"Three of them," he called, "armed and ready!"
Gawain was pushing to his feet until he saw that the boy was not only safe, but already scrambling up the knotted rope to clamber back into the gallery. Beside him, Laurie jumped up.
"Saints in heaven!" Laurie cried, crossing the room quickly. By the time he stood under the gallery, the boy had disappeared through the window. Another pair of arms appeared, belonging to a smaller boy than the first. A little bow and a blunted arrow pointed downward.
"Get back," Walter said dryly. "They will shoot."
"English dogs! Surrender!" the small bowman cried.
"Come and get me, Highland pig!" Laurie boomed.
A stunned silence followed. The bow pulled back and the shutters smacked shut.
Gawain rubbed his hand over his jaw to hide a grin while Laurie took his seat again. "A good game," the Lowlander said gruffly. "Played it with my own brothers, as bairns."
"I take it," Gawain said to De Soulis, "that my young brothers-by-law are allowed some freedom at Dalbrae."
"So I discovered when I returned yesterday," De Soulis replied. "You, boy," he told the page, "find my lady wife and tell her to bring the Lindsays here." The boy nodded and hastened away.
Gawain slid Laurie a quick look. Laurie lifted a brow.
"How goes it at Elladoune?" De Soulis asked. "Have you prepared those notes on the territory for Sir Aymer de Valence?"
"I am working on that."
"Bring them soon." De Soulis poured himself more wine. "I hear you have allowed a bunch of ruffians and rebels to enter Elladoune. Why?" he asked brusquely.
"I invited some of the locals into the castle," Gawain said. "They provide willing hands for the daily tasks. I arrived there with bat one man and my wife, and no one to tend to the cooking, the chores, or the livestock."
"The monks of Inchfillan can do that for you," De Soulis answered. "And the fact that you arrived with one man is but your own damned fault. I will report that to the king. Do not think I have forgotten. I have had no time to pen the report. Your behavior was out of bounds."
"I took my wife away from your escort for her safety. I intend to cooperate with the garrisoning of Elladoune and fulfill my duties as constable there."
"Then why do you allow rebels inside there?"
"Homeless women, children, and a few old men," Laurie said, "are hardly dangerous malcontents."
"They undoubtedly have connections with the rebels who hide in the forests," De Soulis answered. "My men have spent weeks searching them out and burning their nests—and you take them under your wing!"
"Where did you expect them to go?" Gawain asked, bitter and low. He stared at De Soulis.
"They should flee indeed, but not into one of our own castles. You will have to turn them out again."
"They are servants at Elladoune. There is naught wrong with that. Any garrison commander I have ever known has taken advantage of the local populace to maintain the castle household. Surely you have a host of Scottish servants here."
De Soulis grunted. "None of them are rebels."
"What proof do you have that my servants are?"
"Those are the same people who have been running about the forests and hills at night. We chased them down and found a site where they were constructing a war machine. Your servants are not simple, I warn you."
"Interesting," Gawain remarked. In truth, he did not find it hard to imagine at all. He slid a glance at Laurie, who was listening intently.
"Some of my men were recently patrolling in my absence," De Soulis went on. "They saw the people entering Elladoune's gates and recognized some of them. My sergeant at arms rode to Inchfillan to speak with the abbot on some minor matter—they had a fire in the bell tower and asked for assistance in rebuilding it. The Scottish Church never seems to have the means to help their own parishes and abbeys."
"I noticed the damage," Gawain said. "I told Abbot Malcolm that the sheriff, as a king's man, would probably be willing to support the needs of the Church."
"The king encourages our goodwill with the Church here, though some of them are rascals. My seneschal approved a gift of lumber," Walter said, waving a hand as if it mattered little. "The abbot admitted to my sergeant at arms that these people you call your servants have been living homeless and indigent near Loch nan Eala. Whether or not the abbot knows it, they are rebels. Allowing them inside Elladoune is foolhardy."
"Better they are where I can keep an eye on them," Gawain said, "than building war machines in the forest."
De Soulis frowned. "You cannot keep them under control without a force of men."
