"I will do my best. Juliana." He grabbed her shoulders. "I cannot let you do this."
"I must," she said urgently, "though it doesna please you. Just as you choose what doesna suit me. We must accept that with each other, I think, for we are too stubborn to change easily. Go—I will come to you."
He pulled her to him roughly, and kissed her again. Closing her eyes for a moment, she wanted to melt, to linger. But he moved back, and she whirled and began to thread her way between the birches. She glanced back and saw that Gawain had already started back toward Elladoune.
Pausing, she assessed her direction. If she cut across the meadow toward the abbey, the shortest way to find the monks and their siege engine, the knights might see her in the open, and pursue her; she would be a clear target. Instead, she made her way along the fringe of the forest that skirted the meadow.
To her left, she could hear hoofbeats along the path. The route led through the forest behind the abbey grounds, and eventually trailed toward the path of monks with the siege engine. If they were not stopped or diverted, the knights would soon discover the rebels.
Carefully she wended her way through trees and thick undergrowth, through silvery light and deep shadows. Her white cape nearly glowed, and was easily visible. Soon they would see her. If they pursued her, she could lead them away from the rebels.
As she ran along a slope thick with trees, she could see the knights. Six, she counted; seven. De Soulis rode in the lead, his black armor and black horse like a heavy shadow.
The forest path forked nearby, one trail leading toward the rebels, the other swinging toward the town. Juliana ran toward the forking, and waited, watching.
She took a breath and skittered down the slope, balancing herself with arms out, until she reached the cleared path at an angle, glancing left, she saw the horsemen on the track. She leaped down, far ahead of them, and stopped.
Breath heaving, she forced herself to wait. When one of the men shouted and spurred his horse forward, she whirled and took the fork toward the little town.
Without looking behind her, she ran as fast as she could. She heard the pounding and snorting of horses, heard shouts. They sounded well behind her. Pausing again, she turned.
Her pursuers were closer than she had thought. She dashed sideways through a stand of slender trees, where dense leaves shielded her progress. Glancing back, she stumbled on a hidden root, fell to her knees, and tried to catch her breath.
As she rose to her feet, a shadow emerged from the trees, and a man lunged toward her. She backed away, but he was fast and strong. His hand whipped out to grab hold of her cloak.
Pulled violently forward, she fell. Black gauntleted hands grabbed her arms, righted her, dragged her to her feet.
"Ah," De Soulis said, "the Swan Maiden is mine."
* * *
"Sergeant!" Gawain bellowed as he neared the swarm of guards clustered outside Elladoune's walls. One of the guards turned mid walked toward him. "Who gave the order to fire this castle? 'Twas not to be done yet!"
"The sheriff, sir," the man answered. "We were told to send fire-tipped arrows into the bailey, and set the outbuildings aflame. He told us not to try to take it or to go inside. But there are people in there, sir." He gestured toward the wallwalk. "They have been shooting arrows down upon us. We do not know who they are."
"The place has not yet been cleared!" Gawain said angrily. "There are women in there, and old ones—and children, for love of God!" He glanced up at the battlements. He saw a few heads bobbing behind the merlons, and as one passed an opening, he recognized Laurie. He waved an arm and shouted. Someone looked down. Gawain pointed toward the massive wooden doors, now shut.
"Sir," the guard said. "We were told 'twas empty."
"I am going in there to vacate the castle," Gawain said sharply. "In the meantime, do not attempt to attack further. You can take the men back to Dalbrae."
"Our orders are to stay here, sir," the man replied.
"Where is the sheriff?" Gawain demanded.
"Riding out after rebels, sir."
"You have done what he ordered. The castle is afire. Now be on your way." He strode past the guard toward the doors, hoping that those inside had seen him and would unbar the gate.
He heard a bolt slide free, and one of the huge, iron-studded wooden doors creaked open. Gawain slipped through the gap, stepping into shadows and smoke. Laurie slammed the door shut and he and Gawain turned to bar the doors shut again.
