The Price of Freedom
CAROL UMBERGER
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
Copyright © 2003 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
The price of freedom / by Carol Umberger.
p. cm.—(The Scottish crown series)
ISBN 1-59145-006-3
1. Scotland—History—War of Independence, 1285–1371—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3621.M35 P7 2002
813'.6–dc21
2002038834
Printed in the United States of America
03 04 05 06 07 08 TCP 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
DEDICATION
To Tom,
whose steadfast heart is my delight.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AUTHOR’S NOTES
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
SO MANY PEOPLE CONTRIBUTE TO the success of a writer’s career through their encouragement, support, and expertise. With each newly published book, my list grows. My heartfelt thanks to the following people:
Rick and the wonderful, talented staff at Alive. Thank you for seeing the potential and nurturing it. Special thanks to Linda, lunch buddy, friend, and fellow servant. And to Lee, for picking up the ball and running with it.
Joey Paul at Integrity, who I admire as a publisher and as an example of Christian faith in action. And to the rest of the hardworking, incredibly talented team at Integrity who have performed marvelous things for me and for the Lord we serve. Special thanks to Rob Birkhead and David Uttley for the gorgeous book covers.
Khrys Williams and Lori Sly for reading the manuscript and making countless helpful suggestions. And for listening to me whine. Keep writing—dreams do come true!
Lisa Tawn Bergren, a wonderful writer and editor who makes my manuscripts infinitely better with her wisdom and insight. You made my stories shine.
And always, thanks and gratitude to God for the gift, for showing me how to use it, and for putting all these special people in my life.
AUTHOR’SNOTES
Robert the Bruce is acknowledged as a great hero and king by many who know his story. And yet, he was very human, just like you and I. It is said that he was a man of great personal faith whose main regret at the end of his life is that he’d been unable to go on a crusade.
Despite Bruce’s faith, he fathered children out of wedlock. I make no excuse for his behavior; I simply use this fact to my advantage as a storyteller. Documents exist on five of those children—Bryan Mackintosh is not one of them. Bryan and Kathryn are figments of my overactive imagination and I hope that in some small way, I have brought this period of history alive for you through their story.
I relied heavily upon several books for historical detail and I wish to acknowledge the debt I owe to these fine authors: Ronald McNair Scott’s book Robert the Bruce, King of Scots (Carroll & Graf Publishers, Inc., 1996) and Colm McNamee’s The Wars of the Bruces (Tuckwell Press Ltd, 1997); also Peter Berresford Ellis, Celtic Women—Women in Celtic Society and Literature (Constable and Company Ltd, 1995). Any inaccuracies or deviations from fact are mine and mine alone.
I enjoy hearing from readers. You may visit my website at carolumberger.com or email me at [email protected].
Blessings.
PROLOGUE
Spring, Year of Our Lord 1306
BRYAN MACKINTOSH TENSED as Lady Christian of Carrick approached her friend and monarch, Robert the Bruce of Scotland, warning filling her face. The brave noblewoman had brought fifteen mounted men and the promise of money and supplies to aid Scotland’s beleaguered king. But along with the help clearly came dreadful news.
Tentatively, Bruce exited the cave and reached out both his hands in welcome.
Taking Bruce’s hands the lady said quietly, “My king. Elizabeth and the others have been captured.”
Bruce recoiled as if the woman had struck him. His family, taken! “When? How?” he demanded.
Bryan closed his eyes, listening in growing agitation as Lady Christian continued. Were they alive? Or already beheaded? “The Earl of Ross—may he and his Comyn masters rot for eternity— seized them when they sought sanctuary at St. Duthac’s chapel.”
Bruce raised a hand to his brow. “O, God. What have I done?”
Lady Christian laid a hand on his arm, her expression echoing Bruce’s pain. “You did the only thing you could, dear friend.”
After the Scottish army’s defeat at the battle of Methven, no place within reach of Edward of England was safe. He had declared the wives and children of all the Scottish rebels to be outlaws. No man would be punished for harming or even killing them.
Robert the Bruce had wisely taken his wife, daughter, and two sisters under his immediate protection. But when the women had nearly been captured at Dalry Pass, Bruce sent them north to his younger brother Nigel at Kildrummy Castle. They hadn’t made it.
The men all listened intently as Lady Christian continued. “There is more, I fear. Kildrummy has also been captured.” Looking to where Bruce’s brother Edward sat, she swallowed hard and said, “Your brother Nigel died on England’s gallows.”
“Dear God, no,” Edward cried out. He jumped up and paced before them. “No!”
Bruce put his other hand to his head, pushing back his stiff, brown hair, his face ashen. Pain radiated from him, a physical, living thing that stole the breath from Bryan’s own lungs. Although their blood ties were never mentioned, the Bruce family was his own. Nigel, the king’s youngest brother, had been everyone’s favorite . . . he had always treated Bryan with warmth . . .
