“Mayhap they havna fought yet…or mayhap King Edward has realized his folly and retreated back tae England.”
“No, there’s been a battle, I’m certain of it.”
Cora was looking off into the distance now as if she could peer through the tall garden wall toward Stirling, which made Tira feel an icy chill that was worse than the unease first gripping her.
Even the heady scent of roses melded with the sweet fragrance of apples ripening in the late June sunshine did nothing to still her sense of foreboding.
“Errol…” Tira murmured, his beloved name upon her lips accompanied by a fervent prayer in her heart that he remained well, aye, uninjured and whole!
She heard Cora murmuring Gavin’s name, too. Tira reached out to clutch Cora’s hand to bolster her own strength more than to offer comfort…for Cora had squared her shoulders and lifted her chin to appear once again the composed and courageous lady of Castle MacLachlan.
“They will be fine, I know it.”
Tira bobbed her head at Cora’s determined words, even though she struggled to contain the fearful tears scorching her eyes as Cora squeezed her hand.
“Say it with me, Tira, aye, and loud enough so the wind will carry it all the way tae our husbands at Bannockburn.”
“They will be fine, I know it!”
“Have you seen Errol, man?”
The sweaty-faced warrior that Gavin had queried shook his head, which made Gavin curse vehemently and peer around him.
The battlefield still strewn with slain English infantrymen that were yet to be stacked into great heaps of already rotting corpses, the stench of death heavy in the air.
The two-day battle of Bannockburn a decisive victory for King Robert while the defeated King Edward had fled with hordes of his nobles back toward England with their tails between their legs—och, but where the devil was Errol?
Again, Gavin looked all around him as members of King Robert’s army went about the grim task of collecting their own dead for burial, though their numbers were thankfully few compared to the vast number of English that had succumbed to Scottish swords, pikes, and axes.
The last time Gavin had seen Errol wielding his sword with fury and mowing down the enemy was during the second day’s battle right before the English sounded a retreat and began to flee to the south.
Yet that was yesterday and still there was no sign of him this morning—God help him, what was he to tell Tira? If wounded, Errol would have been found lying on the battlefield by now…and the same if he was dead.
“Dinnabe dead, Sutherland,” Gavin grated to himself, wiping the grime and sweat from his face that ran stinging into his eyes. “I’ll never forgive you if I find myself with the task of telling your wife you’re a stinking corpse?—”
“Over there, Laird, on horseback!”
Gavin squinted against the bright sunlight and spied a rider fast approaching upon a lathered steed—by God, was it…?
“Gone for a ride?” Gavin roared out above the clamor of hooves, his elation that Errol was alive melded with anger that he hadn’t reported to him since the pitched battle had ended. As Errol reined in his snorting mount alongside him, Gavin could see something slung over the saddle…muscled legs sticking out beneath a dark cloak.
“Aye, almost to Bothwell Castle tae the southwest where a band of English lords have taken refuge—but this one didna ride fast enough! His men-at-arms scattered into the woods and left him tae face me alone, and he was wise enough tae surrender without a fight. Do you think King Robert will be pleased with this fine trophy?”
Gavin stared in amazement as Errol threw aside the cloak to reveal a stout, flush-faced Englishman with his hands tied behind him like a trussed turkey and a gag stuffed in his mouth.
“He refuses tae tell me his name, but he must be rich indeed tae wear such fine garments into battle. Purple silk and gold thread! That’s what made me follow after him when he and his men fled on horseback, and why I hid with the bastard until dawn. Too many English foot soldiers trying tae escape that might have challenged me—och, where is King Robert? I’m certain he knows this coward’s name.”
“Over there.” Gavin nodded toward a distant encampment as Errol’s portly prisoner began to struggle upon the saddle, his screams of outrage muffled by the gag.
At least until Errol popped him on the back of the head with a clenched fist, which made the man slump into silence, whimpering now.
“Easy, Sutherland, you dinna want tae harm your prize—aye, a wealthy lord tae be sure,” Gavin said with wry admiration,Errol flashing him a grin. “The king will likely find a good use for him, whoever he is, mayhap even exchange him along with other noble prisoners for Elizabeth, his wife. Well done, man, well done.”
Errol had sobered at his praise and Gavin knew why, Errol’s thoughts no doubt flying to Tira and what she had suffered over a year’s time—and the king’s beloved wife had been held captive for eight long years.
“I swore on the day King Robert granted me ships and your help tae find Tira that I would do anything I could tae help him regain his wife—and I pray it will be so. Let us find the king.”
Errol wascertain he saw moisture glistening in King Robert’s eyes as he clasped Errol’s forearm with such strength even after so arduous a two-day battle.
