The Swan Maiden

by Susan King

  “And so I ask again, what is her intention here?”

  Gawain frowned. He appreciated the changes at Elladoune. Fresh linen for the beds, fragrant heather and myrtle in the mattresses and pillows, clean rushes on the floors, good food on the table. His clothing was clean, and a steaming bath had been readied in a tub in the bedchamber the other night.

  The horses were exercised and groomed each day, and armor and weapons had been cleaned with sand and repaired. After supper in the evenings, the old harper had played poignant tunes that had made Gawain’s throat constrict to hear them. The music was achingly reminiscent of his childhood.

  He had ridden out nearly every day to search the hills, and made observations about the terrain in his head. Each evening, back in Elladoune, he recorded his notations on parchment.

  As yet he had found no trace of Glenshie. Although he had been tempted to ask some of the MacDuffs if they knew where the place was located, he had spoken little to Uilleam MacDuff or his wife Beithag. Uilleam seemed to pause now and then to study him, but never expressed his thoughts.

  Every day, Gawain took time to thank them for the fine work they were doing, and complimented Beithag on the excellent food she prepared with Mairead and the others. And he made sure to mention the care that all of them took to improve the castle.

  Though he wanted to ask about Glenshie and mention his childhood, his Gaelic was no longer good enough for a long conversation. He could not reveal who he was—even to Juliana. At times, the urge was overpowering, especially when they lay in their bed, enclosed and sated, loving and trusting of each other. Even so, he could not speak of it.

  He was happy, God forgive him. He was content and falling more in love with her. He did not want to disturb that joy. Knowing that she would be ecstatic to learn who he was, he looked forward to telling her. Although it might be a point of pride, he had to find Glenshie first.

  Once she knew of his origins, Juliana might expect him to change allegiance and become a rebel and a traitor. He could not risk that happening again. He loved his family at Avenel and owed them much. And for now, he was grateful that Juliana cared for him even though she thought him a Sassenach born and bred.

  “Aye,” Laurie said, still assessing the castle with his gaze. “Your lady wife has clear goals here. She has transformed this place, filling it with comforts and children and willing hands to work. She has made it into a home, man. And how you are going to explain that to the commander of the king’s army when he sends a garrison here, I canna imagine.”

  “Let alone how I am going to explain how it has become filled with Scots,” Gawain remarked. And my own Scottish kin as well, he thought; one more reason to keep his own goal secret.

  “A quandary indeed. What will you do?”

  “I had best think of something,” Gawain answered as they walked toward the tower keep. “De Soulis will have arrived by now, and I must ride to Dalbrae to talk to him. Juliana pleads with me often to free her brothers.”

  “I will go with you if you like. Well, my friend—a week has passed. Do you suppose, since tomorrow is the seventh day,” Laurie said, “your lady will rest from making miracles?”

  Gawain snorted his disdain for the pun and ran up the steps, eager, as always, to see his wife.

  Juliana lay enveloped in silence, warmth, and darkness inside the curtained bed. The only sound was the easy flow of Gawain’s breathing. She cuddled next to him, and felt his arm encircle her, even in his sleep. His whiskered chin lay against her cheek, and she turned to kiss him. He slept on.

  Gray light filtered through the curtains, and she sighed to see it. Dawn was coming, and she should rise, for there was much to be done. Today the floors in the tower rooms were to be scrubbed clean and sanded to remove the black marks of boots and spurs. Teig and some of the older children would whitewash another part of the inner curtain wall. And Beithag had promised to send someone back to the caves to collect lengths of plaid stored there, which Juliana wanted to hang upon the walls in the great hall and bedchamber.

  She looked forward to the warmth of color on those plain walls at last. Elladoune was no longer the home she remembered, and she knew it would never be the same. But this week she had begun to hope that a home could be made here after all.

  A home, with Gawain. She snuggled against him. Her hopes were perhaps unrealistic, but in the quiet of their enclosed bed, dreams seemed possible. Elladoune could be a haven again, a loving place, where she could live with her husband, her friends, and her brothers back from captivity. And someday, she thought, children of her own.