Many of the men hastily crossed themselves, but Bryan did not join them. How could they continue to believe in a God that would allow such a good man to die such a terrible death? And where had he been when Bruce’s loved ones called out to him for safekeeping?
James Douglas—the youngest of Bruce’s knighted men— asked, “What of the women, my lady? Surely the butcher Edward spared them?”
Lady Christian again searched Bruce’s face, as if to find the least painful way to deliver her words. “The king’s sisters are displayed in wooden cages, high on the battlements of Berwick and Roxborough Castles. They are to hang there indefinitely, exposed to the elements and the gazes of passersby.”
Bruce roared in impotent fury, striking the air with his fists.
A tremor coursed through Bryan at Edward of England’s mindless cruelty and the hatred that fueled it. Known as the Hammer of the Scots, Edward I had wrested the throne of Scotland away from its rightful owner some twelve years ago. Rebellion had ensued, an
d Edward used an increasingly heavy hand in his attempts to subdue his northern neighbors.
Bryan cleared his throat, fearful that in his anguish, his adolescent voice would betray him. “And what . . . what of the king’s daughter, young Princess Marjory?” Bryan immediately glanced at Bruce, who dared to meet Lady Christian’s eyes once more, dread in his own.
Tears dripped down the lady’s face as she said, “The young princess lives in a similar cage, suspended from the walls of the Tower of London.”
Someone gasped. “What sort of monster would treat a child so?”
Bruce sank to his knees and Bryan dropped down beside him, head in his hands, his despair and anger at God deepening. Even young Marjory had not been spared! His half-sister! All but twelve years of age . . . Bryan had seen comrades in arms fall on the battlefield, known fine men who were hanged for their loyalties to the Bruce, but this! Innocents, all, treated like savage animals.
“You have not told me of my wife,” Bruce stated, his voice strained, eyes still on the ground. An expectant silence fell, because they all knew of Bruce’s fierce devotion to Elizabeth de Burgh.
Lady Christian shook her head. “She is being held in solitary confinement somewhere in England. That is all that is known.”
Beaten at last, Bruce’s shoulders shook with sobs.
Lady Christian knelt and hugged Bruce fiercely. “I’m so sorry, Robert,” she murmured. “I thought it best you heard this from a friend.” She looked over at Bryan, imploring him with her eyes. Feeling queasy himself at the news, Bryan rose and helped the king to his feet. A knot formed in Bryan’s throat, choking him as he felt a portion of Robert’s pain. The women were undoubtedly in danger, suffering. Everything in him told him to go, fight for their freedom! What madness was it that kept armed men from defending their women? It was impossible!
Robert the Bruce drew away from them by a few paces, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, struggling for control.
“Is there any other news?” Bruce asked.
“Nay, Robert,” the lady said quietly.
Bruce turned and to a man, Bryan’s companions strode forward to stand at the ready for him. “I thank you Lady Christian, for risking your own safety to bring me word of my family.” The king stopped, still clearly struggling with his emotions. “God bless you for your bravery and speed you safely home.” She hugged him, and Edward accompanied Lady Christian to her horse.
Bruce watched her leave with her escort. Bryan stepped forward to try to offer comfort but Bruce waved him off. “I need some time alone,” he said. Head bowed, the king of Scotland walked into the cave where they’d been hiding for the past two weeks. Despite their recent success in capturing Turnberry Castle, Bruce and the spare remnants of his army had retreated to the glens of the wild hill country where Bruce had spent his childhood. Today’s news did not bode well for the war against England.
EDWARD RETURNED and started to approach Bruce, but Bryan shook his head. “Leave him be,” he said quietly. Edward surprised him by turning and sitting back down—as shocked as Bryan to see Robert in such despair. The king walked farther into the gloomy recess of the cave while Bryan and Edward sat by the fire.
As the men repeated the news among themselves, Bryan tried to absorb what he had heard. The circumstances of his birth and his service as Bruce’s squire during the recent bloodshed with England had combined to mature him beyond his sixteen years. But any man, no matter his age and experience, might well break under the weight of Lady Christian’s tidings.
Nigel was dead and Bruce’s womenfolk were, by and large, gone. At any moment, they could all be beheaded or die from exposure to the elements. All of them just out of his reach. All of them!
In an attempt to bring his swirling emotions under control, Bryan held his shaking hands toward the flames. The fire did little to lessen the damp interior of the cave or the chill in his heart. And it did nothing to lighten Bryan’s spirits as he studied the small band of knights and common soldiers gathered around the meager fire.
Would they all meet the fate of William Wallace, once the great leader of the Scottish resistance? After being dragged by horses over four miles of cobblestones, Wallace was hanged, but cut down while half-strangled and still alive. Finally, mercifully, he’d been beheaded. His body was then hacked into four pieces and dispatched to the four corners of Edward’s kingdom as a warning to any who would defy him.
