A Kingdom's Cost, a Historical Novel of Scotland Read online

  Nigel turned, looking at what was left to them. "With the women, we can mount three score men, Robert. But Kildrummy? Edward is bound to lay siege to it."

  "Of a certainty. It's well stocked and prepared for an attack, but I don't want Elizabeth or the others there. The castle should hold out for at least a year whilst I raise a new army. Atholl must get the ladies safely out of the country once they rest and have fresh horses. I charge you and Robbie both with holding the castle whilst they flee."

  "The king's right," Boyd said. "And no time to waste. Come dark the traitorous MacDougalls will be down on us like foxes on a rabbit."

  "Ride northwest as fast as you can for the Mamlorn Pass and through the mountains east to my strong castle," the king ordered. "Now. Whilst you can."

  Isabella's hands gripped James's arm. Her whole body trembled.

  He pulled her against him and tried not to limp as he walked her to her horse. He put his mouth to her ear. "Remember, my lady, I love you." Hands around her waist, he lifted her into the saddle. He could have said that his wound was too bad to go afoot, but that would have been cowardice. And he was sworn to the king--first. Nothing else could be as important. Not even Isabel. Closing his eyes for a moment, he relished the pain in his side, let it wash through him. It hid the other that he couldn't think about.

  "I love you, James Douglas." Tears ran down her cheeks. "Don't forget."

  Her tears hurt. But there was nothing he could do. He squeezed her hand one last time and kissed her fingers.

  The king lifted his daughter into the saddle, loosening her slender hands that clung to him. The queen motioned for them to gather around her. She seemed calm to James, but she was a de Burgh--the daughter of warlords. Grimly, James watched the guard form around them.

  "Let's move," Nigel yelled and they rode into the trees. It seemed only a heartbeat, and they were gone.

  "James," the king said.

  He stood upright. "I'll keep up, Sire. I give you my word."

  "Then come help me out of this armor. We're caterans now ourselves. It's the only way." The king gripped his tabard at the neck, its cloth-of-gold dyed red and black with half-dried blood. He ripped it down the front. "All of you. Out of your armor."

  James knelt to unfasten the king's belt. Bruce fastened the scabbard for his great sword over his bare back.

  "We'll move further into the woods here, but once it's dark we go down to the pass. Mayhap for once we'll have some luck. If there are bodies to loot, we will."

  "Loot caterans?" James stared up at him. What could the highlanders have that he would want?

  "They were in better case than we are. Brogans we need for our feet. Sheepskins for cloaks if we get so lucky. Even some of those plaids they sling about their shoulders. And, God a'mercy, food."

  James choked back a reply. A king reduced to this. It wasn't right. But if it was what it took to keep his king alive, so be it.

  Bruce tossed away his gauntlets. "Naill, think you that you could make it through to your own lands?"

  "Alone?" The muscular knight threw down his mail shirt and scratched at his beard. "I'd have a good chance of it. This is my kind of country, even if it belongs to the foul MacDougalls. It would be a sad day that a MacDougall could lay hands on a Campbell."

  "We'll need galleys. I have family ties enough in the Isles, especially with the MacDonalds and the MacRauris, and they give a snap or less for the king of the English. But we must have ships."

  "I can get them." Niall Campbell laughed grimly. "I commanded my cousins to remain in King Edward's peace for just such a possibility. But you, my lord?" Campbell sounded doubtful about the whole idea.

  "The rest of us have a better chance of getting through Balquhidder and across Loch Lomond into Lennox. Even now..." Bruce shook his head. "Even though the earl was lost at Methven, they aren't enemies. It's our best route."

  "I still think that lord may have gotten away," Campbell said. "No one reported his being captured or that the English found his body."

  "He may be alive, and that would be the first good news in a month, but I can't count on it. Still, through Lennox we will go."

  James had stripped the rest of the armor from the king. He tossed away the mail chausses from his own legs. Soon he was down to his trewes and a sword belt. "You think they won't take away the bodies, my lord?"

