She shouldn’t care what he did, shouldn’t care if he left, but neither did she want him injured. She tried to tell herself she only worried for Meggie.
She knew it a lie.
“Worry not. We shall be fine. We fought at Stirling before and won.”
“It matters naught. Edward still comes. Aye, I have heard of the daring battle at Stirling Bridge.”
Duncan quirked a brow. “How?”
“I heard the men talking. And I know Tamara’s husband died there. She mourns him still.”
Duncan frowned. “I dislike you hearing about—”
“War?” Catherine interrupted. “Death and war are reality, Duncan MacThomas. If you will not stay for me...you must stay for Meggie.”
“Faugh, woman, do not put words in my mouth. I must leave. I have to fight for my country.”
Catherine jerked away. She swiped the back of her fingers against her cheek to wipe away the tears.
“I must pack some things. Come with me?”
Catherine shot at him. “Nay! If am not a good enough reason for you to stay, I will not spend this time with you. I want...” She paced the floor, stopped and glared, both angry and hurt. “‘Tis clear what I want matters not.”
Duncan knew she was angry and hurting, knew not how to make it right. He was duty bound to fight for his country. ‘Tis what men did—had to do.
“My heart”—moving a lock of hair from her face he tried to explain—“I am not leaving because I want to.”
“Do not call me my heart. Do not touch me!” Catherine angrily slapped at Duncan’s hand before it could caress her cheek. “You think by calling me some endearment you make everything okay? Well, not this time.”
“Cat...”
“I will hear no more.” She hiccupped, trying to stay her sobs. “I have this horrible feeling. Something shall go terribly wrong. I fear you will not come back this time, Duncan MacThomas. I know it. I told you what I saw in my dream. I saw a castle fall. Men lay all over—on the ground, the boulevard. Blood was everywhere...and someone had a leg almost cut off.”
“Catherine, that is nonsense. Stirling Castle is unassailable. It sits atop a mountain of rock.”
“Blast Stirling Castle! You fight and chase Edward away. He just comes again next spring.” Turning on him, Catherine beat her fists against his chest. “Your daughter needs you.” She sobbed. “We need you.”
“I will be back, my heart,” Duncan promised quietly.
“Nay!” Sobbing, her plea had fallen on deaf ears. She pulled away and ran up the stairs.
Did she truly care about him? Would she care if he was gone? Merciful saints, how he wanted that to be true. Following her, he entered their chamber. He drew a cloth over the arrow loop, darkening the room, then turned and lit a candle, its pale flame casting dancing shadows against the far wall. He wanted it dark, just not so dark he couldn’t see her at all. He wanted to remember this time with her—even if it just meant holding her in his arms.
He watched her shaking her head. Going to her, he trailed his fingertips lightly along her tear streaked cheek. He eased her to the edge of the bed.
Sitting on the bed, he reached out, drawing her to him, but left her standing. Leaning back on his elbows, he watched the play of emotions on her face. How could this one wee woman so twist his heart? She didn’t believe he wanted her and he’d done naught but try to show her how much he cared, how much he wanted her. Catherine was his, and he’d never let her go.
He told her honestly, “I go to fight, Catherine. We won Stirling before. I only hope we shall do the same this time.”
Hesitating mere seconds to consider his answer, the barest hint of a smile crossed her face. She looked like she’d come to some sort of decision.
She knew he was leaving the next day and she’d told him she felt something horrible would happen. She might not admit it to him, but she wanted time with him as much as he did. Duncan knew it to his soul.
She ignored him, bent to pick up her kirtle, and folded it neatly. He had no doubt she could hear his ragged breathing.
The image of her, the curves, how the shadows caressed it, would be burned in his mind the entire time he had to be away. Duncan stirred, Catherine’s hair draped over his chest. She looked so peaceful lying beside him.
~ * ~
The next morn Catherine came down the stairs, her eyes red. She walked out into the courtyard to see him readying his horse. Her lower lip quivered and her eyes pleaded for help.
Duncan glanced up, knowing he looked almost as bad as she. They’d slept little the night before, wanting to make each moment count. He had to leave, but knew he strained the frail bond they’d begun to forge.
