The Price of Freedom

by Carol Umberger

  Simon shoved her when she didn’t walk fast enough. A heavy morning mist gave promise of rain and a wet, miserable ride. How fitting, she thought as she mounted her horse and spread the cloak to cover as much of her as possible.

  There was no sign of the “priest,” and when she asked about him she was told the man had left at first light. Questions she dared not ask sprang to mind, and once again she feared that by day’s end both she and Isobel would be in Rodney’s not-so-tender care.

  As her horse moved off to follow the others, Kathryn prayed for patience. She must act resigned and not give her captors any reason to suspect that she expected rescue. Still—despite the increasing rain—she kept her head up, discreetly alert to her surroundings just as her priestly visitor had advised. She was gratified to see many of her companions pull their hoods close about them and ride with their heads down to shield themselves from the damp.

  They rode across country, avoiding the road. As the morning wore on, she became more and more anxious. Where was Bryan? Why hadn’t he come for her already? Something must have gone wrong. He hadn’t received her token, or worse yet, didn’t believe her sincerity.

  He had changed his mind. Kathryn’s hopes dwindled and her spirits became as dismal as the cheerless day.

  The midday meal was eaten while they rode. Kathryn brushed the crumbs from her cloak as they entered a thickly wooded area where the trees grew straight and tall. To the right was a swiftly moving stream. Kathryn was reminded of a similar stream and a narrow pathway, traveled unwarily three days ago. She sat straighter in the saddle and gathered her reins.

  The spot was perfect for an ambush. Did her captors sit straighter in their saddles as well, or was it her imagination? Another few minutes and the opportunity would be lost. With every step of the horse Kathryn willed Bryan to appear. So intent was she on her prayer that she nearly fell from the animal when two dozen screaming, tartan-clad madmen set upon them from all sides. Praying these were Bryan’s men and not a band of border raiders, Kathryn hastily halted her horse.

  Someone grabbed the bridle, frightening her until she saw the red whortleberry in his bonnet. She recognized the Mackintosh plant badge and the “priest” who’d come to her at Norham. Thomas winked and shouted, “Loch Moy!” and she repeated the war cry in joyous acknowledgment.

  At her frantic search amongst the warriors, her companion jerked his head in his leader’s direction. She found Black Bryan and when their eyes met, he waved his sword, urging her to move, now. Then he wheeled his horse about and joined the fray, charging straight for Rodney. Their swords engaged just as Bryan’s horse stumbled, and the blades glanced off each other.

  The rest of the skirmish moved closer to her, and remembering Bryan’s warning not to hesitate, Kathryn spurred her horse, driving it to follow the kilted priest-turned-warrior’s mount in the opposite direction Bryan had gone. Kathryn allowed herself a backward glance and saw a swirling melee of men and beasts. Clashing swords and bloodcurdling cries sang out as the Scots surrounded her jailers. Saying a prayer for the brave men who fought for her, she whirled away from the skirmish toward freedom. Toward Homelea.

  BRYAN DROVE CERIN through the melee toward Rodney Carleton. Bryan’s men outnumbered Rodney’s by half a dozen, but the English were mounted on horseback while most of Bryan’s highlanders were on foot. But the Scots had perfected the art of dragging horsemen from their mounts with the hooks on their lochabar axes. Already half the English stood on the ground fighting hand to hand.

  Bryan fought today with his shorter broadsword, knowing he’d need its quickness against a swordsman like Rodney. Bryan watched as Rodney took note of the fleeing riderless horses and then charged at Bryan. The usually sure-footed Cerin stumbled just as Bryan’s sword met Rodney’s, and the blades slipped to the hilts before Bryan managed to disengage. Bryan maintained his seat, but just barely.

  They had no time nor breath for conversation. Rodney pressed his sudden advantage and Bryan barely had time to prepare for the next thrust. Aye, Rodney was formidable with a sword in his hands. Quick and lean where Bryan had strength and stamina. Rodney would have to win quickly or else give the advantage to Bryan.

