Page 39 of The Falcon Laird

The child dropped his bow and stepped back behind the others. Gavin marched forward. The older boy set down his weapon and moved back. The younger one dropped his bow and turned to run.

“Hold!” Gavin stomped after him, catching the smaller one up by a handful of plaid. The child, thrashing in midair, looked wildly toward the others.

“I’m taken!” he yelled. “Run, save yourselves!”

“Hush up,” Gavin said, exasperated. John ran past him them to take the boy and girl by the shoulder, though they had not tried to run.

“Well,” John drawled, “you did say a child could take this place. But we’ve won the day.”

Gavin shot him a wry look as he held the squirming, twisting boy, who had surprising strength and more than once kicked his captor.

“English dogs, I see your tails!” the little one yelled.

“Let him go, please,” the girl said. “They only want to protect me.”

“From evil Sassenachs?” Gavin set the lad down but kept a hand on his head.

“Aye.” She nodded vigorously.

Beside her, John laughed. “Sir Gavin may be a Sassenach, but I am a Scotsman, wee lady.”

“Some Scots are friends to English,” the older boy said. “You must be one o’ them traitors.”

John raised a brow at that. “I am no traitor. Are you lot loyal to the Bruce, then?”

“Aye!” The youngest spoke up. “We are his eyes and ears!”

“Hush, Robbie!” the girl hissed.

“The Bruce’s eyes and ears, is it?” John asked. “Well, then, we may have some wee spies here.”

“Ah.” Gavin looked sternly at all three. “Sit over there and tell us your business here.” He led them toward a cluster of stone blocks.

The boys sat, and Gavin gestured to the girl, who had stopped to turn in a slow circle. Her wide blue eyes looked deeply troubled for one so young, he saw then. He frowned, perplexed. She was a lovely child, and somehow looked familiar, as if he had seen her before. But of course he had not.

“What is your name?” he asked. She looked up at him.

“Michaelmas,” she said. “This was my home. It is all burnt, now.” Tears glinted in her eyes.

“I mean to rebuild it, Michaelmas. Did your mother or father work here, as servant to the old lord?”

“My father was the lord here. I am Michaelmas Faulkener. Where is my mother?”

Gavin blinked. “Your mother?”

She spun then. “Ach! Màthair!” She ran across the yard. “Màthair!”

Christian stood in the broken doorway of the great tower. She opened her arms, her face pale but glowing with happiness. “Michaelmas!”

He watched in amazement as the girl ran straight into Christian’s embrace.

Sitting in thecourtyard, listening while John questioned the boys, Gavin kept glancing toward the tower into which Christian and her daughter had disappeared.

He was aware that Christian and Henry had been married for several years, but he had not known there was a child—she never mentioned being a mother. Further, he realized he was stepfather to the little girl. He shook his head slightly, bewildered; it was too much to ponder yet.

He turned his attention to John and the boys, who he had learned were brothers. With these three, and William, his world was awash with children. Having scarcely dealt with young ones before, he was not sure he had the knack for it.

“And where did ye say the Bruce is hiding?” John was asking.