Rivals for the Crown (52 page)

"Kiss me, Rachel. Please, lass. It's time to go."

His tone was so intense that she did not stop to think but raised her arms to meet his, raised her mouth to his. He lifted her, almost

into the saddle, then farther, onto his lap, his lips still on hers. The horse moved forward.

"What?" she gasped, turning to look.

His hand clamped over her mouth, and he pressed her against his chest. "Ye're coming with me, Rachel. Willing or no, I'm not leaving ye here."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he tightened his grip on her mouth and kicked the horse into a gallop. They flew through the gate and down the hill toward the harbor, veering sharply to take the road along the river. He did not let her go, nor did he stop the horse until Berwick was an hour away, then another.

She'd stopped struggling long before, hanging on to his arms and the horse's mane and wondering if he'd gone mad. Or if she had as well, for she had not fought this abduction. She could think of nothing to say to him that would make sense. She loved him, but she was appalled at what he'd done. And much more so that she had let him do it.

"Stop," she said at last. "Kieran, stop. We must talk."

"We're going to Stirling, Rachel. Nell will take ye in. And Isabel is there."

"Kieran, stop or I'll jump off this horse."

He tightened his arm around her waist.

Her anger was late, but strong now. "As much as I'd like to see Isabel, I am not going to Stirling. This is madness. Stop the horse."

He did, slowing it to a walk, then stopping under the shelter of a large oak tree. She slid to the ground and walked stiffly as he did the same.

"You cannot do this!"

"It's already done, Rachel. Ye dinna understand! I've been on the borders. I've seen the might that Edward brings with him. I've heard of what he's done in Wales! What makes ye think he'll suddenly show benevolence to Berwick? It's madness to think that!"

"Then all the more reason I cannot leave! I must convince my parents to leave. And Mosheh. I must make them believe it. I am going back."

"That is madness!" he shouted.

"No! This is madness! I am another man's wife! And until I am not, there can be nothing between us. I cannot ride off to Stirling with you and pretend I am free of the past. If those I love are in danger, I need to convince them to take action! I am going back!"

She threw her hair over her shoulder and marched to the road. The moonlight was faint but strong enough to let her see the path, and she walked quickly, not sure whether to be angry or hurt that

he did not follow. The moon lit her way, for which she was grateful. It crossed the sky and her pace slowed.

She heard the horse before she saw it, and was deciding where to hide when she recognized Kieran atop it. He slowed as he saw her, drawing near without speaking. She turned her back to him and continued to walk. He was silent for some time, then slid from the horse to join her.

"Ye are determined, then, Rachel?"

"I am."

"Ah."

She threw him a glance, not sure what his calm manner meant. "Are you coming with me?"

"I am. We should be at Stirling before long at this pace."

"I'm not going to Stirling, Kieran. I thought I'd made that clear."

She could see his smile even in the dim light.

"Ye're walking north, lass. Berwick is behind us."

She halted.

"I'll take ye back, Rachel, if that's what ye wish. But not to stay. Only to see if we can get the rest of them to leave. I willna let ye stay there."

"You cannot tell me what to do, Kieran."

He did not answer but leaned to kiss her, his fingers slipping around her neck, his touch gentle. "If ye willna leave Berwick, Rachel, I will stay there with ye. If ye are in danger, then I will be as well. And if we canna live together, then we'll die together."

She could not speak.

"There's a cottage nearby. We'll go back in the morning, aye?"

The cottagers took them in, fed them, and let them sleep on the floor. They were careful not to touch each other.

The next day, hampered by a drenching rainstorm, they made only a few miles, finding shelter in an abbey close to the border, hearing there that Edward's army had advanced on Berwick and demanded its surrender. The city's leaders had refused, taunting Edward, referring to the Scots' long-standing joke that all Englishmen had tails, calling them dogs of war. Rachel was adamant that they try to get her parents out.

But it was too late. Edward took Berwick in a day.