  Bryan parried and thrust, forcing Rodney to remain engaged and not giving him time to rest. The force and number of Bryan’s hits against Rodney’s blade began to tell. But Rodney’s quickness caught Bryan off-guard and Rodney drew first blood, a small cut on Bryan’s upper thigh. Smiling in anticipation, Rodney dived under Bryan’s next swing and might have cut again had Bryan not signaled Cerin. The warhorse barely missed Rodney’s leg as it sank its teeth into the other horse’s neck. Rodney’s mount squealed in pain and darted backward, nearly unseating Rodney.

  With some distance between them, both Rodney and Bryan took a moment to survey the fight. The Scots drove their opponents relentlessly toward the stream bank and a number of the English had begun to retreat, running in the direction their mounts had taken earlier. Rodney yelled to his men to return to the battle and several of them changed course, but most continued to desert the fight.

  Bryan knew that men like Rodney’s, who fought for pay, were far less loyal than those who fought for a cause. And Bryan’s highlanders held true, chasing their foes into the forest.

  Seeing the battle was lost, Rodney scowled and saluted with his sword. “We will meet again, Mackintosh,” he ground out before three English soldiers joined him and then rode out beside him at his order.

  Bryan itched to follow, but his men were otherwise engaged for a critical minute. At last he called off his men, now ready to pursue Carleton, but by then Bryan was more intent on preserving his warriors for Stirling and meeting up with his wife once more. Carleton was right; they would meet again. And Bryan would kill him.

  KATHRYN AND THOMAS HEADED NORTH as fast as possible. They didn’t stop until the horses were lathered and breathing in great, labored breaths.

  As they slowed the poor beasts to a walk, the man said quietly, “Ye were brave back there, lassie.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “Perhaps ye’ll do.”

  The compliment caught her off guard. “Ah . . . thank you, Thomas.”

  They rode northwest. The rain had stopped but the sun did not break through the clouds. Kathryn couldn’t discern a trail, but Thomas seemed to know where he was going, so she pulled her head deep inside her hood and allowed her beast to follow. All she cared was that she was leaving England—and Rodney Carleton— far behind.

  She tried not to think of how her life would have been if Bryan, Thomas, and the others had not risked their lives to remove her from Rodney’s grasp. Or how this latest fight would fuel Rodney’s hatred toward Bryan, and her.

  Of even greater concern was Isobel. She didn’t trust Rodney— he might very well accost the nuns at St. Mary’s and steal Isobel away if he learned about the child. Now more than ever she was determined to bring the child under the Black Knight’s protection.

  After an hour of riding, three of Bryan’s soldiers caught up to them. Calling a halt, they stopped at what appeared to be a prearranged rendezvous point. While the men busied themselves watering the horses and searching for wood dry enough for a fire, Kathryn watched the rest of her rescuers straggle into the camp in groups of two and three.

  “Where is Sir Bryan?” she asked Thomas.

  “He’ll be along.”

  Despite her worry for the knight’s welfare, her mother’s instinct cried out to know her child remained safe. She needed to see for herself that Isobel was all right, that Rodney or his men hadn’t gotten to her yet. “Perhaps we should return to Homelea.”

  “Our orders are to wait for everyone to arrive. There’s safety in numbers, my lady.”

  Though she chafed at the delay, Kathryn stayed busy tending to injuries, pausing in her work to study each of the new arrivals for the one face she was anxious to see. Kathryn feared Bryan had been seriously injured or captured. To keep her mind busy with other thoughts, she checked and rechecked bandages until Th
omas gently said, “The lads are fine, my lady. Ye’ve done a good day’s work. Do ye come and rest now.”

  He led her to a seat by the feeble fire and brought her some bread and cheese. In the distance a horse whinnied and another, closer by, answered. Within a few minutes the last three men rode in. One of them was Bryan, uninjured, from the look of him.

  And one of them was Fergus. Fergus? Fergus had taken part in her rescue? Fergus had no business fighting. She ran toward them, unsure whom to go to first. But old habits came easier and Fergus was barely dismounted before she flung herself at him. “What on earth were you doing, fighting like that? You could have been hurt.”

  Fergus gently took her arms from his neck and stood back. “My lady. ’Tis good to see ye safe.”

