by Emma Prince
Preparations for Balliol’s strike against Scotland were complete in the summer of 1332. King Edward insisted that Balliol and his army travel by sea rather than by land, however. A treaty which stipulated that England could not send an army across the River Tweed still existed between Scotland and England. So, skirting the treaty on a technicality, Balliol and his men sailed around the Tweed, landing in Kinghorn, across the Firth of Forth from Edinburgh. They then marched to Dupplin Moor, outside Scone.
Those loyal to the child-King David amassed an army to stand against Balliol’s invasion. On August 10, they camped on the north side of the River Earn, opposite Balliol’s men, who had gathered on the river’s southern banks.
The loyalists vastly outnumbered Balliol’s army—some accounts say by more than four to one. And another band of loyalists approached Balliol from the south, threatening to pin his smaller contingent between the two armies. Balliol’s forces knew they couldn’t wait for the second army to arrive, nor could they face the loyalists in broad daylight so badly outnumbered. So they decided to launch a surprise attack in the middle of the night, while the loyalists slept.
They were aided by a single traitor, who planted a flag on the banks of the river to indicate a safe place for Balliol’s men to ford. A chronicler of the time notes that the traitor was “one Andrew Murray of Tullibardine.” I used this tidbit to build a fictionalized portrayal of Andrew Murray as a dastardly villain for the purposes of this story.
The loyalists suffered a terrible defeat at Dupplin Moor, in no small part because of Murray’s actions. Some historians say it was Scotland’s worst loss since the Battle of Falkirk thirty-four years prior. One contemporary chronicler, John Capgrave, wrote that after Balliol’s surprise attack, the whole of the loyalist army “became a heap of the slain” (words I put in Domnall’s mouth in my story).
The bodies of the Scots were said to have piled so deep as to reach the height of a spear. Balliol’s army surrounded the loyalists, thrusting in their swords and spears so that none would survive. But perhaps even more crushing than the defeat at Dupplin Moor was the loss of confidence the Scots had in their ability to defend their country from English incursion. After years of victories against the English under Robert the Bruce, Scots had gained a sense of invulnerability—one that proved illusory after Dupplin Moor.
A few weeks after the battle, in September of 1332, Balliol crowned himself King at Scone. He then went after all those who’d stood against him, scouring the land and hanging all the loyalists he could find. Yet his victory was short-lived… Of course, the history has already been written, but you’ll have to read all the books in the Four Horsemen of the Highlands series to see how events unfold in my fictionalized world.
One more tidbit about Murray. The last appearance Murray makes in history is a footnote—in the autumn of 1332, he was taken to Scone, tried for treason, found guilty, and hanged as a traitor. Justice! When I learned of his fate, I knew he would have to meet the same end in my story.
A few smaller notes about places, names, and other random tidbits used in this book. Hazard was a popular medieval dice game that was a predecessor to modern craps. It was played for high stakes across much of Europe starting in at least the thirteenth century. The game was banned at various points throughout history, with the church arguing that gambling and all the carousing that followed was immoral. Yet it continued to be played from the lowliest alleyways to the most luxurious noble houses regardless.
I based my depiction of Stalcaire Tower on Castle Stalker, a stunning fourteenth-century tower house that still stands north of Oban in western Scotland. Stalcaire is the Gaelic version of the name Stalker, meaning “hunter” or “falconer.” The structure sits on a tidal island and can be reached (with difficulty and wet shoes) by foot at low tide.
Saorsa Falls is fictitious, but I picked its name because “saorsa” means redemption or salvation in Gaelic. It seemed a fitting metaphor for the scene set at the falls.
Old Blair’s Stone is also fictitious, but I based my depiction of it on Dunfallandy Stone near Pitlochry. It is a Pictish carved stone that was probably made in the ninth century. One side features a cross with traditional Celtic woven patterns, and the other bears a horseman, along with several Pictish symbols.
