He surprised her by pulling her to him for a quick hug, and then he left.
Many of Homelea’s tenants had come with them and all worked together to create a home of sorts in the woods. Thomas taught them how to set up the camp that would be their home for the foreseeable future.
One day they would return to Homelea, either under Kathryn’s auspices as countess, or to serve an English master.
THIRTEEN
June 22, 1314
BRYAN, ALONG WITH JAMES DOUGLAS and Sir Robert Keith, had taken a small mounted patrol to check on the progress of the English army’s march to Stirling. The things they witnessed— the sheer numbers of men and weapons—was enough to overwhelm the most hardened soldier. Bryan shook his head, willing the gloomy thoughts away. Now he and his grim-faced companions rode in silence toward their meeting with King Robert.
For the past seven years, Robert and his little army had successfully attacked vulnerable targets in quick, well-planned contests. English strength had given way to Scottish cunning and surprise until Bruce controlled all but a few pockets of resistance in the highlands of Scotland.
But Edward of England did not recognize Bruce as the rightful king of Scotland. He came north intent on vanquishing the rebellious Scots. Now for the first time since the disastrous Scottish defeat at Methven, the Scots faced their mighty adversary in pitched battle. God help us. Only through a miracle or monumental stupidity on the part of the English would the ill-equipped Scotsmen defeat Edward’s powerful army.
Bryan allowed a tiny smirk—English stupidity was certainly a possibility. Quickly he squelched such foolishness. Never underestimate an enemy. How many times had Robert told him this?
They reined in the horses at Robert’s tent and dismounted wearily. Grooms led the animals away as the men followed Bryan inside where the king and Ceallach awaited them. They exchanged terse greetings and began their report.
Robert’s expression hardened as Douglas recounted what they’d seen of the English host. “The English are advancing from Edinburgh in numbers such as none of us have ever seen.”
“Give me specifics,” the king snapped.
Too tired and discouraged to take offense at Robert’s tone, Bryan answered, “We counted over two thousand heavy cavalry, three thousand Welsh archers, and fifteen thousand foot soldiers, my laird.”
“Is there no good news?” Robert asked wearily.
Keith answered. “Aye, I don’t know why they waited so long to leave Edinburgh, but they’ve been forced to march twenty-two miles today with only a few brief halts for rest and food. Men and beasts are tired, and they still have nearly ten miles to go to reach Stirling Castle.”
“And we stand between them and Stirling.” Robert rubbed his forehead. “Twenty thousand of them and seven thousand of us.”
No one spoke. Bryan could feel the tension in his companions, whose experience in warfare more than qualified them to assess the situation. And the situation looked bleak. Despite the weapons Ceallach had procured, the English still had superior weaponry. Of special concern was their heavy cavalry—few warriors could withstand the attack of even a single armored knight. And to face the charge of a thousand of them . . . Bryan shuddered at the thought.
Finally, Edward Bruce, the man whose actions had set all this in motion, broke the silence. “The numbers may be deceiving, brother. The body is strong, but the head is weak. Young Edward does not have your strategic abilities, nor is he the warrior his father was. And we’ve learned that his advisors are arguing among themselves.”
“Aye, I’m glad to be facing this whey-faced boy rather than the Hammer of the Scots.” Robert appeared thoughtful. “So, the head and the body are poorly connected. We must use that to our advantage. Our troops are disciplined and reasonably well armed, thanks to Ceallach and his companions.”
Bryan spoke quietly. “Aye, and our men respect their commanders and their king. We fight for freedom, not riches and glory.”
Murmurs of agreement filled the air.
“The men have responded to Ceallach’s training, as well,” Bruce said. “The English are used to fighting static schiltrons and will not be expecting ours to be mobile. They will no doubt take up a battle position with that false assumption in mind. Then, if we can also use the terrain to our advantage, we may be able to add to their confusion.”
Keith responded, “We must find a way to contain the heavy horse. The location of the covered pits will be discovered soon enough and then avoided. Perhaps we should try to push the cavalry onto marshy ground, sir.”
