Rivals for the Crown (28 page)

"What is it ye've seen in yer dreams, Gannon?"

"Nothing I can say for certain. But we need to be careful."

"I think we learned that well," Davey said. "Ye're not staying here, Liam?"

Nell heard the odd note in her brother's voice. "Davey, what else has happened? Liam. Tell me. What is it? What has happened that ye're all looking at each other like lads with a secret?"

"A'right," Liam said. "First, love, ye can see we're all alive and whole."

"And was that ever in question?"

"For a moment or two," Liam said.

"Tell me all of it, if ye would. And now, before I faint."

He told her of the attack, of the men knowing Rory's name.

"Margaret and Maureen will be sick about this," Nell said. "And ye have no idea who they are, the ones who attacked ye?"

"No," Liam said. He looked at Davey and Gannon. "Highlanders, or dressed like them among them. But now, when there's fighting in the streets and on lonely roads, when Edward of England is looming on the horizon and everyone's watching what will happen next.. .now is a good time for a murder, or two, or four, that will barely be noticed. They want revenge and they kent we would be there, and returning. We're not staying here in Stirling, love. We're going home." Liam glanced at their daughters. "We'll keep out of the thick of it, aye?"

Nell nodded. "We'll stay out of it. Let Edward and the Competitors fight their battle without us. We'll keep safe in Ayrshire."

In that, she was wrong.

Ayrshire. Nell took a deep breath of the fragrant air. Summer in Scotland was magnificent, the hills alive with heather and the trees bright green. It was hard to remember that winter would come soon. And so might Edward of England. The king had declared that he would make a progression through Scotland, visiting Dumfermline and St. Andrews, Edinburgh and Perth. And Stirling. But they would not be there to greet him. They'd be here, in peaceful Ayrshire, far to the south and west of Stirling.

Below them, in the verdant glen, lay the town of Paisley, where they hoped to find lodging at the abbey. One more day and they'd be home. The trip south had been an easy one. They had set a leisurely pace, enjoying, for once, no set schedule. Liam had sent men ahead to tell the staff to prepare the house for their arrival, but there was little to be done there. The house Liam had been born in was a simple structure, two stories of rambling whitewashed stone surrounded by a high stone wall and a belt of trees that had stood for centuries. And farther on, the pastures and fields tended by Liam's tenants, whose rent was generally paid with their crops.

In the good years Liam's family ate well. In the lean, he kept a tally of what his tenants owed, which was often forgiven. In all the years Nell had known him, he'd never forced anyone off his land.

Perhaps it was that he had been without a home for so many years. Perhaps it was simply the goodness of his character, but he was an indulgent landlord and was content with that. As was she.

Her childhood home had been destroyed when she was twelve. She'd spent some years at her sister's home at Loch Gannon, many more years in royal castles, Stirling most of all. But Liam's home was her home as well. They would spend the next few months here, they'd decided. Or perhaps forever. If they were fortunate.

The news was unsettling. Edward had begun his progression through Scotland, stopping, along with a huge entourage, at every city that could house him. He would go to Berwick last, where he would begin the hearings that would end in his choosing the next king of Scotland.

"Ranald will join us in Paisley," Liam said, looking up from the letter he'd been reading. "He's doing his rounds and says he'll stay until we arrive."

"Good." Nell was pleased. She was very fond of Ranald Crawford, Liam's uncle and the Sheriff of Ayrshire. He was a powerful but temperate man, who had been good to Liam through the years.

Liam's mother had died when Liam was very young. When, just a few years later, his father had died as well, Ranald had stepped in to care for the orphaned boy. Despite losing his parents, Liam had had a happy childhood, surrounded as he had been by

Ranald and his sons, William and Ronald, both close in age to Liam, and their cousins Malcolm, William, and John Wallace.

"Ranald has my cousin William with him," Liam said. "Enjoy the quiet we have now. We'll not have it tonight."

