Page 51 of The Falcon Laird

“The floor here is in better shape than elsewhere in the castle. Those fallen timbers are from the ceiling, and have not gone through the floor.”

“The damage is not entire, then?”

“Fergus said there was a heavy rainstorm the day of the fire. There are water stains—see here? The downpour came through the open roof and doused the fire here and elsewhere.”

Christian glanced around. “That is—good to hear.”

“It is a blessing.” He beckoned. “Come here. The floor is safe. I want you to see this.”

She went toward him carefully, close to the wall. The floor creaked but felt solid. Looking down, she realized the oak floorbeams were intact, just blackened and littered with soot and rubble.

Gavin held out his hand. His fingers were hard and warm over hers as he pulled her toward him and brought her into the window recess. “Look out there.”

The loch spread away from the castle like cold, smooth silver in the early light, a mist just lifting away. A flock of white doves soared upward like a spinning cloud.

“Beautiful,” she breathed.

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “This is a fine site for a castle. We will make Kilglassie strong again, you and I.”

“For your king,” she said bitterly.

“For us,” he said.

She glanced up to see him looking out over the landscape. He seemed a vision of power and masculine beauty, reminding her of the first time she had seen him. “But your king has ordered you to rebuild here only to house his garrisons. And he wants you to find the Bruce and—”

“I know what he wants. But I will build here as I see fit. I have the coin for it and I hold the charter.” He glanced down at her. “And I have your help.”

“If you intend to fill this place with English, do not expect a great deal of help.”

He blew out a long breath as if fighting for patience. “My lady. I have tried to offer peace. I know this was your home.”

“I did not ask you to wed me and come here.”

“Do you think I asked for this land? It was handed to me.”

“An English sovereign has no right to hand out Scottish land!”

He blinked once, nostrils flaring. “So here is your contention with me. My right to Kilglassie.”

“You have no right to it!” Somehow raising her voice felt good, a release. Perhaps it was enough to keep away this yearning for him. She glared into the darkening blue of his eyes.

“I have the right of a husband, and as such, the right to this castle, by the laws of your king or mine,” he said fiercely. Christian flinched, waiting for him to shout, but he kept control.

“You are an invader. I did not consent.”

“You answered aye in a chapel in Carlisle. We were wed in God’s eyes. This place is ours together.”

Together. Not his solely. She saw fairness there, hating to admit it, and drew a breath to gain better balance for her temper. “You intend to stay, then.”

“If I returned to England or to France, it would be an act of treason.”

“Do not expect my pity for that,” she snapped.

“Lady.” He sighed heavily. “What I expected when I returned to England was the land and castle that had been promised me. I was weary of France. I did not ask for Kilglassie. And I did not think to take another wife when I came to Carlisle.”

“Another wife?”

“But we are wed regardless of the circumstances, and I will honor the vows. I am not like Henry.”