*
Katrin wakened beforedawn with the remnants of that terrible dream in her head, a sense of loss so deep it felt like a mortal wound. A daunting harbinger that, for this day, would prove true.
The weather had turned cool, with lashes of rain moving through one after the other, adding to the general misery. Da rose groaning and cursing under his breath, though he tried as best he might to hide his discomfort from Katrin.
She eyed him with a new understanding in her heart. Was he so different from his ancestor, Adair, whom she’d just seen in her dream?Finlay, so she reflected, had not told them that part of the tale, how the valiant Adair had died and the devastation he had left for his wife. Nay, why should he so spoil a beautiful tale?
Mayhap he did not know that part of it.
She made sure Da ate some breakfast, though she could take nothing for herself. Soon after, King David—likely reading the mood of his troops correctly—unleashed them once more to pillage. He awaited payment on the morrow from the good people of Durham. Meanwhile, he released his restless Scots, some of them under the direction of his man, William Douglas, to continue raiding.
In truth, Katrin could find no other word for it, saveunleashing. Well into the English countryside and as yet unopposed, they had done little more than raid, pillage, and burn.
When Da heard of it, his face went white. Not the man to disobey his king, he nevertheless called his captains to him, Reagan and Robran.
“Tell our men no’ to stir a foot nor a muscle. We will no’ take part in this shameful thing. The people o’ this land—they are folk just like us.”
“They are English,” ventured Robran.
“And they ha’ no’ yet raised a blade against us.”
“They will,” said one of the clansmen standing by. “Best mayhap to kill all we can beforehand.”
“Nay.” Da drew himself up like a chief of old. “I do forbid it.”
Despite her sympathy for her restless and hungry clansmen, Katrin could only agree. Defending one’s own seemed just and right to her, as did standing strong for one’s country. Dealing death for the sake of it was something else again.
But she was a woman—soft, many would say—and men were men. They muttered over the decision, being after all this time not loath to exercise their weapons. But they continued to obey their chief and, when others of the vast army moved out, merely watched withenvious eyes.
Reagan rejoined his men, none of whom moved out. Katrin turned to find Finlay at her side.
Their eyes met and she saw he wore a guarded expression. He touched her arm and she felt it throughout her body.
“Mistress, wha’ is it?”
She shook her head. “This is no’ just, is it?” she asked him. “Sacking towns and killing everyone found. Stealing and ruining and burning. Is this wha’ we are?”
His gaze, grave and level, met hers. “The king has come wi’ the intention o’ doing damage. If there is no English army to fight, he will do it otherwise.”
“It is cowardly. No’ worthy o’ us.”
“Yer father agrees. ’Tis why he held his men back.”
“Yet we are part o’ this force, and thus part of all they do.” Even now she could hear others in the vast field of men laughing and boasting as if drunk with the deeds they had done. “Finlay, will ye make a tale o’ this?”
He shook his head. “If I do, ’twill be o’ the valiant Highland chief who held his men back from dishonor.”
In the end, it did not matter. Only a short time later, Laird Douglas’s party came back with great haste, bloodied and shedding alarm. They went immediately to the vanguard where King David had camped, awaiting his ransom, and consulted with him.
From the right flank where the Murtray party was situated, Katrin could just barely see the king’s tent. Some confusion reigned when the party encountered him. The monster that was the army stirred like a great spider.
She took advantage by going to join her da, who had risen from his seat on the ground. Many among the ranks had done the same, all looking in one direction. Katrin had noticed this before—fighting men had a kind of instinct for events that would prove dangerous.
Like this one. A cold trickle crept up her spine, perhaps an instinct of her own. Were they come to a fight after all?
If it did come to battle now, would this Scots army be too exhausted to fight? They had, aye, the sheer weight of numbers. But would that be enough?
They fought for Scotland, and to many of those here, that was sacred. But they were a long way from home.
