Maude a note and find a messenger.”
Gawain nodded. “I am in your debt, Laurie.”
“You owe me, and I am nae shy about asking for favors.”
“Whatever you want, ask it.” Gawain glanced behind them at Juliana. She sat slumped and asleep in the cart, the chains swaying at her throat, her feathered hat askew. Her fragility was so evident that he felt a fierce urge to protect her, and get her away from the escort if possible.
His hand drifted to rest upon his belt pouch, where the key was tucked. “I will ask a favor of you myself.”
“Certes. Shall I harry a black crow for you?”
Gawain shook his head. “Just help me protect a wild swan.”
“Done,” Laurie answered.
Chapter Ten
“Still quiet, my lady?” De Soulis murmured as he maneuvered his horse beside her cart. He spoke low so that only Juliana could hear him. Even Gawain, who usually stayed close, was out of hearing range.
She sent him a little glare. Her head felt woolly from the wine. Tempted to point that out to him, she said nothing.
“I wonder about this silence of yours,” the sheriff went on. “They say that the Swan Maiden of Elladoune does not talk because of a magic spell over her. But I suspect ’tis a spoiled temperament—or a need to keep secrets. Rebellious secrets.”
She turned her head away and fisted her hands in her lap. Silence was the only protection she could provide for herself. No matter what the English did to her, they could not touch her innermost self—nor could they learn what she knew about the rebels.
De Soulis leaned toward her. “Some speak of witchcraft,” he said. “Such accusations are best avoided, so I urge you to speak up in your own defense.”
She bowed her head and fingered the golden chain. If only she were back in Scotland, she thought. At home in the Highlands, witchcraft was a rare accusation, unlike in England.
“Very well,” he murmured. “Keep your secrets for now. Someday we will talk, you and I.” His tone was hard-edged. He urged his horse forward to join the knights riding in the lead.
She glanced at Gawain, who seemed deep in conversation with Sir Laurence, the knight who usually rode beside him. Her husband seemed unaware of De Soulis’s threats to her—or did he know, indeed, and do nothing?
She sighed. Gawain Avenel was the stuff of dreams for some, she thought—a perfect, courteous knight, handsome and strong, noble and skilled. He had taken risks to help her twice now, and she owed him much for that. But she could not trust him, no matter his courtesy. Their marriage was no more than a mockery.
She looked out over the low green hills of the English countryside. Her natural physical energies had flagged because of the herbed wine and the stress of these last few weeks, and her spirit had weakened too. She felt desperate to go home; only that would fully restore her.
But she wondered if she would be safe at home. Her Swan Knight had appeared twice now—years ago, and last night—to save her when she faced danger. Yet he had chained her last night again, and he had not prevented this humiliation. Somehow it suited his purpose, whatever it was, to keep her a captive.
Perhaps, like De Soulis, he too wanted to know her secrets.
One secret she kept secure with the rest: she had loved the Swan Knight for years. Formed of dreams and long in the weaving, that love would not save her now, nor could she reveal it.
Tears gathered in her eyes, and she bowed her head. Soon the soporific effect of the wine, still powerful in her body, took her into heavy sleep again.
The escort traveled along the Roman road leading north from Newcastle. As they drew near a town, farmers and harvesters stopped in the fields to stare at the king’s knights. Some clustered along the roadside with infants in their arms, and older children ran beside the procession.
Gawain noticed that more people had crossed the fields to watch the military escort pass. They pointed at the strange sight of a lady chained in gold and dressed like a swan.
De Soulis cantered to the head of the train and raised his arm. “Behold the Swan Maiden of Elladoune!” he shouted. “See what befalls the Scots when they rebel against King Edward! The English can subdue even one who is said to have magic about her. Even she has submitted to English justice!”
Gawain swore, low and fierce. “What the devil—”
“Witch!” someone called, and a clod of earth struck Juliana in the back. She looked stunned and confused. Then another bit of mud caught her in the cheek, and she wiped it away with the back of her manacled hand. She lifted her head high.
“The Swan Maiden of Elladoune!” De Soulis called again. “Hooked and netted in Scotland, and taken to King Edward! We have clipped her wings, as you see! Is she magic, as the Scots say? Or is she a rebel deserving of punishment?”
“Damn him,” Laurie growled. Gawain turned to see another clump of earth hit Juliana square in the chest. She gasped softly with the blow. He swore and rounded his horse to face the crowd, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Do not dare disturb the king’s peace!” Gawain shouted. A few people stepped back. Two boys stopped, hiding their hands behind their backs. He glared at them and turned Gringolet.
On the other side of the road, Laurie cantered up and down as Gawain did, and other knights soon followed suit. Riding at the head of the escort, De Soulis continued to call attention to the Swan Maiden of Elladoune.
Another clod of mud sailed toward the cart. Laurie swung his horse around and rode back toward some boys who held mud balls in their hands. They scattered, shrieking, as he bore down on them.
“Enough,” Gawain growled. He rode hard to the head of the escort. “What the devil is this about?” he snapped as he drew close.
“King’s orders,” De Soulis answered.
“You are a sheriff, sir, not a mummer with a wandering show. You shame this lady. ’Tis unbefitting to a knight.”
“We are not all such exemplary knights as the Avenels,” De Soulis sneered.
“That has naught to do with it. The lady is my wife.”
“Then you make the announcements. My throat is parched.”
Gawain sucked in a breath. “No more of it,” he said.
“I am in charge of this escort so long as we a
re in England. If the king wants her displayed, so be it. According to this writ, you do not have charge of her until we reach Scotland.”
“You do not seem to take my meaning,” Gawain growled. “There will be no more announcements about her.”
De Soulis glanced at him. “A threat? Are you loyal to the girl already? She must have proved a fine morsel last night.”
“Have a care,” Gawain warned. “You speak of my wife.”
“Hot to defend her, are you?” De Soulis slid him a sidelong glance. “I remember you, Avenel. You were at Elladoune when her father’s castle was taken. You helped some rebels escape. Did you help her that night too?”
“I do not recall. ’Twas long ago.”
“Tell me—has she spoken to you?”
“Nay,” Gawain lied.
“They say of her in Scotland that she is a creature of enchantment, and can change into a swan when she chooses.”
“And they say,” Gawain countered, “that you wear bewitched armor.”
“Idiots. That rumor was begun long ago by some lackbrain, and haunts me to this day.”
“And so for the lady,” Gawain said. “She has been raised in an abbot’s household. She leads a pious life, I understand.”
“I know Abbot Malcolm, and you will come to know him too. He seems a mild and reverent man. I wonder sometimes if he is a fool—or a clever rebel. Either way he bears watching. You may as well be made aware of this, since you are going to Elladoune.”
“An abbot acting as a rebel? Interesting,” Gawain drawled.
“Some Scots clergy are more fierce than Scots warriors. The brethren at Inchfillan seem biddable enough, though. I asked the abbot and his monks to tend Elladoune in the garrison’s absence, but I told my own men to watch them. If there is any suspicious activity, the trap will close on them all.” He smiled. “The girl bears watching too.”
“I doubt she is capable of mischief.”