Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (37 page)

Later that morning, Juliana walked along the bank of the loch again while Laurie waited nearby. She had returned to check on a nest that had been plundered by otters more than once in the last few weeks. The pen and the cob had recently produced another cluster, even though it was late in the season.

To her relief, she found the nest unharmed; the pen perched calmly on her four eggs, and the cob, who paused to stare at Juliana, pulled at the reeds nearby. She turned to walk back toward Laurie.

Out on the water, she saw Guinevere nudging her little cygnets onto her back. Juliana felt a wash of sadness for the graceful pen, who still mourned her missing mate and kept on the outskirts of the flock, staying attentive to her young.

"Juliana!" She looked up to see Brother Eonan hurrying toward her. "Father Abbot says he must see you!" he said breathlessly as he approached. Laurie came with him.

"Is something wrong? Are Alec and Iain—"

"They are fine, Abbot says. He went to see the sheriff this morning." Eonan stopped. "I do not know what has happened there, but he seems very agitated."

"I will go there now," she said. "Laurie, when Gawain returns from his morning patrol, tell him I went with Eonan."

"Well enough," Laurie answered. "Gawain plans to meet you at the abbey later, after he and I go to the sheriff's castle ourselves, but now he will be more than anxious to get to the abbey after hearing this. I will see you—what the devil!" He stopped as he turned, glancing across the meadow.

A man melted out of the edge of the forest and walked toward them. Laurie put his hand to the sword sheathed at his belt and stepped forward. Juliana gasped and hurried past him.

"Ach Dhia,"
she breathed, recognizing the man as a friend, and a cousin—James Lindsay walked toward her.

Dressed like a pilgrim in a somber brown cloak with a scallop shell pinned to the shoulder, he was tall and strong, and moved with a natural agility. Sunlight glinted off the dark gold of his wavy hair. He lifted a hand in greeting.

"Jamie!" she called out.

"Pilgrim," Laurie said. Juliana turned to see him coming near, with Eonan behind him. "If you seek the abbey of Inchfillan, 'tis that way. They will admit a pilgrim who wishes to pray and rest. Otherwise, move on."

Juliana hastened toward Jamie and took his outstretched hand. He bent to kiss her cheek. "Cousin," he said.

"Cousin!" Laurie echoed.

"Aye, sir," James answered. "I am glad to see that my cousin Juliana is well protected." He pushed back his hood, his keen glance the same dark blue as Juliana's, a legacy from a shared grandfather.

"I thought you were some rebel come to challenge us," Laurie said gruffly, sliding his sword into its belt sheath.

"Oh, never that," Juliana said earnestly.

"I travel in peace, on pilgrimage," James said. "I intend to visit Inchfillan Abbey. 'Tis a pleasant surprise to see my cousin here, on my way to the abbey."

"Just a pious man anxious to be at prayer," Juliana added.

"Och, nae doubt," Laurie said wryly.

"Allow me to speak with my cousin and tell her news of our kin," James said. "I assure you she is safe with me."

"Walk with her if you like, but only in our sight," Laurie said as James moved away with Juliana. "And do not go far."

"Did you really come here to see Father Abbot?" she asked.

He nodded. "He sent word to me." James glanced back at Laurie and Brother Eonan, who watched them. "He wrote that you were taken by the English, and the wee lads taken too, and that he needed help to free all of you. I came as soon as I could. I have another mission as well here, on King Robert's behalf. But I am glad to see the abbot found a way to gain you back."

"The lads are still held, though the Sassenachs brought me back. King Edward wed me to one of his knights—the new commander at Elladoune. Now I must pledge fealty to the king."

"Wed?" James looked astonished.

"Aye, to Sir Gawain Avenel—you may know his name. He is now constable at Elladoune, although there is no garrison there as yet. The king's orders—Jamie, what is it?" She paused.

"Jesu," he murmured. "Gawain. I know him well."

"Aye, he mentioned that he met you."

