The Price of Freedom

by Carol Umberger

  Could it?

  THREE

  KATHRYN REDIRECTED HER ATTENTION to the knight. Sir Bryan rode to the end of the causeway to converse with his men then returned to face the curtain wall.

  “Lady Kathryn, you leave me no choice. Yield willingly and all will be spared. Otherwise I will order my men to attack.”

  Kathryn watched the equestrian warrior as she waited for Fergus to return with Rodney. Mackintosh’s horse pawed the earth, mirroring Kathryn’s restlessness. No more demands were shouted at her and a growing anxiety enveloped her as she paced the small space.

  Fergus returned, grim faced. “My lady, Sir Rodney is on his way. He was . . . talking to one of the kitchen maids.”

  She stared back at him a moment, surely as grim-faced as her friend. Here was proof that Rodney hadn’t changed as much as he wanted her to believe. How could she even consider him as a husband? Once she’d thought her love would change him, but she held little hope of that now.

  Fergus said, “Kathryn, there is more you should know. The knight has nearly one hundred men surrounding the walls.” With each castle that fell to the Black Knight, Bruce’s army grew stronger. Bruce now controlled all but a few scattered pockets of resistance and the great castle at Stirling.

  There were fewer than thirty men within Homelea. She had no doubt that the knight and his men could overpower her forces. To command them to defend Homelea would condemn many of them to death. They would die for naught, because in the end Black Bryan, with his superior numbers, would win.

  At the sound of footsteps, Kathryn turned from the window and saw Rodney enter the small room. Fergus left, relieving Kathryn of the fear the two would come to blows. Rodney, his clothing disheveled as if he’d dressed hurriedly, went to the narrow window. He shouted to the mounted warrior, “This is Lord Rodney Carleton. Be gone, Mackintosh!” He turned to face her. “Go to your quarters, Kathryn. I’ll deal with this nuisance.”

  Kathryn held her ground. “I remind you I am the Countess of Homelea and you are my guest. Do not order me about.”

  “You are my betrothed. Do as I say!”

  “I haven’t agreed to a betrothal—”

  “You have no say in the matter. You and Homelea are mine, as of this day.” With a withering glance, he dismissed her and turned back to shout at the warrior, “Leave now or face the might of the king of England.”

  Frustration welled up in Kathryn. How dare he treat her so, as if she had nothing worth saying about the future of her home and her people! Was this what marriage to him would mean—total submission to a tyrant? She knew the answer well enough— Rodney had shown his true character only too clearly two years ago. And contrary to his charming words this morning, he hadn’t changed at all.

  Tears threatened, for if she were ever to marry she wanted it to be to a man who cherished her. If she must face the prospect of dying in childbirth as her mother had, she wanted to at least be valued for the sacrifice.

  Furthermore, her husband must live by God’s Word. She knew enough of Rodney to know that God was of little or no importance to him. Yet she must yield to someone. Take Rodney as husband, or give herself and her home to Scotland’s king and hope for better? Rodney or Black Bryan? England or Scotland?

  A clamor outside caught her attention and she looked toward the window. She heard the knight say, “Carleton, I warn you, do not order those archers to fire on me. Now let me speak to the countess.” Impatience sounded in the knight’s bellow.

  Rodney must have sent her archers to man the walls.

  “The countess has no authority to bargain. Deal with me or be gone.”

  In that moment, Kathryn knew she could not allow Rodney to decide her fate or that of her daughter. If Rodney ever learned of Isobel’s existence he would use the girl to exert his will over Kathryn. God must have sent the Black Knight for a reason, a reason she couldn’t know. She must yield to him and trust in God. Although she would be at the mercy of Scotland’s king, at least, as Fergus had said, he could not force her to marry Rodney. Bruce might be an unknown, but she certainly knew Rodney only too well.

  That thought incited Kathryn to action. She shoved past Rodney, ducking under his outstretched arm and cried out, “I yield to Robert the Bruce!”

  “How dare you defy me!” Rodney grabbed her by the hair and she screamed in terror. He clapped his hand hard across her mouth and her tongue tasted the coppery tang of blood. As he shoved her aside, Kathryn’s head banged against the stone wall and she lay dazed upon the cold floor. She was dimly aware of someone’s boots rushing past her.

