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

  Finally, it came down to Thomas Randolph.

  Randolph leaned forward as he rode, his lance solid. James shifted away in his seat and Randolph's lance only grazed his shield. James's lance shattered and Randolph rocked, tilted sideways from the impact. He managed to right himself, and a cheer went up. James stole a glance towards Isabel. She leaned towards the queen, saying something into her ear.

  James tossed down his broken lance and someone handed him a fresh one. Randolph spurred forward at a gallop. This time James only feigned a shift. Randolph followed then tried to recover as James straightened. His lance missed. James's own smashed into his shield with a jolt that nearly tore his arm off. Randolph's horse went onto its haunches. A clear miss to his hit. The match was his.

  Everyone was screaming, and James grinned. Randolph threw his lance down, cursing. Then he shook his head and sketched a bow. James waved to him and rode at a prancing gait around the field. Isabella clapped and smiled. His heart thudded. The gallery shook with cheers.

  It was as good as the coronation itself. He jumped from his horse. The king bent over the wooden rail to put a purse of silver into his hand. The king's smile made his heart hammer. The smile from Isabella was even better.

  Horse stabled, he dashed to the tent he shared with half a score other squires. Thomas Randolph, red-haired and tall, came in. With a rueful laugh, he congratulated James on his win. James shed his heavy mail and flexed his shoulders. He'd soon be accustomed to the stuff, but the fact was he'd never had to wear mail much, except in the practice yard or when the bishop traveled. But now the king had gifted him with this. It was the finest he'd ever touched.

  He'd used part of the bishop's purse to buy a woolen tunic of the same blue as the Douglas colors. He dumped a bucket of cold water over his head and shook, water flying. After he slicked back his hair, he donned the new clothes.

  Twilight had faded into darkness. The lists were quiet and abandoned as James made his way up the long hill. His breath fogged in the chilly night air. The sound of laughter and of a tinkling harp drifted down. Light shone through the windows. He stopped and looked long at the stars above in the black night sky. It seemed so quiet. Eternal. Yet everything was changing. Moving.

  Tomorrow the king would lead his men away, James amongst them. To war. But not tonight.

  He ran up the hill, and a man-at-arms threw open the door. Color, laughter, and ease filled the room. Two minstrels played a tune. A dwarf leapt into the air for a flip. Bruce sat at the high table laughing at the performer's antics, but the queen looked subdued beside him, her eyes downcast.

  The roaring fireplace warmed the huge room. On a staff behind the king, the great tressured banner rippled in a draft as though the red lion would leap off into the company.

  "Jamie Douglas." Boyd slapped James on the back. A twinge darted through his arm from nearly tearing it off when he unhorsed Randolph. "Well fought in the tourney."

  James laughed. "My first. I was pleased not to shame myself before the king. Everyone knows that he's a champion in the lists."

  Boyd upended his wine cup, finishing the last drop. "There's fine wine tonight." He snagged a flagon from a passing server. "May as well take advantage of it whilst we can. The king is off tomorrow, and I'll follow."

  "As will I, Robbie." James took a cup from the long table and let Boyd fill it for him. The rich red wine warmed him inside, and he maneuvered closer to the high table.

  The dwarf did another flip, rolled across the floor, and then bowed his way out of the room to applause and tossed coins.

  The king stood. "I'd dance with my fair queen this night."

  Servants pushed the benches against the walls and the musicians tuned their instruments. High-pitched laughter came from the ladies. The queen leaned on Robert de Bruce's arm, a smile easing her look as he whispered to her.

  Bruce led the way onto the floor with his queen. James frowned when Sir Edward bowed over Isabella's hand and led her out. Soon much of the company joined the king in a raucous circle dance, twining in and out in a complex pattern. James's eyes followed Isabella as she glided through the figure, skirts moving about her legs. He was sure her eyes slid his way.

  The scent of a roast boar caught his attention, and he speared a slice with his knife to chew as he watched. She'd been next to the queen so she'd pass this way when the dance was over. He smiled in anticipation.

