A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland (13 page)

"Cuiden," the king said, "we're
your guests. Would you have our aid or no?"

"You're welcome to join in the fight
if it pleases you. Never say that a MacDonald would not share with a guest. But
'tis up to you. If you'd bide in safety..."

"No. You're our hosts and we'll pay
our guests' duty." He turned to the others. "Follow their lead in
this. It's their style of fighting. We'll do what we may to their aid."

The oncoming galley was adjusting, the oarsmen
backing water, but Cuiden's galley and its sister drove in. The two flanked the
leading ship. The oarsmen rowed in a frenzy of effort. At a shout, they raised
their sweeps.

The galley smashed into the side of the
Rossmen, shearing off oars. Splinters and shards of wood flew. The Rossmen
screamed, speared by pieces of their own oars. Shouting MacDonalds flung their
grappling hoods over the sides and swarmed over the rails from both galleys.

James saw their thought--to finish this
galley first whilst it was outmanned before they had to take on the other,
which was still maneuvering into position. He nodded to himself as he drew his
sword. Bruce already had his battleaxe in his hand. He leapt down the six-foot
drop to the poop deck of the Ross galley from the high bow. James scrambled to
follow. Lennox jumped beside him.

James's feet slithered on the wet deck. With
a huge effort, he managed to right himself as a red-dripping claymore slashed
at his belly. He dodged and nearly went down on the pitching deck. The king
swung at the attacker, knocking him out of the fight. James managed to get his
balance and raise his sword.

Half-a-dozen Rossmen swarmed towards them. Bruce
had his back to Lennox so James turned to guard their flank. The Rossmen
circled, looking for an opening. Bruce, apparently deciding that offense was
best, dove towards the first of the Rossmen with a smashing blow. Few in the
world could match Bruce hand-to-hand. The king crashed into them with his deadly
swinging axe. James dashed in to skewer a Rossman who'd circled to the king's
side.

The main of the battle was still raging a
distance ahead near the bow of the galley. James jumped over a body to keep to Bruce's
side as the king cut his way through. Pausing, James looked over his shoulder. Where
was the other galley? The chaos around them made it impossible to tell. They'd
best finish this fight fast.

Lennox, on the other side of the king,
whirled to face an attack, leaving the king open. The king dodged a swinging
claymore and went down to a knee on the slimy, blood-soaked catwalk. James
caught a blade that would have severed Bruce's neck. From his knee, the king
swung and gutted the man. Then ahead, James saw something he hadn't noticed
before. The group at the bow surrounded a prisoner, roped and tied.

Already Cuiden was hacking at one of the
leaders, a bearish-built man with bushy red hair. James pointed in their
direction with his sword.

"Yes, we'll to his aid," the king
said. A huge swing flung the last of the Rossmen out of the way and Bruce
strode onto the bow. As he reached them, Cuiden hewed into the other's chest
with his claymore. Another rushed at the Cuiden's back. Bruce swung. The man
flew off the deck and into the water from the force of the blow.

Cuiden swung around, sword high, but now
the bow was cleared of enemies. He touched his breast in a salute. "Methinks
I owe you a debt, Robert de Bruce, and Angus Og will know it."

Edward Bruce and Niall Campbell and the
rest of their party were still fighting at the poop of the galley, but the
remaining Rossmen seemed reluctant to continue the battle. Some jumped and
others were pushed into the sea. The other Ross galley was backing water instead
of joining the fight.

Cuiden bared his teeth in a grin. "They
counted swords and don't like the numbers. We outnumber them now so they don't
have the balls for a fight."

Their own caterans were shouting jeers--it
wasn't needed to understand the language.

James kicked the fallen body out of the way
as he hurried to the trussed prisoner, laying face down on the deck. Slashing
the ropes that bound his hands behind his back, James turned the man over to
look into Robbie Boyd's eyes.

"By the rood, Robbie." He slashed
at the ropes that still tied Boyd's feet.

