She described meeting Garrick and Burke while she had snuck to the village to lend her healing skills to those in need, and how she had decided to stow away with them in the hopes of escaping her brother’s cruelty. But the two men had taken her back to Dunbraes, just as her brother was returning. A battle had broken out, and the three of them fled.
She told of how she had helped heal Burke’s leg, and how they had almost been discovered by her brother and his men, but Garrick had saved them. She did her best to explain her realization that she wanted to join the rebellion and offer her healing skills, and how Garrick and Burke finally agreed to her request. She spoke of their journey east, then north, and finally, their parting with Burke and their arrival at the Bruce’s camp. She left out Garrick and her lovemaking, since even the thought of mentioning something like that to a King made her blush.
“It has been an adventure to say the least, sire,” she said, her voice steadier after sharing her story. “I only hope you will allow me to aid your cause in the best way I know how—by lending my healing skills to your warriors.”
He rubbed his bearded chin in thought for a moment, absorbing what she had said. He turned to Garrick with a sharp eye. “What do you think of the lass’s request, Garrick?” he said, leaning forward slightly.
Garrick considered the Bruce’s question for a second, then gave a little nod. “I think we would be incredibly lucky to have her skills,” he said honestly.
“And what of the fact that she is English, and one of our fiercest enemy’s sisters, no less,” the Bruce prodded, keeping a keen eye on Garrick.
“I believe her to be in absolute earnest and veracity when she says she supports our cause. She is to be trusted.”
Jossalyn felt a swell in her chest at Garrick’s words. She knew he trusted and believed in her—enough to bring her here, at the very least. But to hear him speak so sincerely and straightforwardly on her behalf to the King sent a flood of emotion through her. She gave him a look that was full of everything she was feeling. His gray eyes met hers, and she saw her emotions mirrored back in his gaze.
Robert the Bruce glanced from one to the other of them, seeming to gather all that passed between them in the quick exchange. He steepled his fingers in front of him, considering for a moment.
“How about this, lass? Why don’t you stay on with us for a few weeks, or even months if you like, and see how you find the work.”
He didn’t have to state his intention; it was plain to Jossalyn. She was getting a probationary trial period, and not just for her benefit to make sure that she enjoyed working in a war camp. The Bruce wanted to make sure he could trust her fully, and even with Garrick’s word of approval, he wanted to see for himself. She understood his shrewdness and need for complete certainty. Even one traitor in their midst could mean the ruination of the entire rebellion.
She nodded. “Thank you, sire. I look forward to being of use.”
He stood, and she followed his example. Garrick stood as well, but the Bruce turned to him and motioned for him to stay. He walked her to the front flap of the tent and held it open for her.
“I shall look forward to learning more about you, Lady Jossalyn Warren,” he said mysteriously.
She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but her thoughts were too jumbled to sort it out just yet. She walked the few paces back to Garrick’s tent and entered. She sat down on the corner of the cot, suddenly realizing she was alone in the middle of Robert the Bruce’s secret war camp.
Taking a deep breath, she waded into the swirling pool of her thoughts and emotions, trying to untangle her lingering fear, her elation at Garrick’s words, the King’s reaction to her story, and her chance to stay here at the camp for at least a few weeks. She only wondered how much of it she would have sorted out by the time Garrick returned from his private meeting with the King.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Bruce turned back from the tent flap to face Garrick. “She is certainly a remarkable woman,” he said appreciatively.
“Aye, Robert, she is.” The Bruce insisted that when they were alone, Garrick should call him by his given name. At first it had been a struggle, but now he truly felt comfortable enough with him to do so. He didn’t want to strain their relaxed relationship, so he tried to keep his voice light even though he felt a twinge of something at the Bruce’s tone—was it jealousy? Territoriality?
He must not have hidden his annoyance very well, for the Bruce broke out into a hearty laugh. “Stand down, man, I wouldn’t dare cross you on this matter. But I now know where things stand between the two of you.”
