“Exactly—but. When it comes to carrying or bearing a child,butis a very important word to remember.”
“Do ye think I risk the child?” Jennet asked in a muted voice, that constant fear making her momentarily waver.
“Ah, well, a little perhaps. Howbeit, you are healthy and strong. You have had no trouble yet. I think that, if we stay at an easy, steady pace and you do not allow yourself to grow too weary, you should be fine. If you can ride with a Douglas raiding party when the babe was still newly set in your womb, you ought to be able to walk a few miles now. Um, exactly how far away is Dunfermline?”
Jennet sent her a slightly apologetic look. “About forty miles, mayhaps fifty. Weel, if we can cross the Firth of Forth. If not, then we must go up to Stirling and turn east again. That would add a good many miles.” Seeing the stunned look on Elizabeth’s face, she asked, “Do ye wish to turn back? I will understand if you do.”
“What? And have my Robert think me a puling weak woman? Never.”
“Thank ye, Elizabeth.”
“You are most welcome. Let us just pray that we find a horse, a pony, or some kindly cart driver ere my feet wear out beneath me.”
Sighing with a weariness she could no longer hide, Jennet sat down beneath a large pine tree. It was the noon hour of their second day on the road, and they had not found even a crippled pony to buy. Neither had any rider or cart passed by. She smiled a little when Elizabeth sprawled on the moss-covered ground at her side. Robert and Ranald sat by the edge of the rutted drover’s road, sharing a wineskin and talking in low voices.
“It doesnae make sense,” Jennet murmured. “’Tis nearly summer. Ye would think someone would be traveling toward the larger towns like Stirling.”
Without opening her eyes, Elizabeth replied, “Well, unless there was some great exodus, there is sure to be a time when the road is simply empty of people. We were just unfortunate enough to start out at one of those times.”
“Misfortune has haunted me a wee bit too doggedly of late.”
Lazily reaching out, Elizabeth took Jennet’s hand in hers. “Do not lose heart. You must believe that all will be well.”
“Oh, I am not losing heart. Even if I do lose heart in the chances of my success, I willnae cease to try. I willnae give up, turn back, or fall down into a heap of wailing.”
“Nay.” Elizabeth laughed softly. “You would never do that.”
“’Tis just that my fear for Hacon weighs so heavily upon me at times. What he has been charged with is so grave a crime, it usually brings a swift and brutal punishment. This is the king he faces. ’Tis the kingImust face. I am but a wee lass with no great wealth and no powerful family. How can I think I can change anything? Yet I must try. What I fear the most is failing and seeing Hacon die because of that failure.
“Although,” she continued, “I begin to think Dugald and all the skilled soldiers of Dubheilrig are not in Dunfermline just to protect Hacon from Balreaves. I discovered that Dugald took Hacon’s armor with him. I believe Lucais and Dugald have no intention of letting Hacon die.”
“But Sir Lucais has said nothing.”
“’Twould be treason. ’Tis best if he keeps their plans as silent as possible. Even if he is rescued, Hacon would be marked as a traitor and he would be hunted as an outlaw. That would slowly kill him. I pray I can prevent all that.”
“You have finally accepted that you love the man,” Elizabeth observed, turning on her side to look at her friend.
“I rather thought ye had kenned that already.”
“Aye, but I meanyounow accept that you love the whole man—the one who holds you in the night, the one who makes you smile, the one who fathered that babe you carry,andthe one who must answer the king’s call to arms.”
“Oh—aye. I dinnae like what he must do, ne’er will, but I dinnae condemn him for it. Something my aunt Sorcha said brought that about. Weel, more or less. She made me see that he doesnae have much choice. She also said, ‘Do ye think the ones he faces dinnae mean to hold their lives and gain by his death? ’Tis all equal. They are there for the same reason he is.’ And she reminded me that many men fight for reasons that are far less noble than Hacon’s.”
“A very wise woman.”
“Aye. Those words preyed upon my mind until I could no longer deny their truth. Oh, I will still complain, for I dinnae want him to go to war, but my condemnation is for those who lead, for those who feel it right to gain what they wish with the blood of others.” She sighed. “I but pray I shall be given the chance to still complain.”
“You will. Your husband is innocent. Surely the king knows how loyal Sir Hacon has been.”
“The king, I fear, kens only that treachery dogs him. ’Tis the charge that Hacon may have been a traitor in Ireland that I most fear. The Bruce lost Edward, the last of his brothers, there. The other brothers were given over to the English by Scots who supported the English—traitors, according to the Bruce’s followers. Nigel was hanged and drawn and quartered by the English in 1306. Thomas was killed at the same time, dragged through the streets of Carlisle by a team of horses before he was hanged. Alexander was caught by the Mac-Dowells the next year and given over to the English to be hanged in Carlisle. Even the hint that Hacon may have aided the Irish, may have done something that led to Edward Bruce’s death, could be enough to hang him—or worse. That will be the hardest charge to argue.”
“Sweet Mary.” Elizabeth shuddered. “I should dread even trying to do so.”
“I do. I wish my father hadnae left Dubheilrig, that he could be with me now. He would ken what to say. Howbeit, there wasnae even time to send word to him.”
“Someone is coming,” announced Ranald as he and Robert jumped to their feet.
“’Tis a cart,” Elizabeth whispered with restrained excitement as she rose and helped Jennet up as well.
