Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “We’ll let you get settled,” Colin went on, “but then the Bruce would probably like to see you.”

  “I’ll see to Fletch,” Angus said, his attention suddenly focused solely on the horse. He stroked its mane and whispered something into his ear.

  Colin only smirked at the display of affection toward the animal. To Jossalyn, he said, “Angus had a special place in his heart for beasties of all sorts, lass. It’s probably why he likes Garrick so much.”

  Garrick rewarded Colin for his teasing with a wry smile and one raised eyebrow. Finn didn’t say anything, and instead, simply strode off to another part of camp without even a farewell.

  “Don’t mind him, lass,” Colin said as he watched Finn walk away. “He’s a sourpuss, but he’s not a threat to you.”

  “If you say so,” she said under her breath.

  Colin and Angus bid them farewell and departed also, with Angus leading Fletch behind them. Garrick turned to the tent and held its flap, which functioned as the door, open for her. She slipped under his arm and entered.

  It was small and simple, but also surprisingly clean and orderly. There was no floor, only the four canvas walls and a sloping roof. In one corner, there was a cot with a straw mattress and a blanket folded at the foot, and a few feet away on the other side, there was a simple wooden table with a pitcher of water and a basin. There was only one other piece of furniture, a wooden shelf with a few essential items on it like a cup, bowl, a bar of soap, and the like.

  Garrick entered after her and was watching her closely. “It’s very simple, I know, but—”

  “But all the essentials are covered, I’d say,” she said lightly. She didn’t want to give him a chance to start thinking she was somehow looking down her nose at the accommodations. It was far more basic than her life had been at Dunbraes, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  He was still looking uncomfortably around the small space, though. “If you’d like, I can arrange to sleep somewhere else.”

  She turned to fully face him, capturing his jaw between her hands. “Now why would I want you to do that?” she said, a slight tease in her voice.

  He relaxed under her touch. “Very well, lass, but you can’t say I didn’t try to protect your reputation—and protect you from my lust.”

  She smiled up into his handsome face. His jaw was bristly with dark stubble. It could almost be called a beard, given how long it was. She could feel his jaw clench under her touch, and she watched as his gray eyes lit with fire as they roamed over her face. He leaned in slowly, placing a soft, intimate kiss on her lips. He lingered there for a moment, but then sighed and pulled back from her.

  “We shouldn’t keep the King waiting,” he said, though the look he was giving her said he wanted to do otherwise.

  He approached the pitcher and basin, and then poured some water over his hands and quickly scrubbed them over his face. He held out the pitcher to her and poured the water in a slow stream as she rinsed her hands and face as well. It wasn’t much, but it was the least they could do in preparation to see the man who had crowned himself King of Scotland.

  The thought sent Jossalyn’s already-taut nerves pulling even tighter. She re-plaited her hair as neatly as she could, and then smoothed her wrinkled and dirty dress with her hands, though it did little to help. What if the Bruce sent her away, refusing the help of the sister of their English enemy? What if he did worse? What if he believed her to be a spy or a traitor? What if…?

  She forced herself to take a deep breath and stop the spinning of her mind. She would have her answers soon enough.

  When they were as ready as they could be, she turned to exit the tent, but his hand on her arm stopped her. She turned back to him and watched as he removed both the dagger and its scabbard from his boot, then extended it toward her. She looked up at him in confusion.

  “I want you to have this,” he said simply.

  “Why? Do you think I’ll need it?” The memory of that very blade pressed against Finn’s neck chilled her inside. What she unsafe here?

  “Nay, lass—or, probably not, anyway,” he replied with a frown.

  She guessed he was thinking about the same moment that had occurred less than two hours ago as well.

  “I would just feel better knowing that you have it, that’s all.”

  For some reason, she didn’t entirely believe his intentionally casual tone, but she took the dagger anyway. She didn’t have anyplace to put it, though, so after searching a bit, Garrick found a strip of leather on the tent’s shelf, and then bent and took her ankle in his large, warm hands. As he tied the dagger and sheath to her ankle with the piece of leather, she let herself be calmed by the feel of his hands on her skin.

  “We need to get you some boots, lass,” he said at her feet as he finished up fastening the leather. “These slippers aren’t made for the woods, and they are nearly falling apart.”

  She chuckled, remembering how rushed she had been when she was preparing to sneak out of Dunbraes and stow away with Garrick and Burke, the two kindly blacksmiths from a few miles north whom she had just met. Yes, her footwear choice had been wrong, but she never would have guessed that she would be standing in the middle of Robert the Bruce’s secret camp in the Highlands of Scotland less than two weeks after she escaped Dunbraes. So much had changed.

  Garrick held the tent flap for her again as they exited, but they didn’t have far to go. The large tent practically right next to theirs was apparently Robert the Bruce’s meeting and strategy headquarters. They stopped in front of the tent, and a fierce-looking warrior poked his head inside the canvas.

  “Garrick Sinclair and the lass he arrived with are here to see you, sire.”

  Jossalyn’s stomach twisted with nervousness, and her heart pounded in her ears.

  “Come in!” came a deep voice from within the tent.