No matter how long Garrick spent in the Bruce’s company, he was always struck by how sharp and shrewd the man was. There was no point in trying to deny it.
“I have come to…care for the lass,” Garrick said, running his hand through his hair.
“And you truly believe she can be trusted?” the Bruce said, all mirth leaving him as he pinned Garrick with a serious stare. “Is there anything you couldn’t or wouldn’t say in front of her that I should know?”
“Nay, Robert, I would trust her with my life, and you know that’s not something I say lightly,” Garrick replied, holding his King’s gaze.
The Bruce arched his eyebrows at his words, nodding to himself in thought. “Truly remarkable indeed,” he said almost to himself.
“I do not worry about her,” Garrick went on. “But I do worry for her. Though she is a healer, she is less familiar with the wounds of war. She may not be prepared for the more grisly aspects of warfare,” he said, remembering her reaction to the horrific scene in the glen. “I am also concerned about how she will be received.”
“You think the men will turn on her because she’s English, or because she’s Raef Warren’s sister?”
“Perhaps. It may be hard for some of them to accept her.” And her safety is paramount to me. He didn’t speak the last part, but he guessed by the Bruce’s sharp eye on him that the man had gathered the unspoken thought.
“I suppose some of them might be a bit…resistant at first. If she is as good a healer as you say, she shouldn’t have any problems for long, though.” The twinkle returned to the Bruce’s eye. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about the men falling head over heels for her, not shunning her.”
Garrick cracked a wry smile, which the Bruce found amusing enough to laugh at again. When his King’s mirth finally died down, Garrick turned serious once more.
“I do have some news for you, Robert. It wasn’t relevant to Jossalyn’s tale, so she didn’t mention it, but you need to hear this.”
“Out with it, man.”
Garrick took a deep breath. “Longshanks is dead.”
The Bruce exhaled sharply and sat down in one of the chairs next to Garrick’s.
“That was why Warren was returning to Dunbraes from Cumberland. Edward II has likely already been crowned.”
“The Hammer of the Scots. Dead,” the Bruce breathed. “And we know nothing of his son’s desire for either war or peace.” Already the shock was wearing off, and the Bruce’s incisive, calculating side was kicking in.
“Aye, but you know the news before the rest of Scotland, and likely before many parts of England as well.”
“You’ve done well, Garrick,” the Bruce said, turning to him once more. “We will have to be prepared for the worst, of course, but at least we have time to ready ourselves. In fact, this may prove a good time to fully commit to our shift in strategy…” He rubbed his beard as he thought for another moment.
“To what would you attribute our success at the battles of Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill?”
Garrick considered the Bruce’s question. The man had a mind designed for strategy, and he often liked to pose these kinds of questions to his inner circle, either looking for weaknesses in their tactics or strengths that could be developed for future engagements.
“We fought on our terms,” Garrick said finally. “We didn’t play by the English army’s rul
es. Instead, we used the landscape, the element of surprise, and the chaos of battle to our advantage.”
The Bruce nodded, his eyes bright with excitement at the memories of victory. “And you were central to our success as well, Garrick—don’t forget that. It was you who was firing arrows on horseback rather than in a straight line among the other archers, you who suggested that some of the men lie in the heather or in the surrounding forests rather than stand before the English waiting to get hacked down.”
Though he remembered his role clearly, his chest swelled at his King’s praise. Those two battles, where they had finally tried something other than acting like a lesser version of the English army, had been the turning point in the rebellion. Garrick was with the Bruce when they had been forced to flee, first to the Hebrides islands and then to Ireland just last year. They had all been near giving up, but the Bruce wanted to make one more push for his claim to the Scottish crown and independence from England.