"Met me? He ran with us for a few months."

"He fought with Scots rebels?" Juliana gaped at him. "When? How? He is King Edward's loyal man!"

"I heard that he pledged his oath anew." James frowned. "He was a good comrade, but loyalties change often in this war. Men must choose between their heads and their hearts. Some side with the Scots for the love of liberty, and stay the course. Others declare for the English to protect their inheritances."

"But Gawain is English... he never—" Juliana felt stunned.

"He sided with the Scots for a bit, lass. Or so I thought."

Juliana stared, her head spinning in confusion. "But—"

"He is a solitary man. Courteous and of a noble spirit, but he keeps his secrets close. He had some good reasons to side with us and change back. Inheritance, most like. My wife liked him well, and she has a fine eye for character."

In spite of the distracting revelation about Gawain, Juliana gasped. "Wife? You do have news! The Border Hawk is wed?"

His smile was quick and charming. "Aye, caught fast. My wife is Isobel Seton of Aberlady."

"The prophetess? I have heard of her! So the rebel softened enough to take a wife." She smiled widely. "I never thought 'twould happen. You nearly became a monk!"

"Aye, true." He laughed ruefully. "You must meet Isobel."

"I want to, and soon. But for now, tell me more of you and Gawain. He never said he ran with rebels!"

"I doubt he wants it known, especially if he has resworn his fealty. He helped Isobel and me in a bad situation, and stayed with us for a while. He fought at my back and I trusted him well." He frowned. "One day the English camped nearby, and there was a skirmish. The next morn he was gone. We saw him riding with the Southrons, while we hid in the forest."

"Ach Dhia.
Did he... betray you?" she nearly whispered.

"I never knew for sure, but it appeared so. He went back to England, I heard, and knelt before the king to beg forgiveness. And got it, I see, if he is now constable at Elladoune, complete with a bride given him by the king—and the bride my own cousin!"

"I did not know," she murmured.

"He was a good friend—or so I thought." James shrugged. "What he did for Isobel and me cannot be repaid. But he broke our trust later. I never suspected him for a traitor, so it surprised me. Mayhap Isobel and I liked him too well and somehow missed the truth." He looked at the loch and watched the swans.

She bit at her lip, remembering that Gawain had told her he had spent two months in prison—for betrayal. He had explained little, but she wondered anew what he had meant by it.

"Juliana, I have news of the lads."

She looked up quickly. "We heard too. I do not know what we will do, for we cannot pay any ransom. And Alec and Iain are in the sheriff's keeping now. He refuses to give them up."

"We had best go see the abbot. There is much to discuss."

She frowned. "Jamie, you should know this—Gawain will be coming to the abbey later today to see Abbot Malcolm."

James cocked a brow. "That will prove interesting."

* * *

Glenshie burned bright as a lantern in his mind, even as he sat in De Soulis's hall with Laurie. While the page poured out cups of golden, cool ale, he remembered the sunlit stones of Glenshie. When De Soulis complained about a delayed delivery of several tuns of wine and barrels of salted fish from Perth to Dalbrae, Gawain thought of the view of Loch nan Eala from the hill below his grandfather's castle; his castle by right, now.

The place had been a ruin, a stone shell, some of its higher level tumbled. The foundation walls were still sound, but choked with ivy. An abundance of green ferns filled the inner bailey, and the steps leading to the tower keep had collapsed.

But he had recognized it, and relived childhood moments that nearly brought him to the brink of tears. Exploring the castle's remnants and perimeters much of the morning, he thought about rebuilding. He envisioned Glenshie clearly in his mind: a strong stone tower once again.

After leaving the mountain and meeting Laurie for the ride to Dalbrae, he kept silent about his discovery. Though he burst to tell his friend, he hoped to reveal his news—and the blessed relief of the full truth—to Juliana first.

He fixed his attention on the conversation. He had come here to check on the boys and to learn his orders, and to discern the possible lay of his future.