  The dance ended. Bruce led the queen off the floor, back towards their place on the dais. As a harp player struck up a slow tinkling tune that would give the dancers a chance to catch their breaths, the king made his way through the press of his guests, pausing to speak as he received greetings. James bowed low when Bruce and the queen came even with him.

  "Ah, Jamie Douglas." The king tucked his wife's hand more securely on his arm. Sir Edward and Isabella came to a stop behind him, as he blocked their way.

  James had heard stories of Bruce's fondness for his beautiful wife. He'd never had a chance before to see how true they were. She smiled up at the king with a look that made James blush with envy.

  Bruce turned to his brother and Isabella standing behind him. "See you," he continued, "he did well in the lists today. I thought Tom Randolph would win amongst the squires. Yet Douglas here landed him right on his rump." Bruce threw back his head and laughed.

  James felt himself color. "Nothing compared to Sir Nigel's victory."

  "Oh, my brother is a hard man to beat in the lists, though I did so a year past. Edward here as well, but I said they shouldn't ride against each other. Two Bruces in the list seemed hardly fair." He smiled down at Sir Edward's companion. "Lady Isabella, do you know Squire James de Douglas here?" He took the lady's hand and pulled her away from his brother. Sir Edward shrugged and bowed as he moved towards one of the Campbell ladies on the other side of the room.

  Isabella curtseyed and her blue and gold skirts swayed about her.

  "I've seen him on the lists from a distance, my lord."

  "An oversight. James, here's a lady for you to practice your graces upon. If it weren't for my Elizabeth, I'd be right tempted."

  The queen shook her head and gave a low laugh. "Sire."

  "It's true, my dear, I swear it. A lady who'd ride four hundred miles to place a crown on my head and so fair a lady at that. What king's heart wouldn't be won? Or what squire's?" He grinned at James, teeth gleaming.

  Isabella extended a long-fingered hand towards James. Her eyes sparkled. "Squire, I was quite thrilled watching you in the lists today. You did nobly."

  "My lady." He pressed her fingers as he bowed. "I've never known of a woman so brave--to ride so far with only your men-at-arms, even for the king. And barring her grace, none so fair. The king speaks the truth."

  She slipped her hand onto his arm and raised her eyebrows as she turned to the king. "Why, your Grace, I believe the squire wields his tongue as fairly as his lance on the field."

  James ran a finger along his moustache, still shorter than he would have liked. "I've nothing of Sir Edward's charm with the ladies. But mayhap you'd allow me this dance? If their Graces permit?"

  Bruce waved them away. "You children go enjoy yourselves. My lady queen and I will watch for a while."

  As the musicians struck up a livelier tune, James led Isabella out onto the floor. Sir Edward joined them with the Campbell lady and, to James's surprise, scowled in his direction. Isabella curtsied, and they began the pattern, whirling and weaving their way through the steps of the dance.

  When Sir Edward gave James a hard jab of the elbow, James eased away. Obviously, the man wasn't happy with someone else getting a fair lass's attention. James decided to ignore it. He had no taste for a quarrel with the king's brother. At the last strum of the harp, James grasped Isabella's hand to lead her from the floor. It was soft in his and his heart was beating harder than it should from a dance.

  "A goblet of wine?"

  Her eyes were laughing when she looked up. "You can't."

  "Can't
what?"

  "Can't kiss me."

  He'd wanted to and she'd seen it, unmistakably.

  "If you walk with me along the river bank, I can." He snatched a flagon from a server and poured a goblet of red wine.

  "What they'll say about me is bad enough. I'll not make it worse."

  "They'll say you're the bravest woman in Scotland."

  She took the wine. "They'll say I did it for him. For the king. They'll call me a harlot, I suspect."

  James frowned in the direction of the king. He was talking to Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, the standard-bearer, a thin gray-haired man who'd served Wallace, and the queen leaned forward to listen.

  James hesitated. He could hardly ask if she was the king's mistress, but he'd seen no hint of lust between them. It seemed a foolish question. "But that's not why you did it," he said finally.

