The Falcons of Montabard by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online Page B

veins.
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    'I'm going with you in spirit,' he said as he and Sabin embraced. 'I wish I was going with you in body too.'
    'Don't let your mother hear you say that.'
    'She knows.' Simon smiled wryly. 'She'll watch me like a hawk for the next few days to make sure I don't take off after you. I might have risked it, except that Strongfist would tie me across my horse like a parcel of heather and send me straight back.'
    He was trying for lightness and not succeeding. Sabin tightened the embrace. 'I will pray for our father at the Holy Sepulchre,' he said. 'And I will send you news, I promise, although I am not so sure about a bolt of golden silk. An emir's head perhaps?'
    Simon found a more genuine smile. As Sabin released him, he took the large silver pin from his cloak. It was circular with a fastener in the shape of a thistle; the head was set with a large amethyst. 'Here,' he said. 'Take this to remind you of us. You lost yours on the Blanche Nef.'
    Sabin looked down at the offering and shook his head. 'I cannot,' he said. 'It is part of your inheritance.'
    'And it is mine to give.' Simon jutted his chin. 'If you do not take it, then I will throw it into the Tweed as an offering to God.' He thrust out his hand insistently. After a brief hesitation, Sabin took the brooch. It was as large and solid as a church doorknocker, and so cold from the air that it almost burned in his fingers.
    'What choice do I have?' he said. 'It would be a sin to send a second to join the first.' He pushed the pin through his own cloak, which was of heavy green wool lined with marten skins. The existing pin was Simon's too, of good bronze with a pattern of beadwork circles.
    'God speed you.' Simon's voice was tight with emotion.
    And keep you,' Sabin responded, feeling his own throat constrict. Abruptly he turned to his dun cob, and swung into the saddle.
    Edmund Strongfist had sat his mount silently throughout
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    the farewells. Now he inclined his head in salute to the Prince and his family, and clicked his tongue to his own mount. Man and horse rode over the bridge at a brisk walk that settled into an easy long-swinging stride. They had a full day's ride ahead of them. Sabin followed, the dun's shod hooves ringing out, the pack pony clopping behind. Although he was tempted to look round, he kept his eyes fixed on the space between his mount's ears.
    Strongfist was the one to turn, his light blue gaze fixing briefly on the walls of Roxburgh before settling on Sabin with assessment.'No doubt you have been told as much about my reputation as I have been told about yours,' he said. He spoke French, but his accent was a peculiar blending of English and Lowland Scots. 'What you have heard of mine is likely true. I am hoping that the opposite applies to yours.'
    Sabin raised his brows. 'If you are going to judge me by my past then I am condemned already. I might as well save you the trouble of the journey and jump into the Tweed now.' He indicated the roaring brown water, scummed with white.
    The knight's eye corners crinkled with grim humour. 'That would be too easy. Besides, from what they say of you, you would likely float. Nay, I judge men by what I see myself, not what I hear from others.' He made a beckoning gesture. 'Ride alongside me. I'm not an owl to turn my head naturally like this.'
    Sabin heeled the dun's flanks and joined Strongfist. They had spoken very little at Roxburgh: all the talking had been done by Prince David. A large bag of silver was now sequestered somewhere about Strongfist's person - expenses that had not been given to Sabin for fear that he might squander them. Or perhaps it was bribery to a gaoler. Edmund Strongfist had been summoned from his winter quarters at his brother's keep at Branton in order to take charge of Sabin, and that was where they were going now to await the pilgrimage season.
    'You will find me easy enough company,' Strongfist said. His breath whitened the air and droplets of moisture hung in
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    his