They continued south, the weather clear again. They could see the fires as they approached the city. The roads were clogged by

those who lived near Berwick escaping north, who told them that Edward himself had led the attack, leaping his warhorse Byward over the
earthen works
that had been meant to keep him out.

"They're killing everyone," one man said. "You could hear the screams."

His wife nodded, sobbing. "My sister is in there."

"He has thirty thousand infantry and five thousand cavalry," the man said. "No one has come out since he rode in. No one. And there is no escape by water. Four of his ships went aground on the river, blocking that route. The townspeople burnt them. They're paying for that now. It's a massacre."

The killing went on for three days. At least twenty thousand died, perhaps more. The city was sacked. Merchants were murdered, their goods confiscated, their homes set aflame. The Flemish had held out the longest, barricaded in the Red Hall, which was burnt to the ground with them in it. It was said that Edward let the killing continue until he saw a woman giving birth as she was being hacked to death. And then it stopped. There was not a building left untouched except the castle, which had been surrendered. Edward moved part of his army into the town and announced that Berwick was now English. He invited the Northumbrians to come and claim a home there, saying that Berwick would now be rebuilt as a fortified outpost.

Kieran and Rachel went as close to the city as they dared. Rachel wanted to go closer, but Kieran refused, saying that what they'd heard from all who'd passed made it impossible to think her parents had lived through it. They were not alone in their vigil. Hundreds had gathered, waiting to hear word of loved ones. On the fourth day they heard.

The man had been an innkeeper in Berwick and well known to Rachel and her family. He was trudging north alone, his shoulders slumped and filthy, but answering, with a calm manner, the questions of those who waited. He did not know most of those who were asked after, he said. But then he saw Rachel. He stared at her, his mouth working. His chin trembled, and silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

"They are all dead, Rachel. All. They left me for dead and I was able to scramble over the wall and down Breakneck Stairs to the river. My wife is dead. My son is dead." He stopped, his whole body trembling now. "Your father fought valiantly. He and Gilbert held them off the best they could. But they killed him anyway. And Gilbert. And your mother. Mosheh barricaded himself in the shop. He was burnt. They are gone, too. All dead. All of Berwick is dead. They were not men who did this. They were demons. I am sorry, Rachel. They are all gone." He shook his head, almost a tremor, then shuffled north again. He did not turn to look back.

Rachel did not speak but sank to the ground with a wail, huddling on the dirt. As spasms of grief washed through her, all her regrets bombarded her. Kieran patted her back but did not try to comfort her. There was no comfort. There was no God. The God that her father had prayed to, had relied on, had abandoned them yet again.

At last, when word came that Edward's army was moving north, she let Kieran take her to Stirling. She was numb for most of the journey. They spoke almost not at all.

Kieran gave his name at the gate, telling her through their long wait that Nell would be happy to see them. But the woman who greeted them, when at last they were admitted, was not happy. Tears streaked her face. She hurried forward to throw her arms around Kieran with a hoarse cry.

"I thought you were still there! Dear God, Kieran, I thought you must be dead. And you must be Rachel. Only you two? No one else?"

"No," Kieran said. "Only us."

She wrapped Rachel in her embrace. "I am so sorry, lass. I am so sorry. Come, let us find Isabel."

On April 5, 1296, King John renounced his fealty to Edward of England. The letter was polite and dignified, but weak, as the man himself was. It was a list of grievances that moved no one, not the Scots who had hoped for so much more for their king. And not Edward, who shot back one brutal sentence: "Be it unto the fool according to his folly."

Edward moved north, to Dunbar, taking it with ease, destroying much of the infantry and taking many of rank as prisoners. When he turned his army toward Stirling, Rachel, with Nell and Isabel, fled westward finding refuge with Rory's mother, Margaret, at Loch Gannon. And none too soon. Edward took Stirling with no resistance.

