by Susan King
Gawain raised his brows. “Excellent,” he said. “You must have had experience with castle fires.”
“Och, in the Lowlands, a man gets used to this. The Southrons and the Scots are constantly burning each other out,” Laurie answered. “We canna put out the fire in the kitchens, and those buildings will burn to cinders. But the rest may be safe.”
“If the sheriff’s men do not shoot more fire arrows in here,” Gawain agreed. “Stone will not burn, but all else—”
“Aye. Should the stable roof, or any of the outbuildings closer to the keep catch fire, we will have a much bigger matter at hand. The castle would go down easily, then.”
Gawain nodded, and ran toward the stone steps that led to the battlement. Laurie went with him, shouting out to the Highlanders to keep dousing the kitchen and gardens with water.
They strode along the wallwalk behind the crenellated battlement. Gawain kept a long-legged pace with Laurie as they encountered a few Highland men, each armed with bow and arrows, hiding behind the merlons and occasionally aiming a bow through the crenel space. Two or three men gave Gawain curious glances.
Gawain stopped to search anxiously beyond the meadow for any sign of Juliana.
“Man,” Laurie said, “what is that you are wearing? What happened to the rest of your mail? And your surcoat?”
“I did not have time to put them back on,” Gawain muttered.
“Huh,” Laurie said. “And why was it off? Where were you the night, by the way?”
“I took Juliana away for safekeeping, if you must know.”
“Well, she needed that, with the sheriff in a high fit after she put on that archery exhibition—though he only deserved it. And that armor he wears is but common blackened steel, they say now.” Laurie laughed. “So why the Highlander’s plaidie?”
“I had naught else at the time,” Gawain replied.
Laurie grinned. “A wee bit of the pleasure making with the safekeeping, was it? No wonder these fellows look at you so odd. You’re dressed like a MacDuff—a warrior MacDuff at that. Mayhap they resent it. Or wonder at it.”
Gawain leaned his shoulder against a merlon and folded his arms across his chest. “Laurie,” he said quietly, “did I ever tell you my name—my birth name?”
Laurie scratched his whiskered chin. “Mac … I dinna recall it—” He stopped and stared. “MacDuff?”
“I am Gabhan MacDuff by birth,” Gawain murmured. “A few days ago, I found my grandfather’s castle, Glenshie. ’Tis not far—alongside that tallest mountain across the loch.”
“By heaven! Can you claim it as your own?”
“I have the right. But I must find the means to claim it.”
Laurie’s grin shifted into a frown. “Edward would never grant it. And who knows how long the English will hold these hills. I hear from my wife’s cousin—the king’s own general, Sir Aymer de Valence—that the king’s military advisors nae longer find much advantage in keeping a tight hold on Highland areas.”
“Too much effort, when they have to combat Bruce and his troops. That challenge grows daily.”
“Look at the struggles here, and this but a small and sparse area, without the strong clan presence of other regions. Aye,” Laurie said, nodding. “If you want Glenshie—and if Elladoune will go to your wife’s kin—you will have to change fealties. You dinna have much choice that I can see.”
Gawain stared, stunned by Laurie’s rapid assessment of a matter with which he himself struggled. “Go over to the Scots?”
“Aye, what of it? You are born to it, after all.”
Gawain turned to peer through the crenel at the sheriff’s men, still standing idly below. He was relieved to see that an attack was not an imminent threat; the knights peered nervously up at the battlements, where the Highlanders kept bows trained down toward them. “ ’Tis no simple matter. I do not want my family in England to pay the price again.”
“Och,” Laurie said. “Your family will fare well, as they always have. Big lads they are, and Henry in Edward’s pocket so neatly. Dinna take so much upon yourself. Like me—I know I canna save the world. Sometimes we must do what the heart requires, and let the world fend for itself.”
Gawain cocked a brow and looked at him steadily. “Uncommon wise. Have you been talking to Juliana?”