Lastly, a quick word about lightning and the tree at the beginning of the story. Because I love research, I just had to look up what would happen to a person hanging by a rope from a tree that was struck by lightning. Of course, not a lot has been written about this particular circumstance (understandably!), but I did find something that came close.
If you were to stand next to a tree that was hit by lightning, there are two most common ways you could be hurt. First, the lightning coursing down the tree could fork off and jump to you in an attempt to find a shortcut to the ground. This type of strike is called a side flash. Second, the lightning could reach the ground, then travel back up through you where you stood. This is called a ground current.
But what if a person wasn’t touching ground, as was the case for my four Highlanders being hanged? The closest I found to an explanation came from a camping and outdoors site, of all places.
A question was raised about whether or not someone in a hammock suspended between two trees would be safe if one of the trees was struck by lightning. Because the hammock user wouldn’t be touching the ground, and therefore couldn’t help the lightning discharge its energy, in theory, they would be unhurt. That was as near as I could come to determining whether someone being hanged from a tree that was struck by lightning would be safe, so I’ll take it!
Thank you for journeying back to medieval Scotland with me, and here’s to many more stories to share!
Thank You!
Thank you for taking the time to read Ensnared by the Laird (Four Horsemen of the Highlands, Book 1)!
And thank you in advance for sharing your enjoyment of this book (or my other books) with fellow readers by leaving a review on Amazon. Long or short, detailed or to the point, I read all reviews and greatly appreciate you for writing one!
Sneak Peek: Wager with a Warrior
(Four Horsemen of the Highlands, Book 2)
Gregor MacLeod wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The metallic tang of blood on his tongue was confirmed—his hand came away with a smear of red.
He lifted a brow at his opponent, the first to land a blow all evening.
“A fair shot.”
The man opposite him puffed with smug satisfaction, much to the cheers of those gathered in the alehouse, especially his fellow Sutherlands.
“Get him, Willem!”
“Fists up, laddie!”
“Knock the Black MacLeod on his arse!”
Gregor eyed the crowd. They’d been loosened with ale and coiled back up again, with outrage directed squarely at him. The men pushing in around him were clearly spoiling to see Gregor beaten.
And no surprise in that—he’d already defeated most of the best warriors from amongst the various clans gathered ahead of the Sutherlands’ Samhain festival. Their clan pride pricked, these men were all too happy to see Gregor taken down a peg or two.
His current opponent, Willem, shuffled toward him once again, his hands balled into fists before him. The man was nearly a head shorter than Gregor, yet half again as wide. He was built like a bull, stocky, shoulder-heavy, and relatively low to the ground.
Then again, everyone seemed low to the ground from Gregor’s towering vantage.
He softened his knees and widened his feet in anticipation of Willem’s next attack. Of course, because the man had managed to land a punch by feigning right and swinging left, he repeated the exact same move.
Gregor was more than ready. He ducked under Willem’s flying fist, then delivered a sharp punch to the man’s exposed ribs.
Willem staggered backward, clutching his side. The crowd roared in anger at Gregor’s successful hit.
Gregor paid them no more attention than the buzzing of a s
warm of midges. He’d given the Sutherland a fair chance. Hell, the man had even drawn blood, which would surely soothe his pride and give him a wee something to boast about later. But there was no point in drawing this out longer than necessary.
As Willem approached again, this time warily, Gregor purposefully dropped his guard on the left, letting his shoulder and fist sag as if he were already growing fatigued.
It was convincing bait. After all, he’d been fighting all damn day—all damn month.
It seemed this was the only way to rally an army to stand against the Pretender King, Edward Balliol. His wager was simple—any man he bested had to pledge loyalty to Gregor’s cause and agree to fight against Balliol when the time came.
Gregor would build this army even if he had to battle every last man in the Highlands. It was all he was good at anyway—using his impressive size and strength and nigh-preternatural skill in perpetual combat.
Just as he’d intended, Willem’s muddy gaze shot to Gregor’s lowered defenses. The man wound up for what would have been a crushing punch—if he’d landed it.