  The guard pulled back the canvas flap, and they stepped inside.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It took a moment for Jossalyn’s eyes to adjust to the relatively dim interior of the tent compared with the bright summer day outside. She slowly took in the carpeted floor, several heavy upholstered chairs, and the large wooden desk in the middle. Behind the desk sat a man who appeared to be slightly older than Garrick, handsome and well-built. His dark brown hair was pushed back from his forehead, and he had a neat beard on his face that had a faint tint of red to it. When she met his brown eyes, she saw that he was scrutinizing her.

  She immediately lowered her head and dipped into a deep curtsy, as she was used to doing in her brother’s presence. She silently cursed herself for staring into the King’s eyes. Her brother would have beaten her for a lesser offense toward anyone of noble blood.

  “Nay, lass, rise, rise!” the Bruce said, standing quickly from his chair and walking around to the front of the desk.

  She dared a glance up at him from her crouched curtsy and was surprised to see a kind expression on his face. Garrick extended a hand to her and helped her stand, then went directly up to the Bruce and clasped arms with him.

  “It’s good to see you again, Garrick,” the King said warmly.

  “Aye, it’s good to be back,” Garrick responded with genuine heartiness.

  She felt her eyes widen at the exchange, but couldn’t tamp down her surprise. Then the Bruce turned back to her, and her pulse hitched again.

  “And who have you brought with you?” he said to Garrick, though his dark eyes surveyed her with curious scrutiny.

  “This is Lady Jossalyn Warren,” Garrick replied.

  She registered in the back of her mind that he hadn’t tried to hide her last name this time. Perhaps since she had already shared it with the three warriors who had greeted them in the woods, he figured she wouldn’t mind him telling the Bruce.

  But her bluster and courage from the forest seemed to have left her, and her pounding heart was nearly deafening in her ears. She almost dropped into another curtsy out of habit when Garrick said her name
, but then she realized she would be disobeying a King and jerked herself upright halfway through.

  She saw a little smile playing at the corner of his mouth at her awkward movements, but then she watched as her name registered and his face darkened slightly. “You wouldn’t happen to be a relation of Lord Raef Warren, would you lass?” he said with a frown.

  “Y-yes, my lord,” she said shakily. “He is my brother.”

  The King’s frown deepened slightly, and he shot a look at Garrick.

  “Why don’t you take a seat and explain things to me, lass,” the Bruce said, motioning toward one of the finely upholstered chairs nearby.

  Her knees shook slightly as she walked over to the chair and sank down into it. The Bruce walked back around his desk and resumed his seat, gesturing for Garrick to take a chair as well.

  She registered in the back of her mind that there was a partially drawn curtain behind the desk at which the Bruce sat, and she caught a glimpse of a bed. So this was not only the Bruce’s strategic headquarters, but also his private living space. She swallowed hard, more intimidated than ever to be here. But the Bruce was looking expectantly at her, waiting for her to speak. She swallowed again and took a deep breath.

  As Jossalyn launched into her story, she decided to hold nothing back, hoping that her motivations and earnestness would be clear to the King. She told him of what life had been like under her brother, his cruelty and controlling ways, and the freedoms she would steal whenever she could. She explained how her brother had gone to Cumberland to meet with King Edward, who was rumored to be ailing, and how her brother had hoped to ingratiate himself and gain a Barony from the sickly King.

  She described meeting Garrick and Burke while she had snuck to the village to lend her healing skills to those in need, and how she had decided to stow away with them in the hopes of escaping her brother’s cruelty. But the two men had taken her back to Dunbraes, just as her brother was returning. A battle had broken out, and the three of them fled.

  She told of how she had helped heal Burke’s leg, and how they had almost been discovered by her brother and his men, but Garrick had saved them. She did her best to explain her realization that she wanted to join the rebellion and offer her healing skills, and how Garrick and Burke finally agreed to her request. She spoke of their journey east, then north, and finally, their parting with Burke and their arrival at the Bruce’s camp. She left out Garrick and her lovemaking, since even the thought of mentioning something like that to a King made her blush.

  “It has been an adventure to say the least, sire,” she said, her voice steadier after sharing her story. “I only hope you will allow me to aid your cause in the best way I know how—by lending my healing skills to your warriors.”

  He rubbed his bearded chin in thought for a moment, absorbing what she had said. He turned to Garrick with a sharp eye. “What do you think of the lass’s request, Garrick?” he said, leaning forward slightly.

  Garrick considered the Bruce’s question for a second, then gave a little nod. “I think we would be incredibly lucky to have her skills,” he said honestly.

  “And what of the fact that she is English, and one of our fiercest enemy’s sisters, no less,” the Bruce prodded, keeping a keen eye on Garrick.

  “I believe her to be in absolute earnest and veracity when she says she supports our cause. She is to be trusted.”

  Jossalyn felt a swell in her chest at Garrick’s words. She knew he trusted and believed in her—enough to bring her here, at the very least. But to hear him speak so sincerely and straightforwardly on her behalf to the King sent a flood of emotion through her. She gave him a look that was full of everything she was feeling. His gray eyes met hers, and she saw her emotions mirrored back in his gaze.

