Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02] (13 page)

"Sir Walter says ye must wear the feathery hat," Bette said. "He says he is the Master of Swans, and ye're the Swan Maiden, and ye're to be dressed as a swan for show, like. Oh my, and I thought ye were a mummer guised as a duck!"

Juliana smiled despite her somber mood.

"And yer husband," Bette added, "looks like he would like to strangle the Master of Swans. Hurry, now, ye've a long journey."

* * *

The cart rumbled over the old Roman road, lurching over pits and stones in the roadbed. Juliana grabbed the edge of the cart to steady herself, chains jangling. She looked out at low, rolling hills and patches of moorland. The driver, a gruff old man called John, said nothing as he guided the two sturdy horses that drew the cart, which was packed with goods and weapons.

A mounted escort of thirty men, with several squires, two servants, and the riderless palfrey she had ridden the night before, surrounded her. Gawain Avenel rode his dark bay horse just ahead of the cart, talking with a knight mounted on a brown horse even larger than the bay. Walter de Soulis, black armor gleaming beneath a wine-red surcoat, rode beside the cart.

Juliana studied her husband's head and broad-shouldered back. He wore a dark brown serge tunic over chain mail, with the heavy hood slid down over his shoulders. His hair was thick, wavy, and glossy as ink in the morning light, and his smile flashed handsomely and often as he listened to the other knight.

The two men seemed to be established friends, she noticed, though appearing to be opposites in many ways. Gawain sat his horse with taut grace and control, while the other had a carefree lack of rhythm. Where Gawain was lean, dark, and restrained, his friend was large, sandy-haired, soft around the middle, and gestured freely with big hands.

In further contrast to her husband's sober nature, his friend laughed quickly, booming out. He even glanced back at Juliana and smiled at her, his face as pleasant as his demeanor.

Though she did not smile back, she found the big sandy-haired knight's confidence and humor appealing. But she was not ready to trust him any more than Gawain Avenel.

Riding near the cart, Sir Walter de Soulis seemed even more severe and humorless by contrast. He said little to anyone, speaking sharply when he did. And he had already forced her to drink from the wine bladder that he kept strapped to his saddle.

Though she had refused at first, he had put it to her lips and poured wine between them, so that liquid dripped over her chin. The bitter aftertaste left a grainy texture on her tongue that she wiped away on the back of her chained hands.

At the time, Gawain had been riding at the head of the escort. He turned to ride back. "Sir Sheriff," he said, "what are you doing?"

"The girl looks pale and nervous. The wine will strengthen and calm her," De Soulis answered. Gawain nodded, glancing at her with a frown before riding away.

That had been over an hour ago, and now she felt woozy from the herbs in the wine. She had swallowed only a bit, but its effect was enough to dull her thoughts and make her feel weary.

She was exhausted already from little rest the night before, and for the past several days and nights. As the cart rolled along the road, she leaned her head against a bale of hay and slid into a bleary doze that deepened into sleep.

* * *

"Laurie, I swear I am glad to see you," Gawain said with quiet relief to the man who rode beside him. "'Tis sheer luck you were sent from York with the king's men to ride with this party into Scotland. I had not seen or heard from you for near a year, I think."

"Ha, luck," Laurence Kirkpatrick said. "'Twould have been luckier had I been at Newcastle yesterday. I would have talked you out of staying for the king's feast. Married!" He shook his head. "How could you go to a supper and come out with a wife!"

"I only thought to help the girl. She needed a champion."

"Och, aye," Laurie answered with exaggerated wisdom. "And no one could protect the lass but you, I suppose. I heard the story from your stepbrothers this morn. Surely someone else could have stepped in."

"Robin attempted to help, but her swan bit him. I was the only one who thought to bring bread for the poor creature."

Laurence shook his head disparagingly. "Do what I do, man. Watch after yourself first. Life is more pleasant that way. I am a Scotsman born and bred, but I fight for the English king. The pay is better, and the chances of gaining land and a good life are far better."

"And the ale is good," Gawain said dryly.

"Och, well, the ale is better in Scotland, actually," Laurie answered. "But I prefer to offer sword arm and services where my skills will be appreciated and rewarded."

Gawain slid his friend a quick look. "I wonder if a certain English girl influenced your decision... Maude, was it?"

Laurie's cheeks burned bright. "Maude of Rosemoor. Sir Harry Gray's youngest daughter."

"Ah, Lady Maude," Gawain drawled. "Here you chide me for being a married man, yet I was sure you would be the one to wed first. Last we met, you were well smitten by that fair damsel."

"Er, uh," Laurie said. "We are wed."

Gawain laughed with delight. "When?"

"Last winter."

"So the fair Lady Maude is the reason a braw Border Scot rides for the English king," Gawain said, grinning.

"Pay and rewards were greatly on my mind." Laurie scowled.

"Oh, I am certain of it," Gawain said. "The lady is accustomed to finery, being Sir Harry's daughter."

"Ho, just wait, now that you are wed!"

"But my lady wife does not seem to care for finery and property. She cares only for freedom—and wants only to get as far away from me as she can." He frowned, thinking of the unsavory task of restraining her the night before. There was something fresh and wild about her that deserved freedom, he thought, glancing back involuntarily. She slept in the cart.

Laurie, too, looked back. "I cannot blame the lass. Her English bridegroom is a somber sort."

"Aye, and sworn afresh to the king, too."

"Not still torn between Scottish and English?" Laurie whispered loudly. "When we were lads and squires together, you used to say—"

"I said naught," Gawain hissed. "And keep quiet about it."

"Well, many are pulled between two loyalties. Change like the wind, they say of us Scots."

"I am not a Scotsman," Gawain insisted.

