The Price of Freedom

by Carol Umberger

  “She appears to have fainted, though Lady Kathryn doesn’t strike me as the fainting sort,” he said. “What ails her?”

  “I don’t know—did ye have words with her?” Anna asked.

  As he explained the king’s message, Kathryn wondered how much longer she could feign her fainting spell.

  She heard Anna’s intake of breath at the announcement of the betrothal. “One too many shocks, I dare say. Come, let’s take her to her chamber.”

  Kathryn’s head lolled against his chest as he climbed the stairs. He laid her gently on the bed in her chamber. Anna placed a cool cloth on her forehead.

  “I assure you I am no more pleased than Lady Kathryn at marrying against my will. However, this fainting spell will not deter me from my duty.”

  Knowing that if she didn’t “revive” soon they would know she’d faked the spell, she moved her head and pushed at the cloth with her hand.

  A silent moment passed and she peered through nearly closed eyelids. “Is he gone?”

  “No, my lady, I’m still here.”

  She could swear she heard something like amusement in his voice. Kathryn groaned. “Leave me, please.”

  Silence. “We will speak when you have recovered.”

  FIVE

  THE NEXT DAY KATHRYN WAS NO CLOSER to a solution to her dilemma. She decided to check on a mare due to foal soon, thinking the company of the horses would soothe her as it so often did. The stable door was slightly ajar and as she pushed it open she heard a voice crooning in a Gaelic lilt. She stepped quietly inside, unprepared for the sight of Bryan Mackintosh leading his stallion from its stall. Kathryn watched him tie the horse and then run his hands down a foreleg.

  He was so intent on what he was doing he didn’t notice her in the shadows. Feeling slightly guilty for spying, nevertheless she watched in fascination as he continued to run his hands over each of the horse’s legs in turn, all the while speaking softly to the animal. Now and then his face came into her view and she marveled at the difference. Gone was the seemingly perpetual scowl, replaced by concern and then relief when his hands detected no heat or swelling. And more than that, his expression was that of a man who loved and admired horses as much as she did herself.

  Encouraged by this glimpse of the man, she shuffled her feet to make it appear as if she’d just entered the door. He stopped mid-stride as their gazes met and almost immediately his face became a mask. How did he do that? And why? Intrigued, she stared at him before recovering her manners.

  He recovered first. Laying a hand on the animal’s croup, he said, “Good morrow, lady. You are feeling better today, I see.”

  “Good morrow to you, my laird. I am quite recovered, thank you,” she said.

  He walked to the animal’s head and with practiced ease, untied him and circled him until horse and man faced her. Standing to the horse’s left, he watched as she approached.

  She walked to the horse’s head, but mindful of the antics of feisty stallions, stayed out of reach of its teeth.

  Sir Bryan stood at the quiet stallion’s shoulder, the rope acting as a barrier between Kathryn and him. As if in answer to her unspoken question, he explained his presence in the stable. “My horse was lame. I thought I’d take a look to see if he’s recovered.”

  The stallion docilely accepted the man’s hand as he ran it down its neck. The horse’s rich, black coat glistened, nearly identical in color to its master’s hair. She carefully extended her hand to stroke the white, star-shaped hair between the wide-set eyes. The horse accepted her touch just as quietly. “Such a beautiful animal. And with a nice disposition for a stallion.”

  Sir Bryan straightened to his full height and looked at her, eyes cold and distant. “Aye, his manners are good.”

  For a moment, Kathryn forgot if they were discussing the horse or the man. Her confusion must have been apparent on her face. Disconcerted she blurted, “Perhaps better than his master’s.”

  Hand over his heart he said, straight-faced, “You wound me, lady.”

  She couldn’t help but smile, even though his foolery made her feel off-balance. So, he could let down his guard around people after all. Pointing to the horse’s leg, she asked, “Doesn’t your squire take care of such things?”

  “He does, but I prefer to care for Cerin myself.”

