Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  Garrick raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘winning over’ you mean…”

  The Bruce smiled ruefully. “As you well know, Garrick, we are gaining more support by the day. Yet if Laird Sinclair’s report is accurate, and I’m sure it is, our success is only galvanizing those who oppose us. It isn’t just the Comyns anymore. The MacDougalls and Argylls have sided with the Comyns, and the Southerlands and Rosses have only given me a temporary truce. Like many others, they are merely waiting to see who will emerge as the stronger force, and then ally themselves with the victor.”

  Garrick ran a hand through his hair. “What do you propose?”

  Knowing the Bruce, he would likely have already hatched some stratagem to both hold off the English and confront his Scottish opponents, either forcing them to join him or be met with his guerrilla army of rebels.

  “We will continue to battle those who would oppose us within the country. This most recent battle against the Comyns will give them and others much to think about before they stand against us again,” the Bruce said, bringing his hand up to rub his bearded chin. “But we must also secure the Borderlands, both against the English and our Scottish enemies who would collude with them.”

  “Isn’t James Douglas already doing just that?” Garrick asked. Douglas was one of the Bruce’s most trusted friends and allies. From what Garrick had heard, Douglas was currently making his way through the Borderlands, razing English-held castles and garrisons so they couldn’t be recaptured and used against the Scottish again.

  The loss of heavily fortified castles that could potentially be held by the Scottish rebels was hard to swallow, but Garrick understood the Bruce’s motivations. Too often in this war for independence, the Scots would capture a castle or town, only to have the English recapture it, using their own structures against them.

  The English couldn’t hold their location without a large fortress or castle in which to fortify themselves, but the Scottish rebels could. They were learning how to dissolve into the forests, hide in the heather, and take cover in the mountains. This was their home, after all. They would rebuild someday, once their freedom was secure, but for now, the rebels had to use their knowledge of the landscape, paired with the English army’s immobility and need for the protection of a castle, against their enemies.

  “Aye, Douglas is making progress in the south,” the Bruce responded. “But he has only been tasked with destroying those castles and fortresses that could be recaptured and used against us. We need a holding of our own.”

  This surprised Garrick, as it represented a shift in the Bruce’s tactics. Again, the Bruce seemed to anticipate his thoughts. “Douglas will continue on as before,” he said, “but we will need a base from which to operate if we are to recapture and destroy the more…impervious locations.”

  Here the King’s eyes flickered to Jossalyn, trying to gage her reaction, but her brow was furrowed in confusion. Garrick tried to untangle the Bruce’s implied meaning. Then it dawned on him.

  “You mean to destroy Dunbraes, and you need a base of operations nearby from which to attack it.”

  “Aye.”

  Jossalyn’s eyes widened slightly. Her lips parted as she tried to find words, but the only sound was a gust of breath as she exhaled. The Bruce remained silent, watching her closely.

  Finally, Jossalyn was able to speak, though her words came haltingly. “I-I don’t know what to say. You are going to raze Dunbraes?”

  “Aye, lass,” the Bruce said quietly. “It has been held by the English for years and has never fallen to Scottish attacks. It served Longshanks well as a holding and a launch-point for the English army. Strategically, we must capture it if we hope to stem the flow of English soldiers into the country. And it would be a moral victory for the rebellion as well.”

  The Bruce paused for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully before going on. “Taking Dunbraes would also give us the opportunity to deal with your brother. He appears to have been forced to turn back in his search for you and has returned to the Borderlands. My scouts and messengers got word that there is no longer English movement in southwest Scotland, where you said he was hunting you. Raef Warren has brought much death and suffering to Scotland. We cannot simply ignore him. Though he has evaded us several times over the years, we will end this.”

  Jossalyn nodded absently, her eyes drifting to the floor. Garrick watched as a barrage of emotions played out on her face. He saw her shame for her brother’s actions, her shock at the thought of her former home being destroyed, and also fear and sadness, likely for the people of the castle and village whom she had come to know and care for.