It was wonderful being with Isabel once again, Rachel thought as she walked along the shore of the sea loch. Fascinating to see the changes in her friend that being married and with child brought. But her happiness for Isabel was a reminder of her own losses. Her parents were dead. She was a widow. But she could not bear to dwell on that. She was at Loch Gannon, had been welcomed by Rory's mother with a warmth that seemed genuine, and she should look no further than that. She would not think of Kieran, or wonder what they would do, when this war was over, with whatever it was that lay between them. She observed Shabbat alone now, praying the prayers from memory. But the words rang hollow, and she was convinced that there was no one listening. She looked over the water and tried not to think.

"Here you are," Isabel said, coming to stand next to her.

Isabel's body was changing, the first signs of childbearing just beginning to be visible. Rachel watched her friend pick her way carefully over the rocks on the shore, and for the first time Rachel wondered why she had never conceived. All those times with Mosheh, and she'd not borne him a child. She'd not thought of it often, but it did seem strange now to contemplate. Perhaps it was just as well, for wouldn't that have altered everything? Or perhaps a child would have been just the thing to help her forget Kieran. But if she had borne a child, she and the baby would have been in Berwick. And dead now.

"How are you?" Isabel asked quietly.

Rachel shook her head. "I do not know. I feel like I have been transported to a different time. I cannot believe my parents and Mosheh are dead. None of the things we do after a death have been done, and there is only me to do them. Our traditions need people to do them with, Isabel, and there is no one."

"I am here."

"You are not a Jew."

"No. But I am a friend. Tell me what you need."

The words came first, spoken without thought, surprising her with their intensity. "I need to sit shiva."

"What does that mean?"

"Shiva means seven. For seven days we go out of the house only if necessary. We do not work. We think about the ones who have died, and their souls. And we pray. We sit low to the ground, sometimes on special chairs. And there is a candle..." She met Isabel's gaze. "I should have torn my clothes to show my grief. On the left side for my parents. But for Mosheh.. .1 do not know all of it. I should, Isabel! I should know my traditions, should know the

prayers. I thought I did, but now, when I need them, I'm not sure! How can I not know? Why did I not listen?"

"You are too hard on yourself, Rachel! You never thought to be in this situation. If your mother were here, she would tell you the same thing."

"But she's not." Rachel was sobbing now. "Isabel, I am the only one left! Sarah is somewhere in the north—I do not even know where. She probably does not know yet! I need to sit shiva. Help me bury them in my mind."

Margaret was most accommodating, if mystified. She provided a chair that could have its legs shortened, and the candle that would burn for seven days and seven nights. And offered her company if Rachel desired it.

"You are not alone, Rachel," Margaret said. "All of Scotland is in mourning. We have all lost loved ones. Let us help you."

It was, Rachel decided much later, quite possibly the strangest shiva anyone had ever sat. But it helped. She spent the seven days almost alone, in a small room near the chapel Rory's father had built, praying. Crying. Remembering. Feeling isolated in a castle in the west, very far from home.

Time helped. It did not erase the pain, but it made her review all that had happened to her family since they'd left England. She realized, as she had not during it all, that in retrospect it all seemed so inevitable. So many pieces had had to fall a certain way for things to have come out as they had, and over and over she saw the same patterns. And no God in any of it.

But that belief, or lack of belief, was tested sorely the night that Isabel gave birth to her daughter. The labor was long, and exhausting, and after a day Margaret and Nell were exchanging looks that let Rachel know that something was amiss. She sat with Isabel, wishing they could change places so she could bear some of her friend's pain. She surprised herself by praying, and even, in the wee hours, when Isabel fell into an exhausted slumber, crossed the courtyard and found refuge in the chapel there, praying to a God she feared did not exist. For Isabel. For the babe, still facing the journey of birth. For Rory to come home. She could not bear it if anything happened to Isabel. Could not bear to think of Rory's pain if they lost her. And so she prayed again, aware of the irony of a Jew praying in a Christian church at the edge of the world.