The Price of Freedom (29 page)

As he leaned against his patient horse and closed his eyes, Rodney wondered where he would find Mackintosh tomorrow. The man rode a better horse than most Scots and Rodney concluded he would be in what passed for the Scottish cavalry unit. By this time tomorrow Black Bryan would be dead, Rodney would return to Edward's favor, and the Countess of Homelea would be a widow and his soon-to-be bride.

FIFTEEN

B
RYAN STRODE TOWARD KATHRYN'S CAMPSITE, feeling better than he had a right to. Despite his initial anxiety at having to bring Kathryn along, he found himself glad she was here, especially since she seemed now as ready to take him as a true husband as he was to take her as a true wife. Aye, he'd promised this afternoon to be her husband for as long as he lived. And since his longevity was severely in question—and the thought of lying with Kathryn was all he could think about—he decided that it was his loyal duty to consummate the marriage before battle tomorrow or Robert the Bruce would certainly lose another man.

Despite the late hour, Kathryn sat by the campfire that was some distance from the tent where Anna and the child slept. She raised her head at his approach, and Bryan's heart beat faster at the sight of her.

“I didn't expect to see you this night,” she said quietly.

He pulled a large piece of wood close to her and sat down. “We are ready as we can be. Bruce gave us leave to rest and see to our affairs.”

Her expression grew solemn at his words, and he felt his own smile fade. She shuddered.

He tipped her chin upward. “What is it?”

“I . . . saw the king today.” She grimaced. “I think he killed a man.”

“Aye, that he did. How did you see this?”

“Fergus and I watched from the hill. Who was he?”

“'Tis better, easier, when the dead have no name, Kathryn.”

“But this was a great knight. He must be of some import. Who was he?”

Perhaps if he satisfied her curiosity it would ease her mind. “Sir Henry de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford's nephew.” He heard the intake of her breath. “Why did you watch such a thing?”

“I could not take my eyes from the sight. I feared for Bruce's life.”

“So did we all.” He stood and paced within the circle of the fire's light, coming to a stop before her. “It will be worse tomorrow, Kathryn. 'Twould be best if you stayed here within the trees and did not watch.”

She patted the seat he'd vacated. “Sit and rest yourself.” He did as she asked. “You will be there, Bryan. I will watch and pray.”

Resigned there was not much he could do to prevent her, he relented. “Aye, then you will. Fergus will stay by you to keep you safe. Promise me you will be safe.”

“I promise.”

His sigh of relief was louder than he'd meant it to be.

She smiled. “Am I such a trial, my laird? I do not wish to be a trial to you. I only wish to learn to be a good wife, one that God would smile upon. I have never ceased praying for you, Bryan.”

She was so lovely. And despite the loss of home, a forced marriage, a kidnapping, still she kept her faith in God. And she prayed for him. It had been many years since anyone had fretted over Black Bryan Mackintosh. “Aye, you are a trial, my lady. You try my resolve to remain distant. I fear that is one battle I've lost for good.”

“Is that so?” she tilted her head and looked at him through her eyelashes.

“It is so.” And because it was true he dreaded the dawn. “When I think about tomorrow, I fear for you more than for myself.”

“And I for you,” she whispered. Their words hung heavily between them, and he didn't know how to move past the emotions running through him.

Perhaps sensing his need to retreat to more familiar territory she asked, “Have you eaten?”

“A bit, but I doubt 'twas as good as what you've cooked.”

“It's been sitting here awhile but you are welcome to it.” She filled a plate for him and while he ate, Kathryn questioned him about his duties. Bryan appreciated the distraction from his worries, from his growing need for her. Otherwise he would surrender to his longing to take her to his tent and lighten his fear in the shelter of her arms. He dragged his thoughts back to Kathryn's last question. From the look on her face, she had repeated it at least once.

“You aren't listening to me,” she chided.

He looked down at his hands, afraid to admit what he'd been thinking. Especially since he'd reassured her, assured himself, that they must not risk creating a child in such uncertain times. And yet that very uncertainty, the knowledge that he faced the possibility of death tomorrow drove him to seek the respite to be found with his wife.