But the Sutherland moved like a lumbering ox, slow and predictable from a mile away.
With a quick step, Gregor closed the distance between them. He delivered two fast hits to the man’s middle, causing him to sag forward. Now that Willem’s chin was hanging out in the open, Gregor dispensed a devastating uppercut.
Willem went flying backward, landing on the alehouse rushes with a muted thump. The crowd closed in around him, urging him back onto his feet, but he was out cold.
“Anyone else wish to have a go?” Gregor asked, scanning the alehouse wearily.
“Black MacLeod.”
Gregor’s head snapped around at the sound of a woman’s voice. Many in the crowd, too, craned to see who had spoken, apparently unaware that a lass had been in their midst.
Over the turned heads of the others, Gregor’s gaze landed on a wee slip of a lass pressed back into one of the alehouse’s corners. Her chestnut head bobbed as she pushed her way through those gathered. When she broke into the circle cleared in the middle of the room for the fight, he got his first good look at her.
She was petite, the top of her head not quite clearing Gregor’s shoulder, yet she was no child. Her gentle curves were unmistakable beneath her simple blue gown.
Set in a heart-shaped face were wide, moss-green eyes fringed with dark lashes. Two bright flags of color sat on her softly-rounded cheekbones, a contrast to her otherwise creamy skin. This close, he could make out a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose.
But what captivated Gregor’s full attention was the lass’s mouth. Petal-pink and sinfully full, her lips were lush and more than generous.
“Is it true?” she demanded. “Anyone ye best is indebted to yer service?”
Her gaze was direct, her shoulders back, and her chin lifted as she spoke. The only sign of nervousness was the tightness in her otherwise melodic voice.
“Aye,” he said, eyeing her speculatively.
“And does it work the other way?”
He arched a brow at her. “What do ye mean?”
Her hands unconsciously gripped her skirts. “If someone bests ye instead, does that mean ye are indebted to their service?”
The gathered men, who were watching the exchange with rapt attention, rumbled with amusement. They might be bitter over their own warriors’ losses, but they seemed to find the idea of Gregor being handed over to one of them rather appealing.
“It hasnae happened before,” he replied dryly, staring down at the lass.
“But if it did…”
Gregor snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. That drew the lass’s attention. Her wide, mossy gaze traced over the contours of his corded forearms with fascination. It took a surprising amount of willpower to stop himself from flexing like a preening peacock before her, if only to hold her notice for another moment.
“Aye, I suppose if someone managed to best me, he could hold me in his service,” he said at last.
The crowd buzzed, and a few shouted out to their compatriots to have a go against the Black MacLeod. Yet no man stepped forward.
Gregor hardly noticed them. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at the mesmerizing lass before him. Despite himself, he couldn’t wait to see what she would do next.
Her eyes filled with resignation, then she planted her fists on her hips. “Verra well.”
“Verra well, what?”
The lass’s gaze lifted to his, and he had to marvel at the green fire lighting them.
“I will fight ye, then.”
Order Wager with a Warrior now
Books by Emma Prince
Four Horsemen of the Highlands:
Ensnared by the Laird (Book 1)
Wager with a Warrior (Book 2)—now on pre-order!