“Nah. Though it wouldna surprise me if we share like mind. From what I know of it, you did all you could to make up to your family for those transgressions. Now do what Gawain needs. I always expected you to jump the border sooner or later.”
Gawain half laughed. “Between you and my wife, ’twill be a surprise to me if I am allowed to make up my own mind in this. You sound like you lean to the north side yourself.”
“Me,” Laurie said. “I am content enough. Come along. There are some MacDuffs here you havena met.” Laurie stepped briskly along the wallwalk. “This is Angus MacDuff,” Laurie said, indicating a brawny red-haired man, who turned and nodded. Beyond him were three lanky older boys with bows in their hands. “And these three fine lads are the sons of a man called Lucas MacDuff, who isna here—he’s with the abbot, I hear.”
“Ah, then I know what he is doing,” Gawain said.
“Do you?” Laurie asked. “I just found out myself. I feel the fool. Rebels all, from the eldest to the youngest, and the abbot himself, and your own wife. All making a war machine in front of our faces, man, and we didna know it. Clever, that.”
“Aye,” Gawain said curtly. He nodded a greeting to each Highlander, and ran toward a section of wall that overlooked the gate. “Keep watch for Juliana,” he said. “She should be coming toward the gate soon. We will have to find a way to get her inside the castle if the sheriff’s men do not clear out.”
“And if she doesna come soon?” Laurie asked.
“Now that I know all is secured here, I will go out to find her.” He paced the walk, glancing over the crenellated wall toward the meadow, the forest beyond, even the loch itself, searching constantly. Something turned in his gut, a sense he did not like, and a prickling had started along his neck.
Laurie hurried away and came back with a longbow and quiver. “The garrison left us their spare weapons when they deserted this place,” he said. “We are well armed with bows and bolts. We have been shooting down at the sheriff’s men, and that convinced them to cease sending their fire arrows over the wall. But if we stop defending, they may attack again.”
“I suggested they go back to Dalbrae.” Gawain peered down.
“They dinna listen well,” Laurie observed. “What can we expect from men under Sir Soul-less? Ill-trained, they are.”
“Likely they are waiting for the sheriff to arrive.”
“When he does, we will make good use of these arrows. Even better use, once we have your lady shooting beside us.”
“She will not shoot to kill,” Gawain said.
“Hah,” Laurie retorted. “I have eyes in my head. I know what she can do.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Pity I do not have the golden chains with me,” De Soulis murmured. “They suited you so well. But this will do for now.” He finished the last of the knots and stood back. Juliana turned her head away and stood still and silent.
Her neck and wrists were bound with loops of rope, attached by a length of hemp. A long tether from the knot at her wrists was slung in the sheriff’s hand. Caught fast, she had no hope of immediate escape.
“I know you can speak,” he said. “I suppose ’tis contrary female temperament keeps you silent now.” She glared at him.
“The king wants an oath of fealty out of you,” he said, “but ’tis pointless to do that. You will be tried for treason this time. And for threatening my life.” He tied the tether to the back of his saddle.
Behind her, the sheriff’s six guards sat their horses, watching. The soft snorting of the destriers was the only sound for a moment. There would be no help from that grim quarter.
“Well,” De Soulis said. He tightened the k
nots. “The Master of Swans has caught a Swan Maiden again. Now let us see if he can catch a Swan Knight. There is some local legend to that effect, is there not?” He turned to her and smiled.
“There is one part of the legend you should know,” she said. He raised a brow when she spoke, as if surprised and pleased. Her voice rang clear in the pale morning light. “One day a warrior will come who will defeat the evil man who tries to keep the swan maiden and her knight apart.”
“And how will he do that?” De Soulis asked, swinging up into his saddle. He pulled on the tether so that she had to walk toward him. “Tell me. I am interested in such things.”
“He will fling a faery bolt into the loch. ’Twill release the spell that holds the maiden and her lover.”
“Ah,” he said. “Impossible. We are safe.”
