Rivals for the Crown (39 page)

He'd thought himself noble, to stay away and let her forget him. And perhaps, if he was honest with himself, to forget her. It had not worked. She haunted him. He saw her smile in his dreams,
sometimes sweet, sometimes so sexual that he woke, throbbing with need, to roam the night.

And now, to be just twelve miles from Berwick, in this makeshift camp with thirty other men, waiting for pampered nobles and harassed lawyers to plead their cases to a king who already knew the answer he wanted. It was torture.

William laughed at him. "Sit down, Rory. You're making us all nervous."

"One day you will love a woman," he said, "and I will laugh at

ye"

Which made William laugh all the more. And Kieran stare at Rory. And then he heard it, his own words. He loved her. And he did. There it was. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong woman, for God's sake, an Englishwoman instead of a warm Highland girl who would understand his life, and he hers. But there it was.

Kieran had gone to Berwick earlier that day to hear the news. And see Rachel. The story he had returned with had chilled Rory to the bones.

He looked at the sky. Two hours at the most until darkness came.

"Tell me again what Rachel told ye," he demanded of Kieran. "All of it."

His cousin sighed but repeated it. Rory listened, hearing different things now.

He had to see her. Had to talk to her, to know she was alive, that Walter Langton, curse the man, had not touched her. It was madness, he knew, to cover his hair with a dark hood, to change his trews and plaid for an English soldier's tunic and cloak, to leave the magnificent sword, given to him by his father, behind, and bring the short and inadequate one they'd taken from a dead man.

But that is just what he did.

The ride was not bad, even when he passed the English army, their campfires lighting the bottom of the low-hanging clouds with an orange glow. Closer were the minstrel camps, where vagabond musicians and jesters and tumblers waited for one chance to perform before a king, or lacking that, a group of nobles who would pay well for entertainment during this tedious process. Closer still was the collection of tents, each a bit away from the next, where traveling whores met their customers and exchanged their talents for coin.

And then the gates, closed, but not well guarded, for what madman would try to enter Berwick with an army inside as well as out? The king's knights were there, in the castle, and some in the town. Those who had wives and the coin to bring them to Berwick paid high prices to house them in the inns nearest the castle.

The guard hardly glanced at the bent man who fumbled with coin to hand him, too busy arguing playfully with the whores who were begging admittance. A second coin and Rory was through. He walked quickly up the hill, past the Flemish church, where music sounded from within, then around the corner.

And there it was, The Oak and The Ash. And somewhere, within those walls, was Isabel. But wait. The inn stood quiet. The door was closed, the large window that faced the street dark. The window above was shuttered. Silent.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

He climbed the steps and tried the door. Locked. He circled the inn, going to the alley behind it, where the kitchen garden was, and found the gate there that he remembered. He waited, listening, then found a dark corner and watched. Nothing moved. There was no light, no noise in the inn. He tried the door.

It was open and he entered, expecting to be challenged at any moment, but there was no voice raised in protest. The inn stood empty. He roamed the rooms, his boots sounding loud on the wooden floors. Beds were neatly made, waiting for occupants. The kitchen was cold, but food still stood on the shelves. There was ale in the cellar, but their clothes were gone. Jacob's books and Bible, all gone. In the attic he found a tiny room with a bed—a hiding place.

And in the tavern room, near the wall, bloodstains on the floor.

He asked at several inns, but no one would tell him what had happened at The Oak and The Ash. They shook their heads and shrugged.

"They're gone."

Rory turned to face the old man who spoke to him. "Jacob, all of them. They left after Langton's visit." "Do ye ken where they went?" The man shrugged.

"Was there an English lass? Isabel de Burke? Was she with them?"

"Ah. She's the one who stabbed Langton, aye?"

"What? She stabbed Walter Langton?"

"She got away is all I heard."

"She got away? Did he die? Did she kill him?"

"No one has said."

"Where did she go?"

The man shrugged again. "The inn is closed and they are all gone."

PART III

Dico tibi verum, libertas optima rerum;

Nuquam servili sub nexu vivito, fill.
(My son, I tell thee soothfastli
e, No gift Is
like to li
ber
tie; Then never live In slaverie
) LATIN PRECEPT OF WILLIAM WALLACE'S UNCLE,

PRIEST OF DUNIPACE

SEVENTEEN

TWO YEARS LATER

SEPTEMBER 1294 STIRLING CASTLE, SCOTLAND

Nell Crawford put her finger to her lips and pulled her nephew quickly into the room. "Kieran! What are ye doing here, and at such an hour? What's wrong?"

Kieran planted a kiss on her cheek and gave her a grin. "Whist, Nell, isn't that the very thing I've come to find out from ye?"

Nell closed the door. "And ye thought that the middle of the night was a good time to visit and get caught up on all our news?"

"I was hoping that some of the English spies will be abed. Ye just left attending the queen, Nell. I sent word. Did they not tell ye I was here?"

"No, but that's more the case these days than not. I may be her lady-in-waiting at the behest of John Comyn and John Balliol, but Isabella de Warenne and I will never be close."

"Because she's English?"

"That doesna help, does it? And because her father is the Earl of Surrey, one of King Edward's closest advisors and no friend of any Scot's. Is Rory here with ye, lad?"

"No. Just me. Rory's with William, meeting with some of the barons."

"At least he's not off looking for her. Has he conceded defeat yet?"

"No. Ye ken Rory."

"Aye, I do. What can I get ye—ale? Wine? Food?"

"No, I'm a'right. I ate with the others, just one more worried Scotsman coming with those who are attending Balliol's council. For what it's worth."