The portcullis was partially raised, and Gawain ducked beside Laurie as they passed beneath its iron teeth to enter the bailey. Gawain pushed back his chain-mail hood and stopped to stare at the bright blaze that filled one corner of the yard.
Flames consumed the thatched roof of the two kitchen buildings. Gawain saw a few of the MacDuffs—Teig, Uilleam, and some others—running across the yard with sloshing buckets of water, freshly drawn from the well on the other side of the garden plot. The gardens were aflame, too, bright ribbons of fire that ran up beanpoles and slicked across the greenery.
"Jesu," Gawain said, looking around. "Is everyone safe?"
"Aye, so far," Laurie said, wiping a hand across his brow. His face was streaked with soot. "We moved them all into the opposite tower, and wet the doors and walls thoroughly there. The horses and livestock were put into the ground-floor storage room in that tower, too, and we dampened the floors in there as well. And we have cleared a firebreak between the kitchen buildings and the rest of the outbuildings. The fire should be contained."
Gawain raised his brows. "Excellent," he said. "You must have had experience with castle fires."
"Och, in the Lowlands, a man gets used to this. The Southrons and the Scots are constantly burning each other out," Laurie answered. "We cannot put out the fire in the kitchens, and those buildings will burn to cinders. But the rest may be safe."
"If the sheriff's men do not shoot more fire arrows in here," Gawain agreed. "Stone will not burn, but all else—"
"Aye. Should the stable roof, or any of the outbuildings closer to the keep catch fire, we will have a much bigger matter at hand. The castle would go down easily, then."
Gawain nodded, and ran toward the stone steps that led to the battlement. Laurie went with him, shouting out to the Highlanders to keep dousing the kitchen and gardens with water.
They strode along the wallwalk behind the crenellated battlement. Gawain kept a long-legged pace with Laurie as they encountered a few Highland men, each armed with bow and arrows, hiding behind the merlons and occasionally aiming a bow through the crenel space. Two or three men gave Gawain curious glances.
Gawain stopped to search anxiously beyond the meadow for any sign of Juliana.
"Man," Laurie said, "what is that you are wearing? What happened to the rest of your mail? And your surcoat?"
"I did not have time to put them back on," Gawain muttered.
"Huh," Laurie said. "And why was it off? Where were you the night, by the way?"
"I took Juliana away for safekeeping, if you must know."
"Well, she needed that, with the sheriff in a high fit after she put on that archery exhibition—though he only deserved it. And that armor he wears is but common blackened steel, they say now." Laurie laughed. "So why the Highlander's plaidie?"
"I had naught else at the time," Gawain replied.
Laurie grinned. "A wee bit of the pleasure making with the safekeeping, was it? No wonder these fellows look at you so odd. You're dressed like a MacDuff—a warrior MacDuff at that. Mayhap they resent it. Or wonder at it."
Gawain leaned his shoulder against a merlon and folded his arms across his chest. "Laurie," he said quietly, "did I ever tell you my name—my birth name?"
Laurie scratched his whiskered chin. "Mac... I do not recall it—" He stopped and stared. "MacDuff?"
"I am Gabhan MacDuff by birth," Gawain murmured. "A few days ago, I found my grandfather's castle, Glenshie. 'Tis not far—alongside that tallest mountain across the loch
."
"By heaven! Can you claim it as your own?"
"I have the right. But I must find the means to claim it."
Laurie's grin shifted into a frown. "Edward would never grant it. And who knows how long the English will hold these hills. I hear from my wife's cousin—the king's own general, Sir Aymer de Valence—that the king's military advisors nae longer find much advantage in keeping a tight hold on Highland areas."
"Too much effort, when they have to combat Bruce and his troops. That challenge grows daily."
"Look at the struggles here, and this but a small and sparse area, without the strong clan presence of other regions. Aye," Laurie said, nodding. "If you want Glenshie—and if Elladoune will go to your wife's kin—you will have to change fealties. You do not have much choice that I can see."
Gawain stared, stunned by Laurie's rapid assessment of a matter with which he himself struggled. "Go over to the Scots?"