The king advised his commanders. “Pray that God favors us with an opportunity to do just that, gentleman. In the meantime, we will keep our knowledge of the English numbers to ourselves.
But spread the word that the enemy is advancing in disorder and fatigue. We must keep our men’s spirits high. They will need it.”
Listening to them, Bryan thought perhaps the odds were more even than he had thought. He allowed himself a brief burst of optimism as Kathryn’s face appeared in his mind. Kathryn, Homelea, and children. He mentally pushed away such distraction, no matter how pleasant. Best not to become too hopeful.
THE NEXT MORNING Kathryn played with Isobel as Anna struggled to cook with the meager pots and utensils they’d brought with them. Dependable, good-natured Anna didn’t grumble, just made do the best she could.
There was more than enough work for both of them, taking care of Isobel, searching for firewood, and cooking for themselves and Fergus. While Anna made porridge and Fergus went to fetch water, Kathryn held Isobel’s hands as the child stepped unsteadily around the small clearing in front of their tent. Kathryn had never been able to spend more than a few hours at a time with her and she found she enjoyed this time together with her daughter. Footsteps behind her alerted Kathryn to someone’s approach and she looked around to see Fergus running up to their campsite. Water slopped from the pail he carried.
“My lady, come. A wagon has arrived from Homelea with supplies.”
“I thought Sir Bryan said he couldn’t bring wagons.” She remembered too well the meager pack of belongings he’d allowed her to take and that now hung from a rope inside the tent.
“It’s just the one, Kathryn. The men who accompanied the wagon told me that Sir Bryan said to bring it to you. But they can’t bring it any closer because of the trees.”
Wondering what Bryan could have packed for her, Kathryn handed Isobel to Anna and followed Fergus through the trees. There indeed sat one of Homelea’s wool wagons piled high with all manner of household items. Kathryn watched as Fergus and the men carried the things to her tent—pillows and blankets, kitchen utensils, a water pitcher, clothing. He’d even sent her trunk of cloth and sewing supplies.
All practical, all things that would simplify life in camp. Just having an extra change of clothing was a pleasure under the circumstances. Of course, she still might have to leave these possessions behind if the Scots lost the battle and she had to flee north to Moy. But as the men unloaded the supplies, she was grateful for Bryan’s thoughtfulness, and when they had finished she asked Fergus to take her to him so she could thank him.
They walked in silence to Bryan. She found him sitting before his tent, cleaning his sword while Thomas sat nearby repairing a bridle. Fergus discreetly found a rock to sit on some distance away.
“A word with you, my laird?”
Bryan stared at her a moment. “Thomas, you may finish that later.”
Thomas grinned as he laid down the bridle and strode off in the direction of the horses. She felt herself blushing. What did he think of the fact she and her husband didn’t share a tent? Did he grin because he thought they wanted time alone?
Thankfully her husband’s head was bent over his task, and her face cooled as she pulled Thomas’s stool close to the knight and sat down. Straightening her skirts, she said, “A wagon arrived from Homelea.”
Although the polishing cloth hesitated for a moment, he made no reply. H
e seemed to be concentrating on a particular spot, and kept his gaze riveted there. When he didn’t answer, she placed her hand upon his forearm, stilling its movement. “Thank you.”
He shrugged as if the matter were inconsequential. “’Twas the least I could do.” He rose, and placed the sword in its scabbard, then seemed to search for something else to clean. Finally he came and sat in front of her again.
She took his hands in hers, studying his face. His handsome features made her breath catch. She gave herself a mental shake. “Will we return to Homelea one day?”
He looked down at their hands and said, “I told you I will help you rebuild, God willing.”
“Aye. God willing. And when the estate is restored, have you thought of what you’ll do? You are the Earl of Homelea—will you take your place as laird?”
He looked at her now, and she marked how he no longer masked his emotions with her. “Being a soldier is all I know, Kathryn. I’m not sure I can be an earl.”