He walked over to her and drew her into his arms. He’d already left his daughter crying in the Hall. He’d tried to explain what was happening while they broke their fast. She understood no better than Catherine did.
“Catherine, do not do this. Please stop crying. I must leave, lass. My country needs me.”
Catherine threw her arms around his neck. She mumbled something, but Duncan couldn’t be certain what she’d said. Surely she hadn’t really said, “I need you, too.”
He was just about to ask her to repeat what she said, when Angus called out, “Son, we had best leave. ‘Twill not get easier with time.”
Duncan pulled Catherine close and squeezed her tightly. Dearest God, he didn’t want to leave. He started to pull away, but Catherine held fast, her body shaking with tears.
“Nay! Please do not leave. I...Meggie needs you.”
“I must go. You know that.”
“You are not just using the battle as an excuse to leave again?”
He tilted her head up and lowered his mouth to hers, brushing his lips lightly over hers. “You know better than that. I leave because I must.” He repeated what he’d said the day before. “I shall return, Mo Chride.”
Setting her away, he strode to his horse and mounted, praying his words would be true. That the dream she’d had wouldn’t prove true.
Riding off, Duncan brushed his hand against his face to clear his eyes. He was having trouble seeing. Blast—a man didn’t cry. He had to help save Stirling Castle.
Was he ruining the fragile thread that had just begun to bloom between them? He glanced over his shoulder and drew in a breath. He shouldn’t have looked back. Catherine had run to the edge of the wall. She grasped the wall’s edge, her body heaving with sobs, but she stood tall and proud—his warrior woman. His every instinct was to turn and go back, to hold her in his arms the rest of the day. But he couldn’t do either. If he went back now, he’d never leave.
And his country needed him. Curse Edward Longshanks for interfering again.
Chapter Twenty
Duncan’s forces arrived at Stirling, joining men from all over Scotland. In good cheer, men roasted a boar. Duncan stood with Grant, recalling the battle they’d fought here side by side in 1297. History revisited. Could they win again?
As anticipated, Edward wasn’t long in coming. The brilliant scarlet standards with golden leopard had been visible a league away. Duncan and Grant stood on the battlements looking down at sheer chaos. For a sennight they watched tents being erected and the valley filled with wagons and horses, heavy horse of war, hobelars, siege engines and carts carrying huge boulders.
When the Scots refused to surrender, the mighty engines began pounding away at the ancient fortress. Exactly as Catherine had seen in her dream.
Duncan rubbed his neck in exhaustion. “By the saints, I tire.”
Grant nodded. “Aye, I have not slept since they arrived. How can anyone sleep with those bloody siege engines pounding away every day? The whole castle reverberates with constant slamming—twelve monsters at last count.”
There was little to do but endure. They slept in shifts, deep in the caves under Sterling Castle. Only a small respite from the endless pounding.
Still, few found peace as each day their situation worsened.
>
~ * ~
Catherine sat beneath the huge copper beech tree. She was tired, having not slept well the past few nights. Strange images had interrupted her sleep and she’d been afraid to drift off again. She’d sit and rest awhile before going back inside the Hall.
A strange lightness enveloped her. She felt herself drifting. She saw the ground below, clouds above. Dearest God, what’s happening? Where am I? Suddenly she saw Duncan. Was he home? Nay, he was climbing up to the allure of a castle she’d never seen, and there was Ian.
“Duncan…Ian,” she cried out, “what are you doing here? Where are we?”
They didn’t hear. Instead, Ian surveyed his long-time friend and frowned. “Have you eaten this day? You look horrible.”
“As do you,” Duncan quipped. Pausing, he seemed to be thinking.
Catherine worried. Had he eaten? He looked so tired.
“The last meal I actually remember was the roasted boar we had before the English arrived. When we still foolishly thought this battle would be over in no time.”
Catherine eased closer. She needed to make certain he ate. Silly man. It was just like him to think of everyone else before himself. “Duncan, come with me. Let us find the kitchen. You must eat.” They didn’t appear to hear her.
“By Saint Ninian’s knees,” Ian drew Catherine’s attention to the crenellations. He watched as Longshanks approached on his daily ride to survey the walls, making certain to stay out of reach of any arrows. “The man is in his sixties, yet rides here daily to harass us.”
