Page 33 of The Falcon Laird

“You need the nourishment, so eat. My lady. There are some matters to discuss.”

“Other than marriage and being an English knight in a Scottish castle?” She waited, but he was silent. He bent forward to toss a few sticks into the low blaze. His hair flowed nearly over his shoulders, glistening gold and brown like polished oak. His beard was thickening daily, blurring the lean jaw, though his profile had the strong cut of a stone sculpture.

He was not wearing chain mail or his surcoat, just the somber black woolen tunic and trews. Yet he radiated a noble, controlled power. His appearance had dazzled her when she firstsaw him, but now she knew that the golden wings on his surcoat only meant falcon, for Faulkener, not angel. But no wonder she had mistaken him in her illness for warrior saint, all gold and silver, strength and beauty. Now she knew he was not that at all.

“I thought you were Saint Michael, once,” she offered.

“So you have said. Is that a reproach?”

She shrugged. “If you like.”

“Now that you know me for an Englishman, you feel betrayed.”

“I do,” she murmured.

“I took you from that cage and married you to save you, my lady. I did what I could.”

“You took my castle on your king’s order and you mean to destroy my cousin Robert Bruce.”

“Itook your castle?” He waved a hand abruptly. “Look around! You were the one destroyed it!”

“I destroyed it to guard against such as you!”

“We would not be needing shelter and safety now if you had had less of a hand with a torch.” His tone was curt, touched with anger.

She jumped slightly, startled. “I never thought to come back here with another English husband!” she snapped. Her hoarse voice cracked on the last word.

He blew out an exasperated breath. “You are lady of this castle again, when you might have been in prison,” he said between his teeth, as if he barely controlled his temper.

“I am a prisoner still. You hold Kilglassie. You say we are wed, but I do not even recall it.” She fisted her hands. “How can I trust you? I do not know you.”

He broke a twig and threw it in the fire. “You seem particular about your rescuers.”

“Just my husbands,” she snapped.

“Very well. Then know this: my father was an English knight who fought beside King Edward in the Holy Land. My mother was a Scotswoman. Both are dead. I spent the last ten years in France, some of that time as royal ambassador to the French court. I came back to England escorting French bishops to Carlisle. King Edward granted me Kilglassie and ordered me to put you in a convent and come out here immediately. That is what you need to know.”

“King Edward ordered you to marry me,” she added, folding her arms.

“He gave permission for me to take you from the cage and marry you before you died.” A muscle tightened in his cheek.

“What were his orders regarding Kilglassie?”

“Set up a garrison and pursue the Bruce.”

“And find a treasure hidden here.” She narrowed her eyes.

Gavin shrugged. “He mentioned a rumor about that. But he may have given me this place as a sort of family legacy. One more thing you should know. Henry Faulkener was my cousin.”

“Cousin!” She drew in a sharp breath. “Then you heard of his death.”

He tossed another stick into the flames. “I heard you caused it.”

“Now I see it!” She sat forward. “You want revenge for your cousin’s death! Was the cage not cruel enough for you? Will you imprison me here? Torture me for the secret of Kilglassie?”

“Lady,” Gavin growled, “you have a vile temper. Are all Englishmen but heartless brutes?”

“I have seen much brutality from the English.”