“Would you find it boring?”
“I don’t think so. But I haven’t the skills.”
“You could learn.”
“Would you teach me?” Now he was grinning and she smiled back. Kathryn felt her resistance giving way to his warm voice. Like the stone walls surrounding the mighty fortresses of Roxborough and Edinburgh, her own defenses were crumbling, and she knew she must let go of her anger over the destruction of Homelea. Her home could be rebuilt, but men—good men like Bryan, Adam, and Thomas—would risk their lives to defend her right to do so.
Truly, if she’d searched for her own husband she couldn’t have found one to equal the knight before her. “I would speak with you of our marriage.”
BRYAN LOOKED AT HIS WIFE and fought the need to take her in his arms and lose himself. Soon, much too soon, he and his comrades faced death. He didn’t want her to be here but could not send her away until the battle was over.
And now, when he needed to focus on the battle and his role in it, now she wanted to discuss the future and their marriage. Mustering all his patience, he answered, “Can’t it wait?”
“No, Bryan, it cannot.”
His breath caught in his chest. Never before had she used his given name.
Quietly she said, “I am afraid for you.” Her voice broke and became a whisper. “A warrior without hope cannot be brave. I would not have you fight tomorrow without knowing that I have come to care for you.”
“Kathryn, don’t.” He stood and turned his back, not trusting himself. He wanted to reach for her and hold her close, but his reason was in an uproar. He had vowed to save his heart from this kind of turmoil, and this woman was slowly breaking down his barriers against her. Could he allow her entrance? He smiled. How could he deny her when she wouldn’t go away?
Aye, she’d very nearly tamed the Black Knight, yet he didn’t trust himself to speak—feared to let her closer, feared to let her know he cared. Though doing so would ease his heart, ’twould only increase her heartache should he fall in battle.
She stood and followed him, laid her palm against his back. “I am sorry for my anger over Homelea. ’Twas a sacrifice that pales with what you face.” She pressed against his shoulder, urging him to turn. But he resisted.
She continued to speak. “You have been a dutiful husband and I have not trusted you, have made you believe yours was the fault for the shortcomings in our marriage. Forgive me,” she whispered.
“Truly, Kathryn, there is nothing to forgive.” And he meant it. They had both come to this marriage unwillingly and dealt with each other the best they could. There was blame enough to go around.
As the battle for Stirling Castle loomed ever closer, he felt more compelled than ever to guard his affections. He could ill afford to lose his heart on the verge of what could very well be Scotland’s final fight against a formidable foe.
Fool. What sort of man denied himself this chance at love when it might be the only one he’d have? He faced her, and looking at her eager and sincere face, wanted to take her into his arms. To hold her close to the heart he was trying so hard to keep from her. Instead, he focused on his promise to keep the marriage chaste. He feared if he did not he might very well break that promise.
“So you no longer find me alarming?”
“I THINK . . . perhaps. . . .” Her heart thudded wildly as she realized the answer was yes, but for far different reasons. Reasons that had less to do with honor and virtue than the twinkle in his eyes when he allowed himself to smile.
In a steadier voice she continued. “No, I don’t find you alarming. You’ve shown me that freedom is priceless, yet it exacts payment from nations as well as individuals. But the rewards are great.”
“Aye, ’tis worth dying for, lass.”
They stood an arm’s length apart, each reluctant to close that distance, to break a promise or cause the other to do so.
Kathryn swallowed, fighting back tears. “’Tis difficult to be a woman—to have my personal freedom dictated to me by whatever man owns my loyalty. I realize that what independence I’ll be given will come from my husband.”
Bryan studied her, his expression puzzled. “What is it you want of me, lady?”
“You are a man of courage and honor. A man willing to fight for what he believes in; willing to fight to free the land where my children will be born.”
A look of alarm crossed his face. “And who will be the father of these children?”
She took a deep breath and plunged ahead anyway. “God willing, you, my laird. I do not wish to dissolve our marriage. I will be your wife and nothing less than that.”