  A fragile dream, she knew, easily shattered if the king’s commanders decided to send a new garrison here. She prayed that they would not. English soldiers were needed elsewhere just now.

  If her dreams were fully realized, the English would never garrison Elladoune. And Gawain would never leave it.

  She wrapped her arms around him in the dark, and pressed against his warmth and firmness. A wave of love and desire poured through her—desire edged with poignancy, for although she had fallen in love with the Swan Knight of her early dreams, he was still a Sassenach.

  Yet in their bed, she could keep hold of her hopes and joys. Here, she was home … and he was home for her heart. She kissed his cheek, and settled her lips upon his, and woke him slowly with gentle hands.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dalbrae, high on a grassy hill ringed by a ditch and earthworks, was a fortress even at first glance, its gate sealed, its battlements guarded by soldiers. Gawain had inquired at the gate often enough to be admitted this time without question. He and Laurie, who had ridden out with him, entered and dismounted.

  Unlike his previous visits, this time they were told that the sheriff was there and would see them. Grooms led their horses away, and Gawain and Laurie followed a young page to the great hall inside the massive central keep.

  As they stepped into the large chamber, Gawain was startled to hear a high scream. It emanated from somewhere in the gallery, a walled area protruding above and extending the width of the entrance wall. Gawain glanced upward, but saw no one through the windows that pierced the wooden wall. Another scream sounded, followed by thunks and shrieks.

  “God save us, they are tormenting the wee laddies,” Laurie muttered, looking around. “We should have come sooner.”

  Gawain frowned, but said nothing. Walter de Soulis rose to his feet from a chair beside a huge stone hearth and waited. He greeted them somberly and indicated seats on a bench beside a stout oaken table. Dressed in black serge and silver trim, rather than the distinctive black armor he usually wore, the sheriff sat in his carved chair. The shrewdness of his narrowed eyes was evident in the well-lit chamber.

  Alarming noises continued in the gallery. The sheriff beckoned to the page hovering near the door. “Wine,” he snapped.

  When three wooden goblets were filled with claret, De Soulis drank of his own, then wiped a hand across his mouth. Gawain cast a look at Laurie and cleared his throat.

  “Sir Sheriff,” he said. “We are here to discuss several matters, but first I must ask after my wife’s brothers … what the devil is that noise?” he finished abruptly as a horrifying scream rang out into the room.

  “That,” Walter said, “will drive me mad.”

  “And us with it, but what is that infernal commotion?” Laurie demanded. “Are you dragging them on a rack up there?”

  “It is the sound of my wife’s indulgence,” Walter muttered, and downed more wine. A clacking sound echoed through the hall.

  “Apparently you have some reason to hold these boys hostage from their family,” Gawain said. “But now that I am wed to their sister, and commander at Elladoune, I expect you to release them into my custody.”

  “I cannot do that, much as I might like to.”

  “They are babes, not criminals. Give them over to me.”

  “Babes? You do not know them, I think.”

  A shuttered window in the upper gallery,
meant to allow musicians to be heard playing, smacked open. Gawain looked up.

  A small, blue-covered behind emerged from the opening, and a back, shoulders, and legs thrust outward after it. A wiry boy in a blue tunic, legs bared, clung to a rope securely knotted to a rafter in the hall, its length pulled inside the gallery.

  The boy pushed out of the window opening, swung outward into the great hall, and dangled for a moment waving a wooden sword at the three men gaping at him from below. On the return swing of the rope, he smacked the soles of his bare feet into the gallery wall, landed deftly, and looked up.

  “Three of them,” he called, “armed and ready!”

  Gawain was pushing to his feet until he saw that the boy was not only safe, but already scrambling up the knotted rope to clamber back into the gallery. Beside him, Laurie jumped up.

  “Saints in heaven!” Laurie cried, crossing the room quickly. By the time he stood under the gallery, the boy had disappeared through the window. Another pair of arms appeared, belonging to a smaller boy than the first. A little bow and a blunted arrow pointed downward.

  “Get back,” Walter said dryly. “They will shoot.”

