In the Kingdom's Name (Guardian of Scotland Book 2)

by Amy Jarecki

  “We’ll stand ready for a battle, sir.”

  “Good lad.” William adjusted his sword belt and looked to his two most trusted men. “Come along, then.”

  Holding the flag above his head, William and the pair of lieutenants marched up to the gate in silence. The breeze off the sea cooled his face as white gannets screeched above. The entire distance William kept his eyes on the men atop the bailey. Not a one made a move.

  Blair pounded on the gate.

  The viewing screen opened and a ruddy face glared out. “Who goes there?”

  “William Wallace, Commander of the Army of Scotland, so appointed by the Parliament of the Kingdom. I carry the flag of parley and would have a word with Lord Cospatrick.”

  The man’s eyes bulged, then shifted with guilt. “Wait here.”

  The screen screeched as the guard started to close it, but William was faster, slipping his dirk’s hilt into the gap before it shut completely. “Long live King John.”

  After a heated interchange with man’s beady-eyed stare, William pulled his dirk away.

  Blair rocked back on his heels. “At least we havena been skewered by arrows yet.”

  William looked up and met the curious stare from a helmed archer regarding them from the battlements. “Cospatrick would be a fool to attack us here. If he were so bold, half the nobles of Scotland would raze his castles, every one.”

  “After the backstabbing at Fountainhall, that doesna sound like such a bad idea,” said Little.

  William frowned. “Aye, but if we can win Cospatrick’s alliance, we’ll be all the more closer to controlling the border—and our ports.”

  Blair spread his hands to his sides. “And how do ye expect to do that?”

  A snort trumpeted through William’s nose. “Oh ye of little faith, father.”

  “God will strike ye down one day for your mockery toward this holy man.” John Blair might be an ardent soldier of God, but he didn’t always have a vision of what could be.

  “Will he now?” William smoothed his palm over the psalter he kept in the purse at his hip. “I think not.”

  The man door beside the portcullis creaked open and a burly man-at-arms addressed them. “His lordship will see ye now.”

  “My thanks.” William looked to his two lieutenants and waggled his brows. “’Tis time to dance.”

  The main gate led directly into a tower and an enormous hall with sparse furnishings, clearly barracks for the earl’s army. They strode out through the tower and over a sea bridge to the donjon. Once inside, opulence fitting an earl’s rank was evidenced from the silk seafaring tapestries to the white marble hearth.

  William took it all in with quick shifts of his eyes. The earl is smart to hide all this wealth behind an army.

  Crossing through the great hall, the guard led them up a stairwell to the second floor landing. He opened the door to the lord’s drawing room and gestured for them to enter. A polished walnut table filled the space, appointed with rich hunting tapestries. Yet the Earl of March was nowhere to be seen.

  The man-at-arms gestured to the chairs. “Sit. His lordship will attend ye momentarily.”

  Wallace and his men proceeded as asked, with William taking the seat at the south end of the table. At the north, a lavish and immense wooden chair was clearly reserved for the earl. He watched the man-at-arms pull aside the tapestry and exit into yet another chamber.

  “His lordship is taking no chances, I see.” Eddy drummed his fingers atop the polished wood.

  “Aye. I’d have preferred it if he’d greeted us.” William swirled his palm over the pommel of his sword, then stood and pulled the wooden shutter away from the window and looked down to a small courtyard. If this meeting became hostile, they had three options for escape and all except diving into the icy depths meant they had to cross that narrow sea bridge. The window would be the quickest, but a two-story drop to the cobblestones might cause Eddy and Blair injury. No, William had best keep this a congenial gathering as he’d wanted it in the first place.

  After resuming his seat and waiting a time, the compline bell tolled. William’s stomach rumbled. He considered going in search of the evening meal when the door behind the tapestry opened. Through it marched a dozen men-at-arms all dressed in mail and carrying pikes as if they were protecting the king himself.

  Finally, the earl slipped through, wearing a hauberk beneath a red surcoat and a mailed coif atop his head. Topping off the ensemble, a sword and dirk hung from his belt.

