She flushed. “It was the worst time I have ever spent in my life. And there have been many awful times of late. I had no idea that you all were coming . . . I couldn’t believe that Eric would just allow them to . . . to . . .”
“It’s over,” Jamie said softly.
“But it’s not. You all will ride off to battle again, soon enough.”
Jamie didn’t dispute her. With a shrug he said, “There are quite a number of us; the clan has grown and covers many areas of the country. In fact, we’ve bred a few very black sheep, but for the most part . . . we’ve kin who followed Wallace each step of the way, and they will be with Robert Bruce when Scotland is really free, and he is king in truth of a sovereign nation. Eric’s loyalty will never be questioned. But, yes, we will ride off to battle again. Eric will do so. You can’t stop a man from fighting for something that has become more than a dream,” he said. “But . . .”
“But?”
“You can take pleasure in the knowledge that you have brought him back from a nightmare of torment worse than death.” His gray eyes were on her again, both sparkling and grave. “He loves you, you know.”
She hesitated, biting her lip. “I’m his wife. And . . . I am going to have his child. I am . . . what is his.”
Jamie laughed, drawing her sharp gaze.
He shook his head. “Igrainia, when he planned on giving himself up, we knew that we were taking a grave chance. He knew it. And I asked him, is she worth it? He said yes, Igrainia. No man offers himself up for possibly taking that kind of torture for a woman he doesn’t love. He wasn’t just willing to give his life. It was more, far more.”
“I’ve seen him being noble for many people, on many occasions. He has never said that he loves me.”
Jamie smiled. “Facing the possibility of disembowelment, castration, and beheading goes a wee bit above the call of being noble,” he said.
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Don’t let Margot’s ghost stand in the way of what happiness you two will have the time to seize,” he told her. “Remember this, they were together for years. Before Margot. . . well, he was a seafaring man. He was a roamer. But when he loved her, she was everything in his life. Margot’s benison is something wonderful for you. He is a man who loves a woman with every ounce of devotion and loyalty in his soul. Don’t worry about words. Know what he has done, and that it was done for you, and let it suffice.”
Impulsively, she kissed him on his cheek. “He is going to want to ride to the side of Robert Bruce,” she said. “As are you, I’m certain. But . . . he shouldn’t ride too quickly, Jamie. He does need time to heal.”
“If the great battle is about to take place, no force on earth will stop him.”
That night, she slept beside Eric, listening to his even breathing, grateful that he was doing so well. The next morning, she went down to the stream. She walked in wearing her shift, eager for the waters. She had begun to feel that she would never rid her own flesh of all the blood that had spilled.
She cast her head back into the water, letting it rush through her hair. She smoothed it back with her hands, and looked up.
Eric was standing. Battered and bruised, but apparently stronger in muscle and mind, he watched her from the bank. She rose quickly, and rushed to him, afraid that he would falter and fall. But as she came forward, he caught her in his arms, and pulled her against his chest. He didn’t kiss her, and he didn’t even speak for the longest time, but held her there. And she felt the strong, unwavering beat of his heart, and she was glad.
He eased himself down to sit upon the bank, and she came down with him, searching his eyes to assure herself that he was well enough to be up and moving. “Whatever am I going to do about you?” he asked softly. She was on her back, her head in his lap. He smoothed a lock of wet hair from her forehead. “You are always in the midst of things, just when you should be away and safe.” He wasn’t really looking for an answer; he had the one he wanted. “You’ve still got to ride north, you know.”
“I know.”
“What, no argument? You’re quite certain? Niles and Robert may both be dead, but the south isn’t safe. Even if Langley has thus far stood firm. But . . . at least, there are really beautiful bodies of water in the highland country.”
“That will be lovely.”
“You’re far too agreeable. Am I more gravely injured than I knew?”
She shook her head. “I simply can’t change what is. And I know that you will ride to join Robert Bruce. And that I will die a little bit every time you’re gone, and . . . live for those moments when you will return.”
