"What do you mean?" James asked sharply.
"De Soulis said that Gawain is preparing a report for Edward's commanders on the lay of the land here. He is to describe the terrain and detail where troops can camp, where water sources are, the distances between landmarks, the best routes for cavalry, and so forth. Did you know that, Juliana?"
She shook her head mutely, feeling as if her heart sank like a stone. She was aware of Gawain's daily patrolling and the writing he did sometimes at night, on parchments that he locked into a little box with the few valuables he had brought with him. When he had told her the pages were only some thoughts he wanted to record in ink, she had assumed that he had scholarly habits because of his upbringing and education.
What a fool she had been. She cupped a hand over her eyes for a moment, then looked up. James was watching her steadily.
"We have all seen him riding out in the forests and hills each day," Malcolm said. "He has been collecting the information for the king's commanders to use in fighting Scots."
"He would not—" She wanted to defend him, but doubts flooded her. Apparently there was much she did not know about Gawain.
"The English hold Elladoune," James told Malcolm. "If 'tis to be closed, Gawain will be the one to shut its gates. And his report to the king will gain him some much-needed favor."
"This cannot be," Juliana gasped. A sense of betrayal swamped her, followed by a rush of fear. Now she could lose Elladoune again—and with it would go her hopes and dreams.
"Cousin," James said, reaching out to touch her arm. "We will find some way through this," he said in a soothing tone.
"But, Jamie, he would not be so traitorous as to close Elladoune, toss us all out, and leave us—just to gain the king's favor! 'Tis betrayal. I cannot believe this of him—"
"Duty, I think, rather than betrayal," James said.
"What can we do?" She bit at her lower lip fretfully, thinking of the people who had found shelter and welcome at Elladoune. "Where will our friends go now?"
"We will gather everyone to leave the castle," the abbot said. "As for Gawain, there is naught we can do about him. Only he knows what he does, and why he does it."
Tears welled, and Juliana put a hand over her eyes as she tried to regain her composure with a quavering breath.
"My dear girl, this is hard, I know. But we have matters to decide," Malcolm said gently. "Now we must gain Alec and Iain back ourselves, and Niall and Will as well."
Jamie leaned forward to discuss that quietly with Malcolm, and while they spoke, Juliana looked away. She would lose Gawain—perhaps she had already lost him out of her life, but he was not gone from her heart. No matter what he did, she did not think she could ever stop loving him. Her cheeks heated as she recalled deep kisses, and so much more, in the privacy of their bed. She had been so content, so foolishly in love.
If he had done what they said, and planned this betrayal of all of them, he was not the man she had thought him. Had she been so misled by her dreams and her heart? A tear slid down her cheek, and another. She dashed them away.
"We will pay the ransom ourselves," Malcolm was saying.
Juliana looked up. "How?" she asked. "We have no coin!"
"I have a scheme," Malcolm said. "And a scheme to fetch the wee ones back as well." He smiled, and she saw the effort and the sadness in it. He, too, was affected by the devastating news about Elladoune—and about Gawain, she thought.
"We do have a source of gold," Malcolm continued. "The archery competition."
"A bow-shooting contest?" James asked.
"'Us held each summer at the time of the midsummer market," Malcolm explained to him. "The final prize is an arrow—the Golden Arrow of Elladoune, 'tis called. 'Tis solid, good gold. The competition has been held for generations. Lindsays of Elladoune have always won the arrow—-until the last few years."
"Ah, I have heard of it," James said. "Juliana's father won it many years in a row, and his father before him."
Juliana nodded. "For six years, English bowmen from the garrisons have taken the prize." She looked at Malcolm. "Even if we could win that arrow, 'tis not enough gold to pay two ransoms. And we would have to melt it down."
"I am thinking the sheriff will pay good coin to keep the Golden Arrow in his garrison's possession," Malcolm said.
"Ransom the arrow to pay the fee?" James asked.
Malcolm nodded. "De Soulis has boasted all year that his men have the arrow now and will win it again. He says 'twill always be kept at Dalbrae. That pride will cost him."