  Campbell sat, back propped against a tree trunk as he tied up a shallow gash in his arm. "We killed a goodly number and they're scattered through the pass. I'm thinking it will take some time." He grinned up at them, white teeth gleaming in contrast to his red beard. "And if we run into one or two MacDougalls recovering the bodies, I won't mind."

  "Oh, that wouldn't be bad, now would it?" James tested the edge of his dirk on his thumb. "But we'll have to make it quiet killing. I'd as soon not meet the whole clan again this night."

  The king nodded. "You have the right of it, Jamie. Now, come. Let's further into the woods. We'll rest whilst we may. And once dark comes, we're off."

  It was a sorry remains of an army that followed Robert de Bruce deeper into the shadows of the forest. James hung back behind the others, sword in his hand to keep rear guard, but following a defeated king. No one murmured or questioned his determination. Mayhap it was that--the King's determination. That he seemed with every defeat to grow stronger within himself. His resolve to defeat their conquerors grew deeper with each day. Whatever it was, James could see it in his companions' faces. They would follow Robert de Bruce to the death. And the truth was that he would as well.

  Chapter Nine

  Near Loch Lomond, Scotland: September 1306

  James slid on his belly over the icy cold rocks in the darkness. Snow flurries made an icy coating on his sheepskin cloak. They had to get through to Loch Lomond, and the bastard MacDougalls had every way guarded. James knew they wouldn't survive out here much longer with winter coming on fast. James's ribs made hills and valleys up his sides. That didn't worry him nearly so much as the king's gaunt face. Not that Bruce was so very old, in his thirties. But that was too old for living like this, even though at times it was fun.

  James lay flat and peered over the edge of the crag. A good ten feet below, a fire glowed. One of the three men huddled over it slid a griddle in the fire. Muttering curses under his breath, James wriggled his way backwards. They'd known this way would be guarded, too. Once away from the edge, he rose to a crouch, making sure he stayed well below the horizon. Even the dark, he wouldn't chance being outlined against the sky.

  He trotted to the overhang where the others awaited--now only thirty survivors of the king's entire army. He silently held up three fingers.

  James pointed to Thomas Bruce, lean as a weasel, and the man-at-arms, Wat Bunnok, a wiry campaigner who'd been with Wallace and could move silently as a wolf. James pulled his dirk out from his belt behind his back. Thomas made a patting motion towards the others to stay where they were.

  "I'll go," Edward Bruce whispered. He stood.

  "No," the king said in a low voice that brooked no argument. "I left this to Jamie." The king's quelling tone silenced the man. Edward Bruce was a good fighter, but when it came to sneaking, he'd be sure to rush in and give them away. They couldn't afford to lose any more men. Just last night Giles Ledoub died, mostly from no way to tend a slash to the shoulder bone he got a week past in a fight, but no food or warmth had sped his death.

  Finally, after dodging and killing their pursuers, they were nearly to the loch. Across it might be help, mayhap even some safety. James's stomach grumbled.

  "Your belly gives us away, you'll get a good clout," Thomas Bruce whispered.

  "You'd have to wait your turn after the MacDougalls." He crouched and motioned them to follow. James trusted Thomas to do what needed to be done. He liked the way the man thought. Risks were fine when you had to take them, but throwing lives away was stupid.

  When James flattened himself on the ground, Thomas and Wat followed suit. Sticking his dirk betwe
en his teeth to free his hands, he slithered his way to the edge.

  James pointed towards Thomas and the cateran on the right. He'd take the one in the middle. He motioned Wat to the left. James gripped his dirk and scooted a bit to the side so he'd drop behind his man. He held up a hand. One by one, he folded a finger down. On the fifth, James leapt off the edge.

  The man started to his feet with a wordless cry. Before he'd come half way up, James grabbed his chin and jerked it back, dragging him off balance. A hard slice of the dirk slit his throat. James jumped backwards, pulling the man with him so that he didn't fall into the fire and onto the food. The man flopped and gurgled. His blood squirted twice over James's hands. James whirled to see if the others needed help. They had already done their work. Two more bodies lay in eddies of snow.

  "Wat, run back and shout up to the others," James ordered.