Edward of England’s treatment of Wallace two years prior was meant to make an example of the rebellious Scot, but instead his heavy hand had created a martyr. No man deserved such a death, and Bryan’s hatred of all things English intensified with the memory of William’s fate. His stomach took a sickening turn as he relived that day in London. With a shudder, he brought himself back to the present, fighting for courage, fighting for the belief that ultimately, right would prevail.
THEY ALL CONTINUED TO STARE into the fire, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally Douglas put their greatest fear into words when he said, “Will Bruce surrender, then?”
“I don’t know. A lesser man certainly would.” Bryan wished he could offer more hope, but how could any man recover from such unthinkable horror?
“A time like this makes me glad I have no wife or kin to be used so shamefully,” James Douglas said.
Bryan glanced at his companions, whose faces registered varying degrees of dismay at this admission.
“Sorry, lads.” Red-faced, Douglas apologized. “I shall pray for the safety of your loved ones.”
Bryan nodded. “No need for apology, James. You echo our own fears. And though I sympathize with the others, I share your sentiment.” With everything in him, Bryan swore never to allow himself to be vulnerable to such matters of the heart, nor to be shaken from his devotion to king and country. Head bowed, heart shattered by his own grief and that of his king’s, Bryan made a solemn vow. I will not take a wife until Scotland is free. Stunned by the intensity of his oath, Bryan hesitated before looking up.
“We must do something,” Edward muttered. “We can’t just sit here and let the lassies suffer.”
A murmur of assent echoed Bryan’s longing, yet he knew there was little to be done. Bruce had but a half dozen accoutered knights, little money, and few mounted troops beyond those the lady had just brought. Bryan could not foresee a time when Scotland would be able to match the heavy cavalry or siege machinery of the English forces. And this helplessness must surely be agonizing for the king.
“For now the only thing we can do is evade capture ourselves,” Bryan told them. “And we’ll be hard pressed to stay out of Edward of England’s grasp. Our people are so cowed by his atrocities they dare not lift a hand to help us.”
“Aye, and we’ve a price on our heads to encourage treachery,” Douglas reminded them.
Bryan poked a stick at the fire. No one spoke for several minutes.
“I fear our king has lost heart,” someone said. Those words echoed Bryan’s trepidation, and no one spoke into the silence that followed.
AFTER A TIME, Robert walked out of the depths of the cave and joined them at the mouth, his face haggard from the time spent in solitude, no doubt wrestling with private demons. He accepted the seat Bryan offered.
The king waved aside the men’s assurances and offers of sympathy with brusque words of gratitude. For a moment, Bruce’s gaze held his, and Bryan saw a spark of life had returned to this incredible man’s spirit. The pain was still there, but determination had settled around him like a well-worn plaid.
“We will fight,” Robert said with quiet resolve.
“Of course we will,” his brother said.
“We feared you would lose heart,” Douglas ventured.
“Aye, I came close, very close,” Robert answered. His voice grew stronger. “But an amazing sight came to me as I stared at the wall this past hour. I watched one of God’s tiny creatures, a spider weaving its web, and for a while I forgot my misery.”
Every man focus
ed on the king as he continued. “The spider tried to attach its thread to a rock below the web. Seven times it launched into the air and missed, then climbed back up to begin the process again. On the eighth try, it succeeded. God seems far away at a time like this, but if we persevere, he will reward us. Just as he rewarded the spider.”
Bryan wasn’t so sure God was close at hand but marveled at the way this renowned warrior could captivate the attention of men as diverse as these. The sheer force of his will and his ability to articulate his vision for their future had garnered their loyalty and devotion in the first place. Now, from the ashes of his own despair, he wove a tale, no doubt strengthening his resolve as he replenished theirs.
Edward Bruce stood. “We can be ready to ride at first light.”
“We must be patient, brother.”
Edward scowled and Robert said, “I do not doubt your willingness to fight. And though our cause is just, the English have superior weapons and numbers. We cannot best them unless we play to our strengths. We must ambush the enemy, raid in the dark of night, raze captured fortresses.”
As though to ensure his message was clear, Robert searched each man’s face. “Like the spider who fits his web to the space it finds itself in, we will learn ways to fight that take advantage of terrain and circumstances. I will never give up until Scotland is free of this tyrant’s rule. No matter the cost, I will pay it, until we are free men once more.”
Relief flooded Bryan. He would rather die himself than give in to a man as cruel and despicable as Edward of England.
But offering one’s own life was not the same as sacrificing your loved ones. Robert the Bruce had picked up the gauntlet after Wallace’s death, struggling to unite the Scottish nobility and common men against the might of England. And his family had paid an unholy price. ’Twas a lesson Bryan would not soon forget. And although Bruce’s reminder of God’s faithfulness lightened Bryan’s burden somewhat, his faith that God was on Scotland’s side had been badly shaken.
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