The Scot's Deception (Highland Swords Book 5)

by Keira Montclair

  “Do you have any idea who it could be?”

  “I have some thoughts. But, more importantly, I’d like to set up a device that will guarantee their failure. Would you mind strategizing with me?”

  Alex Grant smiled and said, “Naught would give me more pleasure. We’ll fix his arse. He won’t be taking over our castle, no matter who wins Stirling Castle.”

  ***

  The following morn, Chrissa followed the team of archers over to their spot overlooking Bannock Burn. Part of King Robert’s plan was to prevent the English from being able to move in all directions. They intended to restrict them to two directions, which would make it much easier to defeat them.

  King Robert started the day with a ceremony to knight many who were to go into battle, then commanded the banners be hoisted up in full view for the English to see. His brother Edward was in charge of the schiltrons, and they headed toward Bannock Burn, the English not far away. After they knelt in prayer, they went on the offensive, something that took the English by surprise. Robert the Bruce had used schiltrons of tight spearmen before, but never in the offensive.

  The Highland Swords team hung back with the archers, behind the small folk. Chrissa’s uncles had been called up to Bruce’s Highlander Brigades, the group that would go after the schiltrons and one other Scottish brigade.

  They found a vantage point to watch the battle, in a section of the forests so they’d not be easy targets. The schiltrons were already killing many English. Although Robert had primarily used the tactic defensively, from what she’d heard, it was proving equally successful as a form of offense. “Look,” Maggie said, “Edward is putting his archers in place against our schiltrons.”

  The English archers came from the back of the field and started nocking their arrows, shooting wildly. Robert countered by sending his brigade out. The archers tried but failed to take out the brigade.

  Derric rubbed the palms of his hands together with delight. “King Robert will be smiling just now. He’d tell you that if you could see the whites of the Englishmen’s eyes, they’d be turning yellow. They’re losing and they don’t know what to do next.”

  Screams of death and the grunts of battle carried over the land. Chrissa had somehow thought it would be different. She’d assumed, at least, that the battle would be more difficult. Instead, it seemed like the English were giving up.

  They were running away.

  King Robert waved his sword over his head and gave a signal to Derric, “Bring out your archers. Kill the bastards!”

  Derric helped the team of archers get into position in the spot they’d chosen prior to the battle. Some climbed behind trees while others hid behind boulders. The battle raged on. It was sobering to see Scots fall beside the English, but the English were dying much more quickly.

  One hour passed, then another, and the fighting continued. Derric’s face hard with purpose, he ran down to the main line.

  “Corbett, where are you going?” Dyna called out.

  “Going to move this battle along. I can see our men tiring. ’Tis time for us to join it, whether our king wishes to admit it or not.”

  But something stopped Derric. He froze at the movement behind him, so he turned around to watch the youngest lad in the group.

  John stood up, a look of alarm on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” Alasdair asked.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said, glancing down at his sword. He’d had a hand on the hilt. The next moment he started running toward his horse. “This way,” he called over his shoulder. “I can sense something really evil…”

  “Mount up, Highland Swords,” Alasdair shouted, already following his son. “We’re following John.” No one objected. They all knew the sword was powerful.

  “I’m coming too,” Chrissa insisted. After everything they’d been through, she needed to see this through to the end.

  “We’ll stay back with the archers,” Maggie said, waving them onward, Sorcha and Emmalin behind her.

  By the time they were all mounted and moving, John was already a distance ahead of them. Alasdair was the first to ride after him, followed by Derric, Dyna, Chrissa, Alick, and Els.

  They rode for nearly ten minutes before John finally slowed his horse. It didn’t take long for Chrissa to figure out why. Twenty or so Englishmen were dragging King Robert toward a tree stump. Although there were thousands of Scots in the area, none of the other Scots could be of help to him here.

  Only them.

  One of the English soldiers walked forward, brandishing a large sword, while a few others pushed Robert the rest of the way toward the stump, his hands bound behind him. “We’ll end this fight by bringing your head out on a pike,” the swordsman said. “Then King Edward will be recognized as the true King of Scotland.”

  They planned to behead King Robert.

  Chrissa’s heart leapt into her throat as she rode toward them. Would they be too late? John was almost upon them. Would the English bastards kill him too? She slowed her horse and reached for an arrow, just in case.

  The look on King Robert’s face told her he had no fear. “Kill me if you wish, but you’ll not silence my brethren!”

  They forced him to his knees, two of the men doing their best to force his head onto the stump while the man lifted his sword. The entire group was so focused on what was happening with Robert the Bruce that they didn’t notice their arrival until they were nearly upon them.

  Then John had ridden into full view. He was only a short distance away from the Englishmen. Lifting his sword into the air, he said, “Free your prisoner.”

  The Englishmen turned to look at them. Several of them laughed at the small lad on horseback with a sword held over his head.

  “John, be careful!” Alasdair shouted. They were almost upon him, but if Chrissa had learned anything from the past several days, it was that terrible things could happen quickly. John was alone for a short time until they were close enough to assist him.

  “Free your prisoner,” John repeated, his tone lower now.

  The ground began to shake, and a bolt of lightning ripped through the sky.

