“Dinnae touch her!” Hacon snapped, briefly and fruitlessly struggling against the men who held him and now bound his wrists with thick rope. “Ye fool, cannae ye see she is great with child?”
Although each man backed away from her, their leader replied, “So? What matter? ’Tis but a traitor’s spawn.”
“He is no traitor!” Jennet nearly screamed, but was once again firmly, if less forcefully, blocked from nearing Hacon. “Who would claim such a thing?” she demanded. “Ye cannae have plucked this mad lie out of the air. Someone must be the accuser.”
“Aye,” said Lucais as he and Serilda reached Jennet’s side. “Who so falsely accuses my son?”
“Sir John Balreaves.” Bruce’s man frowned at the venomous reaction the name stirred. Hacon’s men spat or loudly cursed, and many took threatening steps toward him. “He presented a great deal of proof.”
“One mon’s word is enough to bring such a heinous charge against my son, against a knight who has been loyal to the king for over ten years?”
“’Twas more than one mon’s word.”
“What proof? What charges? And who are you that we should heed what ye say?”
“I am Sir John Burnett.” The man curtly bowed toward Lucais. “I act in the name of our king and the Lord High Constable of Scotland.” He moved to extract a roll of parchment from his saddlebags and returned to stand before Lucais, Serilda, and Jennet. “Sir Hacon Gillard, Baron of Dubheilrig, is called before the king to answer charges of treason against the Crown and Scotland,” he read, his homely dark face tight with outrage. “By word and by deed, Sir Gillard has betrayed his liege lord, Robert the Bruce, King of all Scotland.”
“By word and by deed?” Lucais questioned. “He has done nothing and said nothing. These accusations are plucked from the air.”
“At the battle of Perth in the year of our Lord 1311, Sir Gillard refused the honor of executing the traitors within the walls of that town. At the siege of Ripon in the year of our Lord 1318, Sir Gillard was heard to remark that our good king had no firm claim to the Crown, that he had seized it through murder. That same year he traveled to a village in Liddesdale where there resided known enemies of the good Sir James Douglas. Sir Gillard betrayed his good king in Ireland, aiding in the defeat of our army and the grievous death of the king’s own brother. On the twentieth day of September in the year of our Lord 1319, at the battle of Mytton, Sir Gillard was heard to demean that honored victory and did much to impede the king’s men, led by the Earl of Moray, as they sought to slay our enemies, the English. In that same year Sir Gillard again visited the enemies of Sir Douglas and with their aid viciously slaughtered men in the service of the king. And, finally, Sir Gillard continues to hold close a woman known to dwell freely amongst our enemies, the English.”
As Sir John ended the litany of accusations, all of Jennet’s worst fears were confirmed. Balreaves was usingherfamily and circumstances to accuse her husband. He was attributingherwords to Hacon and using them to condemn him. It was she, not Hacon, who had scorned the king’s claim to the throne and had decried aloud the massacre at York that they now called the battle at Mytton. She had given Balreaves a weapon to use, and he was wielding it with deadly skill. Guilt and fear consumed her.
Her father-in-law had not lost his combative spirit, however. “Hearing such lies is all I can stomach,” he declared. “This is madness.”
“I but carry out the king’s orders. Mount Sir Gillard on a horse,” Sir John ordered his men.
“Nay, ye cannae!” Jennet protested. But when she started after Hacon, both Lucais and Serilda held her back. “He isnae guilty, Sir Lucais, Lady Serilda,” she begged. “There must be something we can do.”
“Nay, ye mustnae endanger yourself,” Lucais declared.
As Hacon was roughly thrown onto the back of a horse and the rope around his wrists was secured to the pommel of the saddle, several of his men bellowed their outrage and waved clenched fists. Those who had weapons gripped them tightly. Lucais hurried forward to try to calm the men and prevent a violent confrontation. The Bruce’s men took quick advantage of the villager’s uncertainty by encircling and disarming them.
Several women, including a wide-eyed Elizabeth, moved to close in around Jennet and Serilda, seeking to protect them. Jennet peered around them and was shocked by what she saw.
The men of Dubheilrig were being herded into one of the cottages, which was surrounded by several of the Bruce’s men. The others proceeded to loot Dubheilrig, pushing their way into every building and dragging out all that was of value. They herded what horses and cattle they could swiftly round up into the middle of the road. Jennet saw her three goats, the ones she had dragged all the way from Berwick, pulled along with a few head of plump sheep. Other people, frightened and driven from their homes by the looters, gathered in the center of the village. Most clustered around the well, parents holding their children close.
“These men act as if Hacon has already been proven guilty!” Jennet cried, finally tearing her gaze from a tautly erect Hacon to look at a pale Serilda.
“The charge is treason, child.” Serilda put her arm about Jennet’s shoulders.
“It must still be proven.”
“The Bruce would ne’er have sent men to take Hacon if he didnae already believe it or at least fear the truth of it.”
“Nay, nay.” Jennet brought her clenched hands to her lips. “They must let him speak in his defense. Nay, theymustlet him prove his innocence.” But one look at Hacon told her that his was not a stance of fury or defiance but of a man prepared to meet his fate.
“I but pray they do. Yet, sweet God help us, I have ne’er heard that it made much difference.”
“Which is why they are already treating us as outlaws,” Jennet whispered.
“Aye. We are fortunate that they havenae murdered our people. Mayhaps that is a good sign.” She tightened her hold on Jennet. “I ken that ’tis madness to ask ye this now, while this injustice is heaped upon our shoulders before our verra eyes, but ye must try to calm yourself. Think of the child, Jennet. Try to think only of Hacon’s child now.”
Jennet knew that was what she should do, but even as she fought to comply, she watched the rape of the place she now called home. She saw Hacon, bound securely to the back of a horse, waiting to be led away to what even his own mother saw as a certain death.
It was a long time before the Bruce’s men were ready to depart. Jennet suddenly pushed a path through the women, ignoring Serilda’s protests. Some of the Bruce’s men tensed as she approached her husband and Sir John Burnett finally stepped in front of her, halting her progress inches from the horse on which Hacon sat.
“Jennet,” Hacon said, his voice hoarse with emotion, “please go back. There is naught ye can do to aid me, and you will put yourself and our child in danger.”
