by Kara Griffin
Having two brothers did little to protect her when her mother was abandoned, for they were younger than she and unable to take to arms. Each of her brothers swore to fight by Laird Moray’s side when they reached their majority, and she’d lost one to warfare. Only Robert survived, and she knew not where to find him. He might be dead like many of Moray’s soldiers.
“I need ye to promise to find Andrew. My lad must be saved.”
She petted his arm and hoped to calm him. “There, there, do not fret, Laird. We know not where he was taken or even if he lives.”
“The English have him, lass. He lives. I heard tell on the battlefield. You must do whatever it takes to find him so he can return to reclaim Bothwell. Promise me.” He grasped her arm, imploring her with watery eyes. His hold weakened, and she tried to soothe him.
“I promise I shall find Andrew. He will return to rule here one day. Now rest easy.” Kerrigan sighed and her heart tensed. How would she, a woman, and one that had no means, do as he asked? It wasn’t like her to speak falsely, but she didn’t want her lord to despair on his deathbed. If she had to speak a falsehood to send him to the hereafter in good spirits, then that’s what she’d do.
“If he comes, ye must take him to the Bruce, for Robert will keep ye both safe. He and your father were great comrades. I’ve spoken with him; plead for his aid should I fall in battle.” Laird Moray’s words trailed off and his eyes shown with tears and rolled over his whiskered cheek. His face paled, and color removed from his usual glow.
Kerrigan refrained from commenting on his actions, for he must not have heard Laird Bruce fled after killing Laird Comyn. No one knew where the future king went or even if he lived. Much of Scotland quailed over his absence, and now many fought over the crown. If only Comyn and Bruce rectified their differences and agreed who should be the king, they might not be in the distressed situation with England.
“I will do as you ask, Laird. Worry not.” She kept her expression from showing concern, for there was naught she could do to save him, his son Andrew, or their beloved castle.
“The Bruce … Robert, will return, lass. Have no worry. And when he does, ye shall have Andrew in safety by then. Find him.”
“I shall, Laird. You have my solemn pledge.” She squeezed his hand, tears threatened to disburse.
“That is all I wish. The Bruce will see to your betrothal and security. Be brave, my sweet lass. One day we shall be free.” His words softened and his eyes closed. Her lord’s breath eased.
Kerrigan continued to sit beside him. She thought of young Andrew and what a goodly lad he’d been. If only his words rang true and she found him and kept him safe until a king was proclaimed. She was skeptical. For she knew not where the English took the lad or when Scotland’s king would be coroneted.
“He’s gone, Mistress,” Annag said, and left the chamber.
She gazed at his motionless face. “Rest in peace, my lord, for you deserve heaven and all its rewards.” Kerrigan sat for a time and watched him. She had to accept his loss, but what of the pledge she’d made to him?
A short time later, Annag returned with her husband.
Finley took hold of the cover and pulled them over Laird Andrew’s head. “We must wash and prepare him for the burial. I’ve asked the clergyman to come. They’ll be here shortly. You must leave for this is no place for a lass. There are several soldiers awaiting ye in the hall. They could use attention.”
“I shall see to them. Thank you, Finley. What would I do without you?” She rose and took another glance at her lord’s body before heading for the door. Once through the threshold, the tears she’d held back sprang forth, and she hastily wiped them away.
As she walked the hallway to the tower’s hall, she considered her options. She couldn’t return to Campbell land, for the MacDoughalls were ensconced within its walls, and would never welcome one of her clan’s return. She couldn’t stay at Bothwell, for certain the English were on their way to claim their forfeiture.
Kerrigan considered where she’d go, but knew not where she’d be safe. Then she thought of her friend. Galyn worked at Rohan’s hostel and mead hall, and surely she could gain her employment. She needed means to care for herself and had not a pittance of her own.
