Circle of Honor

by Carol Umberger

  CIRCLE OF

  HONOR

  a novel

  CAROL UMBERGER

  The Scottish crown series

  CIRCLE OF HONOR

  Copyright © 2002 by Carol Umberger.

  Published by Integrity Publishers, a division of Integrity Media, Inc.

  5250 Virginia Way, Suite 110, Brentwood, TN 37027.

  HELPING PEOPLE WORLDWIDE EXPERIENCE the MANIFEST PRESENCE of GOD.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Published in association with the literary agency of

  Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street,

  Suite 200, Colorado Springs, Colorado, 80920

  Cover design: David Uttley

  Interior: Inside Out Design & Typesetting

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Umberger, Carol

  Circle of honor / by Carol Umberger.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 1-59145-005-5

  1. Scotland—History—War of Independence, 1285–1371—Fiction.

  I. Title.

  PS3621.M35 C57 2002

  813'.6–dc21

  2002069074

  Printed in the United States of America

  02 03 04 05 06 LBM 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  DEDICATION

  To the memory of Richard V. Umberger

  With love to Betty J. Umberger

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  THANKS AND PRAISE to God for the gift of storytelling and for giving me the courage to pursue a dream.

  Thanks to my friends and mentors in Pikes Peak Romance Writers for their support and encouragement.

  A special thanks to Angel Smits, friend, walking partner, and brainstorming genius. We did it!

  And thanks to my constantly patient, always supportive husband Tom, and to our sons, Dan and Dave, who understand when I’m “lost” in another century.

  AUTHOR’S NOTES

  EVA MACPHERSON AND ANGUS MACKINTOSH were indeed married in 1291, uniting Clan Chattan with the Mackintosh clan and causing a Mackintosh to become chief of this federation. Although Eva’s uncle is thought to have petitioned Robert the Bruce to prevent this, the fact is that for over six hundred years the federation was led by a Mackintosh. In 1936, the clans became separate entities, with never a drop of blood shed between them.

  Robert the Bruce did, sadly, kill John Comyn in Greyfriars Church. And although Bruce was unusually forgiving toward most of his enemies, he was ruthless in his treatment of the Comyns. If you would like to read more about this incredible period of history, I can recommend Ronald McNair Scott’s book Robert the Bruce, King of Scots (Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc. 1996) as being highly readable and informative.

  Clan Chattan supported Bruce at Bannockburn, but to my knowledge, Angus wasn’t wounded, nor did he die until 1345 when his son William became laird. I have also taken liberties with the timing of certain events, in order to tell Adam’s fictitious story. I hope the reader will forgive any trespasses upon historical fact and will enjoy this story about what might have happened if a MacPherson had challenged his laird.

  May Gwenyth and Adam’s story inspire you with the sure belief that God controls everything and that victory always belongs to those who do his will.

  ONE

  Dumfries, Scotland

  February 10, 1306

  ADAM MACKINTOSH tied his horse’s reins to a post and followed his liege lord, Robert the Bruce, into Greyfriars Church. They stopped just inside the door, cautiously allowing their eyes to adjust to the weak wintry light filtering through the stained glass behind the altar.

  Blowing on his numbed fingers, Adam thrust his hands under his armpits; the church was little warmer than the frosty morning outside. Robert motioned Adam to stand guard at the rear of the sanctuary, but Adam hesitated, silently questioning the earl with his eyes.

  He didn’t trust the man waiting by the altar, and Robert knew it. Not that Adam’s opinion mattered. A moment later, the earl walked toward Sir John Comyn, lord of Badenoch. The two most powerful noblemen in Scotland. If it wasn’t so dangerous, if treachery didn’t hang in the air, this meeting would be cause for celebration. Instead, the two greeted each other with cordial nods and stood face-to-face, hands at their sides. Both had high aspirations: Robert to the Scottish throne, Comyn to power and wealth, however it might be obtained. They had come to blows before, and Adam inched closer, the better to react quickly at the first sign of trouble. Comyn’s own sentry stood in the shadow of one of the towering columns.

  In the quiet of the church, their voices clearly carried. “We had an agreement, Sir John. You agreed to renounce your family’s claim to the throne. You promised to support my claim in return for my lands in Carrick. Is that not so?”

  Adam heard the controlled temper in the earl’s voice. After their misadventure last night, Adam wanted to throttle John Comyn himself. He admired his liege’s determination to seek a peaceful resolution, despite the man’s treacherous act.

  Comyn said nothing.

  Robert pulled a document from inside his tunic. Unfolding it in hurried, jerking motions, he then jabbed it with his finger. “Is this your seal or is it not?”

  John Comyn glanced at the parchment. “You know it is.”

  Robert’s voice rose. “Then why have you betrayed me to Edward of England?”

  “What proof have you that I’ve done such a thing?” John protested. But he nodded ever so slightly to the shadowy figure standing opposite Adam. Robert noticed it too. Adam laid his right hand on his sword hilt, ready to act should the need arise.

  Bruce took a menacing step closer to Comyn and practically shoved the paper in Comyn’s face. “Because this is your copy, Lord Badenoch, taken from the men who nearly captured me last night.”