  William and his men stood and bowed. As he straightened, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a smirk. “M’lord Cospatrick, were ye expecting a fight?”

  After assessing the three men with a deprecating glare down the length of his nose, Cospatrick moved to his chair. Two impressive looking men-at-arms took their places behind him and stood with hands grasping their hilts. The earl frowned. “With three hundred cavalry men stationed outside my castle, I should be asking the same thing of ye, Mr. Wallace.” His emphasis on “Mr.” sounded decidedly disrespectful.

  “Aye? Well, I suppose I’ll make no bones about it then.” William looked the earl directly in the eye. “We saw more than one targe bearing the seal of the Earl of March when we were set upon near Fountainhall. I come to ask if the attack was under your orders.”

  “Och, aye?” The backstabber looked too smug as he sneered and ran his fingers down his surcoat. “And ye think I would own up to such a lawless raid against one with so much newly purchased acclaim?”

  William’s clenched jaw twitched at the insult, but he refused to take the bait—not with the narrow sea bridge to cross while archers waited above. “I assumed the brigands outlaws, but in the interest of Scotland, ’tis my duty to allay the rumors of your allegiance to Edward.”

  Cospatrick had the gall to roll his eyes. “And why should I not pay the King of England his due? My holdings in England are nearly as vast as those in Scotland.”

  “Yet ye make your home here in Dunbar.” William intensified his stare. Earl or nay, he would not be spoken to like a fool. “And ye sit on the Privy Council of Scotland. All I ask is that ye own to your lawful king, John Balliol. If ye choose to stay in the Kingdom of Scotland, then ye’ll live by her laws of—”

  “Are ye threatening me? I am an earl…and ye? Ye are but a poor commoner. The King of the Kyle is all ye are.”

  Pausing to let the churning bile in his stomach subside, William mulled over his response. The man needed a good hiding, but that would best be accomplished on the battlefield. “I did not come under the flag of parley to withstand your arrogant insults.” The chair clattered to the floor as he stood and slapped his palms on the table.

  In fluid motion, soldiers leveled their pikes at William’s neck.

  Blair and Little pushed back their chairs, reaching for their weapons, only to be stopped by guards seizing each burly man’s arm.

  William glared at the earl and hissed through his teeth, “I am the Commander of the Scottish Army, appointed by the esteemed Parliament of the Kingdom of Scotland and, as such, I have a duty to ensure the safety of all subjects of this land, commoners and nobles alike.”

  The earl emitted a rueful laugh. “Ye are no better than the puppet king.”

  God’s bones, William would welcome the opportunity to meet this bastard on any battlefield. “And your words are treasonous.”

  “Do ye believe I would ever stoop so low to take heed of a commoner?” Cospatrick leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers atop his stomach.

  William straightened, ignoring the deadly sharp pikes leveled at his neck. “As the Guardian of this Kingdom, I expect ye to honor the edicts of the Privy Council or suffer the consequences—just as any subject, noble or nay.”

  “Ye are an embarrassment to the nobility of this great land,” the earl sneered. “Go home to Ayr, Wallace, and leave the governance of Scotland in the hands of men bred to lead.”

  “And watch while Longshanks razes our lands? Few of
our countrymen have the luxury of being able to cross the border and hide in an English fortress.” Heaven help him, William’s rage was about to burst from his temples. He clenched his fists to keep from launching himself across the table and strangling that reed-thin neck. “Have ye so easily forgotten the devastation of the battle of Dunbar less than two years past? Your own people—people who bore your arms and tilled your fields were cut down, raped and murdered, all in the name of a foreign king who calls himself suzerain over Scotland. A king whose only interest is to place our sons on the front line of England’s battles.”

  “Things are not always as they seem.” The earl examined his goddamn fingernails. “King John, the puppet king to whom ye so loyally refer, joined with France. We could have remained at peace with the English, but no, Balliol refused to let things lie.”

  “King John refused to grovel to Edward with further public humiliation. Ye ken the truth.” William leaned forward. “Dunna speak down to me because ye think I’m a lesser man. I’ve proved my worth on the battlefield and would be happy to meet ye there if ye should doubt my word.”