A group of soldiers stood near the hearth. She assessed their wounds and made quick work of sewing them up, for all had but slices and minor stab wounds. As she tied the last man’s wrap, she admired their strength. None balked when she took the needle to their skin. Their bravery astounded her for they spoke of joining another clan’s army and taking to their swords to aid the rebellious cause.
Annag set a trencher in front of her at the table where she’d sat. She kept her gaze on the wall ahead, unaware of the woman’s regard. How far she’d plunged from her position as daughter of the keep’s laird, then to a laird’s ward, and now she’d be a serving lass.
“What is going on in that mind of yours? Ye look as if you’re leagues away.”
She glanced up and noticed Annag watched her. How fair she looked with her gray streaked hair hanging about her shoulders. Her eyes faded to a light brown, and her face’s lines deepened when she smiled. “Naught.”
“Your mind drifts akin to a lost boat at sea, lass. Come now, tell me what you’re thinking.” Annag caressed her face with a gesture of condolence.
“I was considering traveling to Dumfries and asking Galyn to have Rohan hire me at his hall. I need to keep us fed and housed.”
“Be a serving lass? Nay, your laird would forbid it. Finley told me to give this sack.” She held out a leather sack that bulged at the bottom.
Kerrigan took it from her and peered inside. “There’s enough coin to keep us housed, at least for a time until we figure out where to go.”
“Us, Mistress?”
She took hold of the old woman’s hand. “Aye, us. You shall come with me. I cannot leave you here when you’ve been so kind to our laird and me.”
Annag’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to be a burden to ye, Mistress. We’ll only slow you and mayhap put you in danger.”
“You’d be in more danger staying here. You’ve both done so much for me and I will not leave without you. I shan’t listen to your argument.”
Annag squeezed her hand and held it. “We are glad to stay with you. Finley told the laird he would look after you if something happened to him until the Bruce finds ye. We cannot allow ye to go to that wretched place and serve men of such ill repute.”
For the first time that day, Kerrigan found a small smile. “Putting it like that, Annag, I suppose I’d have to agree. Very well, we will find a cottage in Caerlaverock to let until we must flee. We will need to leave the village when word comes of the army’s approach.”
“Aye, we will escape to the hills, Mistress. Have you given thought how you’ll find the wee Andrew?”
She sat back in the chair and shook her head. “How can I fulfill this promise? I know not where to search for the lad. He was taken by the English and is likely held at one of their strongholds, perhaps taken to Londontown. Even if I found him, how would I rescue him from such a place?”
“The king’s guard. It’s all anyone can speak of in the village. ‘Tis rumored that the Bruce’s exiled guard returned to Scotland. They’ve been aiding the villagers. If ye can find them, you can ask for aid.”
“Aye, for a price, Annag, and likely a hefty one. How can I afford to pay them a fee when I must use this coin for our lodging? Besides, no one knows how to find them and even if I did, I fear they wouldn’t want to help me.”
“Why not? I am sure they’ll be willing to help ye fulfill your promise, you, a damsel in need.” Annag smiled and pressed her arm.
Kerrigan withheld the urge to laugh, for the old woman was deluded if she thought mercenaries would help her. Especially given she had no means for payment. Men in these uncertain times did not work for free. “I am not one to have faith in such rumors, and if true, I doubt my worries would give them the le
ast bit of concern. Once we bury our laird, we must be gone from here. I need to pack my belongings. Is there anything I should bring?”
Annag shook her head in answer. “Just yourself and a warm cloak. I shall see if I can help Finley and gather our effects and foodstuff. We will attend the laird’s burial this eve and be gone before the moon rises, for we cannot wait.”
Kerrigan agreed they had no time to await the customs when burying someone of her lord’s station. They had to take care of the matter posthaste and be gone before sunset. She left the great hall and went to the upper solar. There, she packed what garments she owned and folded the Campbell and Moray tartans she’d held dear. Once she had her belongings secured, she carried her satchel and went to attend the burial.
An eerie fog rolled upon the ground as several of Moray’s men-at-arms carried his casket toward the family burial grounds. She walked behind them, next to Finley and Annag. They’d brought their possessions and would continue on when their laird was placed in the ground.