"Aye, what of it? You are born to it, after all."
Gawain turned to peer through the crenel at the sheriff's men, still standing idly below. He was relieved to see that an attack was not an imminent threat; the knights peered nervously up at the battlements, where the Highlanders kept bows trained down toward them. "'Tis no simple matter. I do not want my family in England to pay the price again."
"Och," Laurie said. "Your family will fare well, as they always have. Big lads they are, and Henry in Edward's pocket so neatly. Do not take so much upon yourself. Like me—I know I cannot save the world. Sometimes we must do what the heart requires, and let the world fend for itself."
Gawain cocked a brow and looked at him steadily. "Uncommon wise. Have you been talking to Juliana?"
"Nah. Though it would not surprise me if we share like mind. From what I know of it, you did all you could to make up to your family for those transgressions. Now do what Gawain needs. I always expected you to jump the border sooner or later."
Gawain half laughed. "Between you and my wife, 'twill be a surprise to me if I am allowed to make up my own mind in this. You sound like you lean to the north side yourself."
"Me," Laurie said. "I am content enough. Come along. There are some MacDuffs here you havena met." Laurie stepped briskly along the wallwalk. "This is Angus MacDuff," Laurie said, indicating a brawny red-haired man, who turned and nodded. Beyond him were three lanky older boys with bows in their hands. "And these three fine lads are the sons of a man called Lucas MacDuff, who is not here—he's with the abbot, I hear."
"Ah, then I know what he is doing," Gawain said.
"Do you?" Laurie asked. "I just found out myself. I feel the fool. Rebels all, from the eldest to the youngest, and the abbot himself, and your own wife. All making a war machine in front of our faces, man, and we did not know it. Clever, that."
"Aye," Gawain said curtly. He nodded a greeting to each Highlander, and ran toward a section of wall that overlooked the gate. "Keep watch for Juliana," he said. "She should be coming toward the gate soon. We will have to find a way to get her inside the castle if the sheriff's men do not clear out."
"And if she doesna come soon?" Laurie asked.
"Now that I know all is secured here, I will go out to find her." He paced the walk, glancing over the crenellated wall toward the meadow, the forest beyond, even the loch itself, searching constantly. Something turned in his gut, a sense he did not like, and a prickling had started along his neck.
Laurie hurried away and came back with a longbow and quiver. "The garrison left us their spare weapons when they deserted this place," he said. "We are well armed with bows and bolts. We have been shooting down at the sheriff's men, and that convinced them to cease sending their fire arrows over the wall. But if we stop defending, they may attack again."
"I suggested they go back to Dalbrae." Gawain peered down.
"They do not listen well," Laurie observed. "What can we expect from men under Sir Soul-less? Ill-trained, they are."
"Likely they are waiting for the sheriff to arrive."
"When he does, we will make good use of these arrows. Even better use, once we have your lady shooting beside us."
"She will not shoot to kill," Gawain said. "Hah," Laurie retorted. "I have eyes in my head. I know what she can do."
Chapter 32
"Pity I do not have the golden chains with me," De Soulis murmured. "They suited you so well. But this will do for now." He finished the last of the knots and stood back. Juliana turned her head away and stood still and silent.
Her neck and wrists were bound with loops of rope, attached by a length of hemp. A long tether from the knot at her wrists was slung in the sheriff's hand. Caught fast, she had no hope of immediate escape.
"I know you can speak," he said. "I suppose 'tis contrary female temperament keeps you silent now."
She glared at him.
"The king wants an oath of fealty out of you," he said, "but 'tis pointless to do that. You will be tried for treason this time. And for threatening my life." He tied the tether to the back of his saddle.
Behind her, the sheriff's six guards sat their horses, watching. The soft snorting of the destriers was the only sound for a moment. There would be no help from that grim quarter.
"Well," De Soulis said. He tightened the knots. "The Master of Swans has caught a Swan Maiden again. Now let us see if he can catch a Swan Knight. There is some local legend to that effect, is there not?" He toned to her and smiled.
