Outlaw King

by Julie Johnstone

“Release the trapped men!” he yelled to the Campbell, but de Burgh’s warriors descended on his friend, now engaged in a battle for his life.

  Behind Robert, the loud grating of the drawbridge being lowered stilled all motion for a moment. God’s teeth! Surely, Lady Moray was not lowering it in surrender. Within a breath, the thundering of hundreds of horses’ hooves against the wooden bridge set a buzz in the air that vibrated into Robert’s very bones.

  When he glanced around for the squire, he saw nothing but English knights heading toward him. He raised his sword in defense of an oncoming hit, knocked the blade out of the knight’s hand, and nudged his mount out of the way of another Englishman. It turned him directly toward the bridge where Lady Moray herself came riding out, her red hair billowing behind her as she led her husband’s warriors in a charge. They appeared to number almost two hundred, not near enough that they could have withstood an attack from the combined forces of the Bruce men and the English garrison, but they had more than enough to overcome the English if the lady intended to join forces with Robert. But did she?

  As she rode, she shouted, “Free our men. Free our men! Someone free our men!”

  Robert swept his gaze back to the outbuilding, and the breath was snatched from his chest. The young squire had somehow managed to get to the outbuilding. Niall was there, as well, along with six more of Robert’s men. They held the English guards back, but one broke free and raised his sword to strike down the squire as he stepped toward the door and seemed to be opening it. Robert ripped his dagger from its sheath and flung it with all his might toward the knight. The dagger pierced the man’s hand as he was bringing his sword down and he dropped his weapon. The squire, who’d turned toward his attacker, eyes wide with fear, twisted back around to the door and slung it open. Moray’s men poured out, weaponless.

  Robert unhooked his shield from his saddle, and then dismounted amid the chaos, his sword in one hand and his shield in the other. He raced toward the stumbling Moray men and the squire, parrying blows as he went. When he reached the boy, a call to fire at the lad and the Moray men went out from de Burgh. Cursing, Robert looked to his right to find that a line of knights had covered the distance from the scrimmage below to the castle, and they were lined up to shoot. Robert shoved the boy behind him, as a volley of arrows flew through the air. They clanked against his shield.

  “Again!” de Burgh shouted, clearly not caring if he struck down his own men.

  Robert moved to shield the boy once more, but the squire stepped out from behind Robert and ripped off his helmet. Long blond hair tumbled out over his—no, her—shoulders. Robert could do no more than stare in shock at de Burgh’s daughter, Elizabeth de Burgh. Her clear blue gaze met his for a brief moment.

  “Cease fire! Cease fire!” came de Burgh’s frantic call.

  The chit’s eyes, bluer than any Robert had ever beheld, widened with what appeared to be shock. Had she thought her father may not save her?

  She turned to Robert. “Thank you for your aid, my lord.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush, and then to Robert’s surprise, she dashed, as graceful as a deer fleeing a predator, past him and toward her father.

  Robert stood dumbfounded for a moment at the young chit he’d seen at court but had never met. One of his men lunged toward her, and Robert shouted, “Leave her!”

  She raced through the melee, surprisingly agile and quick, and she managed to reach her father unscathed. At once, she was snatched up by the hand she stretched toward her father and slung on the back of the destrier he had mounted once again.

  Lady Moray and her husband’s warriors came into the fray of the battle that was now moving ever closer. English arrows flew toward them. She raised a hand as she raced forward, and Robert looked to the rampart of the castle, relieved to see four dozen or so bowmen. Within a breath, more arrows soared through the air, but this time toward the knights lined up to shoot at her. As she reached Robert, he said, “My lady, I would stand in defense of yer home if ye will allow me to.”

  She arched her eyebrows over glittering gray eyes. “It’s about time a Bruce came to his senses,” she said with a nod. “I’ll fight alongside ye, for this day ye have saved many Moray lives.”

  Robert glanced around at the already fallen men from both sides and made a decision. “De Burgh!” he bellowed, before any more casualties came to pass. “The Moray men fight with me. Stand down and leave, or be prepared to die.”