"Not if William Wallace is as I remember him," Nell said. "He was never alone. He always had a group of lads with him and was coming up with something to keep them all busy."

"I dinna think ye'll see a change in that," Liam said. "Last I saw William he had about ten companions."

Nell smiled. Liam's cousin William had always been a
favourite
of hers. He, with her daughters, would make for a lively evening.

Ranald was waiting at the Abbey for them, his smile wide, his arms open. He embraced Liam and Nell and told their girls that their beauty was a sight to behold. Meg and Elissa giggled and blushed.

"And ye remember this one," Ranald said, gesturing to the young man with him. "My sister's son William Wallace."

Liam shook his hand, and William greeted them warmly as Nell hugged him.

"Look at ye, William!" she said. "Ye've grown again! I dinna think it possible."

"Nor did I." William smiled. "I dinna do anything to cause it but eat."

"Aye," Ranald said with a laugh. "Exactly. Ye dinna do anything but eat."

"My da says that's why he lets me travel with ye, Uncle," William said, his grin wide, "so ye can feed me for a change."

Nell laughed with him, this giant of a young man with the bright smile. She'd not seen him in years, and the change in him was remarkable. He'd been a boy the last time; he was grown now, or at least she hoped so, for he was extraordinarily tall, well over six feet. His hair was brown and wavy, his eyes bright. He'd always been a charming boy, and she was pleased to see that William's bright manner and winning ways seemed not to have been changed.

"You've heard that every Scot must swear fealty by July twenty-seventh?" Ranald asked. At their nods, he continued. "They're to report to Ayr, or Inverness, or Perth, or Dumfries. Every Scot. Or face severe penalties. And I'm to enforce it."

"And if they dinna?" Liam asked.

"I'm not sure what will happen. You know many won't do it."

"Gannon willna," Nell said. "And I doubt Davey will."

"No," Liam said thoughtfully. "And will Edward enforce it, d'ye think?"

Ranald sighed. "He's told us, the sheriffs of Scotland, to enforce it, and he's sending his soldiers to see that we do. Which means I am asked to oversee my fellow Scots paying homage to an English king."

"What a mockery this makes of the hearings Edward will hold in Berwick," Nell cried. "What use is there in even holding them? If we have all sworn fealty to Edward, is he not the lord of Scotland?"

"Exactly," Ranald said.

"What will the Crawfords do?" Nell asked, slanting a look at her husband, for Liam had always been loyal to his family. Whither the Crawfords went, he would go. And she and their girls. "Will they sign it?"

"Most will. I have, unpleasant as that was," Ranald said.

"My da won't," William said.

"I have warned him that refusing to sign puts my sister and their sons in jeopardy," Ranald said.

"But I agree with him, Uncle," William said. "My father should follow his heart. You know what my other uncle says."

Ranald frowned. "Aye, I've heard it enough times."

Nell and Liam exchanged a mystified look.

William smiled. "My uncle the priest told me *No gift is like to libertie. Then never live in slaverie.'"

"Fine words," Ranald said, "but sometimes difficult to live by when ye have a wife and sons."

Nell met William's gaze, saw his intensity and earnestness, and smiled. "To have liberty, William, is worth all the riches in the world. Never forget that. Freedom is not a word. It is a passion."

William's eyebrows rose, and he grinned at her. "Aye, it is!"

Liam looked from William to Nell and reached for her hand.

Ranald drummed his fingers together. "This is too serious! It's been far too long since I've seen you, Nell. Look at your daughters! You are a most fortunate man, Liam Crawford. Each one is a beauty."

Liam laughed. "I know that well, Uncle! And each one is as much trouble as she is bonnie!"

It was a merry evening, the first of many, Nell hoped, now that they were back in Ayrshire. They set out for the last leg of their journey in the late morning and arrived at midday to find all in good order. Liam took the horses off to the stables, and Nell and

the girls unpacked. The world and Scotland might be in an uproar, but here, on this quiet bit of land, there was peace. She said a prayer that it might continue, then made up their bed, smiling as she heard her daughters' laughter in the other room. They were home. All was well.