  When she regained her senses, she heard a grunt of pain. Pushing herself to a sitting position, she saw Fergus draw back his fist. Blood dripped from Rodney’s nose—Fergus had already landed at least one punch.

  Fearing more for Fergus than Rodney, she shouted, “Fergus, no! Stop.” The thud of flesh on flesh answered her as the men tumbled to the floor, flailing at each other.

  Kathryn struggled to her knees while the room filled with clamoring voices and jostling bodies. Evidently someone had sent for her steward, Peter, because he and several men at arms crowded the small room, pulling the adversaries apart.

  Peter rushed to her side and asked, “My lady, what happened?” He looked at Fergus. “What have you done?”

  Fergus ignored his question and stared with unmasked hatred at Rodney Carleton.

  Kathryn rose shakily to her feet with Peter’s help. “Do not rebuke Fergus, Peter. He came to my aid.” Again. Thankfully he was uninjured this time, save for a bruise on the cheekbone below his bad eye and a bloody lip to match her own.

  Rodney stepped forward, wiping his bloodied nose with a cloth. “I’ll have the knave whipped. He interrupted a private matter between Lady Kathryn and myself. A matter we still must resolve. Take the boy to the bailey and hold him,” he ordered.

  No one moved except Fergus who crossed his arms across his chest.

  Rodney glared at Peter. “Steward, take him and leave the lady and me in private. All of you.”

  “I will not; she is bleeding.” Peter dabbed the blood from her face.

  She pushed at his hand. “’Tis little, Peter. Stop fussing at me.” To Fergus and the men at arms she said, “Escort Lord Carleton to the bailey. And see that he comes to no further harm,” she warned Fergus. She glared at Rodney. “I will deal with you after I settle with Sir Bryan.”

  “Kathryn, I warn you!” Rodney growled. “Edward will not allow this treachery to go unpunished.”

  Kathryn watched impassively as the men at arms restrained Rodney. Strengthened by the growing hope that perhaps Sir Bryan was indeed the rescuer she’d prayed for, Kathryn said, “You will leave Homelea within the hour, Rodney. If Sir Bryan permits it.” She paid no heed to Rodney’s continued protests as he was forced down the stairs.

  Fergus, arms still crossed, said, “I’m staying with ye.”

  Peter gently touched her arm. “I regret I am not a younger man. I’d have joined Fergus in thrashing that brute. Let Fergus stay with ye.”

  She nodded and Peter left her with Fergus.

  “What are ye going to do?” he asked.

  She shuddered. “I cannot marry Rodney. He is cruel and unrepentant. I . . . I have yielded Homelea to the Black Knight. That is why Rodney struck me.”

  Fergus remained silent for a moment. “So, ye believe it will go better for ye with Scotland’s king?”

  She raised her face to heaven. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I only know marriage to Rodney is out of the question. I will not allow him to bully me, and I certainly won’t give him Homelea. I must cast my lot with Bruce and pray he will treat us fairly.”

  “Can’t be any worse than Lord Carleton.”

  They peered out the window slit at Bruce’s warrior.

  He bellowed once more. “Do you yield or not? If so, raise the portcullis. Now.”

  She shrank back and fear clutched Kathryn at the thought of what she was about to do. Had she si
mply traded one bully for another? Kathryn searched Fergus’s face. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  He nodded his agreement.

  She made an attempt to put her hair to rights, then walked to the window and called out, “You will not harm my people?”

  “I give you my word, lady. No one is to be harmed unless they take up weapons against me or my men.”

  “And my home? You won’t destroy it?”

  “The castle belongs to my liege laird. To do with as he sees fit.”

  She hesitated, frightened for Homelea’s future. Bruce razed castles to the ground so they couldn’t be held against him again. But this wasn’t just a castle, it was a home. Surely he would spare her home. The people who depended on her would be safe as long as they didn’t defend Homelea, and she would be safe from Rodney Carleton, God willing.

  She nodded to Fergus, and he signaled the man at the gate. The portcullis chains groaned and clanked as the timbered gate slowly raised, placing Kathryn’s future in the hands of Robert the Bruce.

  And at the mercy of Bryan Dubh.