  "I did it because a MacDuff should. For my father, partly, because he would have been here to do his duty. They've turned my brother into an English lapdog. Not his fault, I suppose, but what else could I do?" She bit her lip. "I grew up in Fife. It's my country as much as any man's. I couldn't just--not do anything."

  He shook his head. "You're wrong."

  "About what?"

  "That I can't kiss you." He maneuvered to the side so he was between her and most of the room and took her face gently between his hands. His lips brushed hers. They were sweet beyond measure.

  "No couth. I'm hardly surprised." From behind him, Sir Edward's voice had a sting of venom.

  James tucked Isabella's hand on his arm as he turned to bow slightly to the man. "I'm sure I have much to learn from you, sir."

  Sir Edward scowled as though to decipher whether that was sarcasm.

  James smiled at Isabella with regret. "I'd best return you to the queen's side."

  * * *

  The bright morning sun lit up the refectory of the Abbey.

  William de Lamberton crossed his arms over his chest frowning as Robert de Bruce looked out the window. "We need him, but--I wish he'd go to safety in France," Lamberton said. He glanced at the elderly Bishop Wishart where he stood talking to his master-at-arms. The man had already given too much for Scotland's freedom. Now he was aged and frail, his back stooped, his hands thin and spotted with age. The risk was too great.

  "I suggested he go to the pope to plead our case." The king gave a heavy sigh. "He saw through that ruse."

  "Not so much of a ruse. You'll be excommunicated soon enough for what happened at Greyfriars and probably all of us with you. But I fear..."

  The king raised his eyebrows.

  "I fear no plea will help."

  Bruce leaned a hand against the edge of the window, squinting into the bright sunlight. "William, you know that I meant to kill the Comyn."

  "Wishart gave you absolution." Lamberton looked around to be sure no one could hear and lowered his voice. "Robert, why? In a church?"

  The king slowly shook his head. "I meant it to be outside and not at the altar. But he was going to die after he betrayed us to Edward." He whirled to face Lamberton. "Think, William. How long before Longshanks had you in chains and me on the scaffold, joining Wallace? Comyn thought that he would be given the throne for his betrayal of us--the more fool him. Then he raised his hand to me. Struck me as he did the day you stepped between us."

  Lamberton let out a long breath, for a moment at a loss. "It's done." He looked out the window where everything was noise and chaos. Men were shouting; horses were being led from the stables and saddled; pavilions were being struck. The morning had grown warm and everyone was in an uproar to be off.

  Alex Seton was in the middle of it, arguing with Edward Bruce.

  The king snorted. "Edward would try a saint, which Alex is not. But he'll return with troops once the women are safe."

  The thin Englishman didn't look fierce but he could shout with the best of them, it seemed. The man whirled and stormed towards the door, banging it open.

  "Happen my good-brother is an idiot." He came to a halt and jammed his fists on his hips. "Mayhaps he thinks I can't take care of your sister."

  Lamberton bit his lip. The lilting Yorkshire speech always made him smile, and he shared a glance with the king.

  Bruce stepped to throw an arm around his good-brother's shoulder. "Of course not. He's just prickly as a hedgehog and you know it. You and Nigel ready to be off?"

  The young knight shook his head. "Waiting for our ladies to join us."

  Lamberton raised his hand to interrupt them. "And your grace will want to tell your lady farewell, so with your leave, I'll be off as well."

  Seton gave him an embarrassed-looking smile. "I'm sorry, my lord. I forgot what manners my father beat into me. Put me with Edward and I'm sure to lose my temper."

  Lamberton had to laugh. "He's driven his brother to do the same. Always was a hotheaded lad. I'm to St. Andrews to see to raising men. God keep you both." He signed a cross in blessing and farewell.

  * * *

  James walked slowly through the noise and chaos, feeling strangely alone. A wind swirled through the trees and around corners as though to blow them on their way. He patted the neck of one of the horses hitched to a wagon as servants threw cases into the rear.

  Edward Bruce was in the middle of it all, shouting angry commands. "Robert Boyd was looking for you, Squire," he said to James. "He wants to be off within the hour."