Highland Bodyguards Series:
The Lady’s Protector (Book 1)
Heart’s Thief (Book 2)
A Warrior’s Pledge (Book 3)
Claimed by the Bounty Hunter (Book 4)
A Highland Betrothal (Novella, Book 4.5)
The Promise of a Highlander (Book 5)
The Bastard Laird’s Bride (Book 6)
Surrender to the Scot (Book 7)
Her Wild Highlander (Book 8)
His Lass to Protect (Book 9)
The Laird’s Yuletide Bride (Book 9.5)
Deceiving the Highlander (Book 10)
The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy:
Highlander’s Ransom (Book 1)
Highlander’s Redemption (Book 2)
Highlander’s Return (Bonus Novella, Book 2.5)
Highlander’s Reckoning (Book 3)
Viking Lore Series:
Enthralled (Viking Lore, Book 1)
Shieldmaiden’s Revenge (Viking Lore, Book 2)
The Bride Prize (Viking Lore, Book 2.5)
Desire’s Hostage (Viking Lore, Book 3)
Thor’s Wolf (Viking Lore, Book 3.5)
Other Books:
Wish upon a Winter Solstice (A Highland Holiday Novella)
To Kiss a Governess (A Highland Christmas Novella)
Falling for the Highlander: A Time Travel Romance (Enchanted Falls, Book 1)
The Siren’s Kiss (A Medieval Romance Novella)
Teasers for Emma Prince’s Books
The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy:
Go back to where it all began—with Robert and Alwin’s story in HIGHLANDER’S RANSOM, Book One of the Sinclair Brothers Trilogy. Available now on Amazon!
He was out for revenge…
Laird Robert Sinclair will stop at nothing to exact revenge on Lord Raef Warren, the English scoundrel who brought war to his doorstep and razed his lands and people. Leaving his clan in the Highlands to conduct covert attacks in the Borderlands, Robert lives to be a thorn in Warren’s side. So when he finds a beautiful English lass on her way to marry Warren, he whisks her away to the Highlands with a plan to ransom her back to her dastardly fiancé.
She would not be controlled…
Lady Alwin Hewett had no idea when she left her father’s manor to marry a man she’d never met that she would instead be kidnapped by a Highland rogue out for vengeance. But she refuses to be a pawn in any man’s game. So when she learns that Robert has had them secretly wed, she will stop at nothing to regain her freedom. But her heart may have other plans…
Continue reading
Highland Bodyguards Series:
The Lady’s Protector, the thrilling start to the Highland Bodyguards series, is available now on Amazon.
The Battle of Bannockburn may be over, but the war is far from won.
Her Protector…
Ansel Sutherland is charged with a mission from King Robert the Bruce to protect the illegitimate son of a powerful English Earl. Though Ansel bristles at aiding an Englishman, the nature of the war for Scottish independence is changing, and he is honor-bound to serve as a bodyguard. He arrives in England to fulfill his assignment, only
to meet the beautiful but secretive Lady Isolda, who refuses to tell him where his ward is. When a mysterious attacker threatens Isolda’s life, Ansel realizes he is the only thing standing between her and deadly peril.
His Lady…
Lady Isolda harbors dark secrets—secrets she refuses to reveal to the rugged Highland rogue who arrives at her castle demanding answers. But Ansel’s dark eyes cut through all her defenses, threatening to undo her resolve. To protect her past, she cannot submit to the white-hot desire that burns between them. As the threat to her life spirals out of control, she has no choice but to trust Ansel to whisk her to safety deep in the heart of the Highlands…
Continue reading
Viking Lore Series:
Step into the lush, daring world of the Vikings with Enthralled (Viking Lore, Book 1).
He is bound by honor…
Eirik is eager to plunder the treasures of the fabled lands to the west in order to secure the future of his village. The one thing he swears never to do is claim possession over another human being. But when he journeys across the North Sea to raid the holy houses of Northumbria, he encounters a dark-haired beauty, Laurel, who stirs him like no other. When his cruel cousin tries to take Laurel for himself, Eirik breaks his oath in an attempt to protect her. He claims her as his thrall. But can he claim her heart, or will Laurel fall prey to the devious schemes of his enemies?
She has the heart of a warrior…
Life as an orphan at Whitby Abbey hasn’t been easy, but Laurel refuses to be bested by the backbreaking work and lecherous advances she must endure. When Viking raiders storm the abbey and take her captive, her strength may finally fail her—especially when she must face her fear of water at every turn. But under Eirik’s gentle protection, she discovers a deeper bravery within herself—and a yearning for her golden-haired captor that she shouldn’t harbor. Torn between securing her freedom or giving herself to her Viking master, will fate decide for her—and rip them apart forever?