"An intriguing idea," James said. "Win the arrow, and charge him well for it—enough for two ransoms."
Juliana sat straighter as an idea occurred to her. "My father always won that prize... I think I could take it."
"You?" James tipped his head, considering her. "You do have the skill for it."
"Of course she does." Malcolm smiled broadly at her.
"I have the bow skill," she said, "but I am a woman, and under the custody of the crown. De Soulis would never allow me to compete."
James shrugged. "He doesna need to know. You could pass for a youth—though you had best hide that shining hair and... your shape." He lifted a brow expressively. Malcolm cleared his throat.
Juliana nodded. "I can do that. But the Golden Arrow of Elladoune is an unusual contest. The shot is difficult, nearly impossible for some. I have never mastered it myself, and have hardly attempted. The fair is but a week from now. Even if I enter the competition, I do not know if I can take the prize."
"You can," James said, and Malcolm nodded agreement.
"Jamie, I know you must leave soon, but can you stay long enough to help me practice?"
"I wish I could, lass. I came here only to see that you were safe, and to conduct a matter for King Robert. I will not even stay the day, for I must go west again to meet our king, and then south to Wildshaw. My wife's child will be born in a few weeks, and I intend to be there."
"A child!" Malcolm congratulated him, and Juliana smiled at Jamie's news. Inwardly, her heart thundered.
She wondered if she had the courage to pull off this ruse, yet she had no choice. The Golden Arrow had to come back to the Lindsays—not only for the sake of tradition, but so they could bribe De Soulis with it and free her brothers.
"Well, cousin?" James asked. "Are you decided?"
She nodded. "I will do it."
"Good," Malcolm said. "Now, let me tell you my scheme to gain back the wee lads. The sheriff said his wife will bring Alec and Iain to the fair to watch the archery." He looked at each of them. "And then we will snatch them back."
"But stealing them away would be dangerous and might cause a skirmish in the town," Juliana said. "What about the Golden Arrow? We can use that to get the lads back from him."
"We will take advantage of that for the older lads. First, 'tis most essential to steal the bairns. 'Twill be easy enough if they attend the Golden Arrow competition, since that is held just outside Inchfillan's gates. We will inform our rebels, and make a plan."
"But the rebels will not go against De Soulis, especially in public like that," Juliana said. "They fear him and his black armor! They will not risk his wrath directly."
"Black armor? Ah, then I have heard of this man," James said. "I doubt 'tis as frightful a garment as rumor says."
"I agree. Sometimes I wish the man would take a wound wearing that armor," Malcolm said. "Then everyone would lose their fear of him and his armor quickly. Just a wee wound."
"Father Abbot!" Juliana said, pretending shock at his confession. James lifted a brow.
Malcolm shrugged. "Somehow we must convince the rebels that they needna fear De Soulis, so they will agree to steal the lads away. I will talk to them. For now, we agree—Juliana will take the Golden Arrow."
"There is one other matter to discuss," James said. "King Robert will be disappointed to learn that my mission here was not successful."
"Not successful?" Juliana asked, puzzled.
>
"I came here in answer to the abbot's summons about you," James told her. "But King Robert also sent me to inquire about another war machine. The last one your forest rebels sent to him, secretly and in pieces, was assembled elsewhere and greatly aided the rebellion. But Abbot Malcolm told me that the sheriff's men burned the site where the rebels were building another engine."
"True, but I have been waiting to tell you some good news," Malcolm said. "We have another one. 'Tis hidden where the sheriff's men will never find it." He gestured toward the window, where a summer breeze entered.
Juliana looked out to see the top of the scaffolding for the new bell tower. "Where?" she asked. "And will the bell tower be completed in time for the archery competition? We hold it on the steps of the abbey church each year," she told James.
"My girl," Malcolm said. "Look again."
She stood and looked out the window. A wooden scaffold had been erected beside the broken bell tower. Two monks had climbed up to hammer upon another framework of timbers constructed on the roof, surrounding the broken tower. She narrowed her eyes, and then gasped. "The scaffolding!"