"Courtesy is enough. These are good folk, glad for food and shelter; and eager to help. I sense no spirit of trouble among them. Sir Sheriff—the other reason we came here is to receive our orders regarding the garrison for Elladoune. I trust you have that information now."
"I met with the king's commanders in Perth, but that decision has not been made yet. Word will arrive shortly, I am sure. Ah, my dear," De Soulis said suddenly, rising to his feet.
Gawain looked around to see a woman enter the hall, ushering two boys with her. His gaze was drawn immediately to the boys. They were dressed in matching blue tunics and yellow surcoats, their hair shorn short, their feet bare and dirty. Both were clearly Juliana's kin by similarity of features and coloring.
The smaller one was fine-boned and fair, with golden curls and wide, pale blue eyes, while his elder brother—who had swung out on the rope—had light brown hair and the same deep sapphire eyes as his sister. Both wore wooden swords in their belts, and both scowled furiously.
The woman, Gawain noted, was plump, curvaceous, and brilliantly colored in a fitted red gown that emphasized her big breasts and swaying hips. Her face was pretty, full, and rosy, with large brown eyes and full lips. The hair barely tamed beneath a sheer white veil was brown and curly.
With a boy's hand in each of hers, she lowered in a curtsy that belonged in a royal court. "My lord," she said, her voice light as a girl's. "You summoned us."
"Lady Matilda," De Soulis said. He introduced Gawain and Laurie. "My dear, Sir Gawain is wed to the boys' sister and has come to see them."
"My lady, greetings." Gawain stood. "What are your names?" he asked the boys.
"Alec Lindsay, and this is Iain," the oldest said, eyeing Gawain suspiciously. He put a slender hand on the hilt of his wooden sword, the gesture of a wary knight more than a child.
"I am Gawain." He half sat on the edge of the table so that he was close to their level. "I am your sister's husband now."
"Our sister doesna have a husband," Alec replied. While he spoke, Iain half hid behind Lady Matilda's ample hips and eyed the sheriff nervously.
"She does now," Gawain said. "Are you well, lads?"
"We are," Alec said, chin high.
"She makes us wear Sassenach gowns," Iain complained, looking at Lady Matilda. "She took our plaidies, and cut our hair, and said we were savages and must learn manners."
"But she gives us sweetmeats when we are courteous," Alec added. "How fares our sister, sir? Is she well?"
"Very well. She would like you to come home to Elladoune."
"We do not live at Elladoune," the little one ventured. "The Sassenachs live there." He kept glancing at De Soulis.
"You, both of you," De Soulis said, beckoning, "come here."
Alec stepped forward boldly. Iain shuffled a step or two, peering nervously at the sheriff.
"Frightened of me, are you?" De Soulis barked at him.
"Aye." Iain's voice quavered. "You have invisible armor."
"Invincible," Alec hissed.
De Soulis glared at Alec. "Swing in my hall like that again, and I will have you caught and skinned."
"Walter!" Matilda exclaimed. She surged forward and wrapped her arms around the boys. "How can you scold my dear little puppies!" She kissed their heads. Iain gazed sweetly at her, and Alec beamed too.
"They need scolding," De Souli
s told her. "When I returned to Dalbrae, I found these Scots brats doing whatsoever they pleased. The cook complained the cabbages were shot up with arrows. The stablemen said the harnesses were knotted together. The butler said our good wooden spoons were floating in the pond—"
Matilda cuddled Alec and Iain. "My dearlings are high-spirited! They will try better to behave, will you not, my sweetings?" The boys nodded vigorously, and she kissed each one again. Alec wiped the kiss away when she turned.
"They had better behave," De Soulis growled.
"Walter, I have written a message to my lord father, who sent word asking after my welfare. I told him of your kindness in bringing two little ones here for me. He will tell the king how courteous you are—and what a fine sheriff, too."
"My dear," De Soulis said smoothly. "Of course you must let your father know how contented you are here."
"I told him that you let me have whatsoever I want."
Gawain watched, arms folded, intrigued. He recalled the sheriff's remarks to him about keeping Juliana under his control and authority; apparently that advice was hard to implement at home. Beside him, Laurie listened avidly, nearly grinning.