  Her gaze shifted back to the man. He wore a saffron sark, loosely laced at the neck. The small plaid draped across his broad chest was belted at his waist and pinned in place at his left shoulder. His muscular legs were well defined by the woven trews . . . She hastened her gaze to his face to find him assessing her with similar interest, and she felt her cheeks flush under his appraising stare.

  How ill-mannered of him. She turned and walked toward the stall of the expectant mare.

  She thought she heard a smile in his voice as he said, “And you, my lady, do you prefer to care for your own horse as well?”

  She swiveled back to face him. “I find comfort in the company of these beasts.” As soon as she said the words, she was sorry she’d shared even that small bit of herself with this bewildering stranger.

  “Aye, that I understand.” The horse tossed its head, jiggling the ropes, and Sir Bryan quieted it with a touch to its neck. “You miss your father, then?”

  There was genuine sympathy in his tone, and she did not want sympathy or kindness or anything else from him. So she must fight the impulse to accept those very things from him. God had not sent him—he was not the answer to her prayers. She used the only weapons she had at hand—words of anger. “Aye, well. Papa’s death makes one less enemy for your king.”

  His expression darkened, and for a moment she regretted the words. But he recovered quickly, though his voice was strained. “One less man whose loyalty could be bought.”

  Why had she given in to anger? Lashing him verbally wouldn’t resolve her issues with King Robert’s plan for them to marry. Nor had Sir Bryan done or said anything to deserve it. Indeed the man had actually been kind, and tears threatened as she repented of her uncharitable behavior.

  Her anguish must have shown, because his voice gentled once again. “We’ve gotten off to a rather poor start, haven’t we?”

  She nodded, all she felt capable of at the moment. His tenderness was totally out of character for the Bryan Dubh of legend. How dare he speak so kindly, this destroyer of villages and dreams? How dare he make her wish for what couldn’t be?

  He frowned.

  Much better. Don’t confuse me with kindness.

  “My lady, there are things that must be said between us, and we cannot wait on a more convenient time. The king’s plans obviously don’t suit either of us, so I will ride to Bruce’s camp and ask him to rescind the betrothal.”

  Hope arose. “Do you have some influence with him? I mean, because you are . . . he is. . . .” Flustered, she gave up.

  He shrugged. Apparently satisfied his horse was sound, he returned the animal to its stall, then faced her. “I cannot make any promises, Lady Kathryn. My relationship with King Robert is that of a knight to his liege laird. Nothing more. I’m not privy to his reasons for suggesting the marriage in the first place.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “But he is your father, isn’t he?”

  He looped the leading rope in his hand, studying it. In the quiet she could hear horses munching hay and the occasional stomp of an equine foot. “Would it change your mind about marrying me if I told you the king was indeed my sire?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then there is no need to discuss this further. I will do my best to convey your wishes to His Majesty. But I warn you, we may have no choice. I obey my liege, in this and all other matters.” He hung the leading rope on a peg. “Tell me, what is your objection to marriage?”

  Anna had asked the same thing and the answer remained the same. “Marriage to a man who doesn’t love me, who doesn’t love God above all else, would be no marriage at all but prison.” She would need to marry for love, because
only a man who truly loved her and God might be able to forgive her lack of virginity.

  And above all other considerations, she couldn’t marry anyone who wouldn’t protect Isobel. She’d had no time to learn anything about this man other than his love for animals and his belief that duty came before love. She must protect the child, even if it meant lying to the knight.

  “I would prefer to have Fergus manage my affairs rather than acquire a husband.” And now for the blow she hated to give, but must if she had any hope of persuading him against the union. “And if I must marry, I would prefer it be with someone more in keeping with my station.” God forgive me for saying such a thing.

  LADY KATHRYN HAD A rather exalted opinion of herself. There were many women who would gladly marry a royal by-blow such as him. Bryan struggled to control his emotions. He wasn’t sure of anything at the moment, especially how he felt about the aggravating woman standing before him. One minute he wanted only to shelter her in his arms and stave off all who would bring her harm, and the next she made him so angry he wanted to throttle her.