Boyd was rubbing his wrists and hands where
ropes had left bloody impressions. "Thank all the saints." Boyd was
white-faced as he struggled to sit up. "Been bound for two days," he
said through gritted teeth. "Since the bastard Rossmen laid hands on me. I
was seeking you."

Bruce pushed the man back as he squatted
beside them. "Stay still, Robbie." The king scowled, worry and
puzzlement both clear in his face. "Are you hurt?"

"Nothing to worry over, mostly numb
from the bonds." But his eyes were wide, and he grabbed the king's arm. "My
lord--it's Kildrummy Castle. It's fallen."

Bruce rocked back on his heels. "How?"

"A traitor. We held off the attack
easy enough, and they laid siege. Someone fired the stables. Whilst we fought
the blaze, he opened the postern gate."

The king's mouth worked soundlessly before
he choked out, "Elizabeth? Marjorie?"

"Fled before the siege as you
commanded. But--Nigel. He was sore wounded in the fighting. Yet, oh, God have
mercy. I fear he may have lived long enough to reach Berwick."

Bruce gripped the bloody axe in his hand,
staring at it. "Nigel--" he whispered.

James looked away, ashamed of his relief.
Isabella was safe and fleeing to Norway.

"I escaped. God forgive me, but Nigel
was held too close." A tear ran down Boyd's cheek, and he made a choking
sound, turning his face away. "Forgive me. Robert, forgive me."

"There's nothing--nothing to forgive,
Robbie. Do you think I don't know..." Bruce's voice seized for a moment
before he went on. "I know you would have saved him if you could. I think
God that you got away, my dear friend. I thank God."

He took an almost sobbing breath and looked
up at Cuiden who watched wordlessly. "If you owed me a debt, then it's
paid for saving Robbie."

* * *

 
Two weeks later, even through the thick
walls of Castle Tioram with its long, timbered hall, the winds of Loch Moidart
could be heard whistling up the cliff. James fidgeted as the bard told his
interminable tale--in that still mostly indecipherable Gaelic. James couldn't
stand doing nothing--had never been able to stand it. The day before they'd had
a stag hunt, better than being locked inside but not the excitement of hunting
to fill an empty stomach.

A full five-score of the Lady Christina's
people sat at her table, a court indeed and no rude one, whatever he'd heard in
the past about the Highlanders. All listened respectfully to the bard. James
sighed. Resolutely, he sliced a choice bit from a boar that sent up fragrant
steam in the middle of the long table. He offered it to Lady Iosbail, the
dark-haired girl to his left, a cousin of Christina of the Isles if he'd made
the whole thing out aright.

She motioned to her trencher with a wicked
smile. She'd tortured him nightly in the two weeks they'd been here. Somehow,
her dress had slipped down half exposing the tops of her breasts. James
suppressed a grin. They were plump and tempting, as Boyd preferred. That poor
man was sitting between two large and hairy warriors. Further down the table,
Thomas Bruce raised a cup to James before he leaned close to a red-haired lady
and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh and give him a playful
push on his shoulder. James suspected his own companion had much in common with
Lady Christina with whom the king, most unusual for that man, seemed smitten. Even
now at the head table, they were talking, the king motioning with a hand as he
spoke. Lady Christina bent her head to listen intently. If anything could give
the king respite from the ill news that trickled to them, it was only joy to
James.

For himself, as delectable as the girl was
and even though she kept him in constant turmoil, James wasn't ready to be in
her toils. Isabella was too much in his dreams of a night to think of another. However,
she did try to help him get his tongue around the strange language they spoke.

"How is it that you say to attack
ahead, Lady Iosbail?"

"Say 'A bheil thu 'g iarraidh a dhanns'
and they'll attack as you please," she said and a smile curved her full
lips.

He laughed. "That's not what you said
last night." He nodded towards a particularly burly, longhaired chieftain
sitting a place down from Lady Christina. The man was watching James as they
spoke. He rarely looked away, James thought.

"If I said that to him, would he perchance
try to remove my head?"

"He's a cousin and mild as milk."
Her eyes glittered.