Slender, almost bony in appearance, the king’s height was accentuated by his long legs. Edward’s snowy mane of white hair blew behind him in the breeze. He wore his scarlet surcoat over his armour, three golden leopards upon his chest.
Someone catapulted a large stone down toward the king, causing his horse to throw him. Uninjured, he rose and brushed the dirt from his clothes before remounting his steed. Angus grumbled, “What will it take to kill him? Again the devil walks away unscathed, rubbing our noses in the fact he has us trapped.”
Catherine watched the arrogant king and wondered how she ever could have thought him in the right. How could he abuse and provoke so many people? He didn’t really want Scotland. Certainly didn’t need it. He just wanted the feel of them under his thumb, wanted to grind them into the earth until they begged his mercy. Didn’t he understand these Scots wouldn’t do that?
Grant stepped behind Duncan. Peering over the ledge, he groused, “Look at that devil. ‘Tis his daily tweaking of our noses. Well, I for one have had enough.” Reaching behind him, he grabbed an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He raised his bow arm, drew back the string until his thumb was against his jawbone and his index finger almost touched the corner of his mouth, just as his father taught him when a wee lad.
Catherine saw what he meant to do. “Nay!” she screamed, placing her hand on Duncan’s arm. “Duncan, stop him! Know you not Edward will only make things harder for you?” Why didn’t he pay attention? Why didn’t they listen to her? It was as if they didn’t even hear her.
Taking a breath, Grant aimed and released the arrow, aiming for Longshanks. He let out a shout when it went through Edward’s surcoat and lodged into his saddle. “Fires of the deepest hell, I missed.”
Furious, Longshanks reined his horse back, releasing a string of expletives as he grabbed his leg. He looked up toward the battlements and shook his fist. “You shall pay for this, you heathens. You shall rot in hell before I let you escape. You just sealed your doom! I shall see you gutted and hanged.”
Grant turned to Duncan, his face somber. “Och, it felt so good to do it, to release that arrow, but I fear I have cast our fate. Longshanks will raise the dragon standard now, see us all fodder for ravens.”
Duncan sighed. “You think we weren’t before?”
Catherine sobbed. “Oh Duncan. My love. I tried to warn you. Tried to stop you. Why would you not hear?”
The men turned to walk away. “Duncan!” she shouted. “Do not leave me here alone. Why won’t you...?” Dear God, nay! They really do not see me. They cannot hear me. They...I...dearest God in Heaven, what is happening?
Catherine screamed, the sound waking her in the garden. She was still safe at home. If she was here, how had she seen Duncan? How had she…?
Weapon drawn, Alex squatted beside her.
“Alex!” she sobbed. “I saw Duncan…at some strange castle…”
“’Twas just a dream, my lady,” Alex soothed, helping her rise. “I am sure our men fare well.”
~ * ~
Over several moon’s Duncan survived while Scotland’s great castle was bombarded by siege engines of war. The English stripped lead from nearby kirk roofs, melting it down to round balls. They flung them from the trebuchet along with large boulders. Oftentimes, pots that were lit and flung at the castle exploded on impact.
Duncan and fellow Scots valiantly fought back, but grew weaker every day from lack of food and sleep. He only hoped he’d be blessed enough to return home in one piece. He’d promised Catherine, after all.
All I want is to be back with Catherine and Meggie. His mind was fogged by exhaustion. No food. No sleep. At this point I might even be willing to see Father again. They’d wasted so much time arguing and hating each other—to what end? He could die any day now, and hating his father didn’t seem to matter as much anymore. It hadn’t changed anything, had nearly cost him Catherine’s love.
Longshanks returned daily, taunting, always staying just out of reach. Grant stood on the boulevard and watched the pageantry. “I told you we were dead. Longshanks’ banneret flies the dragon standard, Edward’s way of saying he gives us no quarter. He flew the same dread pennant before he sacked Berwick and before he let loose his dogs of war, putting nearly all to death—including Father.”
Heartsick with worry, Catherine stood on the walkway atop Cray Hall, staring at the horizon. She blinked as the stinging wind brought tears to her eyes. Duncan, where are you? Why haven’t you yet returned? You promised.