  Fighting the impulse to do just that, he let his gaze rove over her. “Be careful, my lady. A man such as I, of such distasteful birth, could be very tempted by the title of earl. I could decide this marriage suits me after all.”

  He grasped her arm and pulled her close. Her frightened eyes told him she feared him, and he regretted it. But if she would not respect him, then she could very well fear him instead. “You see, I have earned this reward from my king, with my loyalty and my blood. And you may yet provoke me to take what my king offers.”

  She shook loose of his grip but did not back away. “’Tis all that’s important to one such as you, isn’t it? A legitimate title and fortune?”

  Losing all patience with her, he replied, “You may believe what you wish, Lady Kathryn. It changes naught. I will do my best to persuade King Robert to free you from sullying your precious bloodline with the likes of me. But make no mistake: If he insists, then we will marry.”

  “Whether I wish to or not.”

  “Aye. And whether I wish to or not.”

  She stared in disbelief. “You would force me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You are a cruel, unfeeling brute.”

  “And you, Countess, would do well to remember your manners.”

  They stood toe to toe, glaring at each other, neither giving an inch. Because of her unusual height, her head reached his chin; she barely had to look up to meet his gaze. Her eyes blazed with indignation.

  Her willingness to confront him—Black Bryan, warrior knight— kindled his admiration. Admiration soon turned to longing, for what he did not know. He fought the urge to seize her shoulders and kiss her, to mark her as his. To prove she desired him as much as he desired her. Insanity. Then he strode past her and out of the stable, shaken, confused, and badly in need of his father’s advice.

  BRYAN RETREATED TO THE SOLAR where he paced the room from end to end, seeking to escape his tangled emotions. Her rejection had stung, especially since she’d found his most vulnerable point and, like a skilled warrior, had stabbed hard at the weak link in his armor.

  His relationship to Bruce had never been publicly acknowledged. Bryan had gained a reputation as a fierce warrior and a man of honor. Few people, whether they knew his parentage or not, dared to insult him for any reason.

  Yet this woman had the audacity to do just that. And he’d completely lost his senses and made marriage sound like a mercenary payment, a duty to be performed. No woman wanted to hear such a thing. They wanted declarations of undying love, or at the least, gentle words of kindness. Hadn’t she said as much?

  But he feared soft words and kindness—they would weaken him—weaken his resolve to keep his emotions disengaged.

  The room seemed to shrink; he craved open space and fresh air. Bryan found Adam and Thomas and in as few words as possible told them he was going to Bruce’s camp and would return tomorrow night.

  Thomas objected. “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m in no mood for company, Thomas.”

  “Fine. I won’t talk to you. But you’ll not ride out alone.”

  Adam said, “He’s right—”

  “All right. All right. Saddle up, Thomas, and be quick about it.”

  Then Bryan fled the castle, looking neither right nor left, and returned to the stable. He needed to put time and space between himself and that woman, time to clear his head and rein in his temper.

  And any other misbegotten emotions that threatened to surface.

  His stallion whinnied a welcome at Bryan’s return. “Steady, lad. Since you seem to be sound again, let’s take a good run today,” he said. He placed the bit in the stallion’s mouth and pulled the bridle stall over the animal’s ears. With practiced movements he finished saddling, led the horse out of the barn and then mounted and urged the horse into a trot. When they’d cleared the drawbridge he set his heels to the animal’s side and Cerin responded with a spirited canter, Thomas following behind.

  Despite the distraction of the powerful horse beneath him and the scenery passing by, Bryan’s thoughts returned to his confrontation with Kathryn. He leaned low over the great beast’s neck and said, “By the saints, Cerin, why didn’t I tell her about my vow?”

  Bryan had never told anyone of his resolve not to marry until the war was over. Until Kathryn, he’d never been tempted, so there’d been no need. Now, saints help him, Robert the Bruce had placed temptation squarely in Bryan’s path.

  Angrily, he cursed his king and the sky above for handing him such provocation—honeyed tresses, gold-flecked brown eyes, and a feminine form that made him long for the intimacies of marriage.

