The king himself had led the charge and cut down as many of the enemy as any of his famed warriors with the mighty swing of his axe, which rested still bloodied against a high-backed chair placed just outside the tent.
Errol and Gavin had ridden up in the midst of a gathering attended by the same lairds that Errol had met weeks ago at Dumbarton Castle—Gabriel MacLachlan, Cameron and Conall Campbell, Roger Douglas and his brother David, along with many others, Errol glad to see that they had all survived.
His brother-in-law, Alec Mackay, there, too, and Errol’s own father, Hamish, who had rushed up to grab the halter of Errol’s horse and roared out a laugh when he dumped his richly clad prisoner unceremoniously on the ground.
“What have you here, son? A preening peacock come tae call?”
With a flourish, Hamish had ripped out the gag, the man sputtering and coughing until he had found his voice to rasp out to the king, “Spare me, King Robert!”
The desperate outcry eliciting much laughter from the Highlanders and other Scottish lairds while the king had risen from his chair to inspect the prisoner, who had floundered helplessly on his stomach with his hands still tied.
“Lord Edmund de Burgoyne, is it? I see you survived with your finery unsullied, which tells me you stayed well out of the battle, aye?”
“No, no, I fought, but when it became a rout, what else could I do but flee?”
“As would any coward,” King Robert had muttered, his expression disgusted as he signaled for several of his men to haul the prisoner to his feet. “One of King Edward’s richest lords in northern England—by God, Sutherland, how did you come upon him?”
Only then had Errol spoken up with his recounting that made the gathered lairds laugh again and come forward to clap him on the back while Hamish had looked on proudly.
So, too, had Gavin, just before King Robert had strode forward to grasp Errol’s arm, and the king stared now straight into his face with great intensity.
“You’re a brave one, Sutherland—and worthy of much reward and my deepest gratitude. Lord Burgoyne’s capture alone will help me secure my wife’s release. You say there are other nobles who have taken refuge at Bothwell Castle?”
“Aye, my king, so Burgoyne cried out tae me when he begged me not tae kill him, as if I were a fool. I knew his worth and that the castle is held by the English?—”
“Not for long,” King Robert cut in grimly, with a glance at the lairds behind him. “Mayhap Sir Walter FitzGilbert, the castle’s constable, will be wise and surrender the bastards tae us beforewe raze it to the ground. Ride alongside me, Errol Sutherland—and you as well, Gavin MacLachlan. Let’s see who else I will trade tae King Edward for my Elizabeth’s freedom. At last,at last!”
A rousing roar went up from all those assembled before they ran to mount their horses, Errol lending his raised voice to the melee.
He doubted he had known a more gratifying moment than when he took his place beside King Robert—och, other than those he had shared with Tira…always his beloved Tira!
Errol didn’t care about any reward, all he wanted was to return to her just as he had promised.
“Soon, my love…soon,” he swore again to himself as King Robert waved his axe above his head and shouted for his warriors to follow him to Bothwell Castle.
The clamor of men and horses deafening and Errol’s heart pounding to ride side by side with his king.
CHAPTER 17
Tira rested her head against the wooden rim of the tub, the warm bath doing little to soothe the tumult in her heart.
How much longer until she saw Errol again? Had another fierce battle occurred since Bannockburn? Was he wounded? Was he even alive?
Three weeks had passed since an exhausted messenger had brought welcome news about King Robert’s resounding victory over the English, and then he had ridden on after a meal and a short rest to other lairds’ wives awaiting word in Argyllshire.
Cora had told her about them, courageous women all…Magdalene MacLachlan, who had once been known as Mad Maggie, Aislinn Campbell from Ireland, and Lisette Campbell from France, who had become like sisters to Cora and whom Tira hoped to meet one day.
She knew from Errol about his own fearless flame-haired sister, Rowen, who had married Alec Mackay, from the Sutherlands’ long-time enemies of Clan Mackay until sworn to peace thanks to bold intervention by King Robert.
Alec had trained for years with Roger Douglas in north Lanarkshire, his wife, Julianna, an Englishwoman and a healer, and Roger’s youngest brother, David, had married Sorcha,the high-spirited adopted daughter of Aislinn and Cameron Campbell.
All of these women intertwined by their marriages to fierce Highland warriors, and Tira had joined them—ah, God, like all the rest, she wanted her husband safe and whole and back with her!
Tira swatted the water in near despair and sent droplets flying into the fireplace, the glowing logs hissing, while a startled maidservant rushed from turning down the bedcovers for the night to her side.
“Lady Tira, is aught amiss?”
Her cheeks flushed more from emotion than the rose-scented steam rising around her, Tira shook her head with apology.