A strange feeling overtook her. Lightheaded, once again she saw Duncan and Grant as clearly as if she were with them. “No, this cannot be happening again. God, help me! Why am I having these visions? Heavenly Father…why are You letting me see this?”
Grant bemoaned, “We lose ground every day. Och, no.” He pointed to a barrel of oil. “They try to breach the curtain. Someone help me heat that.”
“Aye,” Duncan agreed, “and where is the molten lead others worked on earlier? Pour that down the machicolations.”
Screams resounded as Englishmen were burned by the heated lead. Catherine leaned to peer through the crenellations, aghast at the carnage she saw below.
Bolstered by sounds of agony, Scots ran outside to fight the English garrison.
“Nay!” Catherine shouted. “Do not go outside the wall.” They paid her no heed. Why did they ignore her? Why could no one hear her? Why did God show her this yet not let her help?
A shiver of dread coursed down her spine and her hand flew to her mouth. Nay! her mind screamed. Duncan was in trouble. Shouts from the battlement warned him to return. He needed her. She felt it, felt him. Tears streaming down her face, she reached her hand out and cried, “Duncan!”
Duncan paused, dizzy from exhaustion. He looked out over the horizon. Blinking disbelief, he saw Catherine in the distance. If he died here, would she ever forgive him? Ever believe he loved her true? She stretched out her hand to him and relief poured through him. Duncan reached for her...just a few more steps and he’d be with her. “Do not cry, Mo Cridhe.” Two more steps. “I told you I would return.” One more step. Mayhap if he leaned forward…
Grant grabbed him, looked at Duncan in shock. “Man, are you daft? You nearly fell through the crenellation.”
Duncan stared at Grant in shock, looked around at his surroundings. He still stood on Stirling Castle’s boulevard of the battlement. The hated English were below hammering away at the castle. B
ut he’d seen Catherine. She’d been real. He turned to Grant and placed his hand on his friend’s arm. “I saw Catherine. I vow, she was reaching toward me. She called to me.” He slammed his hand into the wall. “By Saint Ninian’s teeth, have I begun hallucinating?”
Grant rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You think I do not dream of Tory? She is with me every breath I take.”
Shaken, Duncan turned from his friend, walked down the steps and into the castle. He had to get some rest if he was to return home. Had Grant not been with him, he would have fallen to his death. He smiled ruefully. At least the English would have been deprived the joy of killing him. He headed into one of the castle caves, exhausted, hungry, yearning for home. He wondered how long this battle would continue. With little food, they couldn’t hold out much longer.
~ * ~
Duncan sighed and leaned against the castle wall. “Why are we doing this when the Comyns and Bruce have sold out? We have been here nigh unto four full moons. I want to see my lady wife. The rest of Scotland goes home to their families.”
Later Grant sat beside Duncan and whispered, “The food has run out.”
Duncan snapped, “Do you not think my stomach rubbing against my backbone already knows that?” As Grant’s eyes widened in surprise, Duncan caught himself. “Sorry, my friend. I did not mean to shout. ‘Tis I worry I shall die on this rock and never see Cat again, never have the chance to tell her I am sorry for being such a fool, never get to tell her... I love her more than life.”
Grant bemoaned, “I fear the same.”
“And for what?” A sob caught in Duncan’s throat, at the end of his tether. They’d nearly run out of water. He was so thirsty his voice cracked and came out a hoarse croak. “Why are we still here?”
When their commander made his rounds, Duncan stopped Oliphant and demanded, “William, why are we here instead of home with our loved ones? Every noble in Scotland has gone unto Edward’s peace. They care less that the few of us who survive are dying bit by bit each day. We started with seven score men and have only sixty left. We have no food, little water. We shall die, whether from starvation or from an enemy arrow. All we have accomplished is to give the Comyns time to broker a better deal with Longshanks for Scottish nobles. They shall get money and lands while we defenders of Stirling slowly die. Only Wallace still holds out. ‘Tis time to end it, my friend. Whether we admit it or not, we have lost.” Murmurs of agreement spread throughout the battlements.
Her Highland Destiny Page 16