His hand, which had moved lightly on her hand, fell still. “Will you?” he said, but again, he didn’t really want an answer. “I’ve told both your brother and Lord Danby that they are free. They may ride to join Edward’s army, or go wherever they like. They proved themselves truly gallant and honorable men in the past days, and as I can’t change what is a passion in my heart, I don’t expect them to forget that they are Englishmen. Since Aidan is your brother, I’m assuming you’d just as soon that I did lock him up and keep him safe. But I can’t do that. He is young, but very much a man, and worthy of being Lord Abelard.”
“I am glad that you have left the decision to them.”
He nodded. “And what about you, Igrainia? You are English as well. With me, you’re the wife of an outlaw. And in the future, I can’t promise any rich castles, fine clothing. . . actually, as of late, I can’t even promise a bed on which to sleep.”
She almost laughed. “I have been prized for who I am and what I possess. You are the one receiving nothing. My estates in England will certainly be confiscated, and Langley. . . Langley belongs to the man who holds it.”
He was silent for a moment, then he said huskily. “Neither lands nor riches are the prize, Igrainia. You are the prize.”
She trembled where she lay. “I, alone? King Edward would never believe that. Nor, I imagine, would Robert Bruce.”
“Robert Bruce did point out how very beautiful you were.”
She arched a brow. “He told you that? When he was ordering you to sleep with me, I believe.”
He offered her a subtle smile, taking no offense. “Actually, it was a day by a stream, much like this one, when I first realized just how completely beautiful you were.” His smile faded then and his words were as serious as the sudden, dark depths of his eyes. “Igrainia, forgive me whatever cruelties I offered when we first met. I was in an agony such as could never be bestowed on the flesh. I know that you suffered as well. It wasn’t you that I loathed with such fury, it was death, and each time I looked at you, and thought that you were beautiful, I was angry at myself. That you were actually admirable was something I refused to accept. And when I was forced to accept the fact that you were so very desirable, it was more than painful. But then . . . when it seemed that I was losing you time and again, despite my best efforts and what I’ve always considered a sound military mind, I was forced to realize that . . .”
“That . . .” she said hopefully.
But he never had a chance to reply. There was a sudden shouting and cheering by the stream bank. Igrainia sat up quickly. Eric rose, helping her to her feet. Anxiously, they started walking back together. In a few minutes’ time, they were running.
The injured, the care-givers, and those just passing the time by the stream were all risen, all together, and gathered around Allan, who had returned on a sweaty horse, and remained atop it, flushed and windblown, but grinning ear to ear.
“What has happened?” Eric demanded.
“He’s dead! Edward I of England is dead!” Allan shouted. “He rose from his sickbed, mounted his horse, rode but six miles in four days, had to stop—and died! Dear God, the king is dead, long live the king!”
“Allan, details! So what is happening now?” Eric demanded. Allan at last dismounted, approaching Eric where he stood, where the others had gathered around him. “He died, telling his son that his h
eart was to be brought to Jerusalem, and that his bones should be stripped of their flesh and carried with him into battle against the Scots—and that they should remain unburied until the Scots are at last wholly subjugated and subdued.”
“Those bones will stay atop the ground forever then!” Angus called out.
“Aye, for it seems that Edward II has stopped all the action. He’s not done what his father asked, but has made arrangements to inter the body at Waltham Abbey, and has called back favorites whom his father had banished. In short, he sits with his assembled army.”
Allan saw that Igrainia was staring at him blankly. He spoke softly for her benefit. “Edward was merciless here in Scotland. But he was a warrior king. A true Plantagenet. While his son . . . Igrainia, the great battle will not come now. Robert Bruce has been given time, precious time. He can travel north through the country, subdue his enemies within it, gain a solid foothold in Scotland, and then . . . then make his stand against the English.”
She smiled slowly at Allan. Again, cheers went up.
Sad, perhaps, that so many could celebrate the death of a man, a king.
And she had known him. Known him in better days when he had been, to his own people, a great king. Handsome, gallant, powerful, a force to create a strong England.
And yet . . .