TWELVE

AYRSHIRE, SCOTLAND

Rory wiped the blade of his sword on a handful of leaves, then

looked at the man on the ground. He felt ill, but at least he'd not lost his meal, as Kieran had. Not that he blamed his cousin. The scene they'd come across on their daily ride of Magnus's lands was stomach-turning. Two men dead. A woman, who'd died just as they'd found her. And one man alive, but barely, his stomach torn open. He'd cried like a bairn when Rory had leaned over him, and asked Rory to be merciful and end his suffering.

And Rory had. Which had, no doubt, ensured him a spot in hell, if he'd not already been headed there. He sighed and looked for a soft bit of ground in which to bury the four. This murder was unnatural, and unsettling.

There was no easy way to know who had killed them, for their belongings had been stripped from their bodies, leaving only the weathered
woollen
clothing most Scots wore on the road—long tunics and lined cloaks. That their cloaks were lined indicated that the victims had not been vagrants. He cut a piece of hair from each head, and a square of cloth from each cloak and took their belts and a brooch that the attackers must not have noticed. And yet he did not believe this had been simple robbery. It had been murder, the kind that had been happening all too often, and far too close to his brother's home.

"Come," he said to his brother's men, gesturing them forward. "We'll bury these poor souls and then get home. Two of ye, get yerselves to the road and watch. We dinna want to be set upon unawares."

He looked at the bodies on the ground and swore. This was the second unexplained attack in a fortnight. The roads were dangerous, as they'd learned on their return from Norham. They'd heard that Scotland was in turmoil, both from the increasing discord between the Balliol and the Bruce factions, and from the invasion of English soldiers, but they'd not been prepared for this kind of attack.

With so many helping, it did not take long to dig the graves. When a cairn had been laid atop the graves to keep the animals out, Rory said a few prayers over the dead, then washed with the others in the burn nearby before returning to their horses. He pulled a cloth out of his pack to dry his hands; as he did so, he dislodged a circle of branches, which fell to the ground.

It was Isabel's crown, dried and brown now, most of the needles gone. But still he kept it with him. He should discard it, he knew, for it would not last much longer, and he might never see

Isabel de Burke again. But he wrapped it carefully in the cloth, ignoring Kieran's crooked smile as he watched.

He was the Oak King and this was the symbol of his reign. He was glad the story of the Oak King was just an old tale, a way to explain the world to those too young to know the yearly rhythms of growth and death. For if not, he would be dead by now, at least symbolically, for it was well after midsummer. And this was Henry de Boyer's season. Rory leapt onto his pony and lifted the reins, leading the others away, then turned, for one last look at the four graves under the sheltering oak.

His time in London seemed very long ago.

Magnus's men welcomed them back, telling them that Magnus had a guest. Ranald Crawford, Sheriff of Ayrshire, was within. Rory, wet through from the rain that had caught them as they'd neared the coast, nodded. They'd been expecting this visit, for none of them—not Magnus, nor he, nor Kieran—had sworn their oath to Edward yet. And Ranald was a relative of sorts, their uncle Liam's uncle. Not a blood relative, but still kin. In their seven months here, they'd seen much of him, and much more of Ranald's other nephews, the Wallace lads, with whom they played dice frequently.

He tossed his reins to the waiting lad and crossed the yard. Someday Magnus would return to Loch Gannon and Rory would live here in Ayrshire. The house had originally been a small fortress overlooking the sea, not much more than a lookout station, but over the years it had been enlarged and walls had been erected around it. The original rough
grey
stone building was still visible, serving as the entrance to the hall their father had built here, a comfortable if not grand space with a large fireplace dominating the room. Their mother had plastered the walls and hung tapestries and placed rugs on the floor. Jocelyn had made her own improvements when she'd married Magnus several years ago.