The Price of Freedom

by Carol Umberger

  Bryan took himself to task. No good would come of thoughts such as these, and he banished his pessimism as Bruce addressed his commanders.

  “’Twas a good day to be Scottish, eh lads?”

  “Aye, my laird.”

  Randolph said, “We showed our intent today. But you scared us witless with your joust against de Bohun.”

  “Aye, well, I couldn’t back down in front of the men now, could I?”

  “’Twould have added a few years to my life if you had,” Bryan said, a grin softening the gruffness of his voice.

  Sardonic smiles and a few guffaws greeted Bryan’s statement while Robert basked in their praise.

  Then Douglas voiced his opinion. “Between our sovereign’s bravery and Randolph’s defeat of Sir Clifford, we have shown our willingness to fight this day.”

  “Aye, but I fear the English cavalry will rally in their dismay at being defeated by our foot soldiers.” Bruce gazed about at the circle of men surrounding him. “Perhaps we’ve made our point and should retreat. I would protect this army and retire to the countryside to harass the English as we’ve done in the past.”

  The king’s words startled Bryan, and the others as well, from the cast of their faces. “Sir, if you ever hoped to unite all of Scotland, now is the time. Order us into battle at first light, and we shall not fail you. We shall persevere until Scotland is free.”

  The voices of his comrades seconded Bryan’s declaration. Bryan could tell Bruce was moved by their bravery and determination. Bryan knew it might indeed be wiser to take this outnumbered army and retreat, scorching the earth behind them. Starvation could defeat an army just as easily as weapons. By so doing, Bruce could spare Scotland the annihilation of her young men. And those seated here before him would live to marry and sire more of their kind.

  Bruce looked out into the darkness. The jingle of harness and the muffled sounds of men’s voices drifted to them on the quiet summer night air. “While our men rest, the English are still bedding down for the night. By the time they have taken battle positions, the dawn will be near.”

  “They won’t be able to unbit their horses either,” Keith remarked.

  “Aye, man and beast will start the day tired. But more importantly, my scouts have told me the English cavalry are bedding down on the carse, a practical decision. However, that meadow is intersected by streams and is boggy in spots. They’ll have little room to maneuver. Since they intend to charge with the cavalry and then send in their infantry on foot, their foot soldiers are behind the horses, between them and the creek.”

  Bryan was the first to realize the implication. The Bannock Burn and the smaller stream to the north were tidal waters, emptying into the nearby Firth of Forth. “When the tide rises, they will not be able to retreat through the bog that surrounds them.”

  “Exactly,” Bruce said.

  “Why would they take up such a position?”

  “Because they expect us to remain where we are, to allow them to bring the battle to us. But our schiltrons are not static.”

  Edward Bruce said, “Then let us move them into better position.”

  “Patience, brother. Let the English settle first, commit themselves to the carseland.” He drew a crude map in the dirt. “Just before dawn, Edward, take your schiltron to the southernmost position. You will engage first and draw the vanguard to you.”

  Edward nodded.

  “Thomas, you’ll be left of Edward, and Douglas, you’ll be left of him. I shall hold my men in reserve and bring them forward when needed should one of your squares falter. Keith, you and our cavalry must stand by and await my order for your charge.”

  “It could work, sire,” Bryan said quietly. “King Edward and his commanders will expect us to stay close to the woods and our path for retreat.”

  “Well, that is the accepted course for a small force that is so greatly outnumbered.” Bruce smiled. “But since when have I ever followed the accepted course? Now we shall see if Ceallach’s training of the men will save the day, for never before have foot soldiers taken the offensive against heavy cavalry.”

  “Where is Ceallach?” Douglas asked.

  “I’ve sent him to perform a special task. ’Tis best if you know as little as possible about what I’ve asked him to do.”

  Bryan was as curious as the rest, but all sat in respectful silence waiting for Bruce to continue.

  The silence broke as a guard shouted, “Halt. Who goes there?”