"Has the king's commander decided what to do with Elladoune?" he asked De Soulis.

"Aye, but there are some matters for us to address first. I have writs from Aymer de Valence, and one from the king himself, to convey to you."

The sheriff reached over to the end of the table and drew toward him a flat wooden chest. Opening its silver latches, he removed a few folded parchments with broken seals. He sifted through them, his fingers sly, somehow, along those edges.

"I believe that you have a document to deliver to me, as well," De Soulis said. "Is your report complete?"

Gawain thought about the folded parchments tucked inside his tunic. He had brought them, intending to deliver them, but some inner caution made him hesitate. "Almost," he said. "A week."

The sheriff scowled. "De Valence wants that information." He reviewed the page in his hand. "This first matter does not concern you directly, but you should know. As the king's Master of Swans, I am to capture swans for the king's rivers in England," he went on. "The mute swans of Elladoune are among the best known in Scotland, and so some of those will be taken up in the next few days. You will see us at the task."

"The swans' feathers are molting just now, I believe," Gawain said. "They are unable to fly."

"And that makes them even more suited for upping, when they are hooked and netted, and transported. The younger ones are easier to catch that way than the aggressive adults. We will snare a few cygnets and young swans and send them south."

Gawain narrowed his eyes, thinking of Juliana's unchivalrous capture several weeks earlier for the same reason. He thought, too, of Guinevere's four young cygnets, who were exactly what De Soulis wanted. He felt a sudden, strong compassion; the proud and beautiful female swan had already endured the loss of her mate. Her offspring should not be taken from her, too.

"King Edward has more than enough swans on his rivers as it is," he said. "Why does he take the time to send out writs for Scottish swans when he has a war to concern him?"

"The king has a special fondness for the birds. They are good omens. And he particularly wants Scottish ones."

"Nae content with owning all the swans in England, is he," Laurie muttered. "Sir Sheriff, where are the wee lads? We did not see them as we came in today. We want to make sure they are well. Their sister is concerned about them."

"Her kinsman the abbot was here this morning and saw them. I invited him here to discuss the orders for Elladoune and Loch nan Eala, some of which will affect him and his monks."

"Oh? How do my orders affect the abbey?" Gawain asked, frowning in surprise.

"You will know shortly. The boys are with the priest at their prayers and lessons just now. They have been more courteous of late. My wife has promised them a trip to the market fair next week, and I have given my permission. And I have decided to send them with her into England when she leaves in a few days. You will see them at the fair—"

Gawain leaned forward. "You do not have the authority to take those children out of Scotland," he growled.

"We shall see. Now you will want to hear of your orders." De Soulis opened two parchments and pressed them flat in front of him. "This writ is from the king himself," he said, showing them the red seal and trailing ribbons. "'Greetings,' etcetera." He waved his hand impatiently. "He requires that a written statement by Lady Juliana Lindsay be sent to him at Lanercost Abbey."

"Lanercost?" Gawain asked. "He was to go to Carlisle."

"The king has been weakened by illness—'tis temporary, his physicians say—and rests at Lanercost before going on to Carlisle. The journey from London has been very draining. His health this year has not been good."

"A written statement from the lady?" Gawain asked then. "What does he expect in that? And who is to deliver it?"

De Soulis perused the page. "He wants her sworn fealty in writing, and wants an affidavit signed by witnesses that she made a pledge of... 'her loyalty and that of her kin and acquaintances, and all those attached to the lands of Elladoune, to the king of England.'" He passed the parchment to Gawain.

He took it and read it. "'If the lady cannot write a fair hand, she is to make her mark upon a written oath, and two witnesses, civic and religious, must swear that she has said the oath aloud and with good intention.'" He glanced at Laurie.

This was unexpected luck. Still, he doubted that Juliana would be any more willing to swear fealty this way than she would have before the king himself. She simply would not do it, and had avoided all of his efforts to rehearse her pledge. He suspected, by Laurie's skeptical frown, that his friend had the same thought.