They stared at each other, the bond between them palpable. She could see the struggle on his face and knew then that he was as moved by her as she was by him. She saw when he lost the battle within, and when he reached for her she stepped eagerly into his embrace.
He held her gently. “And I would be your husband,” he murmured. He bent his head and captured her lips in a soft, questioning kiss. He laced his fingers in her hair, cradling her head with a gentle touch.
The effects of weeks of anxiety and tension melted away, replaced by the wonder of this man who had rescued her and taken in Isobel and asked for nothing in return. Nothing but a kiss.
After several moments Bryan eased away. “Nothing has changed, Kathryn.”
“Everything has changed, Bryan. But I understand.”
He shook his head and the corners of his mouth tilted up in a rueful grin. “Our marriage will remain chaste—I would not leave you with a fatherless bairn to raise, not with Isobel already on your hip.”
“As you wish.” She took his hands in hers. “But I want you to know this—from this day on, I take you as my husband. This vow I make of my own free will. I will be your wife until death parts us.”
“I once promised you your freedom, Kathryn.”
“I release you from that promise.”
He looked into her eyes, and though she thought she saw reluctance there, he surprised her. “Then from this day on, I take you as my wife. I make this vow of my own free will, and I will be your husband until death parts us.”
They moved into each other’s arms and shared a kiss to seal these vows. Passion and love blossomed, and Kathryn suspected that neither of them would find it easy to forgo their wedding night. But she understood his reasons; not only to protect her but also to keep some distance for his own peace of mind.
When they drew apart, Bryan’s grin and uplifted eyebrow let her know her suspicions were correct. “I shall take that kiss as a promise of better things to come.”
She felt her face flush.
“But those things must wait, Kathryn. Much as I want you to stay here with me tonight, I must attend to my duties.”
“Aye.” He must prepare for battle. Though she craved his company, duty called and must be answered. “And I must see to Isobel and the others. Will you be able to join us for the evening meal?”
“I’ll try.” He kissed her hard and with
drew with obvious reluctance. “Be safe, wife.”
As she watched him stride away, she knew that come what may, she’d made the right decision in pledging herself to him. She hoped he felt the same. Now she could only pray that her love, and her Lord, would protect him from harm.
June 23, 1314
RODNEY CARLETON dismounted from his tired horse. The afternoon sun beat down relentlessly, much warmer than usual for this time of year. Gathering and provisioning an army this size had taken longer than Edward had anticipated, and he and his army had left Edinburgh days later than they should have. Thus Rodney and his companions had been forced to march more than twenty miles today with only brief stops for rest and water. Still they were ten miles short of Stirling, and somewhere just the other side of the Torwood, the Scottish army laid in wait.
Tired, dusty, and thirsty, Rodney joined King Edward in the shade of a wide-limbed tree. Sir Robert Clifford and the Earl of Gloucester stood next to the king. The commander of Stirling Castle, Sir Philip Mowbray, joined them.
Squires and pages brought water for the men and their beasts, and Rodney drank deeply before he spoke. “I say, Sir Philip. How did you manage to get past the Scots?”
“By way of a considerable detour.” Sir Philip turned to King Edward. “Your Majesty, there is no need to engage in battle with this troublesome rabble. Under the laws of chivalry you have fulfilled your obligation by arriving within three leagues of the castle, and therefore it must remain in your control.”
King Edward said, “That may well be true. But I didn’t travel all this distance with such an army to turn around and go home. We shall overcome these rebels and march triumphantly through the gates of Stirling. I want Bruce dead.”
Sir Philip inclined his head in deference. “Aye, Your Majesty. If you intend to fight, perhaps it would be helpful if I tell you what I have observed of the Scots’ preparations.”
Rodney and the other commanders listened closely, knowing that their lives depended on having a clear grasp of the battlefield and the deployment of Bruce’s troops. After all, Bruce’s army had been camped outside of Stirling since April—more than enough time to survey the land and devise a battle plan.
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