During their flight and exile, the two of them, along with a few of the Bruce’s closest confidantes, devised a strike-and-retreat strategy, which used their knowledge of the Scottish landscape and harnessed the element of surprise, to attack the English. It had worked, both at Glen Trool in April and Loudoun Hill in May. Suddenly, Scotsmen from all corners of the country were joining the rebellion and pledging their allegiance to the Bruce and his cause.
It had seemed like a foolhardy, last-ditch effort at the time, but their guerrilla tactics had led them to two small victories, enough to keep the cause alive. Now they were poised to finally tip the scales of war one way or the other. On the one hand, Longshanks’s death could mean the perfect time to strike, sealing their claim to independence. On the other, Edward II was an unknown entity who very well might redouble his father’s efforts to bring Scotland to heel. Edward II could even change his father’s tactics, making the Bruce’s recent success moot.
The Bruce stood again, pacing across the carpeted floor of the tent absently. “I have been thinking that those victories should be our guide on how to proceed with the English. You have been the one to spearhead this stealth fighting strategy. You have clearly proven its effectiveness on the solo missions I have sent you on. You have been able to strike quickly and quietly, leaving the English no target to attack.”
He halted in his pacing and turned to Garrick, the full force of his dark stare leveling him. “I want you to train all of our men in such tactics. We will be an entire army of silent, invisible warriors who strike quickly then dissolve back into the landscape. We will harry the English until they are so frustrated, so exhausted, so depleted, that they’ll have to leave Scotland alone. We will be a thorn in their side.”
“Or a thorn in their hand,” Garrick said, subtly reminding the Bruce of their motto, “No one attacks me with impunity,” and the image of the Scottish thistle that resulted in a handful of thorns if a person tried to grab hold of it.
The Bruce’s eyes lit with an ambitious fire. “That’s exactly it!” He took a step toward Garrick so that he stood over him in his chair. “What do you think, Garrick? Will you train the men in this new style of warfare?”
“Aye, Robert, I will.” Of course, Garrick would have agreed no matter what—the Bruce was his King, and he was loyal to him until death.
But it was more than that. He had seen for himself how effective their new strategy had been at both Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill. And of course, there was a reason he had risen so rapidly among the Bruce’s ranks to be one of his closest advisors: his skill at stealth attacks had proved invaluable to the cause. Even though he was only one man, his work had helped level the playing field for an otherwise outnumbered and out-trained Scottish rebel force. The thought of the entire rebel camp being educated in evasion, stealth, and surprise attacks sent a surge of hope through him that they might truly claim their freedom.
There was another aspect of the Bruce’s plan that made his chest squeeze in optimistic anticipation, too. If his main task was to train the rebels in the art of guerrilla warfare, that would mean he could no longer spend weeks or months in the field working alone. Though he had always been proud of his work and grateful to serve in the rebellion, he found himself wanting something else now—or someone else. This new scheme could mean he would be at camp more often. Suddenly, the idea of having a loved one—a wife or even a family—didn’t seem so impossibly incongruous with his life and work.
The Bruce was watching him closely, and must have been able to perceive something of these thoughts on his face, despite the fact that Garrick prided himself on being unreadable. But the Bruce was not only a warrior trained in surveillance—he was also a sage observer of men.
“You have worked in the field for many years, Garrick. Perhaps it is time for a new chapter in your life. Though I know you do not think of yourself in this way, I sense you will be an excellent leader and teacher. Plus, you might enjoy the…connections that such work allows you to make.”
Garrick didn’t miss the knowing twinkle in the Bruce’s eyes as he spoke. He didn’t need to convince Garrick of the benefits of such a course of action—he could have simply commanded him, and Garrick would have acquiesced. But the Bruce was showing Garrick that he understood very well the fact that Garrick would be able to pursue Jossalyn in this new role. This appointment was not only a strategically smart move for the rebellion, it was also a reward for Garrick’s loyal and steadfast service. Damn, but the Bruce was a clever man, Garrick thought with admiration.
