Rivals for the Crown (55 page)

"I heard they flailed Cressingham's skin and are handing out pieces of it like prizes at a fair," Gannon said. "That his own men wanted to stone him alive for his many sins. We were fortunate this day that Edward was not here, for he would have seen through our strategy. He would not have taken this field against us."

Rory did not speak.

Gannon put a hand on
Rory
's shoulder. "The gods left ye alive, and for that I am grateful, and for our victory. But there is no glory in this or any other battle when men seek to kill each other. That's the revulsion and the grandeur of war, lad. Skillful men in both armies, intelligent men, who put all their effort into destroying the other side. There is an evil beauty about it, and a horror here that will never leave ye. Ye will never be the same, nor should ye be."

"Why are men like this? Why do we kill?"

"I dinna ken. Some of us seek it. The rest of us endure it, God willing. I'm glad ye lived through this day. I'm surprised I did."

"I'm damned glad ye lived through the day, Da."

"Leave it at damned, lad, for we all are. It's far from over, this war we're in. Come, have a cup of wine with yer ancient father. A wise man does not celebrate. He gives thanks that he's been given another day. And prays for peace."

Isabel could not bear the waiting any longer. Nor could Margaret, or Nell, who suggested the journey. Nor Rachel, who was finally coming back to the world. Isabel left her daughter Maggie at Loch Gannon, in the care of her nurse, with instructions to write to her grandmother in London if she did not return. They rode east, toward Stirling, joined by many other women. The ride was simple. And impossibly long. But at last they neared Stirling plain and heard the news. The battle had been enjoined the day before. Victory. There had been remarkably few injuries and deaths in the Scottish ranks, and the men were celebrating.

The plain was littered with the dead, laid in tidy rows awaiting burial. A pile of
armour
glinted in the sun, bright flashes of light amidst the russet and amber flowers that covered the ground, patches of green showing through, and of blue, where the soft ground gave way to water. Dead horses lay stretched on their sides, and overhead the vultures circled, waiting their turn. The women's horses shied from the spot, whinnying their fear.

Isabel looked into every face, learning early to recognize blond hair darkened with blood, or part of a face. None, God be blessed, was Rory.

She found Hemy apart from the others, as though he had been different from the others who had died. She looked down at him from the back of her horse, the buzzing in her head louder now. Henry's eyes had been closed, coins placed over them, his hands folded across his chest. And she knew, as she gazed on him, who had done that.

They found Liam first. Nell screamed his name when she saw him walking toward her, slipping from her horse to throw herself in his arms.

"Margaret! Margaret!" Gannon called, not far behind Liam. "They are alive, Margaret. Our sons live!"

"Thank God! Oh, thank God!" Margaret cried, hurrying toward him, sobbing.

Alive. Rory is alive. Isabel took a shuddering breath.

"And Kieran. And Davey, lass!" Gannon called. "All well. We lost no one."

And there was Kieran, on horseback, raising his arm to wave at Rachel. Rachel put her hand to her mouth with a strangled cry. Kieran rushed to her side, then stopped, waiting. Rachel stopped as well. Then, with a trembling hand, she reached for him. He pulled her from her horse and held her against him, speaking softly. Rachel nodded. Kieran looked over her head at Isabel.

"He's there, lass," He pointed.

Isabel saw a man, riding north from the castle, his plaid thrown over his shoulders, his dark cloak flying over the rear of the horse.

Rory. Alive.

"Isabel!" he cried.

"Rory!" she called but could not say more.

He kicked his horse into a gallop, and she hers. The world disappeared, the sounds around them faded, and she saw only him, hurrying toward her, the colors of the field impossibly bright, the sky impossibly blue, and above them, Stirling Castle rising into the sky, a reminder of why they were here.

And then she did not think, only reached for him as he neared. He slid from the horse's back before it stopped moving and ran to her. She reached down, and he pulled her into his arms. And for a moment, all was right with the world.

EPILOGUE

The battle had been won, but the war raged on for years. William
Wallace was knighted that Christmas, as were Rory and Kieran. Robert Bruce, now fighting for Scotland's freedom as well, did the honors. Scotland needed a leader, and Robert was quickly becoming one. William was named Guardian of Scotland, and the Scots revered him. He asked Rory and Kieran to stay with him, and they did, through most of the turbulent years of sporadic warfare. In 1299, John Balliol, held captive all that time, was released from the Tower. After three years in papal custody he retired to his lands in France, never again to claim the throne of Scotland.

On March 25, 1306, Robert Bruce was crowned King of Scotland in Scone with all the
splendour
the Scots could muster in such difficult times, with Rory and Isabel in attendance. And for once, the Scots united behind their new king. Edward died in Cumberland, on the Scottish border, in 1307, of dysentery. His only son, Edward II, led the English army to defeat in 1314, at the Battle of Bannockburn, which ended the war.

Scotland was now free, and a nation once again. And throughout the generations of MacGannons and MacDonalds the stories were told of the time of the rivalry for the crown.

AUTHOR S NOTE

I have injected fictional events, places, and people into the history

of late-thirteenth-century Scotland and England in order to tell this story. All of the towns, villages, and castles mentioned here existed then and many still do—except, of course, for Loch Gannon, which only exists within the pages of my books. I altered the historical facts only once, for the scenes that present the political meetings at Norham, which I compressed from nine days to two. Some of the meetings were large congregations of English and Scottish nobles and King Edward, others were much smaller gatherings of select groups. The various meetings had at least two venues—Norham Castle in England and the village green across the river in Scotland. Nonetheless, the various meetings' agendas were the same: Edward dictated them; the force of his personality and will was evident to all who attended.

I depicted Edward as my research revealed him, a brilliant, ruthless leader who dominated his own country, lusted after other lands, and often got his way. A trusted and loyal son, often a negligent father, but a devoted husband. To this day the mere mention of his name can still stir emotions in the English, the

Scots, and the Welsh. He was fascinating to research. As was William Wallace.

Most people know the story of Braveheart, the movie that caught the imagination of millions and inspired changes in Scotland even recently, which shows the power of words and images to change the world. William was an inspired leader, a charismatic man who other men followed for years, who was loved by the common people, but underestimated and undervalued by the nobles of Scotland. His own journey, from an aspiring man of God to a war leader, is captivating and poignant. I chose to end this story on a high note, at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, but there is much more to William's—and the MacGannons'—story.

Walter Langton was indeed Bishop of Lichfield and Steward of the Wardrobe for King Edward. His reputation was that of a rapacious and merciless man;
rumours
flew about him, including the ones I have cited, that he strangled one of his mistresses, and that he worshipped the devil in secret. He was a most convenient villain, and I suspect he would not have forgiven nor forgotten Isabel's assault.

I very much enjoyed telling the story of the friendship of Isabel and Rachel. They are my inventions, but certainly women like them did exist. The Jews were expelled from England in 1290, not to return openly for more than five hundred years, and surely friendships and families were torn asunder because of Edward's edict. To be invited to be a lady-in-waiting to a queen was a high honor, but the younger ladies were often exchanged as political and personal situations changed. The factual dismissal of one of the
less significant members of Eleanor's household was just the opening I needed for Isabel to take her place.

The years after this story were turbulent for Scotland, but fateful, because as William's and Edward's rivalry ended, a new challenger was growing in power. Robert the Bruce's story is as compelling as the earlier struggle. And the MacGannons and MacDonalds were there for that one, too.