A Spy at the Highland Court

by Barclay, Celeste

  As the days stretched into a month, Isa relied more and more upon the Sinclairs and Elizabeth Bruce. She counted her blessings as her fears grew. She had no way to know what was happening to Ric without Elizabeth’s and Deirdre’s fathers’ connections. They reported to her what they knew. Some days the updates reassured her and brought her a sense of calm, but most days the lack of information only made her more anxious. She fell asleep each night remembering the kisses she shared with Ric.

  Ric was fed up with being wet and muddy. He rode silently behind Magnus and Tavish Sinclair, who—after he and Tavish came to blows the second day away from the castle—had turned out to be more friendly than he anticipated.

  The day after leaving for the west, Tavish and Ric had disagreed about where to stop for the night. Ric argued that they would be better suited to riding into the forest and making camp where they were less noticeable. Tavish asserted that they were too large a group for such an enclosed location and would only be caught with no way to spread out and fight if ambushed. He wanted to camp along the bank of the river, but Ric contended they were too exposed. Neither man could remember who took the first swing, as their fists seemed to connect to opposing faces at the same time. Their blows served to dissipate any rancor, and they were on good terms since both sported bruised faces and a smug sense of satisfaction that they had damaged the other just as badly as they had been injured.

  Magnus had stood back and watched the two men as they rolled about on the ground and only shook his head when some men stepped forward to pull them apart. As one of four boys, Magnus was used to watching his brothers wrestle one another and fight others. For once, he had to admit to himself, he was not entirely sure his brother would win. Edward stood next to Magnus grinning. He remembered fighting with Robert and their other brother Edward, Robert’s blood brother, just as Tavish and Ric did. There was more at stake than just pride. There was the other men’s respect for their judgement and conviction. In the end, Magnus calmly pointed out that if they rode around the bend in the river, it appeared the tree line met the bank of the river. They could have the best of both.

  As Ric plodded along, he kept his eyes roving over the landscape, aware that they were in an open expanse. It was a prime place for the English, who preferred open battlefields to maneuver into their formal positions, to attack. The hair on his neck stood up when he was certain he saw a glimmer in the distance.

  “They’re ahead to the right.” Ric spoke loud enough for only Magnus, Tavish, and Edward, who rode in the lead, to hear.

  “Are ye sure?” Tavish’s voice floated back to him.

  “I saw the gleam of metal. They will surely be positioned for an ambush. We should stop here. Force them to come to us and lose whatever advantage they believe they have. If we ride ahead, they will surely gain the upper hand.”

  “And what do we do to lure them out? If they believe they are positioned to win, why would they give up their location?”

  “Because they are impatient.”

  The other men were learning that Ric was a man of few words when it came to discussing strategy and outcomes. He was decisive and to the point when discussing business, while jovial when relaxed.

  “And?” Magnus prompted.

  “They will always believe they’re superior to any enemy regardless of how many times they are beaten. The English will grow impatient at not being able to pummel us into defeat. They will come out on their own. Be prepared for them to charge. They will most likely try to sweep into the woods and then fan out to trap us between them and the riverbank. If we position ourselves in columns into the tree line, we use a closed formation to create a shield wall. We place archers in the tree and on their bellies along the riverbank. When they approach close enough, we move into a line formation for the shield wall to expand and strengthen. They will not be prepared for our numbers. I would wager they can only see those of us who are mounted.

  “They will not be able to see the scores of foot soldiers behind us. If we send the archers into the trees and along the shore, they can begin to shoot before we even move from columns into lines. We have enough men to form two solid shield wall lines. If we spread our line far into the trees, they will abandon it because it will spread them too thin. They will want to reform into a vee and hope to plow through our lines. When they do this, our men in the woods wrap around and use the encircling tactic the English are now hoping will work. We use their own strategy against them. The key is to keep the second line hidden as best we can, so they think they can break though and fight us from the front and rear.”