  Bryan walked up to them. Gratitude for his brave rescue forgotten in her fear for Fergus she said, “How could you make him fight when he has such poor vision? That is cruel beyond belief.”

  Fergus now looked angry. “Kathryn, leave it be.”

  Bryan’s scowl should have warned her but she didn’t heed him. Too late she remembered Fergus’s comment about being treated like a pet.

  “Leave the man alone. He is not a boy to be chastised for doing his duty, nor does he need your permission to follow his conscience.” He looked at Fergus. “You did well, today. See to your horse before we ride on.”

  Fergus nodded in deference and said, “My laird.” And without another word he stalked toward the campfire.

  She stood dumbfounded, watching his back as he moved away. Slowly she swiveled to face Sir Bryan, belatedly remembering her earlier anxiety for his well-being.

  THE SIGHT OF KATHRYN safe among his men made Bryan forget how tired he was. But his eagerness to speak with her had cooled when Kathryn raced to Fergus and hugged him. They had all risked much to take her from Rodney Carleton, and Bryan’s disappointment at failing to kill or capture the man cut deep.

  He walked to the fire and Kathryn followed. Bryan was aware of Kathryn’s puzzled gaze upon him as he asked Thomas, “Has everyone returned?”

  “All accounted for, sir, with only minor wounds.” He gave a wry smile. “But none fretted over, excepting yerself.” He inclined his head in Kathryn’s direction.

  “Thank you, my friend.” So, she had worried about him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, especially as she’d raced to greet Fergus and she had yet to inquire of Bryan’s health.

  “Get the men ready to mount up, Thomas. Carleton will come after us, you can be sure, just as soon as he gathers more men. I want to be safely behind the walls at Homelea by dark.”

  “Aye, my laird.”

  When Thomas was gone, Bryan took Kathryn’s hand and drew her to face him. “Are you all right, Lady Kathryn? Did Rodney . . . hurt you?”

  She blushed. “Nay, I am fine. And you?” She looked him over. “You are bleeding, sir.”

  He looked down at the cut in his trews. “A bit.”

  She took his hand and tugged at him. “Come, sit here while I tend the wound.”

  “’Tis but a scratch, my lady.”

  “Aye, and it needs tending.”

  Gratified at her obvious concern, he did as she asked, taking a seat and giving her access to wash and bind the cut.

  He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with her touch and his own fears. “I’m glad you were spared Rodney’s company. I . . . was afraid for you, Kathryn.”

  Her eyes grew round at his use of her given name. “And I feared for you.”

  An awkward silence ensued. She didn’t chastise him for his breach of etiquette but he would need to hold his emotions in closer check. He said, “I apologize for thinking you might have conspired to lure me into a trap.”

  She finished tying the bandage and looked him in the eye. “’Tis understandable that you would consider it.” She smiled. “Thank you for rescuing me despite your reservations.”

  He stood up and stepped away from her, but couldn’t stop the grin that came to his face. “How could I not when you kept those flowers?”

  Her face flushed a becoming shade of pink, and Bryan feared his heart had completely disregarded his head’s warnings to remain emotionally detached.

  “I’m sorry I disobeyed you. I truly didn’t think there was any danger. Not to me, at any rate. I’ve had much time to think these past days, Sir Bryan. You bade me choose and I chose you because I feared Rodney more than I fear you.” She laid a hand on his arm. “That was not very flattering, but ’tis the plain truth.”

  He said, “Ours is a strange relationship, is it not? Not friends, not lovers. But bound nonetheless until you are safe once and for all from Rodney.”

  She paced away from him and then back. “Perhaps we should make this a real marriage, my laird.”

  That was the last thing he’d expected her to say. Regardless of the appeal of her offer, he wasn’t sure it was wise. The paleness of her face and nervous twisting of her hands gave proof she was not at ease with her own suggestion. “Why should we do this?”

  “So that you may never doubt my loyalty again and so that I may be assured that Rodney can never claim Homelea through me.” She hesitated. “So that in this time of uncertainty we can have one thing that is sure and true.”