It was John Balliol who had been named the rightful King of Scotland by King Edward in Berwick, and King John Balliol who had jumped every time Edward of England called, hurrying down to Newcastle or London or wherever Edward told him to go, sitting silently or with token protest as Edward took over lawsuits and properties, saying these were his legal rights now. The Scottish nobles were silent through it all, but the Scottish people were most vocal in expressing their disapproval.

"I was listening," Kieran said, "to the others talk while I was waiting to see ye. Is it true, Nell? Does King John mean to defy Edward at last? Edward's sure to have noticed that Balliol missed the deadline to have troops in London to fight in Edward's invasion of France."

Balliol had not officially refused, but neither had he done as told. Instead, he'd summoned his council, and the nobles were gathering at Stirling.

"Of course Edward noticed," Nell said, "but then again, with the Welsh staging a rebellion at the same time, he's been a bit engaged. Very
neighbourly
of them, is it not, to distract him so nicely?"

"Aye, it is. So...how are ye faring here?"

"Lonely." Liam had been gone for so long, off in France, with the barons and bishops from Balliol's council, arranging a match between Balliol's oldest son and King Philip of France
's niece. She was very wear
y of being without him for the good of a king or two. "I miss Liam fiercely, and Meg and Elissa. But my girls are safe with Margaret at Loch Gannon, and Liam's better off in France than being with the lot of ye, living on the road."

"Ah, so ye did send them off."

"I did, though it broke my heart. But when King John ignored Edward's summons, I was afraid to keep them in Stirling."

Kieran nodded. "They are safe there. I'm glad my mother and sisters are on Skye and not here. And, I confess, I am weary of the road. Maybe I'm ready for a wife of my own. D'ye think Liam will help arrange my marriage as well?"

She smiled. "Not unless yer da turns out to be a king."

"Does it count if he thinks he is?"

"Be good, or I'll tell my brother what his oldest son is saying about him. Now, d'ye want some wine, or do I drink alone?"

"I'll have some wine."

Nell poured each of them a glass. "Strange to think that we can drink French wine from crystal glasses and the English cannot."

"They have crystal. Some of them."

"I meant the wine and ye ken it. What did King Edward expect when he argued with Philip of France? It's been a boon for Scottish merchants that the English are banned from trading with France. I hear Newcastle's wool merchants are making arrangements with Scottish merchants to get their goods to the Continent. I imagine they'll be paying a pretty price for the privilege."

"No doubt," Kieran agreed. "Edgar Keith says he's making more money from the English in a month than he makes from the Scots in a year."

"Rachel's brother-in-law? Tell him to enjoy it. That will end if war comes. Has Rory heard anything new from his father?" Nell asked. Gannon was gone as well, Magnus with him, off with a party of Scottish nobles in Norway, talking with King Erik there. "Margaret heard from him earlier in the month."

"We've heard nothing since then. Nell, d'ye not think it's a waste of time, Gannon being in Norway? Does Balliol think to win Erik of Norway back to our side? I would think, after Robert the Bruce the elder married his daughter to Erik, that John Balliol wouldna be thinking too kindly of him."

"It's not a waste of time," Nell said. "Erik is already talking to Philip of France. There's a
rumour
of a treaty between France and Norway, not made public yet. But France and Philip are Edward's enemies. If Philip and Erik are allies—"

"An enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

"It's happened before," she said. "How is Rachel?"

Kieran's smile was rueful. When he had found Rachel a year ago, living with her sister, he'd been elated.

But Rachel had quickly disabused him of any hope. Her manner had been distant, polite, as if she'd not ever kissed him, as if the fire that had been between them did not still burn. But it did, he could see it in her eyes, see it in the way she refused to meet his gaze and would not be alone with him. In front of Sarah and Edgar, she had told him she was pleased to see him.

"Pleased," he'd said, hoping his teasing tone would draw more from her.

"Pleased is all I can be, Kieran," she'd said. "And all I will ever be. I can feel nothing more than that."

He'd ignored the others watching them. "Canna or willna, Rachel?"

"I feel nothing more," she'd said, turning her back.

"Rachel? Can we at least talk?" he'd asked, hearing the pleading in his tone.

"There is nothing to say, Kieran," she said, walking away. "Nothing."

He'd watched her, feeling his cheeks burn and his temper flare. She was lying. He was sure of it. He'd tried once again, but she'd refused to even see him. And so he left her alone. For a while. When he visited yet again, he told her he'd accepted her decision and this time he did not say more. They had had an uneasy truce since. At least he could still see her, and he visited as often as he could. It was not enough.

"She's well," he said. "She's back in Berwick. Her father has reopened the inn and they're doing well. She hears a lot, with all the ships going to and from France and the Continent. She says the French are crowing about Edward having to fight the Welsh yet again."

"He'll soon solve it," Nell said. "He'll be ruthless and he'll crush them as he did before. And Rachel's heard nothing from Isabel?"

"Nothing, in all this time. And Rory says her grandmother in London has heard nothing. She's gone from Berwick is all we ken."

"Tell me that Rory didna go to London looking for her."

"That was only part of why he went."

"Is he mad? He's outlawed!"

"Aye, he kens. We all ken. For the most part he's staying in Scotland, meeting with the clans and the nobles. Even the Bruces. He met with the younger Robert Bruce when he was in London. Bruce invited him to dine with him in his castle just north of the city, and to come to a fine party there."

"Young Robert Bruce was here last summer, when our Parliament confirmed him as Earl of Carrick, and Rory talked at length with him then. Gannon liked the lad when he met him two years ago. Maybe this Robert is not the schemer his grandfather is, or maybe the Bruces are
trying
to woo people away from John Comyn, one cousin at a time."

"Oh, aye, that will happen," Kieran said. "Especially after John Comyn called the English soldiers off ye in Ayrshire and ye kept yer house when so many others were burnt out."