"Ah." Laurie nodded as if he knew better. "Then listen to one who admits that he is. This matter is much on my mind of late. Many Scotsmen have lands to protect in England—as I do, as you do. And many think Scotland is better off under English rule. The English have wealth and military might. Scotland is poor and leaderless, needing wealth and might on her side."

"Scotland has a bold leader now in Robert Bruce, it seems."

Laurie shrugged. "I will wait and watch before I decide what I think of that. Bruce was one of the finest knights in King Edward's court, and he has English lands and interests, far more than I do. Now he's gone over to the Scottish side, but following him doesna seem safe nor wise."

"Many Scotsmen care more for freedom than safety."

"I can understand it. But my wife and children, and my gear and my table, are safest kept in England."

"Children?" Gawain glanced at him.

"We'll have one by the end o the year, Maude says." Laurie grinned, quick and fresh, his cheeks pinkening.

Gawain clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Good news! No wonder you like to keep on the safe side."

"Aye so. What of yourself? I heard you took to the hills with renegades. I thought you had joined your own at last. Yet now you have declared anew to Edward again."

"Laurie, no one knows of my birth here but you. 'Tis best you forget it if you feel inclined to speak of it aloud."

"Pray pardon, Gawain," Laurie murmured soberly. "I know you have English property to protect, though I did not think 'twas a large holding. Did Henry decide to grant you something more, though you are not his true eldest son?"

"'Tis not the land that I think to protect, but the family."

"Ah," Laurie said, nodding his understanding. "Ah."

Gawain rode in silence beside his friend. He had known Laurence Kirkpatrick since they had attended lessons together at a school taught by monks in Northumberland. They had squired together, and had been knighted in London under Edward Plantagenet's sword in the same ceremony.

Long ago, when they had been young boys, Gawain had confided the secret of his Scottish birth to Laurie, his close friend. At times, Laurie seemed full of bluster and reckless humor. Yet Gawain knew him for an honorable man, and trusted him implicitly.

"What of your new assignment in the north?" Laurie asked. "I hear you have been given command of a garrison."

"Temporary only, while the current commander is out chasing Bruce in the hills," Gawain said. The writ for his assignment had been handed to him by De Soulis that morning. So far he had scanned it only briefly, but he was stunned by the conditions and restrictions placed upon him.

"Do you know the details of it yet?"

"Not all of them. King Edward wants a written report of the lay of the land. I am to ride about, scribble notes, collect them together, and deliver them to the king's army commander. As for the rest—well, this will not be an easy post, or easy tasks."

Laurie laughed skeptically. "I hear one of the tasks given to you is impossible!"

"Ah, the one where I am to tame a girl according to my whim, eke an oath of loyalty out of her, and display her as the captive Swan Maiden of Scotland?" He pinched his lips together sourly.

"Och, aye, 'twill win a lady's affection," Laurie drawled.

"And then I must bring her to court as an example of Scottish obedience, making sure she spits out that oath of fealty for the king. Just as I had to do," he added darkly.

"You did not gain the king's forgiveness this last time, my friend. He means to make an example of you."

"It seems so."

"And all this is to be done while you garrison the girl's own castle and take the lay of her lands?" Laurie shook his head. "Under the eye of that black dog, the sheriff?"

"I hope not, for I have old arguments with him."

"Easy to do," Laurie said. "You know what they say of him."

"Only that he is the king's Master of Swans in the north, and sheriff of some small Scottish shire."

"They say," Laurie began, leaning sideways and lowering his voice, "that his black armor has some spell of invincibility over it. That he practices dark arts to keep it so."

Gawain wrinkled his brow skeptically. "I have heard no such rumor, and I rode with him years ago, when he wore black armor—this suit, or some other, I do not know. But 'tis absurd."

"Look at that mail—have you ever seen the like?"

Narrowing his eyes as he turned to look at the sheriff, Gawain studied what he could of the chain mail beneath the man's surcoat—the sleeves, hood, lower hem, and leggings. The links shone like polished jet. "It looks blackened with grease and lampblack to me," he said.

"I have heard," Laurie added, "that he traded his soul for that suit, made in some foreign place."

"'Tis well made, and no doubt expensive. But not worth a man's soul. 'Tis a foolish rumor you would do well to ignore."

"They say," Laurie went on quietly, "that never a point can pierce it, or ever has. The man cannot be wounded."

Gawain shook his head. "If such armor were to be had for a decent price, we would all be wearing it."

"Well," Laurie said, "he looks of a size with you. Since he has already paid for it, you should borrow it from him if you ever go into battle. I could not get my arms into it, myself. Pity." He sighed.

Gawain grinned. "Sir Laurie, I have missed you."

"Aye, and now tell me this—is the girl's property worth all this annoyance?"

"Hardly. Elladoune once belonged to her father, but 'twas forfeited years ago. She has no hereditary claim to it, since she has older brothers in Robert Bruce's army. 'Twill never be mine, if that is what you are wondering."

"I see." Laurie glanced at him. "So you must train her to speak before the king, or lose your head? Unpleasant."

"Risky, more than unpleasant. She is a bit wild, and comes from true rebel stock. The task is unsavory... and the castle is too damned close to Glenshie," Gawain added in a low voice.

Laurie glanced over his shoulder at the sound of hoofbeats. "Ah, look. Here comes Sir Soul-less," he drawled.

Gawain turned to see Walter de Soulis riding toward them. He noticed, also, that Juliana slept in the jostling cart, her collar and chains glinting in the light. She leaned against one of the hay bales carried for extra fodder. All around her were piled sacks of provisions, weapons, and armor. She looked lost and vulnerable amid the trappings of war.

"Avenel," De Soulis said, guiding his horse to ride beside Gawain. "I trust you have read over the king's writ."

"Close enough to wonder why I have been given this assignment," Gawain said.