  “English dogs! Surrender!” the small bowman cried.

  “Come and get me, Highland pig!” Laurie boomed.

  A stunned silence followed. The bow pulled back and the shutters smacked shut.

  Gawain rubbed his hand over his jaw to hide a grin while Laurie took his seat again. “A good game,” the Lowlander said gruffly. “Played it with my own brothers, as bairns.”

  “I take it,” Gawain said to De Soulis, “that my young brothers-by-law are allowed some freedom at Dalbrae.”

  “So I discovered when I returned yesterday,” De Soulis replied. “You, boy,” he told the page, “find my lady wife and tell her to bring the Lindsays here.” The boy nodded and hastened away.

  Gawain slid Laurie a quick look. Laurie lifted a brow.

  “How goes it at Elladoune?” De Soulis asked. “Have you prepared those notes on the territory for Sir Aymer de Valence?”

  “I am working on that.”

  “Bring them soon.” De Soulis poured himself more wine. “I hear you have allowed a bunch of ruffians and rebels to enter Elladoune. Why?” he asked brusquely.

  “I invited some of the locals into the castle,” Gawain said. “They provide willing hands for the daily tasks. I arrived there with but one man and my wife, and no one to tend to the cooking, the chores, or the livestock.”

  “The monks of Inchfillan can do that for you,” De Soulis answered. “And the fact that you arrived with one man is but your own damned fault. I will report that to the king. Do not think I have forgotten. I have had no time to pen the report. Your behavior was out of bounds.”

  “I took my wife away from your escort for her safety. I intend to cooperate with the garrisoning of Elladoune and fulfill my duties as constable there.”

  “Then why do you allow rebels inside there?”

  “Homeless women, children, and a few old men,” Laurie said, “are hardly dangerous malcontents.”

  “They undoubtedly have connections with the rebels who hide in the forests,” De Soulis answered. “My men have spent weeks searching them out and burning their nests—and you take them under your wing!”

  “Where did you expect them to go?” Gawain asked, bitter and low. He stared at De Soulis.

  “They should flee indeed, but not into one of our own castles. You will have to turn them out again.”

  “They are servants at Elladoune. There is naught wrong with that. Any garrison commander I have ever known has taken advantage of the local populace to maintain the castle household. Surely you have a host of Scottish servants here.”

  De Soulis grunted. “None of them are rebels.”

  “What proof do you have that my servants are?”

  “Those are the same people who have been running about the forests and hills at night. We chased them down and found a site where they were constructing a war machine. Your servants are not simple, I warn you.”

  “Interesting,” Gawain remarked. In truth, he did not find it hard to imagine at all. He slid a glance at Laurie, who was listening intently.

  “Some of my men were recently patrolling in my absence,” De Soulis went on. “They saw the people entering Elladoune’s gates and recognized some of them. My sergeant at arms rode to Inchfillan to speak with the abbot on some minor matter—they had a fire in the bell tower and asked for assistance in rebuilding it. The Scottish Church never seems to have the means to help their own parishes and abbeys.”

  “I noticed the damage,” Gawain said. “I told Abbot Malcolm that the sheriff, as a king’s man, would probably be willing to support the needs of the Church.”

  “The king encourages our goodwill with the Church here, though some of them are rascals. My seneschal approved a gift of lumber,” Walter said, waving a hand as if it mattered little. “The abbot admitted to my sergeant at arms that these people you call your servants have been living homeless and indigent near Loch nan Eala. Whether or not the abbot knows it, they are rebels. Allowing them inside Elladoune is foolhardy.”

  “Better they are where I can keep an eye on them,” Gawain said, “than building war machines in the forest.”

  De Soulis frowned. “You cannot keep them under control without a force of men.”

  “Courtesy is enough. These are good folk, glad for food and shelter, and eager to help. I sense no spirit of trouble among them. Sir Sheriff—the other reason we came here is to receive our orders regarding the garrison for Elladoune. I trust you have that information now.”