“You are not safe,” she said, “because I will be set free.” Her heart pounded at such a bold statement. If she had an arrow, she would have sent it true this time, without hesitation. Instead, she had only words to defend herself. And trust, which she found to be a steady shield—more powerful than silence.
Somehow, she felt sure that she would escape this. The first time De Soulis had caught her, she had been terrified and helpless. Now she felt apprehensive, but not truly afraid. Some inner certainty, newly gained, had diminished fear.
De Soulis glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. Then he yanked on the rope and stepped his horse ahead.
She stumbled after him. Her feathered cape hung over her shoulders, the hood fallen down. The horse walked ahead a few steps, and she strode after it, having no choice, but keeping up easily at that pace. She held her head high and mustered dignity like a cloak. Behind her, the other knights did not ride after them. De Soulis stopped and looked back.
“Come ahead,” he snapped at them.
“Sir Sheriff,” one said, “ ’tis not right, sir, to treat a woman thus. None of us liked it overmuch the first time, but you said the king wanted the girl. But we will not do this again.” The others nodded. “You had best find other guards to accompany you.”
“This girl tried to kill me yesterday,” De Soulis growled. “She is a rebel, a traitor—likely a witch. I have arrested her, and she will go on trial. Her treatment is just.”
“Sir, she bested me at archery several times yesterday,” another one said. She turned, and saw the man shove back his chain-mail hood, revealing thick blond hair. She recognized the best of the archers with whom she had competed.
“All the more reason,” De Soulis snarled. “She won that damned Golden Arrow. You must be irate that a woman took it from you—Sir Rolfe de Lisle, the captain of the sheriff’s archers!”
“The king’s commanders will not look well upon this,” another man said. “We could all be in trouble for it.” The man beside him muttered agreement. “There are other ways—”
“I have every right to arrest her,” De Soulis said. “Enough of this. We must hasten to Elladoune. No doubt her husband is there by now. I mean to arrest him as well.”
The archer dismounted and walked his horse forward. “We do not dispute her arrest. But there is no cause to humiliate her. She is no witch—look, ’tis but a mummer’s costume she wears. Naught to fear here. Instead, there is much to admire.”
Listening, Juliana stared at him in utter gratitude.
“The lady is not a common criminal, to be dragged behind a horse,” said another knight. “She is the wife of the constable of Elladoune, who is a son of Sir Henry Avenel himself. She deserves courtesy for that alone.”
“What,” De Soulis said disdainfully, “all of you, as one?”
“Sir,” Rolfe de Lisle said, “let her ride my own destrier.”
He reached out and untied the knot from De Soulis’s saddle. Then he turned to lift Juliana to his own horse. The small wound in her side ached, bound with Gawain’s bandaging, but she did not whimper. She put her roped hands on the man’s shoulders as he boosted her up, and looked into a pair of steady blue eyes.
“There, my lady,” he murmured. “ ’Tis all we can do for you now. He does have the right to charge you with a crime.”
“ ’Tis enough, what you do,” she said. “My thanks.”
“Few have as keen a skill with the bow as you possess. In my mind, you are a comrade in arms.” He gave her a crooked smile. “But you must face the rest on your own. Your own husband had the courage to ride away with you on that northern journey—my comrades were with you then—but he made a serious enemy in the sheriff. We will not do the same. We owe him our knight service.” She nodded.
“Sir Rolfe,” De Soulis said, “mount up.”
“Aye, sir,” Rolfe replied. “When the king’s general inquires into this matter, he will learn of the lady’s fair treatment, and ’twill look well for you.”
De Soulis growled something and guided his horse ahead.
Sir Rolfe shifted Juliana sideways on the saddle and swung up behind her, setting her legs over his thigh. They cantered along the path behind De Soulis. The others followed, riding to either side of her and Sir Rolfe.
Though she was a captive once again, she felt, oddly, as if she rode with her own honor guard toward Elladoune.