  THE SOUND OF A WOMAN’S SCREAM had unnerved Bryan. “By the heavens, what treachery passes in there?” Bryan Mackintosh muttered as he stared at his latest conquest. Wary of a trap, Bryan remained mounted, instructing the men who would enter the bailey with him to be vigilant. Only those with chain mail would accompany him until he was sure the woman meant to yield.

  His master at arms reined his mount to a stop beside Bryan. “They’ve withdrawn their archers from the walls. Looks as if they truly mean to yield.”

  “Aye, so it does.”

  “If the place is so poorly defended, why do you fear resistance?” his squire, Thomas, asked.

  Bryan gazed at the fortress. The sixth sense that had saved him more than once in battle bade him to be cautious. “Something is amiss. The woman yielded, but I have no idea who actually wields the power, her or Carleton.” Bryan calmed his horse as they awaited the slow progress of the lowering drawbridge. The countess should not have yielded without a fight and until he knew why she had, he would assume the worst.

  The gate finally stopped its ascent. With a last caution to Adam and Thomas, Bryan led the way. The horses’ hooves clomped upon the wooden bridge that spanned the ditch and they entered a courtyard. Bryan halted his horse while half a dozen men formed a defensive position around him. Each man faced his mount outward like the spokes of a wheel, three on each side. In short order and without resistance, the rest of Bryan’s well-disciplined troops disarmed Homelea’s defenders and secured the castle.

  Thus assured, Bryan dismissed his guards and gave his attention to the question of who was in command. Bryan couldn’t help the satisfied grin that creased his face at the sight of Rodney, held in the tight grip of two burly men at arms on the other side of the small bailey. An older man, the household steward by the quality of his clothing, stood next to them.

  Bryan urged his horse forward and halted in front of Rodney. “Lord Carleton, why has the countess restrained you like a common thief?”

  Carleton glared at him, dried blood marring his aristocratic nose. Someone had taken offense at Rodney. Bryan would like to hear more about the fight but it would have to wait until later. For now, he must deal with Carleton.

  “Come, Sir Rodney, you’ve never been at a loss for words.”

  The nobleman drew himself up, not easy to do with a large man hanging on each arm, Bryan noted. Still, Rodney was always one to put up a good pretense.

  “You will regret your actions today, Sir Bryan,” Rodney sneered. “This castle is mine, and the countess is my betrothed.”

  “Ah. And if this is so why did the lady yield to me? To Bruce?” Why had the woman abandoned her betrothed and her king? Was she fickle and untrustworthy? Bryan grew anxious to meet her and take her measure. “Did you have a lover’s quarrel?”

  Carleton lunged, but the guards held him fast. “She is confused, a weak vessel. She and Homelea are mine, and I will have them while you share Wallace’s fate.”

  Bryan dismissed Sir Rodney’s threat with a wave of his hand even as he fought the images of William Wallace’s execution. He would never forget, nor forgive, Carleton’s part in the dishonorable affair.

  “Let’s see what the lady has to say.” Bryan dismounted, handing the horse’s reins to his squire.

  The countess emerged from the guardhouse, a young man at her side. Bryan drew in a quick breath. He’d heard it said she was comely, but even at this distance it was clear the woman was beyond comely. Tall and graceful, her curving figure was clearly visible in a modest but flattering gown. Golden hair in a thick braid drooped from the top of her head, barely held in place with a gold band.

  She stumbled and the man steadied her. Was she frail? Ill? Bryan dragged his gaze from her pleasing shape to her face. As he strode toward them he realized the man had a scar across the lid and brow of one eye and a bruised face. Bryan’s attention returned to the woman, and his gaze took in her pallor and swollen lip. Blood glistened from a scrape on her forehead.

  By the saints, someone had struck her. Bryan spun around to glare at Carleton. The man’s defiant stance and knowing look told him just who had done so. Bryan controlled his anger, willing himself not to walk over to Carleton and bloody the man’s face further.

  Instead, he stood before the lady. Scowling, Bryan removed his helm from his head and shoved it into the hands of the startled, one-eyed man beside her. The man defiantly shoved it back at him, and the expression on his face warned Bryan that he would defend the lady to the death.

