Eilidh was incredulous. “What if I am discovered?”
Alexander was ruthless, and they all knew it as Malcolm had been hanged. “If they truly wished for a privy conversation, they would bar everyone from the hall.” She hoped her smile was reassuring. “Alexander has barred me from the hall, and that is why I need you.”
Eilidh nodded, but she appeared frightened now.
Margaret gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She was not sure how any war news would affect her fate, but they would be plotting and planning at her great table, in her hall—she had to know what they discussed.
* * *
THE KITCHENS WERE so hot that Margaret had shed her mantle and rolled up the sleeves of the blue surcote she wore. She had also pinned her braid up into a coil, but the heat was unbearable still. Perspiration gathered on her brow, her temples and in her cleavage.
Fires burned in every oven and hearth as venison, hen and lamb were roasted. Breads and pies baked. Oats were rolled and boiled. The kitchen was the scene of constant, frantic activity.
Bread, wine, cheese and smoked fishes had been served. Eilidh now returned to the kitchen with an empty trencher, her cheeks flushed.
Margaret rushed to her, taking the tray from her hands. “Well?”
Her eyes were huge like saucers in her small face. “He is so mighty, my lady, and so handsome, and so much like a king!”
Margaret had never met Robert Bruce, but tales had been told about him from the time he had ridden with William Wallace as a young man, attempting to overthrow King Edward even then. He was renowned to be not just a great soldier and a brilliant commander, but a handsome nobleman and, in spite of a second marriage, a ladies’ man. “What have you heard?”
“They are talking of wars and battles, my lady, and it was so confusing.”
Margaret was dismayed, but then, Peg returned with an empty tray, and Margaret smiled at Eilidh. “Get more fare and continue to eavesdrop,” she said softly. It was too noisy in the kitchens for anyone to overhear them.
Peg put her tray down and came over. Her eyes were filled with respect. “He is a fine man, Margaret. I think he will be our king.”
Margaret knew she must not trust Peg, but the maid loved to gossip. “Did you hear their conversation?”
“I did. Bruce cannot tame Galloway—he has just come from war there. He cursed the Gaels for their stubborn independence. And his men have lost Tibbers—and he will march on Dumbarton next.”
“They have lost ground—they must be irate.”
“No, they are boasting about the future—they think to win this war,” Peg said.
Margaret remained amazed by the rebels’ confidence. They truly thought to defeat King Edward.
“There is more, Margaret. They have gained new allies—the earls of Atholl and Lennox.”
Margaret stared, stunned. The Earl of Atholl, John Strathbogie, was a good friend of her family—he would never turn his back on her uncle! She did not believe it.
A rising scent interrupted her thoughts. “God! Something is burning!” She rushed to an oven to help remove a shank of lamb before it was ruined, from the corner of her eye watching both maids leave, their trenchers full once again.
Having salvaged the shank, Margaret paused to sip some wine, wiping perspiration from her brow and her chin.
Eilidh returned a few moments later, very breathlessly. “Bruce leaves tomorrow, at dawn.”
“Here.” Margaret handed her a cup of wine and watched as she drank some of it. She could not decide if she would be pleased by such an abrupt departure. Bruce had upset the household, but if she did not learn anything of value that night, it was all for nothing.
Eilidh set her cup aside. “He is on the march to Scone, my lady, for the crown.”
Margaret had been taking a sip of wine, and she choked. “Already?” she cried.
The maid nodded, but Margaret was disbelieving. It was March 5th. He could be at Scone in a week. And now she understood somewhat. He was advancing on Scone, and taking what castles he could along the way—including Dumbarton. He would need reinforcements if he were to claim the crown, as the act would launch the largest war with England this land had thus far seen. But the crowning of Scotland’s king was a very traditional ceremony. A great many bishops and barons would have to be present. They would have to be summoned in advance of any coronation.
Did Bruce really plan to take the crown within months—or even weeks? “Have they decided upon a date for a coronation?”
Eilidh was so pale now. Nervously, she whispered, “I think they said March the twenty-fifth, but I am not sure, because they argued a bit.”