James got up to look out the window. "By the saints... 'tis a siege engine! I had not looked closely at it! Father Abbot, you are a bold fellow." He turned to grin at him.
"If Bishop Wishart can build one and take it against the English, surely I can do the same," Malcolm answered. He beamed. "It only needs wheels and the catapult arm, which are hidden in the dormitory. Tell the King o' Scots he will have his engine. Bring him word that we will transport it in pieces, by night, as soon as 'tis completed."
"He will be pleased. This is brilliant," James said.
"Foolhardy." Juliana scowled. "What if De Soulis sees it?"
"He has seen it," Malcolm said. "So have his men. No one seems to have noticed what we have done with the timber that the sheriff's men brought us for our new bell tower and scaffold."
James shook his head. "Brilliant, but Juliana is right. All of you at Inchfillan take a great risk with this."
"We are rebels," Malcolm replied soberly. "We take risks for Scotland."
"This secret must be protected until the machine can be moved," James said. "The English must be kept away from here."
"They do not come here often," Malcolm said. "We can move it this week, during the fair, when there are fewer sheriff's men patrolling at night—they will stay close to the market town."
James nodded. "Juliana, what of Gawain? You said he was coming to Inchfillan this afternoon."
"He said he would do so after he saw the sheriff," she said.
"We must learn how the wind blows with him."
She sighed. "If what you and Father Abbot say is so, he will not help us. And I cannot bear to see him just now—nor can I ask him for help again. Not yet, if ever."
James nodded. "Then I will speak with him myself," he said grimly. "'Tis time, I think."
* * *
"Wait here, Sir Gawain," a woman said. Deirdre, the abbot's rotund elder sister, who kept his house and helped look after his wards, showed him into a room that held a table and benches. "The abbot will be with you shortly. There is ale on the table."
"My thanks, Dame Deirdre," Gawain murmured. He stepped inside the room alone, where he noted three cups on the table beside a jug of foamy ale; one cup was unused, upside down on the table. He poured out some ale, swallowing quickly. It was cool and light, watered stuff well suited to a warm summer day.
The ride from Dalbrae had been torturous, not because of the day's heat, but because his head was full of troubled thoughts—and his heart was full of torment.
He looked out the window at the new wood going up next to the shattered bell tower. Something seemed odd about it. Frowning, he did not notice the door opening behind him.
"Gawain."
He turned, expecting to greet the abbot, and saw James Lindsay. He stared, heart slamming. A moment later, recovering himself, he set his cup down.
"Jamie," he said simply.
James shut the door and sat on the bench. Gawain sat opposite him. His hands trembled, his heart raced. Casually, he picked up the jug of ale and offered it.
James shook his head. "I had my fill earlier."
"Ah." Three cups, he thought; there had been a meeting, presumably between the abbot, James, and Juliana. Gawain knew that his wife was here, since Laurie had brought him her message when they had ridden to Dalbrae. Laurie had also mentioned a visiting pilgrim at Inchfillan, but Gawain had been so distracted by his thoughts of Glenshie that he had hardly listened. "I see that I was left alone in here for a reason."
"Aye, at my request. I thought we should talk."
Gawain sipped his ale, but it tasted dull now, and no longer quenching. He set it aside. "I do owe you an explanation."
"I heard that you recently made an obeisance to King Edward." James's tone was cold and flat. Gawain sensed the tension and anger beneath the surface.
He remained still and cool himself. "Your spies are always about, even so far as London."
"They are," James agreed. "I did not come here to confront you. Every man must make his own choices in this war. I made mine. You obviously made yours."
"I did." He frowned slightly. "How is it you are here?"
"The abbot sent word that my cousins needed help. I came as soon as I could. Thankfully, Juliana is safe, though the lads are still in custody. Juliana told me much of what has gone on." He watched Gawain steadily.