  “And if that doesnae work?” Tavish wondered.

  “Then they learn that Lowlanders are formidable and Highlanders are the devil incarnate. Fight as you would against your own clans. If the shield wall breaks too soon, then we kill or unhorse as many as we can and fight them on foot. If that can be done, the superior strength and physical size of your men will overwhelm the English knights, who wear more than seven stones of armor. They aren’t agile on their feet, and the average foot soldier doesn’t have the protection that a knight does. Make them vulnerable, and you will defeat them.”

  “Do we ride or stand our ground?”

  “I’ll remain mounted, but the rest should be on foot.”

  “Why ye?” Tavish demanded.

  Ric saw the skepticism in all the eyes of all the men who could hear him.

  “The earl can ride with me if he wishes. They will want to parlay before the attack begins. It gives them time to assess our numbers. I ride forward as though to speak and negotiate terms, so while the knights sit idle believing we follow the conventions of war, you begin your attack. It keeps them from being able to charge. I thought the earl would call the charge.” Ric looked at Edward and shrugged. “If you are not confident that I will remain loyal to you, then ride forward yourself. You have fought the English in Scotland and Ireland. You know everything I’ve said is true, but if you would rather be the representative, then I defer to you. They will expect one of us, if not both. If I go alone, there will undoubtedly be time wasted belittling me and questioning my manhood for siding with you. This will distract them while they laugh at my expense. It is only to your benefit.”

  “And ye are willing to subject yourself to that?” Magnus interjected.

  “What else would I hear? I suspect there will be several references to being half-heathen and how my father betrayed King Edward for a woman, so there will be questions about whether my cock does my thinking. The usual jabs and jibes in the hopes of unsettling me or guilting me into turning from you.”

  “And if they succeed?” Magnus pressed.

  “If I intended to betray you, why would I have just described a strategy that will work? I could have simply said nothing and when the ambush began, ridden to join them. Instead, I have stopped us to plan and put us in control.”

  “And if ye already had this planned with them?” Tavish demanded.

  “Then I am as good as dead. If one of them doesn’t kill me for believing I’ve turned on them, then one of you would kill me for turning on you. You may have noticed I have someone I intend to return to. I’m not in the mood to die before I marry Isa and live a long life with many children surrounding us.” Ric sighed and lowered his voice. “I saw each of you with your wives. I want what you have, what my parents had. Even if I didn’t like you, which I’m not sure I do, I wouldn’t make widows out of your women. They are Isa’s friends and innocent in this game Edward Longshanks insists upon playing.”

  The three men nodded as they acknowledged Ric’s honor in thinking of their wives. None of them intended to die that day either, and it was the drive to return to their wives and families that pushed them to plan their tactics carefully.

  “How much longer do you think we have?” Edward Bruce asked.

  Ric shaded his eyes and searched the landscape ahead of them. Tiny specks flashed in the sun, warning Ric that the English were on the move.

  “Just long enough
to get in formation. They are on the move.”

  “Bluidy hell,” Magnus cursed.

  Orders were given with hand signals and hushed voices. The men moved into the positions that Ric had indicated, and then they waited. It was as though Ric had written a script, the English movements were so well predicted. When he saw the man leading the enemy forces, he wanted to be ill. Lord Wingate—or Geoffrey, as Ric eventually earned the right to address him—was the baron from Northumbria that Ric had squired for.

  Lord Wingate was also the man who presented Ric with his spurs when King Edward knighted him. Ric would be facing down his mentor. Geoffrey had been a rigid taskmaster, but it was his demand for excellence that guided Ric not only to knighthood, but to remain alive when many of his compatriots fell in battle. Now he would be utilizing the battle skills Geoffrey ingrained in him to potentially kill the closest person he had to a father figure. He had been thirteen when Geoffrey accepted him as a squire. While the man was only fifteen years his senior, he had felt far more like a father than even an older brother. The man had seemed old for his age, and it was several years into his service that Ric learned Geoffrey was closer in age than Ric ever imagined.