  “We wish only to defeat your brother and the English army, lass,” the Bruce went on. “Our war is not against villagers and farmers. But this is warfare.”

  She nodded again, blinking back the tears that had sprung into her eyes. The Bruce’s words seemed to reassure her slightly. “I wish your campaign well,” she said simply.

  “Then you do not wish to make a case for your brother?” the Bruce asked carefully.

  She didn’t hesitate. “No, I do not. He has brought much suffering into this world. I have managed to survive him, but I know all too well that others have not been so fortunate. He has earned his own fate.”

  As she spoke, Garrick took her hand again. He stood in awe of her strength and fortitude. She had been through so much, and yet she still carried herself with grace and integrity.

  “Very well, then. I appreciate your honesty, lass, and I give you my word to do right by the people of Dunbraes,” the Bruce said, a light of respect in his eyes.

  “Thank you, sire—Robert.”

  The Bruce turned back to Garrick. “The last piece of news from Laird Sinclair is regarding your younger brother. Apparently, he has been helping your uncle run his keep these past few years?”

  “Aye. My uncle William has been ailing, and his son is but fifteen and unready to take over for his father. Daniel has been helping out in the training of young Will to prepare him to be a Laird.”

  “How convenient,” the Bruce said, almost to himself.

  “Dare I ask what plan you are hatching now?” Garrick said wryly.

  The fire that the Bruce got in his eyes whenever he was strategizing flamed now. “You remember Loch Doon, don’t you?”

  “Aye, of course.” When the Bruce and his men had been forced to flee the previous year, first to the western islands and then to Ireland, they had stopped for refuge at Loch Doon Castle for a brief time. It was the Bruce’s family holding. In fact, the Bruce had built the enormous eleven-sided curtain wall by hand with his father. Amazingly, they had built the entire holding on a small island in the middle of the loch. When Garrick had first seen it, he had been stunned by its beauty, then awed by its strategic location. It would be nearly impossible to siege, or even approach unseen. It was exactly the kind of castle that the Bruce would build and reside in.

  “Then you’ll remember that it is in the western Lowlands, near the border, and also near Dunbraes.”

  The Bruce’s plan began unfolding in Garrick’s mind. “So you hope to take Loch Doon Castle and use it as the base from which to attack Dunbraes.”

  “Exactly. Though Loch Doon is mine by birthright, it is currently being held by Laird Gilbert Kennedy. I entrusted the castle to him when I began my campaign, but he was set upon by the English. He allied himself with them rather than have the castle destroyed in a siege, or so he claims.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “I’m not sure what to make of the man. Now that we’ve defeated the English three times in the last year, he has sent me a missive proclaiming his unerring loyalty to me despite his formal alliance with the English. I trust him about as far as I can throw him,” the Bruce said, raising an eyebrow sardonically. “But I want Loch Doon back under my control—and in one piece.”

  “So you won’t raze it like the other Borderland castles,” Garrick finished.

  Jossalyn tapp
ed her index finger against her lips as she, too, pieced together the Bruce’s plan. “But how do you expect to wrest it from this Gilbert Kennedy and hold it while you’re here?”

  The Bruce smiled a little. “That is where the third Sinclair brother comes in,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

  “You’re sending Daniel?” Garrick realized that after the words were out, his shock sounded more like disapproval. He tried to temper his tone somewhat as he went on. “He’s certainly more than capable of running a castle. He surpassed me in our training to potentially become Laird, and he has handed down that training to our cousin Will. I suppose I’m just surprised that you would select him above all others, Robert.”

  “The Sinclairs have stood with me from the beginning, despite the hardships they have endured because of it.” Though he didn’t name him, the Bruce was referring again to Raef Warren and the bloody and costly battle at Roslin he had brought to Sinclair lands.

  “Both you and Laird Sinclair have done more than almost anyone else to help the cause. You have both risked your lives and done much for the rebellion, and for that I am grateful. I figured that the youngest Sinclair brother should have an opportunity to prove himself.” The Bruce quirked a smile, but then grew serious once more.