Gawain realized that James's eyes were the same dark, rich blue as Juliana's. He had not noticed their color before—but now, with his mind so constantly upon Juliana, he saw the strong familial resemblance between the cousins in their eyes, in their fair golden coloring, and in their fine-boned, handsome features.
"Then you know about the marriage, and my post at Elladoune," Gawain replied.
"I do. Felicitations on your marriage," James murmured. "I will not congratulate you on your post. It might please a Southron, but it poses some difficulties for me and mine."
"I will be released from my obligations at Elladoune soon enough. No doubt you heard that, too, since the abbot spoke with the sheriff earlier today."
James nodded, and studied him in the quiet, serious manner that Gawain remembered well. "What of your obligation to my cousin, your wife?"
"I intend to honor that, though I cannot say what she will want. I doubt she will consent to return to England with me, or even elsewhere in Scotland, once I am reassigned."
"Ask her," James said. "If she will speak to you. She seems greatly upset about what she has learned of you today."
Gawain played with the rim of his ale cup. "I am not surprised, though I am sorry for it. I wanted to tell her myself. I wanted to tell her... many things."
"Seems to me that you should have done so already. She did not even know the extent of your involvement with us."
"I never found a good moment to explain that. If I had told her that I ran with you, she would assume that I am loyal to the Scottish cause, and expect me to change allegiance."
"Oh, well, cannot have her thinking that," James drawled.
"The marriage came quickly for both Juliana and me," Gawain snapped. "There is still much to explain. And much to guard, between us. She keeps her secrets too."
James scowled. "She has not guarded much from you."
"What do you mean?"
"She loves you. I see it plainly in her. Juliana has given you all of her heart, all of herself. This revelation about you has devastated her. I warn you, if you hurt her further—"
"No need to warn me," Gawain said brusquely.
"Ah, I see," James said slowly."'Tis mutual, this feeling between the two of you. A tangle indeed, then."
"Well knotted," Gawain admitted. He stared out the window, where the scaffold of the bell tower topped the abbey wall.
"Juliana said that you met years ago, when Elladoune was burned, and she and her kin were cast out by De Soulis and the king's troops. She sa
id you saved her then—and were the first one to call her the Swan Maiden."
"An odd coincidence, but true."
"I do not believe in coincidence," James said. "I believe in an ordered world directed by God and his angels. I believe therein lies fate, through those means. I have been its victim—and its beneficiary—often enough."
"Then I am a victim of fate."
"Or its beneficiary."
"That remains to be seen," Gawain said. "Sometimes I think I am caught in a purgatory of ironies, where there is no escape." He shoved a hand through his hair and exhaled in exasperation. "I have new orders that your fair cousin will not like at all. 'Twill shatter the marriage, I think. 'Twill shatter... her. I do not know how to tell her."
"Just be honest," James said quietly, watching him. "She knows what the abbot told us both—that you have orders to close down Elladoune," he said. "If there is more, tell her."
Gawain tightened his mouth and turned his cup in his hand. "The truth about my orders is not pleasant."
"The truth can seal where we think 'twill sever."
"Not this."
"Did you know," James said, "that I fired my own wife's castle, on the very night I met her? I suspect your orders are something similar."
Gawain raised a brow at James's astuteness. "Did Isobel forgive you for it?"
"Once she understood why I did it, and once she understood me... aye," he said quietly.
"There is much I must explain to Juliana before she would understand."
"Such as your betrayal of her cousin?"
"I thought you did not care to confront me about that."
"Still, I think I must." James fisted his hand on the table, knuckles white, wrist bones strong.
"Then do so," Gawain said. "Say what you will."
"The morning you left," James answered, low and fierce, "the Southrons hunted us mercilessly in the greenwood. But you know that—you were with them." His gaze was sharp and cold.
Gawain remembered that day. His stomach clenched inwardly. He swung the cup like a small bell, listening.
"Patrick was wounded, and Quentin nearly captured," James went on. "We had lost one of our own that morning, when you disappeared," he added. "We did not care to lose more."
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] Page 26