  De Burgh twisted his mount toward Robert while calling an order to his men to hold, and Robert did the same to his and Lady Moray’s men. De Burgh was an astute man. He had to see he was outnumbered and that the best option would be to flee as Robert had graciously offered to allow.

  “I name you traitor, Bruce, and I’ll inform King Edward of your treachery.”

  “I can nae be a traitor to a man I do nae call king!” Robert reminded de Burgh. A roar of approval arose from his men and the Moray men alike.

  A command to his men to depart was the answer from de Burgh, and the English garrison quickly complied, taking their mounts and turning to ride out. As Robert watched them leave, Elizabeth de Burgh twisted in the saddle, her unwavering gaze meeting his.

  Beside him, Lady Moray spoke. “That girl forever has my debt. I pray the punishment for her deeds this day is not too grave.”

  Robert nodded. Elizabeth de Burgh had mettle, that much was certain. It would remain to be seen if it was beaten out of her after today.

  “What will ye do now?” Lady Moray asked.

  Robert thought briefly of his father ensconced in Durham at one of their English manors. He would need to send a messenger to give his father fair warning of what had occurred this day. What he did with that information was on his head.

  “My lord?” Lady Moray said.

  He caught the lady’s inquisitive gaze. “I’ll send word to my father of my actions—”

  “Honorable actions,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his forearm.

  He inclined his head in gratitude, certain his father would not feel the same. Swallowing a sudden swell of emotion for the rift he had placed between himself and his father this day, he said, “Then I’ll ride to Hugh Eglinton’s castle. I’ve received word that the nobility leading the rebellion have been given safe haven there to meet and plan, and amongst the party is also William Wallace.”

  Lady Moray’s eyebrows arched. She bit her lip for a moment then spoke. “Ye ken many of those men fight in the name of Balliol. They fight for his return to the throne.”

  “Aye,” Robert replied. “But Balliol abdicated and I have heard that the Comyns”—saying the name of his family’s bitter enemies, who years before had used their great power to put their cousin Balliol on the throne instead of Robert’s grandfather, always made Robert’s throat tighten—“are imprisoned by Edward. I go to fight for Scotland, as I did this day.”

  She nodded. “I pray for ye that it will be enough to see ye well.”

  “I’ll gladly take yer prayers,” he replied, sensing deep within that he would need them.

  “I’ll send a messenger ahead of ye with word of yer deeds for me to my husband who is at Eglinton Castle,” she revealed with a secretive smile. “That way, ye are more likely to keep yer head when ye approach the Scots. Many think ye a traitor.”

  “I know it well,” Robert said, “but I will face it and prove them wrong. Do nae risk yer man.”

  “I owe ye,” she whispered fiercely. “Ye saved my men. I will pay my debt by hopefully saving yer life when ye approach Eglinton. Grant!” Lady Moray bellowed and within a breath a young Scottish warrior appeared. Lady Moray smiled at the young man mounted beside her. “Grant rides like the wind. He should reach the castle before yer large gathering of vassals.” Robert inclined his head at her words. To Grant, she said, “Ride to yer laird. Take word of Bruce’s actions here today, and tell my husband, Bruce is our friend.”

  “I will, my lady,” the warrior said, before turning his horse and gal
loping away. They watched him in silence for a moment before Lady Moray spoke again. “Dunnae tarry, Bruce. Scotland needs yer fighting strength. Ride hard.”

  “I vow it!” he swore, turned from Lady Moray, and gave the signal for his men to follow suit. Niall brought his horse beside Robert’s and together they led the men away from Moray’s castle. As they did, Robert felt Niall’s steady gaze upon him. “What is it?” Robert finally asked.

  “Please tell me this means we dunnae ever have to go back to the English court and pretend to admire the English king nor like English food.”

  Robert chuckled, some of the tension unknotting from his shoulders. “God willing. Niall, I will ride to Eglinton with my men to join the rebellion. Are ye certain ye wish to ride with me? What of yer clan, yer wife, yer daughter?”

  “My clan is secure under my brother’s care in my absence. As for my wife and daughter, it is thanks to ye that my daughter is alive. Dunnae think I’ve ever forgotten, nor has Calissa, how ye saved our Brianna when those English knights captured her. She is safe at home with her mother now, and I will stay with ye and fight for our land and to free our people.”