  One man yelled, “Kill him quickly before it’s too late.”

  But the swordsman had blanched. “I’m not killing him after that happened. Didn’t you feel the ground beneath your feet?”

  The other man stepped forward, raising his sword. “Then I’ll see it done. Get his head back over the stump!”

  The people holding Robert had released him in their shock, but they reached for him again. John let out the Grant war whoop, his bellow surprisingly loud, and brought his sword down, pointing it at the swordsman who had just raised his sword again, readying a strike at the Scot’s king. A bolt of lightning struck him in the chest, and the sword tumbled out of his hands before he crumpled to the ground.

  The other Englishmen began to yell, some running, some hiding, a few coming at them ready to battle.

  John’s sword moved from one man to the next, all coming toward them, striking each of them down. Dyna nocked an arrow and shouted, “Chrissa, shoot. Some are turning back to come at us.”

  Chrissa hit two men who’d spun around to attack while Dyna struck three. John’s sword shot out another bolt of lightning that caused the three men holding the king to go airborne before landing on their backs, dead.

  Alasdair and Derric dismounted, chasing some of the remaining English down. Then two of the soldiers mounted their horses and headed straight for John, but Alick and Els, still on horseback, took them out before they even got close.

  When the English force all lay dead on the ground, the group stopped, panting as they secured the area. Derric raced over and helped King Robert to his feet. “’Tis the last time I try to take a pish in private,” the king muttered.

  Everyone turned to stare at John.

  Chrissa couldn’t believe all she’d seen. John had stopped a group of Englishmen from beheading King Robert. What would have happened if they hadn’t arriv
ed in time? All would have been lost.

  “You are hale?” Derric asked the king.

  “I’m fine, thanks to the Highland Swords.” He strode over to stand in front of John’s horse. “Who are you, lad? And what kind of sword do you hold? ’Tis quite special.”

  John, clearly shaken by all that transpired, shook his head, unable to speak.

  Alasdair moved over to stand next to him. “John is my son and great-grandson to Alexander Grant. This is his first battle, so please allow him a moment.” He looked up at his son, patting his thigh. “Well done.”

  John, who still looked incapable of words, lowered his sword and returned it to its sheath.

  “John, many thanks to you and your group. You saved my life. Say whatever ’tis you’d like and ’twill be yours.”

  John said, “I do have a request.”

  “Just name it, John Grant.”

  John took a deep gulp before his gaze scanned the area. “I wish for no one to repeat what they saw here. This must stay a secret. ’Twould not be wise to let anyone know the English were able to reach you.”

  Chrissa dismounted and moved closer so she could hear everything. She could see the pride in Alasdair’s eyes at what his son had requested. She understood exactly why he’d said what he did, but would everyone else?

  King Robert looked at Alasdair and nodded, a sly smile crossing his face. “You have a wise lad, Alasdair.”

  “Wise indeed,” Dyna agreed with a nod.

  If word got out that John held the sapphire sword, they’d be attacked many times over. They likely wouldn’t reach the castle with the sword still in their possession. John apparently wasn’t willing to divulge that information to King Robert, thus guaranteeing its fate was in the hands of their clan only.

  “Consider it done. I’ll not speak of this event, and I order everyone here to make the same vow.”

  “I will take that vow, except I must share it with my grandsire,” John said.

  King Robert gave him a slight bow. “Accepted.” He moved over to a horse and said, “May I take yours, Corbett?”

  “Aye, I’ll ride with my wife.”

  The group headed back toward the camp, and Derric and Dyna broke off from the rest of them to escort the king back to the battlefield, since the sounds carried on. They returned to the group with both horses. Much as they all wished to wave their arms in victory, they could not. They’d vowed not to mention what had just transpired.

  They’d done the unimaginable. They’d saved the king from certain death. But there was no time to dwell on it.

  When they arrived close to the battle, Chrissa caught bits and pieces of a conversation between Derric and King Robert, the gist of it being that King Robert wanted everyone fighting. He would hold nothing back after what just transpired.

  Then Derric announced with a wave of his sword, “Our turn. The small folk and the Highland Swords will finish this.”

  Their turn had come.

  He charged over to the large group of Highlanders on foot and yelled, “’Tis time to show them what you’re made of. Kill the English!” Then he waved on and the Scots tore over the hill. Derric glanced at John and said, “Mount up. Lead the way with that sword.”

  John said, “I’m ready.”

  They mounted, nearly ready to go, when John pointed. “Look, many of the English are running.”

  Indeed they were. Had the sight of the Highlanders on foot been too much for them? “’Tis your cue, lad. Take your sapphire sword and send the rest of them home,” Alasdair said. His eyes shone with pride.

  They mounted and followed John out behind the force of Highlanders. Once they were all on the field, Alick, Els, and Alasdair yelled the Grant war whoop while John held the sapphire sword up, pointing it to the heavens above.

  The ground shook, tossing some English into the air, but the onslaught continued. Lightning flashed on the battlefield, taking out English, as the Highland Swords rushed forward, their swords ably cutting down everyone they could see.

  John and his sapphire sword shone above all others as he led the group, his sword lighting up with each bolt of lightning.