She had to be glad.
Eric had her hand. While the throng around Allan continued to shout and cheer, he led her down the stream, a long way down the stream. He released her hand and walked into the water. He turned back to her, beckoning. She joined him.
“He was your king. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry as well. Once, in his way, he was a great king. But . . .”
“Aye?”
“If his death means that you’ll not ride to battle so quickly, then . . .”
“Aye?”
“Then there is something to be grateful in it.”
He reached out, touching her face, smiling. “Do you remember how I told you that the first day I really knew how completely beautiful you were was that long ago day at a different stream?”
She nodded. “So you say.”
“I was really furious with myself . . . for what I wanted.”
“And that was . . .”
“Well, here we are in the water again.” He pulled her into his arms. His hands were on her shoulders. The damp shift slipped from them. “Since we’re here, I can just show you.”
“You’re injured!” she reminded him.
“Oh, no. I think that I am healed. I believe I can prove it. And the way that you love the water so much . . . well, there’s more to love about it.”
Later, when they lay on the bank, he spoke. “You said that you had no riches left, Igrainia. Do you know that you are still holding the greatest treasure on earth?”
“And what is that?”
“My son,” he said. He rolled over and kissed her softly on the lips. “My God. He’ll be half English!” he mused.
“There are many, many, good English people, you know.”
“Indeed, Igrainia. I have always known that. And had I not, well I have seen how valiant your brother and Lord Danby have proven themselves to be. Never traitors to their beliefs, but strong men with a passion for right. And then, of course, Robert Bruce’s wife is English . . . and then there is you.” He said the last words very softly. But before she had time to muse on them, he rose, and reached down for her. “Come, my love. It’s growing late. We need to get back. There is a twist in the future; new plans to be made.”
She came to her feet but stood perfectly still. She hadn’t heard anything more than the words my love.
She remembered all that Jamie had said to her. She had so much. His actions, far more telling than any words . . .
And yet she savored them.
“Igrainia.”
“What? I’m sorry.”
“I said, come, my love, we’ve a future to plan.”
“You’ll still ride to battle,” she said.
“Oh, aye.”
“For the honor and glory of Scotland!”
“Do you mind so much?”
She shook her head. “No. I want our son to be born in this land where freedom is so highly prized, and where it has been gained at last.”
“That day is coming. But until I do ride again . . . I’m sorry for Edward’s death if it brings any pain to you. But I can’t be sorry that it’s given us a special boon. Time.”
She looked into his eyes, and nodded. “Aye,” she said, and paused, carefully testing the words herself, “aye, my love.”
“The fight may be long. So we must take what we can.”
“It doesn’t matter how long the fight will be. I will always be there—well, wherever you would have me. And I will wait, forever.”
He laughed. “For the honor and glory of Scotland?”
“Since that is what it will take.”
He laughed, elated. He pulled her quickly into his arms, holding her there for a moment. He kissed the top of her head.
“My love,” he murmured.
Then he caught her hand, and together they hurried back to the others.
To plan for the days, and the years, that lay ahead.
Chronology
c6000BC: Earliest peoples arrive from Europe (Stone Age): Some used stone axes to clear land.
c4500BC: Second wave of immigrants arrive (New Stone Age or Neolithic). “Grooved ware,” simple forms of pottery found. They left behind important remains, perhaps most notably, their tombs and cairns.
c3500BC: Approximate date of the remarkable chambered tombs at Maes Howe, Orkney.
c3000BC: Carbon dating of the village at Skara Brae, also Orkney, showing houses built of stone, built-in beds, straw mattresses, skin spreads, kitchen utensils of bone and wood, and other more sophisticated tools.
c2500BC: “Beaker” people arrive, Neolithic people who will eventually move into the Bronze Age. Bronze Age to last until approximately 700BC.
c700BC: Iron Age begins—iron believed to have been brought by Hallstadt peoples from central Europe. Terms “Celts” now applied to these people, from the Greek Keltoi; they were considered by the Greeks and Romans to be barbarians. Two types of Celtic language, P-Celtic, and Q-Celtic.