  Cospatrick jutted out his chin and sneered. “So ye come into my castle and threaten me, an earl?”

  “Nay. I come to tell ye I aim to unite the nobles and demand the release of King John from the Tower of London. And while I’m at it, I aim to see an end to English oppression against all Scotsmen, noble or nay. And I’ll let no man stand in my way…even if he is an earl.”

  Cospatrick clutched his neck before gesturing toward the door. “I suggest ye take your leave, Mr. Wallace. I’ve many things to attend and I do believe we’ve nothing more of import to discuss.”

  William stretched to his full height, towering above all men in the room. He made eye contact with each one, silently telling them they’d be the first to die should a one raise their arms against him. “Well then, I’ll see ye at the next meeting of Parliament.”

  The earl narrowed his gaze and thinned his lips.

  William beckoned Blair and Little. “Come, men. We’ve missives to deliver.”

  Without a word, the guards released their hold as Wallace’s men followed. William led them back from whence they came, all the way through the long barracks and out Dunbar’s gates.

  As soon as the man door slammed closed behind them, Blair spat on the ground. “We should have had Sir Andrew with us. That bastard earl will only pay heed to a member of the gentry.”

  “Add Sir Andrew’s cure to the list of things we need to remedy.” William kicked a dried piece of horse dung. “Since when does ‘Commander of the Army’ mean nothing?”

  ***

  It was dusk when they rode south from Dunbar Castle. William opted to set up camp in the wood near Innerwick. After a meal of bully beef and oatcakes, sleep was fleeting on the damp, mossy earth as rain drizzled from above. Aye, William and his men would need to wrap themselves in wool soon. With what he had planned, there would be many a cold night yet to come.

  Restless, Wallace’s eyes flew open when he felt a faint tremor of the ground. More than once he’d sensed the approach of horses before hearing their hooves pummeling the earth. Jumping to his feet, he tapped Blair on the shoulder and held his finger to his lips. “Wake the others and keep it quiet.”

  William strapped on his sword belt and drew his weapon. Creeping to a vantage point, he saw the advancing army but two furlongs away. Cospatrick for certain. Wallace ran to his horse. “Mount up and be ready to fight.”

  Eddy climbed aboard his steed. “How many?”

  “Three, mayhap five hundred.”

  Blair threw his leg over his horse as well. “The odds are a bit steep.”

  William grabbed Paden by the shoulders. “Haste ye south and fetch Sir Home—tell him we need reinforcements straight away.”

  The lad glanced in the direction of the approaching army. “But—”

  “Go. Now!”

  After watching Paden mount up, William directed his attention to his men and pointed to the ridge. “We’ll have the ground advantage if we wait for them to come to us. Make haste, for the Earl of March has decided to play his hand.” He circled is hand above his head. “Archers, stand at the ready.”

  Wallace led his garrison at a fast trot. He caught Eddy’s eye and pointed south. “Line up your archers along the ridge. Wait until Cospatrick’s forces are upon us afore ye give the command to fire.” He beckoned the others to follow while turning his attention to Blair. “We’ll hide in the gully yonder and let them pass. Once the archers let loose, the cavalry will hit them from behind.”

  “May the Lord have mercy on their souls.” The priest made the sign of the cross. “At least we’ll not have long to wait.”

  William crossed himself, repeating Blair’s motion. “Aye, now pass the word. Quickly.”

  No sooner had Wallace and his men hid in the gully, the hoofbeats of the earl’s army thundered past. Though concealed from sight, he clamped his fingers around his reins and waited, ears piqued for the thud of the first arrow hitting its mark.

  Though a seasoned warrior, the rush before battle always made his skin thrum with anticipation. The thunder of his heart beat so loudly in his helm, his every breath rushed like the rumble of the tide. If he’d been an inexperienced lad, he might have feared being caught by the deafening roar of his own lifeblood pulsing through his veins. Placing his hand atop the psalter at his hip, he closed his eyes and concentrated on clearing his mind. Then he offered a quick prayer for his men and for those wayward souls who followed the Earl of March.

  A heinous howl screeched through the wind. Then another. Snapping up his head, William dug in his spurs and slapped his reins. “Scotland until Judgement!” he bellowed the Kingdom’s war cry.

