Her duty done, she stood to the side, watching as the witnesses came forward one by one to bow before the king. When it was Lachlan’s turn, she stiffened, instinctively bracing herself. It didn’t help. The brigand shot her a glare, then lifted a brow with a cynical smirk.
She flushed, feeling the heat of anger spread over her skin. Damn him, she knew what she was doing.
But whatever events this day set in motion, she was glad it was over. She was even more glad that she would never have to see Lachlan MacRuairi again.
Four
Strathtummel, Atholl, Late July, 1306
“Never” came four months later.
With all that had gone wrong—and so much had gone wrong—Bella could never have dreamed it would come to this. Fleeing for their lives like…outlaws. King Hood, the English called Robert. It was painfully true.
She gazed at her terrified cousin Margaret’s big blue eyes, wide in her pale face. “You’re sure, Margaret? The queen said we are to leave the king and the rest of the army?”
Margaret nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She told me to gather our things. We’ll depart within the hour.”
The fear in her cousin’s face was palpable. Not for the first time, Bella regretted taking Margaret as her attendant. The timid, sweet lass wasn’t suited for this.
No onewas suited for this.
Over the past month they’d seen more war, death, and blood than she wanted to see in a lifetime.
The fragile support Robert had built in the months after the coronation while Edward mobilized his forces to march against the “rebels” had collapsed after the devastating defeat at Methven. In agreeing to meet the English at Methven, Robert had been looking for vindication. Instead he’d met trickery, when Aymer de Valence set aside the rules of chivalry and attacked before the agreed-upon time for battle.
The gamble for the decisive victory that would establish Robert’s kingship had failed miserably and disastrously. The king’s remaining supporters had been sent reeling, forced to take refuge in the hills of Atholl while trying to recover and rally more men to his banner.
But few heeded the call. Before Methven, Robert’s support had been tenuous at best. More than half the country had aligned against him with her husband and many other powerful nobles. After Methven, even those sympathetic to Bruce were too scared to stand against Edward’s fury and the promise of retribution. Simon Fraser’s capture and subsequent execution in a hideous manner similar to Wallace’s reminded them all of the consequences.
Bella, Queen Elizabeth, Robert’s daughter Marjory by his first wife, and two of his sisters, Christina and Mary, had been forced to take refuge along with them. For the past month they’d been living off the land like outlaws, in hastily constructed huts surrounded by a simple wooden palisade in the woods near the banks of Loch Trummel, sheltered by Duncan the Stout, the Chief of Clan Donnachaidh.
Yesterday, with the hunt closing in from the English in the east, Robert had tried to push westward. But he’d found his path blocked at Dal Righ by John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, and one thousand of his clansmen. With the few hundred of his remaining men, the king had fought them back, barely escaping with his life. One of Lorn’s men had him in his grasp, literally ripping the cloak from Robert’s shoulders, taking his brooch along with it.
Now, even their temporary shelter couldn’t protect them. They were fleeing again.
Thank God, Joan wasn’t here. MacRuairi had been right: This was no place for her daughter.
It turned out he’d been right about a number of things. She’d vastly underestimated King Edward’s fury at his rebellious “subjects.” The full force of his hammer had come down upon them. Even she had a price upon her head.
And now, the infamous “dragon banner” had been raised. The flag promised no mercy for the rebels. They could be killed without trial and raped with impunity.
She smothered a shiver of fear and turned back to consoling her cousin, pushing aside thoughts of Lachlan MacRuairi. She’d heard little of the brigand since the coronation—not that she’d been listening for word of him. With the way the war had been going, the opportunistic pirate had probably changed sides already.
She clenched her jaw. The only thing she should be thinking about was getting to safety so that she could find a way to get her daughter back. Four months seemed an eternity. But at least Joan hadn’t been forced to marry. Bella’s “treason” had taken care of that threat.
She stroked her cousin’s hair, as the terrified girl wept on her shoulder.
“What will become of us?” Margaret sobbed. “How will we make it to Kildrummy with only a handful of men to protect us?”
Bella didn’t say anything. What could she say, when she didn’t know? The king sending the women away with only a small band of knights to protect them sounded terrifying to her as well.
Her cousin lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “I’ve never even heard of the man who will be leading us. Lachlan Mac…Mac—”
Bella stiffened. “MacRuairi?”
Her cousin nodded furiously. “That’s it—do you know him?”
Her mouth fell in a grim line. “He was one of the men who brought me from Balvenie.”