c600–100BC: The earliest Celtic fortifications, including the broch, or large stone tower. Some offered fireplaces and freshwater wells. Crannogs, or island forts, were also built; these were structures often surrounded by spikes or walls of stakes. Souterrains were homes built into the earth, utilizing stone, some up to eighty feet long. The Celts become known for their warlike qualities as well as for their beautiful jewelry and colorful clothing; “trousers” are introduced by the Celts, perhaps learned from Middle Eastern societies. A rich variety of colors are used (perhaps forerunner to tartan designs) as well as long tunics, skirts, and cloaks to be held by the artistically wrought brooches.
55BC: Julius Caesar invades southern Britain.
56BC: Julius Caesar attacks again, but again, the assault does not reach Scotland.
AD43: The Roman Plautius attacks; by the late 70s AD, the Romans have come to Scottish land.
AD78–84: The Roman Agricola, newly appointed governor, born a Gaul, plans to attack the Celts. Beginning in AD80, he launches a two-pronged full-scale attack. There are no roads and he doesn’t have time to build them as the Romans have done elsewhere in Britain. 30,000 Romans marched; they will be met by a like number of Caledonians. (Later to be called Picts for their custom of painting or tattooing their faces and bodies.) After the battle of Mons Graupius, the Roman historian Tacitus (son-in-law of Agricola) related that 10,000 Caledonians were killed, that they were defeated. However, the Romans retreat southward after orders to withdraw.
AD122: Hadrian arrives in Britain and orders the construction of his famous wall.
AD142: Antoninus Pius arrives with fresh troops due to continual trouble in Scotland. The Antonine Wall is built, and garrisoned for the foll
owing twenty years.
AD150–200: The Romans suffer setbacks. An epidemic kills much of the population, and Marcus Aurelius dies, to be followed by a succession of poor rulers.
ADc208: Severus comes to Britain and attacks in Scotland, dealing some cruel blows, but his will be the last major Roman invasion. He dies in York in AD211, and the Caledonians are then free from Roman intervention, though they will occasionally venture south to Roman holdings on raids.
AD350–400: Saxon pirates raid from northwest Europe, forcing the Picts southward over the wall. Fierce invaders arrive from Ireland: the Scotti, a word meaning raiders. Eventually, the country will take its name from these people.
ADc400: St. Ninian, a British Celtic bishop, builds a monastery church at Whithorn. It is known as Candida Casa. His missionaries might have pushed north as far as the Orkney islands; they were certainly responsible for bringing Christianity to much of the country.
ADc450: The Romans abandon Britain altogether. Powerful Picts invade lower Britain, and the Romanized people ask for help from Jutes, Angles, and Saxons. Scotland then basically divided among four peoples: Picts, Britons, Angles, and the Scotti of Dalriada. “Clan” life begins—the word clann meaning “children” in Gaelic. Family groups are kin with the most important, possibly strongest, man becoming chief of his family and extended family. As generations go by, the clans grow larger, and more powerful.
AD500–700: The Angles settle and form two kingdoms, Deira and Bernicia. Aethelfrith, king from AD593–617, wins a victory against the Scotia at Degsastan and severely crushes the Britons—who are left in a tight position between the Picts and Angles. He seizes the throne of King Edwin of Deira as well, causing bloodshed between the two kingdoms for the next fifty years, keeping the Angles busy and preventing warfare between them and their Pictish and Scottish neighbors. Fergus MacErc and his brothers, Angus and Lorne, c500, bring a fresh migration of Scotia from Ireland to Dalriada, and though the communities had been close (between Ireland and Scotland), they soon after begin to pull away. By the late 500s, St. Columba comes to Iona, creating a strong kingship there, and spreading Christianity even farther than St. Ninian. In AD685 at Nechtansmere, the Angles are severely defeated by the Picts; their king Ecgfrith is slain, and his army is half slaughtered. This prevents Scotland from becoming part of England at an early date.
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