The sky had brightened with early morning, but the clouds were dull as pewter, made heavier by a pall of smoke in the air. A sense of dampness promised rain before long.
Rain would be welcome, Gawain thought, looking up. He wiped his forearm over his sweating, sooty brow. He had taken over from an exhausted Uilleam the task of carrying and dumping water buckets on the blazing garden. Moments ago, he had begun to wet down the thatch on another shed.
Flames still burned in the kitchen buildings, but the blaze now consumed itself, like the glowing embers of a hearth fire. Smoke trailed upward, stinging his eyes and clouding the air. Two buildings and the garden were ruined, but no sparks had spread.
He glanced toward the wallwalk, where Laurie watched for Juliana. Enough time had passed, Gawain thought; too much. He only hoped she was with the monks now, and all of them safe. But he felt dread spin in his gut.
He tossed the empty bucket to one of Lucas’s sons, who ran to fill it again. Gawain charged toward the stone steps. “I am going out after Juliana!” he called to Laurie.
“Wait.” Laurie pointed outward. “Your bride comes at last. But she has an escort. They just left the forest.”
Gawain ran up the steps and strode toward the same section of the crenellation where Laurie hovered. Peering out, he swore under his breath.
Several knights headed across the meadow. De Soulis led them, and one man carried Juliana on his lap. Her white cloak seemed brilliant in the misty light.
He swore again. “I should have gone out there—I should never have let her do this.” He grabbed the bow and quiver nearest him and loaded the bow.
“Likely she wouldna listen to you,” Laurie remarked. “Well, let him inside. We will kill him and be done with it.”
Gawain slid him a glance, and Laurie shrugged. But the thought had crossed his own mind. “Go down and open the gate,” he said. “Take Angus with you. Do not let more than the sheriff and Juliana into the bailey if you can help it.”
“Aye, I know what to do.” Laurie slid his bow over his shoulder and jammed arrows into his belt, then headed down the steps into the bailey.
Ducking down, Gawain ran along the wallwalk to a better vantage point over the gate. The sheriff’s men, some of whom had been lounging at the base of the castle walls, got up and came forward to meet their commander. While they conferred, Laurie and Angus ran inside the deep entrance arch and unbarred the great wooden doors beyond the portcullis.
Gawain watched from above as De Soulis motioned forward the rider who held Juliana in his custody. The tall knight, Gawain realized, was the same competitor Juliana had faced at archery. Narrowing his eyes as he studied the scene below, he drew some arrows from the pile at his feet, stuck a few in his belt for quick access, and loaded the longbow.
Swiveling, he trained the bow on the entrance, coldly prepared to kill on an instant’s impulse if it became necessary. He waited.
The groan and slam of the iron portcullis, followed by shouts, told him that Laurie and Angus had trapped some of the men inside the entrance arch. Then the sheriff, the knight, and Juliana rode into the bailey. Laurie and Angus followed.
While Laurie stood bow raised and arrow nocked, Angus fisted his hands on his hips. But Gawain noted that the big man had tensed to draw the great sword he wore sheathed at his back.
Keeping his own bow steady, Gawain looked at Juliana. Ropes were tied about her neck and wrists, which keyed his fury. But the pale courage on her face nearly broke his heart.
He sighted her captors—each a clear, easy bow shot away.
A damp wind touched the back of his neck, stirred his hair. He stood like stone.
“De Soulis!” he shouted. “Let her go!”
The sheriff looked upward. His black armor glinted like jet stone in the cloudy light. He motioned to the second knight, the archer, to release Juliana. The man dismounted and slid her carefully to the ground. De Soulis swung down himself and took Juliana’s elbow in a tight grip. She winced.
The sheriff looked up again. “Avenel,” he said smoothly, “this place was to be razed by king’s order.”
“It was to be cleared first.” Gawain said. “You ignored that order.”
“Burning clears sufficiently, where there are rodents.”
“My wife’s cousin Aymer will want to hear about your clearances,” Laurie said, his voice carrying.