  “If ye ride with me, ye may ride to yer death,” Robert said, his tone grave.

  “I’ve ridden next to ye since we were young and trained together at the Earl of Mar’s castle, Robbie. If I’m to ride to my death, there is nae anyone I’d rather be beside, but I think we ride to freedom. Let us see it together, aye?”

  “Aye,” Robert agreed. There would be no changing Niall’s mind, and Robert both appreciated his friend’s loyalty and feared for him. But Niall’s decision was set, and there were no arguments left to be made, so Robert urged his steed into a gallop to which his men matched their pace.

  They rode relentlessly through the remains of the day, over hard terrain, under the baking sun, and into the early evening hours. When he finally spotted Eglinton Castle in the distance, he ordered the party to halt and turned to Niall. “I’ll venture up alone,” he announced, determined to protect Niall should the other Scottish nobility greet them with swords and wish to fight, despite Lady Moray sending word. Many saw them as traitors, thanks to his father’s orders to continue obeying Edward even when the Scottish nobility started to rebel against his rule, and Robert was not convinced Lady Moray’s words would have much effect on those who distrusted him.

  “The devil ye will,” Niall replied, his tone hard. “I’m nae going to linger back here with the men and let ye get all the glory. I’ll go with ye, thank ye. All those who dared to call us traitors will ken the part I played in striking against de Burgh and, therefore, the English king.”

  Robert opened his mouth to argue and then promptly shut it. It would do no good. “Ye’re as stubborn as a goat,” he grumbled instead. “And I do nae have time to mince words with ye. Come along.”

  Niall chuckled as they moved their horses down the path that wound up to the castle gates. As they rode, Niall said, “It’s heartening to see that ye have finally learned I’m the stronger of the two of us.”

  “If ye think I’d ever believe that,” Robert teased, “ye must have hit yer head.”

  “Name yerself,” a guard bellowed, interrupting their banter as they approached the gate.

  “Robert the Bruce.”

  “Laird Niall Campbell,” Niall added.

  “The turncoat arrives,” the guard hissed.

  It was as Robert had expected. He whipped his sword up to the man’s throat. “I’m nae a turncoat. My family did nae support Balliol, but that does nae mean I will nae fight for Scotland against Edward.”

  “Come along, then,” the guard relented in a begrudging tone. “The others will decide if ye should keep yer head.”

  “Everyone always wants my head,” Robert said lightheartedly, “yet it still sits upon my shoulders.”

  Niall chuckled, and the guard glared at the two of them. He guided them up the stone steps, past more guards, and into the torchlit castle. Silence blanketed much of the estate at such a late hour, but muffled voices drifted from down a dark corridor. A flicker of light flamed at the end. The guard stopped and motioned toward it. “The leaders of the rebellion are in the great hall discussing strategy.”

  Robert nodded, and he and Niall fell into step behind the guard once more. As they made their way down the corridor, the voices coming from the great hall grew louder and more distinct.

  “I’m nae going to risk my life to put Bruce on the throne!” someone bellowed.

  Robert flinched, knowing they were referring to his father. The guard who was with them snickered, and Robert glared the man into silence.

  “Bruce is the rightful claimant,” came another voice.

  “Bah! Bruce swore fealty to Edward as overlord of Scotland!”

  “Ye ken he did that to avoid swearing allegiance to Balliol!” someone else shouted.

  “Where is he, then?” the other man thundered. “Balliol has abdicated, and Bruce the elder does nae return to Scotland to help us stop Edward. What does he do instead? He sits in his lavish English estate! He has no backbone to rebel! Let us look to John Comyn to lead us in Balliol’s absence. He has managed to escape the imprisonment that befell many in his family.”

  Their words were like harsh blows to Robert’s chest. John “the Red” Comyn came from one of the most powerful families in Scotland—Robert’s being the other—and that was the heart of the conflict between his family and the Comyns. The Comyns wanted all the power, including the throne, but not for the good of Scotland—for greed. Comyn cared for the rebellion only insomuch as he wished to protect his vast estates and current power. He did not truly care for the people and their freedom.

