Page 8 of The Scottish Bride
“Some of the Scottish ladies are caged in such devices, but I have not heard of plans for a captive here. The cages are a taunt meant for Bruce, saying he cannot protect his women.”
Deep as it shocked him, Liam could not take his gaze from the ugly thing. “And they call Edward a paragon of chivalry,” he drawled. One of the captured women, a cousin of Bruce, was a friend, the very lady who had taught Liam to play the harp years before. He lacked her skill but did well enough, and he was even able to guise himself as a musician when needed. Like now.
“We can only pray Bruce’s ladies remain safe until they can be rescued,” Gilchrist said, “since King Edward refuses to negotiate their release. Edward intends to make examples of them. Beware, lad. It is a miracle you escaped his temper after you were captured.”
“Edward is more interested in this mysterious book than he is in me. So I am pledged to serve again, under duress.” He had not told Gilchrist of the threats to their kin or his need to protect them. Nor would his latest pledge change his innermost loyalty and dedication to the cause of Scotland and the Scots. Liam had found a stronger purpose after his lands had been forfeited. There was some benefit to outlawry.
“See you soon.” Gilchrist lifted the reins to turn his charger. “If the guards ask, tell them I questioned you and found you harmless. Though you look a suspicious rascal to me. Go find the lady and bring her out.”
Liam shifted the leather bag. “Old as she is, this may take time.”
“Be careful. Edward is furious, berating his commanders because Bruce has not been captured. He vows all will suffer if the Bruce is not taken soon.”
“When I find this lady, I mean to bring her to Robert, not Edward. If Longshanks wants this book, Bruce will find it equally interesting. Perhaps it will help the cause.”
“What is this book?”
Liam shrugged. “Some bit of prophecy, perhaps. Edward is growing old and weak. He may depend more on such things if his reason is failing.”
“This old woman is the Rhymer’s daughter? Any daughter of his would be long in the tooth by now. They do say Thomas the Rhymer was stolen away by the Queen of Faery,” Gilchrist mused. “When he returned home, he had the gift of prophecy.”
“Fireside tales.” Liam had left belief in faery magic behind in childhood.
“If this crone is a seer like her kinsman, perhaps she knows when this accursed war will end. That would help us all. Well, try not to get caught up there.”
“Good advice.” Liam waved a hand and walked away.
Exaggerating his limp, he crossed the drawbridge behind a brewer’s cart laden with barrels. As two sentries at the tower gate stopped the brewer, Liam hunched his shoulders to lessen his height and brawn, needing to look more a traveling musician than a Scots warrior.
He could be recognized, he knew. Though released by the king, he was not pardoned of other offenses. Sir William Seton was an outlaw due to his forfeiture, his actions, and the company he kept. While most would not know him on sight, word was out about a brawny Scot with Nordic-blue eyes. He tucked his hood over his brow.
One sentry held up a hand. “Your business?”
“I am Wat of Selkirk, sir, a harper, hoping to barter tunes for supper and a bed.” Just a man, just a town.
“What did yon knight want with you?” The taller guard gestured toward the road.
“He questioned me and saw no harm in me trading music for supper.”
The sentry scowled. “We do not need music here. Go away.”
Liam pointed to the brewer’s cart now rumbling into the bailey yard. “A garrison needs music on a night when there is fresh ale.”
“Eh, true. We should let him in,” the stocky guard said.
“Strapping lad like that should be fighting for the king,” the other replied.
Liam gave a thin smile. “I did. And was sore wounded in Edward’s service. My harp earns my way now.”
“Go on, then. Find the constable of the castle. He will decide.” The tall guard pointed. “But be out by midnight, even if you find a chit to share a blanket.”
Liam chuckled. “Is there much chance of that?”
“There are few women here and none that would swive a harper,” one guard chortled. “There are two fine Scottish ladies inside, but neither would look yer way.”
“Three Scottish ladies, but one is an old bird,” the shorter guard amended.
Old bird? Was she the one he sought? Liam waited.