  Bryan’s companions jumped to their feet at the sentry’s cry, forming a protective circle around the king. One by one they sheathed their weapons as the sentry escorted Sir Alexander Seton into the periphery of the fire’s glow.

  Robert offered a wary welcome to this kinsman who, by a twist of fate, served in the English army. “What brings you here this night, Alex?”

  “I come in friendship, my lord, as did my brother, God rest his soul.”

  “I have need of friends, young Alex. Especially of your caliber and that of your brother. Come join us.”

  The men returned to their places. Bryan saw tension and distrust on several faces, but Christian Seton had fought and died for the Scots’ cause. For that reason Bryan would listen to what Alex had to say.

  “What brings you to our camp?” Bruce asked.

  “Your Majesty, the English have lost heart and are discouraged after today’s skirmishes. ’Twas quite a blow to see a champion of the lists such as de Bohun defeated by a man on a pony, my lord.” Alex grinned, and Bryan watched as the men relaxed a bit and leaned forward.

  Bruce chuckled. “My comrades were just chastising me for putting myself in such danger.”

  “Aye, a dangerous but inspired move. The news of your victory and the defeat of Sir Clifford by a parcel of footmen is not sitting well with the rank and file, either.”

  “Good.”

  Bryan felt uneasy about young Seton’s presence. “What assurance do you offer that you have our interests in mind in bringing such information?”

  Alex Seton contemplated the group of warriors. “I pledge my life on pain of being hanged if what I say is not true.” He paused. “If you fight tomorrow you will surely win.”

  Bryan pressed him further. “Why do you come to us, Alex. Who sent you?”

  “No one sent me.” He sounded angry, but softened his tone when he continued. “I came on my own. I find I cannot take up arms against my fellow Scots. I thought I could,” his voice became a whisper, “but I can’t.”

  Bryan backed off, satisfied with Alex’s explanation. He could forgive the younger man for being tempted by Edward’s promises of wealth far easier than he could have forgiven him for actually fighting against Scotland.

  Apparently Bruce felt the same way, since he said, “Then you will remain in my camp as hostage until you can be ransomed.”

  “I am a willing prisoner, Your Majesty. I will remain in Scotland regardless of the outcome.”

  “So be it.”

  As the guard led Alex away to the temporary stockade, Bruce turned to his lieutenants. “What say you? Do we accept this day’s victories and live to fight another day, or engage the enemy again tomorrow in hopes of a more resounding victory?”

  Without hesitation and nearly in unison they answered, “We fight, my laird.”

  Bryan detected pride and anguish at war on Robert’s face. Eight years of struggle had finally come to this—a small, determined army held the fate of Scotland in its hands. The grassy carse surrounding the Bannock Burn would be stained with blood by this time tomorrow.

  “Then God go with you,” Bruce prayed.

  RODNEY CARLETON, still within the king’s immediate retinue but relegated to the fringes, had listened as Edward discussed where to camp for the night. Or what little remained of it.

  “The Scots’ schiltrons will not come out into the open ground, Your Majesty. They will need to keep their backs protected by the woods. We should take position there, on the carseland, so the cavalry can charge acros
s it and attack.”

  Edward nodded at the speaker, the Earl of Hereford. “Aye, and place our foot soldiers behind the horses to follow them into the fray once we’ve broken through the Scottish ranks.”

  “Just so, my lord.”

  “See to it.”

  It had sounded simple enough, Rodney thought as he swore once again when his boot stuck in a bog. The meadow had large patches of hard clay intermixed with soggy patches of bog. They’d had to go into the nearby village and take down doors and beams to cover the boggy areas so that all the horses could find a place to stand.

  Now, long after midnight, Rodney and his companions finally found a solid spot on the hard clay of the carse. Here Edward established his command post and they would find what rest they could.

  Rodney fastened a bag of grain to his horse’s halter even as his own stomach growled. He would save the bread and cheese in his pocket for morning light. When the beast had finished, Rodney removed the feedbag and bridled the horse. They would stand ready for the remainder of the night.