  Robert the Bruce glanced from one to the other of them, seeming to gather all that passed between them in the quick exchange. He steepled his fingers in front of him, considering for a moment.

  “How about this, lass? Why don’t you stay on with us for a few weeks, or even months if you like, and see how you find the work.”

  He didn’t have to state his intention; it was plain to Jossalyn. She was getting a probationary trial period, and not just for her benefit to make sure that she enjoyed working in a war camp. The Bruce wanted to make sure he could trust her fully, and even with Garrick’s word of approval, he wanted to see for himself. She understood his shrewdness and need for complete certainty. Even one traitor in their midst could mean the ruination of the entire rebellion.

  She nodded. “Thank you, sire. I look forward to being of use.”

  He stood, and she followed his example. Garrick stood as well, but the Bruce turned to him and motioned for him to stay. He walked her to the front flap of the tent and held it open for her.

  “I shall look forward to learning more about you, Lady Jossalyn Warren,” he said mysteriously.

  She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but her thoughts were too jumbled to sort it out just yet. She walked the few paces back to Garrick’s tent and entered. She sat down on the corner of the cot, suddenly realizing she was alone in the middle of Robert the Bruce’s secret war camp.

  Taking a deep breath, she waded into the swirling pool of her thoughts and emotions, trying to untangle her lingering fear, her elation at Garrick’s words, the King’s reaction to her story, and her chance to stay here at the camp for at least a few weeks. She only wondered how much of it she would have sorted out by the time Garrick returned from his private meeting with the King.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Bruce turned back from the tent flap to face Garrick. “She is certainly a remarkable woman,” he said appreciatively.

  “Aye, Robert, she is.” The Bruce insisted that when they were alone, Garrick should call him by his given name. At first it had been a struggle, but now he truly felt comfortable enough with him to do so. He didn’t want to strain their relaxed relationship, so he tried to keep his voice light even though he felt a twinge of something at the Bruce’s tone—was it jealousy? Territoriality?

  He must not have hidden his annoyance very well, for the Bruce broke out into a hearty laugh. “Stand down, man, I wouldn’t dare cross you on this matter. But I now know where things stand between the two of you.”

  No matter how long Garrick spent in the Bruce’s company, he was always struck by how sharp and shrewd the man was. There was no point in trying to deny it.

  “I have come to…care for the lass,” Garrick said, running his hand through his hair.

  “And you truly believe she can be trusted?” the Bruce said, all mirth leaving him as he pinned Garrick with a serious stare. “Is there anything you couldn’t or wouldn’t say in front of her that I should know?”

  “Nay, Robert, I would trust her with my life, and you know that’s not something I say lightly,” Garrick replied, holding his King’s gaze.

  The Bruce arched his eyebrows at his words, nodding to himself in thought. “Truly remarkable indeed,” he said almost to himself.

  “I do not worry about her,” Garrick went on. “But I do worry for her. Though she is a healer, she is less familiar with the wounds of war. She may not be prepared for the more grisly aspects of warfare,” he said, remembering her reaction to the horrific scene in the glen. “I am also concerned about how she will be received.”

  “You think the men will turn on her because she’s English, or because she’s Raef Warren’s sister?”

  “Perhaps. It may be hard for some of them to accept her.” And her safety is paramount to me. He didn’t speak the last part, but he guessed by the Bruce’s sharp eye on him that the man had gathered the unspoken thought.

  “I suppose some of them might be a bit…resistant at first. If she is as good a healer as you say, she shouldn’t have any problems for long, though.” The twinkle returned to the Bruce’s eye. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about the men falling head over heels for her, not shunning her.”

  Garrick cracked a wry
smile, which the Bruce found amusing enough to laugh at again. When his King’s mirth finally died down, Garrick turned serious once more.

  “I do have some news for you, Robert. It wasn’t relevant to Jossalyn’s tale, so she didn’t mention it, but you need to hear this.”

  “Out with it, man.”

  Garrick took a deep breath. “Longshanks is dead.”

  The Bruce exhaled sharply and sat down in one of the chairs next to Garrick’s.

  “That was why Warren was returning to Dunbraes from Cumberland. Edward II has likely already been crowned.”

  “The Hammer of the Scots. Dead,” the Bruce breathed. “And we know nothing of his son’s desire for either war or peace.” Already the shock was wearing off, and the Bruce’s incisive, calculating side was kicking in.

  “Aye, but you know the news before the rest of Scotland, and likely before many parts of England as well.”

  “You’ve done well, Garrick,” the Bruce said, turning to him once more. “We will have to be prepared for the worst, of course, but at least we have time to ready ourselves. In fact, this may prove a good time to fully commit to our shift in strategy…” He rubbed his beard as he thought for another moment.

  “To what would you attribute our success at the battles of Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill?”

  Garrick considered the Bruce’s question. The man had a mind designed for strategy, and he often liked to pose these kinds of questions to his inner circle, either looking for weaknesses in their tactics or strengths that could be developed for future engagements.

  “We fought on our terms,” Garrick said finally. “We didn’t play by the English army’s rules. Instead, we used the landscape, the element of surprise, and the chaos of battle to our advantage.”