"I'm sure he is, my lady." James
laughed. "Like all your mild men-folk." James squinted as he thought
over the phrase and, at last, managed to parse it out. "Mayhap he wouldn't
be offended if I asked him to dance as you suggest. Not as if I called him a
sheep as you told me to do before."

She giggled. "You're nae as dim as you
look."

"You aren't promised to the braw man,
I suppose?"

"He might like it if I were," she
smiled as she sipped her wine.

James shook his head. God's wounds, but he
needed to find something to do. Mayhap Robbie Boyd might have an idea. Arran
wasn't so far, if the king would allow an attack there.

* * *

The next night, James stood in front of the
roaring fire on the huge hearth. Behind him, the king paced as he often did
when he had decisions to be made. James was glad the king had taken him into
his council and now his voice was heard in the discussions. But he couldn't
stand any more sitting and waiting. It was time to let the English know the
Scots still had swords.

Boyd sat, legs stretched in front of him,
across the room. He had little taste for talking in council, or so it seemed to
James. Thomas and Alexander sat next to their brother whilst Edward Bruce turned
from staring out through a window slit and paced around the room. Campbell and Lennox
were watching the pacing Sir Edward.

Edward Bruce turned to toss a bag into the
middle of the table. It clinked as it hit. "The Martinmas rents from
Carrick. I had to dodge Sassenach all the way. There's been unrest there and
executions. Priests crucified. Hangings. Villages burned. The country's being
ground down into the dirt."

King Robert gripped his hand into a fist. "Who
holds the castle? Did you learn?"

"Percy, Earl of Northumberland."

The king strode another turn about the
room. "There are worse to face. He has an over-abundance of caution on the
battlefield. How much of the rents did you collect?"

"Not as much we would have hoped
because of the troubles, but if I take them to Antrim they should pay for a
good number of gallowglasses. And you have the promise of galleys from Angus
MacDonald."

The king picked the bag up and weighed it
in his hand. "Yes, Irish troops--gallowglasses, we must have. But I need
you with me whilst I gather what aid I can from Mackinzie of Kintail. Alexander
and Thomas can go to Ireland for us." He nodded to his two younger
brothers.

Since Boyd had arrived with word that
Kildrummy Castle had fallen to treachery and the King's brother Nigel captured,
the king had slept little. Word of Nigel's fate hadn't yet reached them so far
into the north were they, but James knew what the king feared. It was what they
all feared. Every captured friend they had word of had died to the same
execution King Edward had given Wallace.

The mistress of this castle gave the king
some comfort. Yet when James checked the walls at night, too restless to sleep,
all too often he saw the king pacing in the great hall.

James felt he would burst being confined to
the castle. Often he stood on the walls watching roiling waters of Loch Moidart,
waiting and watching. His hands twitched to hold his sword.

"How many do you think from MacKinzie?"
Edward asked.

"Not many, Christina believes. You
know how thin the king's writ runs here but for my friendship with her. Mayhap
a hundred and the three hundred she's promised from her own."

"And no knights or heavy horse--"
Edward shook his head. "I don't like it."

"Heavy horse won't win for us, Edward.
You know that. We can't and won't match the English in cavalry. So we'll have
to make good use of what we have. My plan is wait two weeks for Alexander and
Thomas to sail to Ireland, hire what gallowglasses they may and return. Meanwhile,
we'll have gathered our force. We'll land in Carrick in February, before they
expect spring attacks. We can't wait for the hill passes to open. The Islemen
say the English still seek us at Rathlin Island, so they're well out on where
we are."

"Your Grace," James said stepping
towards the table. Time to put forward his idea. Boyd had thought it was a good
one.

"Jamie?" The king raised his
eyebrows.

James knew his place here was more because
of saving the king and for being the Lord of Douglas that should be than
because the king expected him to speak. Edward Bruce gave him a scathing look
and even the others leaned back with skeptical gazes. James rushed on. "I've
a thought. Men are good, but we need supplies. Weapons, armor, food."