  Thundering the cry behind him, his men boldly repeated the cheer that bound them together as men driven in a united cause.

  Ahead, mayhem erupted. Fallen soldiers writhed on the ground, clutching at arrows. The earl’s ranks forced out of step, they toiled to circle their horses and face the onslaught.

  William drove his mount straight for Cospatrick. By God, he would cut any man down who turned traitor. Narrowing the distance, the direct path to the earl was blocked by a pair of henchmen flanking Wallace from both sides. He roared and swung, meeting each man’s sword with gnashing of teeth and a deafening clang of iron. Ears ringing from the booming clash of battle, William fought, hacking off limbs and deflecting blows from battleaxes and pikes while steering his horse with his knees.

  Facing nearly twice their numbers, the fighting grew bloodier, but William wasn’t about to stop. Cospatrick cowered at the rear of the battlefield, surrounded by his guardsmen.

  “I’ll carve out your heart and send it to Edward in a bejeweled box,” William roared as he fought wave after wave.

  His muscles tortured him, burning like limbs being held to the fire as he inched toward the earl. With an upward swing of his great sword, a gap opened—straight to his target. “Scotland until Judgement,” he roared, spurring his mount into a gallop.

  The stench of fear inflamed William’s nostrils before the earl’s party turned tail and raced south. Pointing his great sword forward, he dug in his spurs and urged his men to follow. “After them!”

  On and on he drove his horse south, making chase toward the border. An uproarious cry came from the east as an army galloped into their ranks, bolstering Wallace’s numbers.

  The Home pennant flew high, carried by young Paden.

  “Good lad,” William bellowed, sure his shout was but a whisper on the howling wind.

  His horse’s snorting breaths became more labored as they continued to make chase. Finally, white froth leeched from his steed’s neck as they approached the Whiteadder Water.

  “Hold up.” Sir Geoffrey Home reined his horse beside William. “We’re growing dangerously close to Berwick and the Tweed. Word has it Lord Warenne has five thousand men lying in wait within the castle walls. They’d like nothing better than to sever you
r head and hang it from the town’s gable.”

  William’s gut clenched as he watched Cospatrick gain distance. “Five thousand?”

  “Aye, my spies reported as such, reliable men they are as well.”

  Taking in a deep breath, Wallace lowered his reins. “Ye reckon the Earl of Surrey is ready to stage a revolt?”

  “I reckon he’s still licking his wounds after ye kicked his arse at Stirling Bridge. But he still wouldna look a gift horse in the mouth.” Sir Home beckoned him. “Come, we’ve much to discuss and I’ve got a thirst.”

  William glared across the burn while Cospatrick’s red surcoat disappeared into the wood. “First bring me one of the injured men of Dunbar. One who’s well enough to carry a missive to the Earl of March.” He beckoned Paden. “I need a slip of vellum, quill and a pot of ink.”

  Not long and William had his missive written and sent the wounded man on his way with a scroll addressed to the Earl of March:

  On this date, 25th October, the year of our Lord 1297, the Earl of March, is hereby stripped of his Scottish title. All holdings in Scotland are forfeit to the king. This decree by William Wallace, Guardian of Scotland.

  Long live King John.

  ***

  Sitting in the second floor solar of Cocksburnpath Tower, William sipped a tot of whisky. “After the backstabbing by Cospatrick, ’tis good to know we have allies among the eastern border clans.”

  Sir Geoffrey Home had the look of a warrior. Barrel chested with a bit of grey in his beard, he was the type of man whose loyalty the Kingdom needed. “Most of the clans support ye. We’re all sick of having our lands razed by the English. Only barons with holdings on both sides of the border are in question.”

  William leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “True, but that comprises nearly all the most powerful families in Scotland.”

  “But I dunna ken a man who wouldn’t like to see the backsides of the English army retreating across the Tweed.” Sir Geoffrey sipped his whisky thoughtfully. “And your victory at Stirling Bridge made ye a legend. Make no bones about it, the people of Scotland are ready to take up their arms and stand behind ye.”