  “Ric.” Geoffrey nodded. “I wish I could say I was surprised to see you on the far side of the battle line, but King Edward warned me of your choice.”

  Dear God, that means Geoffrey knows I’m a spy. He will try to keep me alive, but I can’t offer him the same protection. I’m loyal to him, but if I protect him, then the Scots will know I’ve double-crossed them. Then how do I serve Robert?

  “You are not who I thought the king would send,” Ric responded.

  “He wanted to ensure the battle went as it should.”

  Ric wanted to groan. He knew what that meant as well.

  Longshanks expects me to lead the Scots to their death while somehow remaining alive. Or perhaps he truly doesn’t care whether I live through this to send any reports.

  “Only God can ensure that.” Ric forced himself to relax as his horse began to sway. He would not give away his discomfort through a horse that fidgeted.

  Geoffrey’s eyebrows rose as Ric’s face set in stone. A look flashed from the older man’s eyes as he understood Ric’s meaning.

  “I take it the apple didn’t fall far from the tree?”

  “The apple never should have been taken from the tree.”

  “That is too far in the past to be changed. The apple should have grown into its own tree, with deep roots.”

  “It did. The roots of the new tree are entwined with the remaining roots of the original tree, which might be dead but still keeps the younger one grounded.”

  Ric was tired of speaking in euphemisms, but he knew it was giving the others the time they needed.

  “And what of the water and food given to the young tree to ensure it thrived?” Geoffrey persisted.

  “There is no denying the tree benefited. It has grown strong and tall, but the roots have crept from the garden and found their way back.”

  Geoffrey nodded and rested his forearms on his pommel. He seemed to be assessing Ric, but the latter could not be certain what his former mentor looked for. There was little about Ric that Geoffrey did not already know. Ric could not imagine what Geoffrey might be looking for.

  “Did you ever learn that Wingate was once part of Scotland? It was one of the smaller parcels of land that the Normans gained when King William attempted his invasion. The man should have known his limits.”

  Ric did know that piece of history, but he understood the subtext to Geoffrey’s comments. He had often wondered how much of what Geoffrey did was simply duty, or true conviction to Edward’s cause. Now, he had a sense that the man would rather not be fighting yet another skirmish for land that had passed hands for nearly two hundred years.

  “Lady Marjorie will wish me to pass her regards.” Geoffrey’s abrupt change of subject to his own family disoriented Ric. Even when Ric lived among Geoffrey’s household, Geoffrey spoke little about his own family. Ric knew the man was devoted to his wife and children, but it was not a topic he imagined they would discuss in preparation for a battle. “Dedric is nearly as tall as I am.”

  Ric felt his stomach go concave at the mention of his namesake. He and the boy shared the same difference in age as Ric did with Geoffrey. There had even been discussion that the younger Dedric would squire for the older, but the boy’s mother was not ready for him to move so far away.

  “Is he squiring for Lord Havens?”

  “He is. He is able to return for holidays, and we pay a visit when we can.”

  Ric nodded, wondering why the conversation was drawing on for so long. Geoffrey had not taken his eyes off Ric since the conversation started, but Ric was beginning to believe that Geoffrey drew out their talk to offer Ric’s forces time to take their positions. Just as he came to that conclusion, Geoffrey nodded, and a call went forward from Edward Bruce. The Scottish archers began to fire in anticipation of the English attack. Geoffrey nudged his horse forward, drawing his sword as he aimed for Ric. Ric drew his sword but spurred his horse away from Geoffrey’s approach. He would not be the man to kill his mentor, and he was not going to die before returning to Isa.

  The English responded to the Scottish war cry, taken off-guard by the commencement before Lord Wingate returned to their lines. The English surged forward, covering the distance between where they had waited and where the Scots moved from columns to a line, forming their shield wall. As English warriors came within range of the Scottish archers, screams of pain filled the air. Men and horses tumbled to the ground as the British charged toward the Scottish warriors.