  “In truth, I consider it a reward for your family’s loyal service. There is no one I can think of whom I trust more with my ancestral holding at Loch Doon than a Sinclair.”

  Garrick’s chest swelled with pride at the Bruce’s words and at the honor that was being bestowed on his younger brother. He could think of no one better for the job of holding the castle against the English, keeping it running smoothly, and setting the stage for a siege against Dunbraes than Daniel.

  “Oh, and there is one other reason I’m sending your brother,” the Bruce said, a twinkle of mischief in his dark eyes. “Laird Sinclair’s missive was in answer to my question regarding whether or not your younger brother is married.”

  “He isn’t,” Garrick said cautiously, suddenly unsure again of what the Bruce was plotting.

  “Which works out perfectly for me. Laird Kennedy has a daughter who is of marrying age. I still have my doubts about the man’s loyalty, so I plan to force his allegiance to me by marrying his daughter to someone I can trust. Daniel Sinclair will do nicely.”

  Garrick tried his best to mask his shock and misgivings about such a plan, but the Bruce’s merry eyes missed nothing. “Do you object, Garrick? Is there some reason your brother shouldn’t enter a marriage alliance for his King?”

  “Nay, Robert, it’s only….Daniel was always a stubborn lad growing up, and it has only increased with age. He is a natural-born leader, but acquiescing to the will of others has never been a strong suit of his.”

  “He sounds like just the man for the job, then. He won’t take any of Kennedy’s shite—beg pardon, Lady Jossalyn—and he’ll get Loch Doon back in line with the Scottish cause.”

  Garrick had to admit that the Bruce was right, but he didn’t want to imagine how Daniel would respond to being told—nay, commanded—to leave the Highlands to marry some Lowland, English-sympathizing Kennedy lass, sight unseen.

  “Perhaps you feel sorry for your brother, since he hasn’t had your good fortune to make a love match in marriage?” the Bruce prodded gently, a small smile still on his lips. “If it makes you feel any better for him, I have heard rumors that the Kennedy lass is bonnie—and spirited. Perhaps even such an arranged marriage can prove to be a good match—or at least an interesting one,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I’m sure Daniel will be honored to oblige his King’s plans,” Garrick said diplomatically.

  “I truly hope his is as lucky in love as his brothers have proven to be,” the Bruce said cheerfully. “That’s enough business for now. Let’s turn to the real reason you two are here.”

  The Bruce called to the guard standing outside the tent, and the canvas door-flap was pulled back. Several of the Bruce’s advisors, including Angus, Colin, and Finn, filed in and stood next to Garrick and Jossalyn. As Angus moved to Garrick’s side, Garrick caught a distinct whiff of whisky emanating from the men entering the tent. He raised his eyebrow silently at Angus, who merely shrugged and smiled, his bushy red eyebrows wiggling.

  “We started the celebration without you,” he said on a whisky-filled breath.

  “I think our witnesses are drunk,” Jossalyn said to Garrick in a faux-horrified whisper loud enough for everyone in the tent to hear.

  Her words brought on a rumble of laughter, which only further filled the tent with the scent of whisky.

  “Kneel before me,” the Bruce said, and despite his merriment, his voice was filled with gravitas.

  They stepped toward the King’s chair and knelt. Jossalyn’s hand brushed against Garrick’s, and he intertwined their fingers.

  “We are gathered here today…”

  Garrick tried to focus on the words that the Bruce spoke, which joined him to the beautiful woman kneeling next to him, but his eyes kept tugging toward her, longing to drink in the sight of her. She looked up at the Bruce with earnest joy in her emerald eyes as he spoke of the commitment she and Garrick were making to each other, in front of their King and in the eyes of God.

  He noticed that her breath was coming faster, and he realized that his pulse was racing, but not in fear. Not long ago, he had thought himself irredeemable in the eyes of someone as compassionate and good-hearted as Jossalyn. He had imagined the happiness he had seen in his brother after marrying Alwin and starting a family would never be his. Though he believed in the cause he was fighting for, he had thought himself unworthy of a woman like Jossalyn. But despite all that stood between them and should have kept them apart, she had come to love him. Out of all the men in the world, she had chosen him. He was humbled by her choice, and even more, he was redeemed by her love.