“I'm sorry.” He lifted his chin toward her tent and grinned. “I had other thoughts on my mind.”

She blushed prettily. “That tent is occupied, my laird. Time enough for us when the fight is won.”

The miracle of Kathryn's love washed through him. “You were right you know.”

“About most things, I'm sure.”

He grinned again. “To be sure. But especially when you said that a man shouldn't face death without hope—hope of a life to return to here on earth.”

She took his hand and laid her cheek in his palm. “And do you have that hope?”

“Of you? Aye, the words we spoke to each other earlier bind us for all time. God willing, we will return to Homelea and grow old together.”

Now it was her turn to grin. “Aye, my laird. There is much to look forward to together.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

Her smile dazzled him. “I promise.”

He slid closer and she put a restraining hand on his chest. “You still haven't answered my question.”

“Which was?”

“What is a schiltron?”

“Where did you hear of that?”

She waved a hand. “Fergus mentioned it this afternoon.”

Pushing aside thoughts of her promise of joys to come, he answered, “A schiltron is a square of men, tightly packed together so all face outward with a sharpened stick or pike. Makes them look kind of like a giant hedgehog.”

A loosened tendril of her hair caught his attention and he wrapped it around his finger.

She disengaged his finger and pushed the strand behind her ear. “How many men?”

“A thousand, often more.” With freedom from his burdens he could now open himself to the gifts of life. One of those gifts was the woman sitting beside him. There were other things he wanted to do besides discuss battle formations. Things to take his mind off of tomorrow. He brushed her jaw line with a thumb, hoping to distract her.

“Are you seducing me, my laird husband?”

“I believe I am.” He took hold of her wrist, and the rapidity of her heartbeat told him all he wanted to know.

She rolled her eyes and moved a few inches away. “How does such a configuration fight?”

Mayhap if he satisfied her abominable curiosity he would have more success with his wooing. “Normally, it takes a static position. But Ceallach has taught our men how to move as a unit to fight where needed. Indeed, Randolph's schiltron succeeded in defeating an entire division of English cavalry this afternoon.”

“So, both of today's skirmishes were won by our side.”

“Aye, it gives us hope.”

Their gazes met, and slowly Kathryn rose to her feet and offered her hand. “A warrior must never lose hope, my laird,” she whispered.

The invitation he saw in her eyes startled him, causing him to lurch awkwardly to his feet. “Are you sure, Kathryn?” All his old fears came rushing back. “You have Isobel to care for—I don't want to burden you with a fatherless child.”

“I would take that chance, Bryan. To give you comfort and to know, if only once, what it means to lie in my husband's arms.”

Willingly he followed where she led, to his tent. To bliss. To the secrets only to be learned from a man's wife. She gave herself completely, and humbled him with her gift. Lost in the softness of his wife's body, Bryan pushed aside, for a few brief, blessed hours, the harsh certainties of war.

THE REALITY OF TIME AND PLACE came back to her, and Kathryn clung to Bryan, praying for the strength to let him go and not burden him with her fears. They heard the clink of armor and the noise of men and beasts moving about. The short summer night was nearly over and soon she must release him and return to her own tent.

He pulled away, just far enough so that he could look at her face in the growing light. “Don't worry, lass. I'll take every care to return to you. I have much to look forward to, no?”

Kathryn answered him with a kiss, at once tender and strong.

He accepted the kiss, but too soon he broke away. “Now, if I am to maintain any of my sanity, you must promise to remain on the hilltop with Fergus and the others. You'll be able to see most of the fighting from there, and the English are not likely to advance that far no matter how poorly the battle goes for us.”

She could only nod. They stood and dressed, surprisingly at ease with each other.

“When . . . if,” he amended, “the tide turns against us, you and Fergus are to make haste to Moy and the safety of my family. I'll not have you taken prisoner. Don't wait for me or try to find me. Leave the wagon behind. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said, unhappy with his demand, but knowing she must ease his mind.

“You must assure me of your obedience to this request, Kathryn.

I cannot fight and protect myself if I'm worried about your safety.”