  Robert gritted his teeth. He would have to fight beside a man who wanted to destroy him in order to save the land he loved. He shoved the guard out of the way, but a hand came to his arm. He turned to find Niall staring at him. “I’ll nae bend the knee to a Comyn,” Niall said. “Ye ken as well as I do that they will do all they can to gain the throne if there is nae any hope to return Balliol to it.”

  Robert nodded. “We will fight for Scotland.” He didn’t say that he hoped his father would join them, though the hope lingered.

  Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a giant of a man appeared at the threshold. He had to duck to exit the great hall. He strode toward Robert and Niall, his boots thudding against the floor. He stopped in front of them and smiled, a genuine expression that reached his clear blue eyes and made them crinkle at the edges. “I thought I heard a noise out here,” he said in a deep, friendly voice.

  “Ye heard us despite all the commotion within?” Robert asked, exchanging a quick glance with Niall.

  “Aye.” The Scot nodded as he scratched at his russet beard. “I’ve had to learn to listen carefully, especially when surrounded by chaos. ’Tis how I still survive though the English hunt me. I’m William Wallace of Elderslie.”

  “We’ve heard of ye,” Niall replied. “I’m sorry to hear about yer wife.”

  Grief swept over Wallace’s face for the space of a breath before murderous rage replaced it. “I thank ye. The English are suffering for the murder of my wife and will continue to do so. And ye are?” His curious gaze took in both Robert and Niall.

  “Niall Campbell.”

  “Carrick,” Robert said, giving only his title, as was customary.

  “Ah, Bruce,” Wallace said, ignoring the given title. “Word of yer deeds have been brought to us by a messenger from Lady Moray.”

  Robert nodded and Wallace grinned. “Seems ye made a friend in the lady and she thought to save yer head should anyone want to take it off.” He gazed intently at Robert. “Why have ye come here to us?”

  “To help retain Scotland’s freedom, just as ye, Wallace.” Wallace looked unconvinced, so Robert added, “I’ve heard some things about ye as well.”

  “Aye? What do they say?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

  “That ye fight like a brute beast.”

&
nbsp; Wallace chuckled. “How would ye have me fight?”

  “To win,” Robert replied easily enough.

  Wallace set a large hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I do believe ye are the first noble I’ve met that I have actually liked,” Wallace said, winking at Robert. “Let us see if my opinion is enough to keep yer head on yer shoulders.”

  Robert nodded and fell into step with Niall by his side behind Wallace. Wallace entered the room of disagreeing Scottish nobles and rebels, and when Robert and Niall followed all arguing ceased, chairs scraped, and the singing of swords being unsheathed filled the air.

  England

  Elizabeth pressed her hands against the cold glass of her bedchamber window, which overlooked the beautiful gardens at the king’s court. Her breath caught when her father and the king turned to look up at her as one. She scurried back from the window and bumped into the table behind her. The vase teetered, and she lunged for it, catching it before it hit the floor. But her foot slid out in front of her, and she went down with a hard thud, the breath whooshing out of her and the water in the vase spilling down the front of her gown.

  She sat there with her bottom pulsing in pain, and her mind awhirl with horrid possibilities about what punishment the king was demanding her father dole out after what she’d done at the Morays’ castle. Banishment from her parents, her brothers, and her sisters to some remote place? A nunnery for life? She shuddered. She may only be twelve summers, as her mother and older sister always loved to remind her, but she did know some things, contrary to what they seemed to believe. She understood fully that she had far too much zest for life to spend hers in a nunnery or someday be a docile wife, for that matter. She inhaled a long breath and tried to slow her racing heart. Her father loved her. He would reason with the king. He would protect her.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Worry niggled at her as she set down the vase beside her and drew her legs to her chest, shivering with a chill of which she could not seem to rid herself. The memory of her father giving the order to burn men alive filled her mind. There had to be some explanation. There simply had to be. Because if there was not, then her father was not the man she believed him to be. And if he was not good and honorable, then how could she trust he’d protect her?