  It was a long run to the narrow path they'd found to the top, but a yell from nearby would bring the king. Whilst they waited, James flipped the body over. The man had worn a better sheepskin cloak than the one James had, but now it was blood soaked. A bag of oats tied to his belt was a welcome find.

  Thomas used a stick to pull the cooked bannock off the fire. The oaty scent made James's stomach gurgle again and Thomas gave the back of his head a slap.

  "Hey, now. It didn't give us away." He stood up and grabbed the dead man's limp arms, dragging him into the dry gorse.

  By the time he'd dragged all three away, Thomas had another oat bannock on the fire. He handed James half of the first flat oatcake. The two squatted by the fire breaking off pieces to eat and soaking up the faint heat. James absently scratched at the itching, half-healed scab that stretched across his side. They generally didn't risk a fire, hadn't had a one in days. Suddenly, the others were jumping down from the crag.

  "A fire." Gilbert de la Haye moaned with pleasure as he handed the two men the swords they'd left behind to depend on their dirks. A sword rattling in its sheath would have been disaster.

  "And oats," James added pulling another steaming hot bannock away out of the fire. He handed the whole thing to the king. "More shortly. Should be some for everyone. Then we'd better move on."

  Bruce looked doubtfully at the bannock in his hand. "Someone should have half."

  "Eat," James said as he shoved another into the fire.

  The king squatted and broke it in two to eat it. After a bite, he was shoveling it down. They all crowded close around the fire pulling their sheepskin cloaks tight on their shoulders, hands over the flames as James doled out halves of the bannocks.

  "We need to look for a way across the loch," the king said after he swallowed the last of it. "We can skirt Ben Lomond from here, stay up a little way up on its slopes."

  "We should spread out. Find crevasse at least. Rest for the day and once it's dark again, we'll have to find a boat," Gilbert de la Haye said.

  "Waiting is dangerous. And I'm tired of it," Edward snarled. "We should find a boat tonight. Get across the loch and head for Castle Dunaverty. Start acting like knights again."

  Bruce rose and glared down at his brother. "Knights? We're outlaws until we have an army at our backs and don't forget it. King Edward would hang, draw and quarter us in a trice--no different than he did Wallace or poor Chris. You can forget your knightly honor, Brother. Surviving and building a new army is all that counts."

  The king dropped his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Yelling at each other will just bring our enemies down on us. We'll do as Gilbert says. There has to be somewhere to shelter. There's not enough time before daylight to search for a way across."

  Edward looked glum but finally nodded in agreement. "Then let's move."

  James kicked rocks over the fire until it was completely covered. No point in helping the MacDougalls find the bodies and realize the king had been this way. They'd know soon enough. Then they started down the slope of the mountain towards Loch Lomond, clambering over the boulders that covered the foot of the great mountain. As they neared the loch, a break in the clouds let slivers of moonlight filter through. The waters caught glimmers of light like darting fireflies.

  Climbing and scrambling kept James warm, and a bead of sweat ran down his cheek and froze. He brushed a sprinkle of snow out of his hair. They had spread out to look for anything that would hide them for the day. He vaulted over a big rock hoping for something behind it, a cave, crevasse, something. Nothing.

  Then the king shouted from the distance, "Here."

  It must be a good find for Bruce to chance giving away their location but in the dark and the snow, no MacDougall caterans were likely to be out searching yet. Soon enough they'd be once again sweeping the land by the hundreds. James climbed towards the king's voice.

  He heard quiet speech, the king and Edward, as he climbed up the steep brae-face to get to them. "A cave," Bruce said pointing behind him. "Big enough for all of us."

  "I'll find the others." The rest were searching further down the slope so he loped that way until he found Thomas and Alexander Bruce. They quickly rounded up the rest of the men and ran back up to where the king awaited. The first daylight broke through the clouds across the vast waters of the loch, casting golden light onto it. Inside the cave was a little warmer, and James was glad of being out of the wind and snow. He rubbed his hands together. Hunching inside the sheepskin he used for a cloak, fleece to the inside, he settled cross-legged on the floor.