  "I know," James said. "I'll find him." He looked around at all the noise and confusion and tried to make himself a part of it. Past the men, horses, wagons, and noise, a woman stood amongst the trees. Her dark blue gown blew around her legs and her veil streamed behind her.

  James left Edward standing there and heard him shout at his men to hurry their saddling. He wended through the confusion towards the trees. Isabella caught her veil with a hand and held it against the tugging wind. He thought that she shivered.

  Isabella looked behind her, saw James, and smiled. She held out a hand. "I didn't think I would see you again before I left."

  James took her hand and ran a forefinger over the back of it, wondering at the silken feel. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." He smiled wryly. "If I embarrassed you last night."

  "Did you hear me protest?" Something sad moved in her eyes as she took her hand back and looked back to where the sea licked up onto the rocks far below. "I feel very alone even with all these people around me, you see. My lord husband and I..." She held her veil against another gust of wind. "We have never had fondness for each other, but I tried to be a good wife. And he was kind enough. Now, I'm his blood enemy. He would kill me if he could, you may be sure of it. My home is closed to me. Even my brother will be my enemy." She laughed a little. "You may say it was my doing, but I feel strangely grieved."

  "I understand feeling alone only too well." His face heated at the admission.

  She looked at him and a wry smile curved the corners of her mouth. "Forgive me. Of course, you've felt alone." She tilted her head, regarding him silently with her dark blue eyes. "How old were you when they killed your father?"

  "That was long ago. There is nothing to forgive."

  The wind whipped her veil again and she reached up, unpinning it with a frown, and folded the wisp of silk. Uncovered, her hair corn-silk hair was braided and pinned into a heavy knot at the back of her neck. "I have no right to complain. I'll be with the queen and Lord Robert's sisters. And his daughter." She laughed. "And the child is a handful."

  James found himself grinning like an idiot. "So I will see you again. The king will rejoin them, and I'll be with him."

  Suddenly her face tightened as though she kept back tears. "Here." She put the silky cloth into his hands. "You'll see battle before then. So you'll carry my favor."

  He swallowed hard against tightness in his throat. "It's too great an honor."

  She gave his hand a last squeeze and the memory of it warmed him as he strode through the confusion to find Robbie Boyd.

  Chapter Five

&nbs
p; Perth, Scotland: June 1306

  The dark walls of the city of Perth hunched above the banks of the frothing River Tay and the wide dusty road that went past its gate. The gate had closed like dragon's teeth. At the top of the tallest tower, the leopard banner of England flapped and cracked in the wind. Near it flew the starling banner of Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, holding the city with his army of thousands. Beyond the stone merlons, the parapets bristled with crossbowmen, lining the walls.

  James had been riding with Boyd as part of that man's command and happy enough for it. A good man to learn from, he thought. Boyd motioned with his chin for James to come up beside him. He was lucky in his father's friends. They'd been ever loyal.

  James shifted in his saddle, and Boyd grinned. "Aye, it's all boring nine days out of ten and the tenth someone is trying to gut you."

  Around James, armor creaked and horses stamped, restless in the heat. He could smell his own sweat, sharp, amid the competing odors of horseshit and leather and pine trees. King Robert sat his charger only a rank ahead, the battleaxe he favored resting across the saddle in front of him.

  Black storm clouds crouching on the horizon meant rain during the night. But mayhap they would fight before the rain came.

  James chewed his lip. The English had captured Bishop Lamberton only the week before. Bishop Wishart had been captured in Fife while besieging Cupar Castle. Mayhap Valence had the churchmen within Perth if he hadn't already sent them south to King Edward for punishment. Surely, they wouldn't hurt the bishops. Not men of God and the Pope would take such as an offense. When they defeated Valence, they'd take the city. At least, there might be a chance to rescue Lamberton.

  Overhead, his own three-starred pennant snapped. Ahead, the king's lion banner flew and all around dozens blew and rustled in the rising breeze. Along with Boyd, James had ridden with Sir Edward and a party south to raise men from the lands of Carrick. At the same time, the king raced north to Kildrummy Castle where he raised more men and the ladies rode to safety with his brother Nigel holding Lochmaben Castle.