“I will wait for you at Moy,” she assured him tearfully.

“Good. I'll come to you or send word as soon as I'm able.”

He didn't add, if I'm able, but she sobbed as the thought came to her. He held her close and soothed her until her tears subsided.

He rested his chin on her forehead. “I must go, lass.”

She nodded, then pulled a ribbon from her hair and tied it around his sleeve. Tears spilled afresh as she finished the knot. “May my love and the grace of our Heavenly Father protect you, husband.”

Bryan's voice sounded thick as he said, “Pray without ceasing, love.” Then with a kiss he was gone.

ON MIDSUMMER'S DAY, June twenty-fourth, just after sunrise, Kathryn and Fergus walked to the south slope of Gillies Hill. Today was traditionally the start of the hay harvest. Kathryn wondered how many of her countrymen would live to go home and see to their farms.

Today was also the Feast of St. John the Baptist. In pagan days boys would collect bones and rubbish and burn them, carrying brands about the fields to drive away dragons. Today the English dragon must be driven from Scotland, vanquished in combat.

From where she stood, Kathryn watched the Abbot of Inchaffray give communion to the kneeling men. Bruce called forth those who were to be knighted, and tapped each of them on the shoulder with his sword. Finally the abbot said a blessing.

Kathryn and Fergus bowed their heads in prayer as well.

The Scottish army began to assemble into their divisions. The day promised to be bright and sunny as Robert the Bruce, mounted once again on the small, gray palfrey, addressed his army. “Any who are faint of heart may depart at once, with no shame attached.”

“We fight or die,” the masses shouted.

Kathryn felt the hair rise on her neck upon hearing their words.

Bruce continued, “You could have lived as slaves, but because you long to be free you are with me here. To gain your freedom, you will need to be valiant and strong-hearted. For those who fight manfully I promise to pardon any and all offenses against the Crown. For those who die here today I will cancel all debts to the Crown so your heirs may live in peace and prosperity.”

They knelt again to pray for God's deliverance. When they rose Bruce gave the order to advance.

RODNEY WATCHED IN DISBELIEF as the Scottish schiltrons advanced toward the English cavalry. The mood was light amongst Edward's advisors and Edward said, “They will fight? I had thought they'd disappear into the woods.”

Rodney said, “'Tis the strangest sight I've ever seen—for such rabble to take on the might of England in battle on hard ground.”

When the Scots knelt down before the abbot Edward jested, “Ah, they ask for mercy. We will show no mercy—sound assembly!”

KATHRYN WATCHED BRUCE MAKE HIS WAY to one of the square formations Bryan had talked to her about last night. He'd also told her that he and Cerin would ride with the Scottish cavalry. They were south and to the west and out of sight from where she stood. Many of the camp followers, villagers, and others too poorly armed or trained joined her here where they could watch and wait.

“Our schiltrons are taking up different positions than they had yesterday,” she exclaimed.

Fergus observed where she pointed. “Aye, they have,” he said in a voice sounding as puzzled as she felt.

“What do you make of it?”

He studied the scene before answering. “You will have heard the noise last night? Must have been the English taking up positions on what solid ground they could find.” He grinned. “I don't think they got much sleep.”

“But they are now surrounded by the stream on three sides.”

“Aye, and that's the reason for the difference in position ye mentioned.” Fergus's voice took on a note of glee as he continued. “Instead of waiting for the cavalry to come to him, Robert has penned the heavy horses in an area so small they won't be able to mount a charge.”

Kathryn had never seen Fergus so animated. Her own excitement gathered momentum as she grasped the importance of the English position. Now the heavily armored English cavalry would have to negotiate marshy land. And more importantly, the English foot soldiers were trapped between their own cavalry in front and the sharp drop off of the stream behind them. Kathryn smiled. Perhaps the longed-for miracle would occur after all.

The English commanders ordered the cavalry to attack. Without the ability to charge at a run, their effectiveness was greatly reduced. Horses impaled on the Scottish spears fell, dumping their riders to the ground. The riders fought hand to hand with the spearmen, but the schiltrons remained strong as the bodies of horses and men piled up in front of them.