  Sir John’s expression hardened. “My cousin, Edward Balliol, is the rightful heir to the throne of Scotland. Not you. You tricked me into signing that scurrilous agreement, and I renounce it. My brother and I hold land and castles from one end of Scotland to another, enough to withhold the crown from you and put Balliol on the throne. And we shall do so.”

  He pushed Bruce, trying to shove the earl aside. But Bruce stepped back in front of Sir John, blocking his way. Sir John withdrew his dagger and, at Adam’s shout of warning, chaos broke out. Comyn’s sentry raced toward Bruce, but Adam intercepted him and intercepted the man’s sword just short of Bruce’s exposed back. They fought for several minutes, the sentry’s sword coming uncomfortably close to Adam’s neck. But he drove the man back and back until he slipped and fell, and by a stroke of fortune, hit his head, and was knocked unconscious.

  The sounds of fighting had alerted the others waiting outside the church, and they all came running, immediately taking up arms against their foe. The sanctuary’s stone walls rang with the sounds of cursing, the clash of swords, but Adam had but one thought: Bruce.

 
Panting, he whirled and rushed back to defend the earl. But there was little he could do but stand aside and watch.

  Sir John swiped his dagger at Bruce again and again, missing his target, becoming more and more careless with each thrust, his anger and frustration building. Bruce’s aim was better. After three quick jabs, John Comyn clutched his chest and sank to the floor.

  Although a seasoned warrior, Bruce looked down at John Comyn in shock. Adam grabbed Bruce’s arm and nearly dragged him through the doorway toward safety. Adam urged the earl to mount his horse, which he did slowly, as if his body carried heavy armor. By now the brief skirmish was nearly over. Roger Kirkpatrick, who had remained outside with the horses, asked, “My laird, what happened in there?”

  “I think I have killed John the Red Comyn,” Bruce said, numbly staring ahead.

  “Do you doubt it?” Kirkpatrick shouted. “Then I’ll make sure the traitor is dead!” He dashed back inside, followed closely by Adam. Kirkpatrick reached Sir John first and stabbed him with his sword. Comyn’s body jerked and he breathed his last. Despite the heady rush of battle and John Comyn’s part in his own downfall, Adam regretted the man’s death. Nothing good would come of this day.

  Comyn’s men had already lowered their weapons, looking at one another in mute disbelief. As Sir John’s men gathered around their fallen leader, Adam and his compatriots returned to the earl.

  “He is dead, my lord,” Fitzpatrick announced quietly. With the encounter over and reason returning, they realized the gravity of killing a man in a church.

  Adam looked to where the earl sat his horse. “What next, my lord?”

  Glancing at his bloodstained hands, the earl of Carrick seemed at a loss. Adam knew Robert’s options were few. All was lost with King Edward of England, who no doubt viewed Robert’s agreement with Comyn as treason. Nothing could be done to restore that relationship now. Comyn’s treachery had destroyed any peaceful means to the restoration of Scotland’s throne.

  They sat on their horses, not knowing whether, or where, to flee.

  Kirkpatrick asked, “Is it Norway, then? Shall we seek shelter with your sister and her husband the king?”

  Still the earl did not answer. But Adam knew. He knew with a certainty born in serving with Bruce during these past difficult months. They would rebel against the English tyrant and fight for freedom. And he, Adam Mackintosh, heir to the chieftain of Clan Chattan, would willingly follow Robert the Bruce to the ends of the earth.

  His face grim, Bruce broke his silence. “It begins. We will stay and fight. Starting now. My friends, this day we commence to cleanse our land of the English. Gather our men together. We will begin by taking Dumfries Castle.”

  “And what banner shall fly over Dumfries when we have taken it?” asked Kirkpatrick with glee.

  “Find the royal standard of Scotland, friend. The treasured Lion Rampant of red and gold. For this day, I, Robert the Bruce, earl of Carrick, claim my rightful inheritance, the throne of Scotland. I stand before you as your liege lord, Robert, king of Scots!”

  The group hushed. Even Adam was stunned. He knew they would have to fight, but he never dreamed Robert would so boldly claim the crown. Especially knowing that Comyn and Balliol were firmly united against him.

  Adam recovered his wits. ’Twas a daring move completely in character for the compelling nobleman! Raising his sword high, he shouted, “God save King Robert! God save the king!”

  The entire company raised the cry in a delirium of excitement and emotion. All about them, from the church to the far reaches of the town, the word spread. The townspeople joined in the cry, then grabbed one another and began to dance in the streets. After ten years of English rule, Scotland once again had a king of Celtic blood. Adam glanced at his fellows, and all wore mighty grins, echoing his own joy.

  Amid the exultant confusion, Bruce and his men dismounted. One by one the men knelt before their king to swear their allegiance. When Adam’s turn came, he took Robert’s hand between his own and made his pledge. Then the new king surprised Adam by asking him for his sword. Adam handed it to him.

  As Adam continued to kneel, Robert tapped each shoulder with the flat of the blade, saying, “I dub thee knight. Be thou a true knight and courageous in the face of your enemies. Rise, Sir Adam.”