  “I met with the king’s commanders in Perth, but that decision has not been made yet. Word will arrive shortly, I am sure. Ah, my dear,” De Soulis said suddenly, rising to his feet.

  Gawain looked around to see a woman enter the hall, ushering two boys with her. His gaze was drawn immediately to the boys. They were dressed in matching blue tunics and yellow surcoats, their hair shorn short, their feet bare and dirty. Both were clearly Juliana’s kin by similarity of features and coloring.

  The smaller one was fine-boned and fair, with golden curls and wide, pale blue eyes, while his elder brother—who had swung out on the rope—had light brown hair and the same deep sapphire eyes as his sister. Both wore wooden swords in their belts, and both scowled furiously.

  The woman, Gawain noted, was plump, curvaceous, and brilliantly colored in a fitted red gown that emphasized her big breasts and swaying hips. Her face was pretty, full, and rosy, with large brown eyes and full lips. The hair barely tamed beneath a sheer white veil was brown and curly.

  With a boy’s hand in each of hers, she lowered in a curtsy that belonged in a royal court. “My lord,” she said, her voice light as a girl’s. “You summoned us.”

  “Lady Matilda,” De Soulis said. He introduced Gawain and Laurie. “My dear, Sir Gawain is wed to the boys’ sister and has come to see them.”

  “My lady, greetings.” Gawain stood. “What are your names?” he asked the boys.

  “Alec Lindsay, and this is Iain,” the oldest said, eyeing Gawain suspiciously. He put a slender hand on the hilt of his wooden sword, the gesture of a wary knight more than a child.

  “I am Gawain.” He half sat on the edge of the table so that he was close to their level. “I am your sister’s husband now.”

  “Our sister doesna have a husband,” Alec replied. While he spoke, Iain half hid behind Lady Matilda’s ample hips and eyed the sheriff nervously.

  “She does now,” Gawain said. “Are you well, lads?”

  “We are,” Alec said, chin high.

  “She makes us wear Sassenach gowns,” Iain complained, looking at Lady Matilda. “She took our plaidies, and cut our hair, and said we were savages and must learn manners.”

  “But she gives us sweetmeats when we are courteous,” Alec added. “How fares our sister, sir? Is she well?”

  “Very well. She would like you to come ho
me to Elladoune.”

  “We dinna live at Elladoune,” the little one ventured. “The Sassenachs live there.” He kept glancing at De Soulis.

  “You, both of you,” De Soulis said, beckoning, “come here.”

  Alec stepped forward boldly. Iain shuffled a step or two, peering nervously at the sheriff.

  “Frightened of me, are you?” De Soulis barked at him.

  “Aye.” Iain’s voice quavered. “You have invisible armor.”

  “Invincible,” Alec hissed.

  De Soulis glared at Alec. “Swing in my hall like that again, and I will have you caught and skinned.”

  “Walter!” Matilda exclaimed. She surged forward and wrapped her arms around the boys. “How can you scold my dear little puppies!” She kissed their heads. Iain gazed sweetly at her, and Alec beamed too.

  “They need scolding,” De Soulis told her. “When I returned to Dalbrae, I found these Scots brats doing whatsoever they pleased. The cook complained the cabbages were shot up with arrows. The stablemen said the harnesses were knotted together. The butler said our good wooden spoons were floating in the pond—”

  Matilda cuddled Alec and Iain. “My dearlings are high-spirited! They will try better to behave, will you not, my sweetings?” The boys nodded vigorously, and she kissed each one again. Alec wiped the kiss away when she turned.

  “They had better behave,” De Soulis growled.

  “Walter, I have written a message to my lord father, who sent word asking after my welfare. I told him of your kindness in bringing two little ones here for me. He will tell the king how courteous you are—and what a fine sheriff, too.”

  “My dear,” De Soulis said smoothly. “Of course you must let your father know how contented you are here.”

  “I told him that you let me have whatsoever I want.”

  Gawain watched, arms folded, intrigued. He recalled the sheriff’s remarks to him about keeping Juliana under his control and authority; apparently that advice was hard to implement at home. Beside him, Laurie listened avidly, nearly grinning.