  He didn’t remember most of what was said during the ceremony, but suddenly, he was kissing her, her scent surrounding him, and her soft lips melting into his. A cheer went up from their slightly inebriated group of witnesses. He leaned in and whispered his love for her into her ear over the riotous cheering, and then stood and helped her to her feet.

  “There’s a happy ending, if I ever saw one,” Angus said, delivering a powerful slap to Garrick’s back.

  “Nay, Angus,” Garrick said over the din, locking eyes with Jossalyn. “It’s only the beginning.”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  Though this is a work of fiction, several events, locations, and characters were based on historical record.

  Dunbraes is a fictitious castle and village, though the English did hold several castles in Scotland during the Wars of Independence, especially in the Borderlands.

  King Edward I, called Longshanks for his remarkable height and the Hammer of the Scots for his merciless suppression of the Scottish people (whom he viewed as rebellious subjects in need of punishment), did indeed die on July 7, 1307 in the farthest northwest region of England formerly known as Cumberland. He is rumored to have asked that his heart be taken to the Holy Land, and for the flesh to be boiled from his bones so that his skeleton could be taken into Scotland on future campaigns to suppress the rebellion. Eventually, he was buried at Westminster Abbey.

  The battles of Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill did in fact happen in April and May of 1307, respectively. Robert the Bruce and his army had been routed in the Battle of Methven in 1306, and were forced to flee to the Hebrides and eventually Ireland, where they regrouped and developed a new strategy for battling the English. When the Bruce and his army returned to Scotland, they tried out their new guerrilla tactics at Glen Trool and Loudoun Hill. The Bruce’s success in these two battles proved to be a turning point in the rebellion.

  The Bruce and his rebels did relocate near Inverness in Aberdeenshire in the summer of 1307, where the Bruce fell ill. Likely, though, he was exhausted from his difficult and lengthy campaign—a bit less dramatic that poisoning. The final
battle in the novel is based on the Battle of Slioch, which occurred on Christmas Day, 1307, but which I have shifted to late summer for continuity. The Bruce’s opponent was John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, whose cousin, John “The Red” Comyn, the Bruce had killed in 1306. It was largely an archery battle, which the Bruce’s forces won after an initially inconclusive engagement. The rousing speech that the Bruce gives in the novel just before the battle is adapted from Robert Burns’ 1793 poem “Scots Wha Hae,” which was itself an adaptation (or an invention by the poet) of a speech the Bruce gave before the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314.

  The Latin motto Nemo me impune lacessit (roughly translated as “no one attacks me with impunity”) was used by the Stewarts of Scotland, and appeared on coins minted in 1578 and 1580 under the reign of James VI of Scotland. It was also adopted as the motto of the Order of the Thistle and several Scottish units of the British Army, including the Royal Company of Archers. Of course, my inclusion of this motto in the novel would place its use in Scotland centuries before these historical records indicate, but the motto’s origin story may hint at earlier uses of the phrase. According to legend, the Scotch thistle (or “guardian thistle”) helped save ancient Scotland from a Viking attack. When one Viking invader stepped on the thistle, he cried out in pain, thus alerting Scottish defenders to the attackers’ presence, and thus linking the image of the thistle with the Scotland’s history of resistance to invasion.

  Garrick’s recurve bow could indeed have come from the Holy Land and would have been an immense improvement over the English longbow, which was inaccurate and cumbersome. The recurve bow, by comparison, is smaller and more accurate, but more difficult to make, and so would have been hard to come by.

  Jossalyn’s use of medicinal herbs and plants is based on medieval understandings and uses of such flora. The emergency tracheotomy (or more accurately, cricothyrotomy) she performs in the novel on Robert the Bruce is incredibly dangerous, but was actually recorded as having been used as far back as 124 B.C.E.