"There is one part of the legend you should know," she said. He raised a brow when she spoke, as if surprised and pleased. Her voice rang clear in the pale morning light. "One day a warrior will come who will defeat the evil man who tries to keep the swan maiden and her knight apart."
"And how will he do that?" De Soulis asked, swinging up into his saddle. He pulled on the tether so that she had to walk toward him. "Tell me. I am interested in such things."
"He will fling a faery bolt into the loch. 'Twill release the spell that holds the maiden and her lover."
"Ah," he said. "Impossible. We are safe."
"You are not safe," she said, "because I will be set free." Her heart pounded at such a bold statement. If she had an arrow, she would have sent it true this time, without hesitation. Instead, she had only words to defend herself. And trust, which she found to be a steady shield—more powerful than silence.
Somehow, she felt sure that she would escape this. The first time De Soulis had caught her, she had been terrified and helpless. Now she felt apprehensive, but not truly afraid. Some inner certainty, newly gained, had diminished fear.
De Soulis glanced at her, narrowing his eyes. Then he yanked on the rope and stepped his horse ahead.
She stumbled after him. Her feathered cape hung over her shoulders, the hood fallen down. The horse walked ahead a few steps, and she strode after it, having no choice, but keeping up easily at that pace. She held her head high and mustered dignity like a cloak. Behind her, the other knights did not ride after them. De Soulis stopped and looked back.
"Come ahead," he snapped at them.
"Sir Sheriff," one said, "'tis not right, sir, to treat a woman thus. None of us liked it overmuch the first time, but you said the king wanted the girl. But we will not do this again." The others nodded. "You had best find other guards to accompany you."
"This girl tried to kill me yesterday," De Soulis growled. "She is a rebel, a traitor—likely a witch. I have arrested her, and she will go on trial. Her treatment is just."
"Sir, she bested me at archery several times yesterday," another one said. She turned, and saw the man shove back his chain-mail hood, revealing thick blond hair. She recognized the best of the archers with whom she had competed.
"All the more reason," De Soulis snarled. "She won that damned Golden Arrow. You must be irate that a woman took it from you—Sir Rolfe de Lisle, the captain of the sheriff's archers!"
"The king's commanders will not look well upon this," another man said. "We could all be in trouble for it." The man beside him muttered
agreement. "There are other ways—"
"I have every right to arrest her," De Soulis said. "Enough of this. We must hasten to Elladoune. No doubt her husband is there by now. I mean to arrest him as well."
The archer dismounted and walked his horse forward. "We do not dispute her arrest. But there is no cause to humiliate her. She is no witch—look, 'tis but a mummer's costume she wears. Naught to fear here. Instead, there is much to admire."
Listening, Juliana stared at him in utter gratitude.
"The lady is not a common criminal, to be dragged behind a horse," said another knight. "She is the wife of the constable of Elladoune, who is a son of Sir Henry Avenel himself. She deserves courtesy for that alone."
"What," De Soulis said disdainfully, "all of you, as one?"
"Sir," Rolfe de Lisle said, "let her ride my own destrier."
He reached out and untied the knot from De Soulis's saddle. Then he turned to lift Juliana to his own horse. The small wound in her side ached, bound with Gawain's bandaging, but she did not whimper. She put her roped hands on the man's shoulders as he boosted her up, and looked into a pair of steady blue eyes.
"There, my lady," he murmured. "'Tis all we can do for you now. He does have the right to charge you with a crime."
"'Tis enough, what you do," she said. "My thanks."
"Few have as keen a skill with the bow as you possess. In my mind, you are a comrade in arms." He gave her a crooked smile. "But you must face the rest on your own. Your own husband had the courage to ride away with you on that northern journey—my comrades were with you then—but he made a serious enemy in the sheriff. We will not do the same. We owe him our knight service." She nodded.
"Sir Rolfe," De Soulis said, "mount up."
"Aye, sir," Rolfe replied. "When the king's general inquires into this matter, he will learn of the lady's fair treatment, and 'twill look well for you."
De Soulis growled something and guided his horse ahead.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] Page 32