Two of Moray’s highest ranked soldiers followed the wake. One named John called to her, “Mistress, we will escort you to wherever you are going.”
“I do thank you, John. We travel to Caerlaverock. Is that out of your way? You should get back to the men.”
“We will see to your safety first, Mistress.”
She nodded and returned her attention to Annag who held onto her arm. “Such woeful events.”
“They are.”
They stood around the hole and awaited the last words from the clergyman. Kerrigan didn’t know what the future would bring. She’d lost all those she loved and held dear and was now alone.
Chapter THREE
Caerlaverock’s village, north of the castle, was a noisy place and a major travel route for the soldiers. The castle remained in the hands of the Scots and the garrison secured the area. She’d been in the village for nearly a month and yet it seemed like a year since they’d buried Laird Moray. Kerrigan didn’t like being close to the keep, for it was rumored the English king and his army was on the move and would soon make its way south.
They’d fled Bothwell castle and its village. The English showed up a sennight after her lord’s death. Many escaped with their lives when most of the cottages burned to the ground. Not much remained of her laird’s beloved home from accounts.
Kerrigan walked along the trail toward the mead hall and noticed the hungry looks on the children’s faces, the woeful gazes of their mothers, and the defeated look of the aged. Wars took its toll on the people. How she wished it would end. But as long as the English king was interested in them, they’d have to contend with the injustices.
When she arrived with Finley and Annag at Caerlaverock’s village, they found shelter in a small cottage. The village outside the walls and moat of the castle hosted travelers and villagers alike. Most tended to stay a day or two before continuing onward to whatever destination they’d set. Along the main road, keepers of wares set their stalls and sold their goods. Scents wafted as she passed, and chickens scurried across the path. Traders and thieves took opportunity to swindle the poor souls who knew no better. All must be on guard for knaves were about.
Kerrigan’s stomach grumbled when she caught the scent of freshly baked bread that would be sold to only someone who could afford such luxury. Mayhap a high-ranked knight or someone of such ilk. Soon the village would be ravaged by the English king’s army and nary a soul would be found on the road if their supposition came true. She knew there was perhaps a sennight or a fortnight before such a tragedy occurred and she planned to be gone before that happened.
She hastened to the mead hall where her friend, Galyn, worked. As she entered, she noticed the clientele was its usual foreboded men who took to cups early in the day. By eve, many of them would have trouble walking home in their drunken state. But such matters were not her concern.
The hall boasted a high ceiling where plain lanterns hung. Candlelight did little to provide light, but the windows on the right side afforded brightness when the sun shone. The great hearth warmed the space, its crackling logs diminished by the bellowed voices of the occupants. She hurried through the hall and went to the small closed-in area where servers collected foodstuff ordered by the occupants.
“There you are. I suspected you’d come this day.” Galyn held four tankards and set them on a tray. She dressed in a plain overdress with a low bodice, revealing the swell of her bosom, all to gain an extra coin or two. Kerrigan had no notion her friend was so endowed for she usually hid her body beneath a heavy cloak. Over her dress, she wore a cloak which covered her shoulders and most of her body. Her dark brown hair fell loose over her shoulders and tussled by the long day she’d put in. “Come, I have news.”
Kerrigan followed her to the corner of the small antechamber and leaned against the wall, out of the way. Her friend looked ill and tired. She noted the green tinge of her skin and lackluster of her brown eyes. She clutched her arm in concern. “Have you a malady? Are you unwell?”
Galyn shook her head and pulled away. “I’m well, just tired for I have served all day, since sunup. All have a great thirst this day. I shall take to my bed as soon as I’m able.”
She took hold of her friend’s hand. “The day grew hot. You should discard your cloak.”
Galyn turned quickly away before she could help her remove it. “Nay, it’s not that.”