  As he leaned against his patient horse and closed his eyes, Rodney wondered where he would find Mackintosh tomorrow. The man rode a better horse than most Scots and Rodney concluded he would be in what passed for the Scottish cavalry unit. By this time tomorrow Black Bryan would be dead, Rodney would return to Edward’s favor, and the Countess of Homelea would be a widow and his soon-to-be bride.

  FIFTEEN

  BRYAN STRODE TOWARD KATHRYN’S CAMPSITE, feeling better than he had a right to. Despite his initial anxiety at having to bring Kathryn along, he found himself glad she was here, especially since she seemed now as ready to take him as a true husband as he was to take her as a true wife. Aye, he’d promised this afternoon to be her husband for as long as he lived. And since his longevity was severely in question—and the thought of lying with Kathryn was all he could think about—he decided that it was his loyal duty to consummate the marriage before battle tomorrow or Robert the Bruce would certainly lose another man.

  Despite the late hour, Kathryn sat by the campfire that was some distance from the tent where Anna and the child slept. She raised her head at his approach, and Bryan’s heart beat faster at the sight of her.

  “I didn’t expect to see you this night,” she said quietly.

  He pulled a large piece of wood close to her and sat down. “We are ready as we can be. Bruce gave us leave to rest and see to our affairs.”

  Her expression grew solemn at his words, and he felt his own smile fade. She shuddered.

  He tipped her chin upward. “What is it?”

  “I . . . saw the king today.” She grimaced. “I think he killed a man.”

  “Aye, that he did. How did you see this?”

  “Fergus and I watched from the hill. Who was he?”

  “’Tis better, easier, when the dead have no name, Kathryn.”

  “But this was a great knight. He must be of some import. Who was he?”

  Perhaps if he satisfied her curiosity it would ease her mind. “Sir Henry de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford’s nephew.” He heard the intake of her breath. “Why did you watch such a thing?”

  “I could not take my eyes from the sight. I feared for Bruce’s life.”

  “So did we all.” He stood and paced within the circle of the fire’s light, coming to a stop before her. “It will be worse tomorrow, Kathryn. ’Twould be best if you stayed here within the trees and did not watch.”

  She patted the seat he’d vacated. “Sit and rest yourself.” He did as she asked. “You will be there, Bryan. I will watch and pray.”

  Resigned there was not much he could do to prevent her, he relented. “Aye, then you will. Fergus will stay by you to keep you safe. Promise me you will be safe.”

  “I promise.”

  His sigh of relief was louder than he’d meant it to be.

  She smiled. “Am I such a trial, my laird? I do not wish to be a trial to you. I only wish to learn to be a good wife, one that God would smile upon. I have never ceased praying for you, Bryan.”

  She was so lovely. And despite the loss of home, a forced marriage, a kidnapping, still she kept her faith in God. And she prayed for him. It had been many years since anyone had fretted over Black Bryan Mackintosh. “Aye, you are a trial, my lady. You try my resolve to remain distant. I fear that is one battle I’ve lost for good.”

  “Is that so?” she tilted her head and looked at him through her eyelashes.

  “It is so.” And because it was true he dreaded the dawn. “When I think about tomorrow, I fear for you more than for myself.”

  “And I for you,” she whispered. Their words hung heavily between them, and he didn’t know how to move past the emotions running through him.

  Perhaps sensing his need to retreat to more familiar territory she asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “A bit, but I doubt ’twas as good as what you’ve cooked.”

  “It’s been sitting here awhile but you are welcome to it.” She filled a plate for him and while he ate, Kathryn questioned him about his duties. Bryan appreciated the distraction from his worries, from his growing need for her. Otherwise he would surrender to his longing to take her to his tent and lighten his fear in the shelter of her arms. He dragged his thoughts back to Kathryn’s last question. From the look on her face, she had repeated it at least once.

  “You aren’t listening to me,” she chided.