  How he craved the very same things. But that long-kept vow at Carrick could not be so easily set aside, despite his growing affection for her. “I am deeply touched by your offer. But I need time . . . I cannot accept just yet.”

  “You will consider it?”

  “I will.”

  She stepped close and kissed him on the mouth. He pulled her into his arms and returned the kiss. When it was over, they pulled apart and stared at each other.

  She bowed her head and rubbed her hands down her skirt as if to put things back in place. But their relationship could not return to what it was before this kiss. “That was not wise,” he said gravely.

  When she raised her head she was smiling, a sad little smile. “No, not wise at all.”

  This couldn’t be happening, not now. Not with all that lay at risk at Stirling. Not when he could least afford to cast aside his worries and be . . . a husband. When and if he finally gave his heart to her, he wanted forever, or at least a lifetime, and the odds were against them having it.

  Fingers laced as if in prayer she said, “There is something I should have told you, must tell you before we risk another kiss.”

  A twig snapped and they both jumped. She looked up and Bryan’s squire stood nearby. “Sir, the men are ready.”

  Bryan cleared his throat. “Thank you, Thomas. Have them mount up; we’ll be there in a moment.”

  “Aye, my laird.” Thomas walked away and they were alone once more.

  “My laird, I must—”

  “Hush.” Bryan pulled her into his arms, sheltering her head beneath his chin. “When we are safely home, we have much to talk about.”

  “What I need to tell you can’t wait much longer.”

  He held her at arms’ length and looked into her eyes. She seemed anxious and ill at ease. “We will be at Homelea soon. That is, if you can you manage a hard ride?”

  With a sigh she said, “I can manage.”

  “Then let’s be off.”

  ELEVEN

  LATE AFTERNOON SUN washed Homelea with a warm glow as the weary travelers approached. Kathryn couldn’t take her eyes from the view. Home. A beautiful sight, one she had despaired of seeing again. She made the sign of the cross and recited a silent prayer of thanksgiving for her safe homecoming and for the newly discovered affection between her and her husband.

  Bryan rode beside her, and his page held aloft the colors of the Earl of Homelea. A loud cheer arose from the walls as the sentries recognized the pennant and ordered the portcullis raised. The clanging of the gate mixed with the cries of the castle occupants as they rushed to meet Bryan and Kathryn. Soon noise and joyful confusion surrounded them, and she slowed her horse as servants and men at arms alike surged toward her, touching her
skirt or the horse’s trappings.

  “God be praised, my lady, for your safe return.”

  “Our prayers are answered, Lady Kathryn.”

  “God bless the earl for returning you to us.”

  They surged so close, Kathryn was forced to halt her mount for fear of running someone over. Though she appreciated their eager welcome, she was anxious to talk to Bryan. Kathryn dreaded the telling but she would beg if she had to. She was convinced the child was no longer safe at St. Mary’s. Bryan dismounted and made his way to her side, stopping several times to accept the thanks and praise of those crowded about him.

  He raised his arms to help her get down from her horse. When his hands touched her waist, her people cheered anew, and Kathryn felt her face grow warm. He swung her to the ground and standing close, grinned down at her until her heart began to flutter. All around them her villeins cheered. Evidently they had accepted Bryan as their laird, as she did. Aye, after what he had risked to rescue her, she had been right to offer to make the marriage a true one. Now all that remained was to tell him of Isobel and convince him to raise her.

  Her smile faded. How she dreaded the need to confess her lack of virtue to this man. Shame coursed through her and she had second thoughts about her offer, about her growing affection for him. And his slip in using her given name earlier today gave evidence that his feelings were becoming engaged as well. But he would not want a less than virtuous wife—she must resign herself to the very real possibility that they would end their marriage just as they’d agreed. But no matter what they decided about their relationship, someone must go to St. Mary’s yet today; tomorrow might be too late.

  In the crush of people, she and the knight became separated. Kathryn shook hands and accepted her people’s joy at her return until her anxiety overcame courtesy and she pushed through the crowd, searching for Sir Bryan. Finally she saw him standing next to Adam and Anna. She hurried toward them. Anna held someone’s squalling toddler over her shoulder. A girl child. “Isobel?” She looked from the child to Anna.