Gawain saw Iain reach inside the neck of his tunic and pull out a tiny wriggling mouse, which he slipped to the floor. When it ran in front of the woman, she shrieked.
Alec drew his sword. "Lady Matilda, I will defend you!"
"I will! Me, I will!" Iain said, pulling out his own sword and rushing after Alec. The mouse scurried into the shadows, and the boys pounded toward the door, bare feet slapping the floor.
The sheriff glowered at his wife. "Those boys should be punished," he said sternly. "I will see to it if you do not."
"Walter," she said, tears pooling in her eyes. "Do remember how dear they are to me. I have so longed for a child... I am grateful you decided to foster Alec and Iain. They are like our own children now!" She clasped her hands, smiling tremulously.
He waved her away. "Go now, and try not to cry again, madame. And keep those boys out of my sight."
She gathered her skirts and ran sniffling from the room.
Gawain returned to his seat in the silence and picked up his wine goblet. The three men quaffed their wine all at once.
"Fostered?" Gawain asked. "Not hostaged?"
"She lacks temperament for the truth," De Soulis said.
"Ah," Gawain said, nodding. He fully understood that. "She would not do well with the truth, so you altered it."
"Nor would her father do well with it," Laurie muttered.
"I may make pages of those boys," De Soulis said. "They can foster here and become knights for the king, if the wildness can be tamed out of them."
"I will take them back with me," Gawain snapped. "Your wife treasures them overmuch. And you clearly do not enjoy their presence."
"I will keep them, nonetheless," the sheriff said, waving his hand in the dismissive gesture common to him. "My wife wants them. She will return to England soon, for she is unsuited to long stays in Scotland. They can travel south with her if she desires it."
"You have no right to send them anywhere!" Gawain burst out.
"Their sister is an official prisoner of the king, though you need reminding of that," the sheriff said bluntly. "She cannot retain custody of them, nor can you, for your tenure here is still undetermined. For now, I will keep the boys. But if they continue thusly, I will not guarantee their safety."
"Guarantee it," Gawain said flatly. "Or give them up now."
De Soulis slid him a dark look. "They will not be harmed."
"I will be back to ensure it," Gawain said. Barely keeping hold over his temper, he stared steadily at the sheriff.
"Do you doubt the abbot's loyalty?" Laurie asked. "Is that why you keep the boys? Abbot Malcolm seems a capable guardian for them. He seems a passive man, neutral, as he should be."
"Seems so," the sheriff answered. "And I want him to stay so. I do not trust him."
"Do you trust anyone?" Laurie asked mildly, though he, too, stared hard at De Soulis.
"Certainly not you two," De Soulis barked.
"The other matter to discuss," Gawain said abruptly, "has to do with the elder Lindsay brothers taken by the crown's army. Is there further word of a ransom list?"
"Aye, what of it?"
"My wife wishes her brothers' freedom paid."
"And you intend to pay it, to free two Scots rebels? Are you truly so besotted by that creature you wed?"
"If the Lindsays' kin produce the ransom, there is naught I can do about it," Gawain drawled.
"Nay? Remember that I am watching you closely," De Soulis said sharply. "I hope your oath of fealty was a sincere one."
Ignoring that, Gawain rose to his feet. "Since you have no further information for me, and you refuse to release the young Lindsays, our business is concluded for now. Good day." He stalked out of the room. Laurie followed.
Outside, Gawain strode quickly through the busy yard, heading for the stables in angry silence. He simmered over the frustrating results of the visit. His future at Elladoune seemed extremely uncertain, and he had not gained back Juliana's brothers, any of them, as he had hoped. At least he could report that her young brothers were holding their own under the circumstances.
"Ho," Laurie said, "look there. De Soulis's warning did not last long for those wee rascals."
Gawain glanced where Laurie pointed. Alec and Iain stood in the midst of the garden, bows and arrows busy while they shot at vegetables lined up along a low stone wall. From the kitchen, a young servant boy was running, arms waving.
Wheeling, Gawain headed toward the garden at a stiff pace. He stomped inside, greens fluttering around his booted ankles, with Laurie following.