  What followed was a massive display of might that sent the English running. Chrissa nocked one arrow after another, sending arrows out over the fighting Highlanders, making sure she didn’t hit any Scots.

  The battle was long and hard, but each moment brought them closer to victory, and before they knew it, the entire force of the English turned tail and ran. The Scottish force was so powerful the Englishmen began to jump into streams, hoping they’d picked one that would carry them to safety.

  Instead, many drowned.

  King Edward did escape, but his fighting group was devastated, many of his barons and nobleman killed by the onslaught, even though they greatly outnumbered the Scots.

  The battle was done and the Scots were victorious.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The celebration on the Scot’s side continued well into the night. Still, it was not all a celebration. Many of those who’d fought in the thick of battle were so exhausted they fell asleep where they landed. Others were searching for their missing comrades.

  Chrissa wandered through the dead with Alick and Els, looking for any Grant bodies they could bury or take home for burial on Grant land. The task was more gruesome than she expected so she forced herself to carry on with her cousins. It was an important task, but her stomach threatened to turn at the sight of so many dead bodies.

  This was a part of battle she’d never given much thought to before, and she doubted she’d ever forget it. Horrifying yet sobering, she wouldn’t be discussing this part with anyone. She was bending down to turn one man’s face over when she froze. A familiar voice, ten body lengths away from her. She was certain it was the same man she’d overheard speaking with Drostan’s mother.

  The traitor. The villain who’d come up with the plot to have Clan Grant massacre Clan Ramsay. She stood slowly, her knees knocking with the force of the rage that coursed through her.

  Her brother touched her shoulder. Speaking in an undertone, he said, “Do not say a word or he’ll know you’re on to him. I hear several voices, but I think I can guess which one is sending shivers through you. ’Tis verra important for neither of us to react. I’ll finish here, and you go speak with John. Tell him ’tis time to put our plan into motion.”

  Alick was right, of course, so she swallowed her rage and walked away, heading straight for their small area in the camp, well hidden in the trees.

  When she arrived, John was packing up items while he chewed on an apple.

  “John, he’s here.”

  “Is he?” He took one more bite and tossed the apple to her. “I’ll plant the sword just where we planned. On that large boulder near the entrance to our camp. You agree?”

  “Aye,” she said, catching the apple and taking two bites before she tossed the rest into the fire they had built.

  Molly’s eyes widened. “You found him?”

  “Aye, now we must be patient.”

  Maggie chuckled, covering her mouth. “Oh, I do hope to be there when this bastard gets caught.”

  “Oh, we’ll all be there. ’Twill happen right on Grant land, in front of everyone.” Which meant Drostan would be there to see the bastard caught, too.

  She couldn’t wait.

  ***

  Chrissa and John headed back to Grant land, along with the rest of the Grant contingency, Alasdair just ahead of them talking with Els.

  “Do you think ’twill work?” John asked excitedly.

  “Aye, he took it. I can’t wait to get back and catch him in the act.”

  Before the battle, they’d secured a small sword from the Grant armorer. Similar to the sapphire sword in size, it was a stunning weapon, although not of the quality of the sapphire sword. Still, to someone who didn’t know the difference, it was a passable fake. Grandsire had come up with the idea.

  Sure enough, the sword John had left on the rock o
utside their camp had been taken. The bait was in their enemy’s hand, and if he did as they suspected, he’d take it back to Grant Castle, thinking he could use the weapon’s power to secure the castle. They’d left camp early, before daylight, wanting to get home in time to catch the villain in his treasonous act. John had left the false sword where he could steal it while Chrissa and John slept.

  “You’re sure he was the one you overheard?”

  “Aye, absolutely.”

  They rode on in silence for a few moments, and John was the one who broke it. Without going into any great detail, he said, “I cannot believe this battle was so successful. I think ’twill be talked about for years to come.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “I hope ’tis really the end of the incessant plague upon our people. King Edward needs to stop and give us the freedom we’ve requested. We are capable of managing our own affairs.”

  “Aye, I’m sure ’tis so. ’Twill be called the Battle of Bannock Burn,” said John. “I’m quite sure ’twill be talked about for decades as the battle that finally defeated Edward II. I’ve listened to Papa, Grandsire, and all the others speak of so many battles, but this one was different. The amount of time it took, the number involved, the strength of King Robert’s different groups…”

  “And the spectral swords?”

  “Aye, but the power was hardly noticed in the middle of the battle. What will be remembered is how the English ran as soon as the Highlanders, or the small folk as some called us, came across the hill. That was a sight to see. I can’t wait to tell Grandsire all about it.”

  “And I can’t wait to see our enemy caught.”

  ***

  Drostan waited in the great hall for the group to return from Stirling. Word had already returned to them that Edward had run home with his tail between his legs, though not until after a long battle. He prayed Chrissa and the other Grants were all right.

  The first group arrived and he hurried out into the courtyard, eager to see the group that had returned first. If not for his wound, he’d have gone to the stables, but he’d already been sewn up twice and didn’t wish to endure it a third time. To his surprise, Sheriff DeFry and Father Dowall were the first two to approach the keep.