  Obviously Kathryn didn’t want him. Fine. He didn’t need a woman to complicate his life. And Kathryn would surely disturb his ordered existence—she’d already disturbed him more than he’d thought possible.

  Robert would understand—Bryan would explain everything. He wasn’t sure it would do any good, but he had to try. Aye, he’d explain how he couldn’t marry such a beautiful, wealthy, exciting woman, if he could just find a way to put it into words.

  He spurred Cerin on and arrived at the hideout just before evening. Thomas took the horse and, knowing the animal would be well cared for, Bryan strode toward the tent where the king’s standard blew lazily in the breeze.

  Not surprisingly, the king met him at the tent’s entrance and invited him in. Bruce clapped Bryan on the shoulder. “Come in, join us. Ceallach is here.”

  Bryan entered, knowing his discussion would have to wait until the other man left. He nodded to Ceallach and took a seat at the table. The open cask of wine and half-empty chalices indicated a celebration in progress.

  “What news, my laird?” Bryan had left the main force to take Homelea and despite his need to resolve his problem with Kathryn, now hungered for a report on how Bruce’s army had fared during his absence. He poured himself some water as Ceallach said, “Perth has fallen.”

  Bryan’s instincts as a soldier overcame his personal needs. “You had the town surrounded when I left—no access in or out!” he said incredulously. Bruce had no artillery or siege weapons to batter down the walls. And many of his troops were highlanders such as himself who didn’t take well to static warfare. “How did you get inside?”

  Bruce grinned. Even the taciturn Ceallach smiled, and Bryan knew he was going to regret not being part of this particular adventure.

  Ceallach continued. “Actually, Bruce ordered us to retreat and we packed up and marched away. You’ll recall the heavy woods two miles off?”

  Bryan nodded, eager to hear the rest.

  “We hid there and constructed rope ladders to scale the ramparts. We spent eight days there in the woods to allow the garrison at Perth to let down their guard. Then on a pitch-dark night we sneaked back to the edge of the moat. The king himself crept through the icy water, testing the depth with his spear until he crossed to the other side. The
rest of us followed, climbed the ropes, and took the town by surprise!”

  “Well done!” Bryan exclaimed.

  “That’s not all,” Bruce added. “In addition to Homelea, the castles of Buittle and Caerlavrock are now ours as well. All that remains is Stirling.”

  At mention of this great fortress the mood of all three men dampened somewhat. No one wanted to mention the impossible agreement Bruce’s brother had made with the commander there. The Scots had learned their lesson early on at Methven that England’s superior numbers and armament would triumph on a traditional battlefield. When Bruce observed that spider in the cave at Carrick, he’d devised the strategy he’d used for the next seven years. Bruce had waged war against the English, on his terms—fighting in small skirmishes, with strategic targets, and using the lay of the land to their advantage.

  Then last April Robert had sent his brother Edward—always an impatient and hotheaded warrior—to lay siege to the impregnable fortress at Stirling. After three months Edward, bored with the static nature of a siege, had made a foolish bargain with Sir Philip Mowbray, the castle’s commander. If Edward of England did not come to Stirling’s rescue by midsummer a year hence, then Mowbray would yield the castle freely. When Mowbray agreed, Edward took his troops off to find more exciting work. Without consulting either of their monarchs, the two men pledged their honor to fulfill this treaty.

  Robert had been outraged at his brother’s actions, but there was nothing to be done without sacrificing his brother’s honor. Bruce was now compelled to meet Edward II in pitched battle, and the odds were very much against the Scots.

  Bryan broke the silence with a change of subject. “What of our negotiations with Ceallach’s . . . friends?”

  Bruce answered, “The arms will arrive at Homelea within the week. I need you and Adam to secure the weapons and make sure the wagons reach Stirling. Keith will take command of the cavalry in your absence. Ceallach and I will leave for Stirling in two days to begin training the men and to plan our strategy.”

  “Am I to ride with you?”