Iain pointed his weapon at a head of lettuce and pulled back the bowstring as Gawain angled through the planted rows. Striding toward the garden wall, Gawain took note of the boy's aim and his target.
Just as he heard the arrow leave the bow, he lashed out his hand and snatched the arrow in midair. He brandished the shaft.
"Come here, Iain Lindsay," he growled.
The boy gaped at him. Behind him, Alec stared too, then gave his brother a shove forward. Laurie waited, hands on hips. A small crowd gathered to watch the scene in the garden.
"Is this how you behave at home?" Gawain asked.
Iain gulped and looked up at him. "N-nay, sir."
"And you," Gawain said as Alec walked timorously forward. "Do you set a good example for your brother?"
Alec lifted his head. Gawain had seen that gesture often in the sister: pride and courage. "I do, sir."
He lifted his brows in surprise, still clutching the arrow, from which Iain could not seem to take his astonished gaze.
"Swinging on ropes when men are in meetings, shooting vegetables, letting go of mice to scare ladies—this is good?"
"We would not do so at home, for Father Abbot and Juliana would not allow it. But these are Sassenachs here," he added ominously.
"And we are rebels. Sir," Iain said, gazing at him anxiously. "If you please."
"Ah." Gawain kept his countenance as grim as he could manage, though it proved a challenge. A few feet away, Laurie shook his head, shoulders shifting.
"We cannot waste in prison," Alec added. "We must fight!"
"I see." Gawain weighed the arrow shaft in his hand. "Well, consider this. As hostages, you are kept as guests rather than prisoners. Play at swords if you will, and shoot at targets if you are given permission. But harm no property and frighten no one. Especially not the sheriff's wife—she is good to you."
"Ach, we let the wee mousie go only to show her how we could protect her," Alec said. Iain nodded in vigorous agreement.
"Show a lady gentleness," Gawain said, "and you will be all the stronger for it." The boys frowned as if that puzzled them. Gawain handed Iain his arrow. "Next time, ask first."
Iain stared at the arrow. "Sir, how did you catch it?"
"A great deal of practice.
If you both behave very well here, I will show you someday. But do not try it on your own. There is a secret to it. Promise me."
The boys nodded and spit on the ground to fix it. Gawain smiled and touched Iain's head, the curls soft and baby-fine. "I will tell your sister you do well and show much courage, shall I? Farewell, then. I will see you again, soon."
"Promise?" Iain asked.
Gawain spit on the ground.
* * *
He could not stop searching the skyline. As he and Laurie returned from Dalbrae, even with the conversation lively between them, his gaze continually strayed to the hills.
"I had forgotten about that trick of catching arrows that you used to practice years back, when we squired together," Laurie said. "You always did that with such ease. And gave those wee bits a startling! They will never cross you!" He laughed with delight.
Gawain grinned. "I was not sure I could still do it after so long. But 'tis simple enough with practice, and if one has a keen eye and a fast hand—and a sharp ear to listen for the twang of the bow, for that is the real secret to it."
Laurie nodded. "A fine, unique skill, though I never could manage it. You were determined to teach yourself to do that when we were squires—always after me to shoot at you, making me swear it all secret. What gave you the urge to learn such a strange thing? Something about catching a faery bolt?"
"Aye, a legend I heard as a boy," Gawain said. "Foolishness, I suppose, though I did master the trick."
"You kept at it until you could snatch it with ease. Nae such a practical thing, for what can you do with it? Frighten wee boys?" Laurie grinned. "Now you will have to show those lads how to do it."
"When they are much older, I will." The promise gave him an odd thrill of surety; he would have to be with their sister in the future for those lessons to take place. He almost smiled.
"They are good lads. They will be fine rebels one day, too... unfortunately," Laurie said.
Gawain murmured agreement, his gaze scanning the distant slopes. He had not yet seen the only landmark he knew, a craggy face in a steep rockface. He sighed, aware that his search for Glenshie depended on a child's memory. He had been but Iain's or Alec's age when he left Scotland with his mother.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] Page 23