“I’m sorry you had to come here to work. Will your father allow you to leave off? Certainly he wouldn’t want you to work yourself to death. The amount of coin is not worth this.” Kerrigan was thankful to Laird Moray and gladdened she needn’t beg for employment at the hall.
Galyn scoffed. “He cares not. I would’ve made a good marriage, but that is not to be now.”
Her friend never spoke of her relations with the man she professed to love, except when Kerrigan found her crying. She’d only hinted the knave abandoned her. Galyn refused to speak of him since or name him.
“I worry for you. Promise you’ll get rest this night.”
“I shall. You are kind to think of me. I’m to leave early since I opened for Rohan. I’ve news to speak of about what you asked …” Galyn took a cloth and dried the tankards.
“What have you heard?” Kerrigan squeezed herself against the wall when another server came into the small space, but she left soon after pouring a flagon of ale.
“That the king’s guard rescued four of Laird Leicester’s men from the English’s soldiers outside of the town. They’re nearby.” Her excitement came in a rushed statement.
She sighed dejectedly. “When did this happen?”
“Only two nights ago. They must still be in the area for word is ripe with their deeds. You must find them if you’re going to gain their aid.” Galyn refilled another flagon with ale and set it on the tray.
Impossible. The situation was beyond her means. There was no way she could find the king’s guardsmen and employ them to find the little lord. She had no coin left after securing a cottage for her, Finley, and Annag, or anything else with which to barter. The only thing that came to mind was she herself. Given these hard times many women subjected themselves to nefarious activities to feed and house themselves. Kerrigan despaired she too would come to such means.
But she never had to use her body to pay for anything. Even though many thought she gave herself to Sir Moray and was his lover. She allowed them to think what they wanted. For it matter not to her if they considered her reputation in poor humor. The thought of giving herself for any cause tightened her chest. Love was the only reason she’d give herself to a man. Marriage was impossible now, and mayhap she’d never find love. Still, she had nothing else to barter and might have to consider doing the inconceivable.
“You shall come this eve and watch for them. Perchance they’ll come in the hall for drink. I’ll listen for any word. ‘Tis more crowded this day than ever. Surely they must be close. If not, you can walk me home for I’ll be glad of the company.” Her fr
iend went about her tasks as if what she said was mere conversation.
Kerrigan set her hand upon her friend’s shoulder and pulled her attention back. “I am apprehensive, Galyn. How shall I gain their aid? I know not of such matters.”
“Worry not. We will speak when you return and we’ll devise a plan. If they do come, you will do what you must.” Galyn held the refilled tankards and sluggishly retreated to the hall to deliver the cups to the procurers.
She was thankful for her friend’s guidance. Before she left, Kerrigan snatched a stale roll from the table and ate it as she watched the other servers going to and from the chamber. The hall smelled of sour ale and of the foulness strewn on the floor. How wretched to have to be inside such a place all day. She commiserated with her friend, but she was grateful for Galyn’s help. If what Galyn said was true, she might move forward with her plan.
God be with me this eve.
For if the king’s guard was close by, she hoped to present them with the plan. If not, she was doomed as was the wee lord.
Chapter FOUR
February the tenth in the year of their Lord thirteen-hundred-six would forever plague them. It was the day their lord took action against the Comyn family by killing its heir to the kingdom. Theirs was a powerful family on both sides of the border. The Comyns kept their allies in Scotland while soothing the temper of England’s king. Even though Bishop Wishart granted the Bruce’s absolution of his betrayal and murderous deed, he was excommunicated – and they along with him.
The lines were drawn, and clans were either with or opposed to the Bruce. Graeme had no choice in the matter, for his clan took the Bruce’s side, and he was sworn in service to him. He and his comrades could’ve fled when they reached the mainland, but none would be dishonorable. They’d taken their oaths and would go forth regardless of the outcomes.
“Keep the heid!” Graeme gazed at his comrades’ faces and waited for their laughter. “That will be the chosen code if you are in trouble and need aid. Send a message to Friar Hemm with those words and he’ll get word to us. We will come at once.”