  Bruce set watches, one man per hour so they could all rest most of the day. Hunger was eating at their strength. If only James could hunt, he was sure he could find enough food. But they were the prey instead.

  Once Gilbert de la Haye awoke James with his snoring and James gave him a kick in the ribs. The man snorted and opened his eyes. "Quiet," James said.

  Gilbert nodded and went back to sleep.

  Mid-day, Edward Bruce poked James awake for a turn at the watch. He stood in the shadows within the cave. From below along the shore came a shout from one of the hunters who sought them. James gripped his sword. A voice answered then their talk faded into the distance.

  James chewed his lip. Escape was so close. The MacDougalls wouldn't leave boats where one would be easily found though, he feared. He eased his way to the opening, flattened against the cold rock to peer down at the water. The snow clouds had cleared. The sun sparkled on blue waters, ruffled silver by a sharp wind but nothing that would stop a row across. It stretched to the horizon at its length. But it was narrower across, mayhap only a mile in places. On the west side, he could see the earldom of Lennox covered with dark pines--and safety at least for a time. Once they found a boat.

  The king was right. This place had a wild beauty that caught at his throat. And a wild danger.

  Winter's dark dropped early and sudden like a black curtain. Only a sliver of a moon lighted the night. Wisps of mist drifted down from the peak. Wat scouted to the shore to be sure the hunters had given up for the night. He whistled and the rest followed to the lapping water of the loch.

  The king waited while they gathered around him. "Meet here at midnight. Half go east and half west. Spread out. Scour the water's edge as far as you can go in the time, but carefully. They must have our scent, have found those dead sentries by now." Bruce motioned them away and crept himself to the west.

  Hunched over, close to the ground, James stole through a scattering of junipers to the loch-side. He twisted and turned to be sure there was no one in sight. The only sound was the slap of the water as it washed against the rocky shore. James drew his dirk and slipped through the dark around hulking boulders. The moon gave just enough light that he could see a few feet in front of him. He eased his way, careful not to stumble on the rough ground. Finding a reedy spot on the loch edge, he sloshed through, hoping someone might have hidden a boat. Then back onto the rocky ground, he glanced up at the sky. There was still time.

  Ahead, a glimmer of torchlight shone on a man's face as he walked. A voice drifted over the water. James crouched even
lower, tossing his dirk to his left hand. Slowly, silently, he drew his sword. Cot-house of the local clansmen? Or caterans hunting them down?

  The torch extinguished. Or someone closed a door on it. His heart thudded and he moved in that direction. If there was a cot-house, they would surely have a boat. When he got within sight of the cottage, he threw himself down on his belly. A dog would be a bad thing. Crawling forward, he listened for anything--someone talking, a growl, a blade drawing. A snore grated in the night and James almost laughed.

  No sign of a boat. He risked crawling closer to no avail and wriggled backwards to the loch edge. A loch-side cot with no boat was a strange thing. There was a while yet before he need turn back. Tomorrow the hunters were bound to range higher onto Ben Lomond. The king had to get away. Tonight.

  Turning away from the loch, James decided to risk hurrying. He trotted into a scattering of shadowy birches on a hillock, skirting around the cot-house. On the other side, he squatted near the water and scanned the edge. Tall reeds further along caught his eye. A path was bent and trampled through the middle.

  Now why would someone have been plowing through the reeds? A smile touched James's lips. He ran to it and followed the crushed pathway knee deep into the icy water. Just at the edge of the reeds where the water deepened, the path stopped. He felt around with his feet, kicking underwater. He spiraled in circles. Something had to be here. He kicked something hard.

  Kneeling, he felt his find. He ran his hands up a long wooden surface.

  Yes! A boat. He wanted to yell with triumph. Jerking off his sheepskin to throw onto dry land, he ducked under the water. He grabbed the lower edge and tugged and hauled on it. Full of water, it didn't want to budge, but he panted and pulled. Inch by inch, it gave way. When he had it into shallow water so that the top half was exposed, he gripped the gunwale and flipped it upright. Even the oars were tied to a ring.