  Ric rode toward the trees and dismounted, slapping his horse’s flank and trusting that the animal would find its way to where Robbie hid with the other horses. He watched English foot soldiers attempt to outflank the Scots, but the shield wall was too long. The English scrambled to reform when they realized that they could not spread themselves so thin. Just as Ric predicted, they repositioned themselves into a vee. The mounted knights led the new battle formation but riding high upon their horses only made them easier targets for the archers.

  The Lowland archers had experience with aiming through the English armor and knew where the susceptible points were located. They aimed for those points, and one man after another toppled from his horse. Those who managed to remain seated soon met the shield wall, their horses neighing and refusing to push through the wall as the Highlanders and Lowlanders beat the hilt of their swords against their targes. The horses’ eyes rolled, and many reared. The knights tried to use this to their advantage to trample members of the shield wall. Instead, it opened the horses to attack, and more knights were unseated.

  Ric swung his sword over and over as countless English knights seemed to seek him out, making him their particular target. He cut them down, feeling little remorse for killing those who were his countrymen only a moon ago. It was his life or theirs and, as he had told the other men, he did not intend to die that day.

  He had discovered something, someone, to live for. He fought to return to Isa’s side as much as he did to defend his true homeland.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught glimpses of Magnus and Tavish, who fought at each other’s back. The sight of the two nearly identical men moving in such unison caught more than one man’s attention. It was impressive to watch either of them in the lists, but to watch how they moved as one inspired awe. However, Ric did not have the luxury of looking for long, or he would lose his head. He continued to cut through foot soldiers as he fought his way back to the head of the Scottish force.

  The English broke through the first shield wall but were unprepared for the second one. The Scottish plan to outflank them was working. The Scots closed ranks and swept around them and crept inward from the trees. It was not long before the English were trapped in a noose of their own making. Ric stood breathing heavily as he watched impending defeat begin to register on the Englishmen’s faces, though
they continued to fight. He looked around to find Edward Bruce, who he had not seen since the beginning of the battle. He prayed Robert’s brother had not become one of the victims of the Scottish king’s feud with the English king.

  Ric watched in horror as Edward and Geoffrey thrust and parried, and it appeared that Edward was gaining the upper hand. Ric crept around them and approached from Geoffrey’s back where he drove the hilt of his sword between Geoffrey’s shoulder blades and shoved him aside. Ric swept the older man’s legs from under him as he lost his balance from the unexpected attack at his back. As Geoffrey staggered away from Edward, Ric brought the hilt of his sword down on Geoffrey’s head. He intended to knock the man out, not kill him. When the older man crumpled at his feet, he looked up to see Edward watching him.

  “He was the closest man to a father I had. I was his squire before he presented me with my spurs. We send him home in defeat to his wife and children.” Ric’s tone brooked no disagreement, so Edward nodded, acknowledging Ric’s honorable demand.

  With Lord Wingate laying sprawled on the ground and his seconds-in-command dead, the battle dwindled to a few remaining pairs. Magnus and Tavish wiped sweat and grime from their faces and brows. Magnus looked at a gash on his arm that would need stitches, but was not life threatening. Tavish clutched his ribs when he attempted to bend over to catch his breath.

  “Getting soft, little brother?” Magnus taunted. Even though Tavish was older, he was the shortest of the four brothers. By a hair. But it was an ongoing jest, and not one Tavish found funny.

  “Still more brawn than brains, I see. I’m fine.” Tavish smirked as he pointed to Magnus’s arm. “I’m afraid my embroidery skills aren’t what Deirdre’s are. I won’t be fawning over ye and yer looks like yer wee bride.”

  “And I’m more likely to squeeze the life from ye when I bind yer ribs than kiss them better. I canna imagine why Ceit bothers.”