  An unarmed man defied the Black Knight. Interesting. The lady apparently provoked staunch loyalty from her retainers. Bryan raised his arm to signal his squire to take the helm, and the lady threw herself in front of the man at her side. “Nay, my laird. Do not strike him, please. I beg you, punish me. I am to blame.”

  Bryan stared at them. The man seemed displeased at her defense of him, the woman desperate. Bryan’s squire now stood next to him and he handed the younger man the helm. Bryan pushed back his mail hood and said, “Lady, though I question his wisdom in challenging an armed knight, I took no offense. Indeed, I applaud your man’s loyalty.”

  She looked astonished and disbelieving. Bryan knew he must establish some semblance of trust if they were going to accept him as a leader.

  “What is your name?” he asked the man.

  The young man straightened. “Fergus, my laird.”

  The man looked Bryan in the eye, giving Bryan the notion that he wore his wound with a certain amount of pride. And that his lady’s defense had annoyed him, made him feel less of a man. As casually as he would have addressed any soldier Bryan asked, “How did you lose the eye?”

  “Lord Carleton struck me.”

  “What did you do to anger him?”

  “He was threatening Lady Kathryn, my laird, and I came to her defense. Which I have done today and would do again, should the need arise,” he pronounced boldly.

  The two men studied each other, taking measure. Perhaps Bryan had found an ally, someone who would protect the lady with his life. Satisfied that the man’s belligerence was properly motivated, Bryan nodded and said, “As I would expect you to do, Fergus.”

  Bryan saw the man’s shoulders relax and the woman’s dawning realization that he was praising Fergus, encouraging him. “However, it would be unwise to challenge me again.”

  “Aye, my laird,” Fergus said as he sketched a bow, still wary but with a show of grudging respect.

  Bryan looked to the lady whose emotions played clearly on her beautiful face. She obviously had great affection for this Fergus, and her relief that the two of them settled their differences peaceably showed plainly. She dipped her head in unspoken acknowledgment, and without giving it a second thought, Bryan silently pledged himself to her protection.

  BLACK BRYAN’S COAL BLACK HAIR shone in the sun, and Kathryn swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. Although his treatment of Fergus gav
e her hope that he would prove to be a man of honor, she didn’t trust him. Sir Bryan’s reputation as a fierce fighter and his unwavering loyalty to his king were renowned, and Kathryn feared he would not keep his word to her, might still consider her his enemy. She stared at the man’s impassive face and prayed. Lord, what have I done?

  Fergus said nothing, leaving Kathryn to further doubt the wisdom of her decision. Afraid to move or breathe, she was determined to maintain a tight rein on her clattering emotions. The warrior’s angry dark eyes, rimmed with thick black lashes, transfixed her.

  Somehow she managed to step forward and say, “I am Kathryn de Lindsay, Countess of Homelea.” Sir Bryan brushed her hand lightly with his lips, and she withdrew from his touch as quickly as courtesy would permit. The man was huge and well armed with weapons.

  “My lady, you are injured.”

  With surprise, she noted the concern in his voice. “It is nothing, my laird. I will attend it shortly.”

  His dispassionate features hid his emotions. “As you will. You were wise to allow me entrance, Lady Kathryn. You and yours are now under my protection. Robert the Bruce sends you his warmest regards.”

  “King Robert is most kind to send such an esteemed knight to convey his regards and offer protection.” Kathryn nodded in Rodney’s direction. “However, Lord Carleton has made the same offer on behalf of King Edward.”

  The knight glanced to where Rodney stood captive, then offered her his arm as they walked toward the nobleman. “Did you take insult at the offer?”

  She was considered tall for a woman yet she felt small walking beside the knight. “King Edward would betroth me to him.”

  The man stopped walking, turned to face her, and frowned. “He speaks the truth, then. Your men are holding your betrothed at bay? What mischief is this?”

  The coldness in his voice made her want to retreat from him, but she would not allow him to intimidate her. Because, despite her fear, Kathryn knew she must place her trust in this knight. He stood between her and Rodney here in the bailey. And she needed him to remain as a protective shield against Rodney’s greed and whatever else drove him to covet Homelea. “I do not wish to marry him. I accept your offer of protection most gratefully.”