  “Thank you for this honor, my lord. I shall fight by your side to the end.”

  “And fight we shall, sir knight.”

  LADY JOAN AND HER YOUNGEST DAUGHTER sat in front of the massive fireplace in the main hall. A crackling fire took the chill off the cold February afternoon and gave sufficient light for handwork. The young woman deftly knotted her embroidery thread and surveyed her work, a scene of Daniel in the lion’s den she’d designed herself. She rose from her chair and presented the nearly finished tapestry for her mother’s inspection.

  “Nicely done, daughter. Why did you choose this particular story to illuminate?”

  Gwenyth smiled, pleased to share her knowledge of the Bible. “Because Daniel tells us that victory always belongs to those who do God’s will. No matter how difficult the situation, you must trust God.”

  “Your life will be blessed if you keep that thought close to your heart. Now, tell me more of your visit to Ruthven. I detect a note of wistfulness when you mention certain of your cousins.”

  Gwenyth felt her face grow warm. “I did enjoy their company, Mama.”

  “I’m sure you did. With your sisters and brothers all married and gone, it is very quiet here at Dalswinton.” Lady Joan laid her hand on Gwenyth’s arm. “’Tis understandable if you miss them, lass.”

  “Aye, Mama.” She was especially close to the Ruthven cousins for she’d spent her fosterage with them. In those six years her Aunt Isabella had taught her all she would need to know about caring for a castle and a husband. Her husband.

  “And I suspect there is one cousin who is missed more than the others.”

  Gwenyth smiled. Edward Balliol, a distant cousin and contender for Scotland’s throne, had been a frequent visitor at Ruthven during Gwenyth’s recent stay there. Just yesterday he’d come to Dalswinton and offered for her hand in marriage. If Papa gave permission, she might be queen of Scotland one day. To have handsome Edward for a mate and to be a queen surpassed her fondest dreams.

  Having composed her expression, she asked, “When will Papa be home?”

  “You are anxious for his answer, aren’t you? Then you must be pleased with Edward’s suit.”

  “Oh yes. Yes I am. Do you think Papa will say yes?”

  “I believe he will. You are sixteen—’tis time for you to leave the nest as well. Your father and I will miss you, but Edward is an excellent match.” Her mother’s smile quickly faded.

  “You are worried about the politics surrounding such an alliance.”

  “Aye.”

  Despite her affection for Edward and excitement at the prospect of becoming his betrothed, she, too, had misgivings. News of an alliance between the Balliol and Comyn families would further divide the loyalty of Scotland’s nobility. If Papa were to accept Edward’s offer, then he must also agree to withdraw his support of Robert the Bruce’s quest for Scotland’s throne. She could only imagine Bruce’s anger at being denied the crown. “Papa will do what is best.”

  “And his women will suffer the consequences.”

  She stared at her mother. She’d never heard her criticize Papa.

  Lady Joan paced away, then turned to face her daughter from the other side of the hearth. “Don’t look so surprised. Your father often makes decisions to obtain land and power without thought to the cost to his children or me. I say this not in bitterness, but so that you will be prepared for your own marriage. Your father and Edward are much alike in this regard.”

  Her face must have betrayed her doubts. Mama came to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to dampen your joy, lass. Edward is a fine man, albeit ambitious. All you can do is love him and pray for God’s blessing. You shall cert
ainly have mine.”

  She kissed her mother’s temple. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Enough serious talk. Finish your embroidery while I see that the servants prepare warm food and a hot bath for your father’s return.” She smiled. “I shall await him in my solar, and I promise to encourage him to give you his answer soon.”

  After Mama left, Gwenyth stared into the fire, her needlework forgotten. Their conversation had given her much to think about. She was certain that Edward was more interested in her as a person than as a political tool. Wasn’t he?

  Hours later, a commotion in the bailey signaled her father’s return. Still clutching the tapestry, she hurried to her mother’s solar. Papa might be persuaded to give his answer yet this evening if she requested it of him.

  But instead of her father, she found Edward holding her sobbing mother. “Edward, where is Papa?” she demanded.

  “Hush, lass. Come and comfort your mother.”

  Fear paralyzed her. “Why is she crying?”

  “I’m sorry to bear bad news, Gwenyth. The villain Bruce has killed your father.”

  For a moment Edward’s words didn’t make sense. Papa couldn’t be dead—he hadn’t given them permission to marry. “You are wrong. It isn’t true.”

  Edward held her mother with one arm and offered his other hand to her. “Come here, lass.”

  She ignored his offer of comfort. “How? How did my father die?”

  “Bruce stabbed him on the altar at Greyfriars Church.”

  A fierce pain gripped her heart and she stared at the tapestry she still held in her hands, at Daniel calmly accepting his fate, trusting God. And she knew that she had nothing in common with Daniel, for she would not accept her father’s death as being God’s will. Nay, it had been Robert the Bruce’s will and ambition that had killed him.

  While Edward continued to console her mother, she walked to the solar’s fireplace and threw the needlework into the flames. Then she hugged her mother and led her to a chair before asking Edward, “Does our betrothal still stand? Did Papa give you his permission?”