Garrick was about to stand and excuse himself from the Bruce’s company when one more thought struck him. “And if such a…connection should prove stronger than any other?” His chest squeezed at the thought, but he needed to know if the Bruce would allow one of his top warrior-advisors to marry.
The Bruce smiled faintly, sadness touching his eyes. He was likely thinking about his own wife and daughters, who had been kidnapped and imprisoned by the English the year before. It had been the start of their dark time together, when all hope seemed to be lost for the cause. As far as they knew, the Bruce’s women were still alive, but Garrick knew that for the Bruce, this fight was deeply personal.
Seeing his King’s deep anguish at the loss of his wife and children had always made Garrick silently swear not to make such attachments, so as to avoid the potential pain of losing them. But now he realized that a life without love was meaningless. Instead of shying away from love to avoid its potential loss, he suddenly understood that he would fight to the death to protect it—to protect her.
Was it love with Jossalyn, then? Aye, what else could it be? He was drawn to Jossalyn like no other, was fascinated by her, and longed to know more about her. She fired his blood like nothing he had ever experienced, and he was in awe of her beauty, grace, skill, and strength. Even the mere thought of her not being in his life—or worse, being taken from his life—made him blind with rage and grief. He could only imagine what the Bruce had gone through—and was still living through—at the loss of his wife and daughters.
The sadness flitted away from the Bruce’s dark eyes, though, to be replaced by a knowing light of approval. “Sometimes, for all that we maneuver and strategize, Fate makes her own plans, eh, man?”
But then the King turned more serious. “I will give you the same suggestion I gave the lass. Why don’t you view these next few weeks as an information-gathering mission? If in that time your connection proves a solid one”—and he didn’t say it, but Garrick thought, and if Jossalyn proves herself to be loyal and trustworthy, Englishwoman that she is—“then who am I to stand in the way of Mistress Fate’s plan for you two?”
Garrick’s pulse surged. The Bruce would allow him to marry Jossalyn. He was being cautious, as always, when it came to the safety of the larger cause, but nevertheless, Garrick had an opportunity to secure the King’s blessing on a union with the English sister of one of Scotland’s greatest enemies. And with Garrick’s newly designated role as a trainer of the rebels, marriage suddenly see
med more possible—and more desirable—than ever before.
In truth, he wouldn’t even consider marriage if it weren’t for Jossalyn. He wouldn’t just be getting married, or acquiring a wife, he would be binding himself to her forever. The thought send a jolt through him. How greatly life had changed since he met her only a couple of weeks ago outside Dunbraes.
Garrick stood, exchanged a firm forearm grip with the Bruce, and turned to exit the tent. He had to remind himself that the Bruce had only given him permission to explore the possibility of marriage with Jossalyn. He still needed to secure his final approval. And, of course, he had to ask the lass! Though she had given herself physically to him, and had proclaimed her feelings for him, they had not spoken of the future, or of love.
He forced away the voice inside his head that told him she would reject him, that a fling didn’t mean she would want to be tied to him for the rest of her life. The old misgivings about his unworthiness still haunted him, but he reminded himself of his word to her that he wouldn’t doubt her. He would have to learn to trust her feelings for him. For if she could come to love him, anything was possible.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The days passed smoothly as Garrick and Jossalyn formed a new routine within the Bruce’s camp. They each spent the days working on their own tasks, and then came together in the evenings to share a meal. More often than not, when they would retire to their tent, a simple brush of the hand or kiss on the cheek would turn into passionate lovemaking. When the metal frame of their small cot began to squeak too much after a week of use, they pulled the straw mattress to the floor and entwined their limbs, taking each other to the heights of pleasure, then sleeping deeply in each other’s arms.
When Garrick had returned from his private meeting with the King, he had explained his new role as a trainer of the men to Jossalyn. He spent much of his days in a nearby glen with rotating groups of a dozen Scottish soldiers, teaching them what he had learned on his missions about weaknesses in English fighting styles, armor, and weaponry.
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