  He looked down at his hands, afraid to admit what he’d been thinking. Especially since he’d reassured her, assured himself, that they must not risk creating a child in such uncertain times. And yet that very uncertainty, the knowledge that he faced the possibility of death tomorrow drove him to seek the respite to be found with his wife.

  “I’m sorry.” He lifted his chin toward her tent and grinned. “I had other thoughts on my mind.”

  She blushed prettily. “That tent is occupied, my laird. Time enough for us when the fight is won.”

  The miracle of Kathryn’s love washed through him. “You were right you know.”

  “About most things, I’m sure.”

  He grinned again. “To be sure. But especially when you said that a man shouldn’t face death without hope—hope of a life to return to here on earth.”

  She took his hand and laid her cheek in his palm. “And do you have that hope?”

  “Of you? Aye, the words we spoke to each other earlier bind us for all time. God willing, we will return to Homelea and grow old together.”

  Now it was her turn to grin. “Aye, my laird. There is much to look forward to together.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  Her smile dazzled him. “I promise.”

  He slid closer and she put a restraining hand on his chest. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

  “Which was?”

  “What is a schiltron?”

  “Where did you hear of that?”

  She waved a hand. “Fergus mentioned it this afternoon.”

  Pushing aside thoughts of her promise of joys to come, he answered, “A schiltron is a square of men, tightly packed together so all face outward with a sharpened stick or pike. Makes them look kind of like a giant hedgehog.”

  A loosened tendril of her hair caught his attention and he wrapped it around his finger.

  She disengaged his finger and pushed the strand behind her ear. “How many men?”

  “A thousand, often more.” With freedom from his burdens he could now open himself to the gifts of life. One of those gifts was the woman sitting beside him. There were other things he wanted to do besides discuss battle formations. Things to take his mind off of tomorrow. He brushed her jaw line with a thumb, hoping to distract her.

  “Are you seducing me, my laird husband?”

  “I believe I am.” He took hold of her wrist, and the rapidity of her heartbeat told him all he wanted to know.

  She rolled her eyes and moved a few inches away. “How does such a configuration fight?”

  Mayha
p if he satisfied her abominable curiosity he would have more success with his wooing. “Normally, it takes a static position. But Ceallach has taught our men how to move as a unit to fight where needed. Indeed, Randolph’s schiltron succeeded in defeating an entire division of English cavalry this afternoon.”

  “So, both of today’s skirmishes were won by our side.”

  “Aye, it gives us hope.”

  Their gazes met, and slowly Kathryn rose to her feet and offered her hand. “A warrior must never lose hope, my laird,” she whispered.

  The invitation he saw in her eyes startled him, causing him to lurch awkwardly to his feet. “Are you sure, Kathryn?” All his old fears came rushing back. “You have Isobel to care for—I don’t want to burden you with a fatherless child.”

  “I would take that chance, Bryan. To give you comfort and to know, if only once, what it means to lie in my husband’s arms.”

  Willingly he followed where she led, to his tent. To bliss. To the secrets only to be learned from a man’s wife. She gave herself completely, and humbled him with her gift. Lost in the softness of his wife’s body, Bryan pushed aside, for a few brief, blessed hours, the harsh certainties of war.

  THE REALITY OF TIME AND PLACE came back to her, and Kathryn clung to Bryan, praying for the strength to let him go and not burden him with her fears. They heard the clink of armor and the noise of men and beasts moving about. The short summer night was nearly over and soon she must release him and return to her own tent.

  He pulled away, just far enough so that he could look at her face in the growing light. “Don’t worry, lass. I’ll take every care to return to you. I have much to look forward to, no?”

  Kathryn answered him with a kiss, at once tender and strong.

  He accepted the kiss, but too soon he broke away. “Now, if I am to maintain any of my sanity, you must promise to remain on the hilltop with Fergus and the others. You’ll be able to see most of the fighting from there, and the English are not likely to advance that far no matter how poorly the battle goes for us.”