Late September, 1319
Outside York, England
“Ye asked to speak with me, Sire?” Reid Mackenzie let the wet canvas flap fall closed behind him.
Robert the Bruce, King of Scotland, stood bent over a wooden desk, quickly scrawling something on a scrap of parchment. “Please, Laird Mackenzie, call me Robert when we are alone,” he said without looking up.
The King wanted Reid to call him by his Christian name? Reid shifted, spreading his feet to distribute the weight of his dripping chainmail. He’d heard that the Bruce allowed such familiarity with the men of his inner circle—of which Reid wasn’t a part. Or mayhap he was now.
The Bruce scribbled a final word on the parchment and set aside his quill, straightening. He met Reid’s gaze with a wry smile. “Ye’ve fought at my side enough times to forego such formalities.”
That was true enough. Reid had led the Mackenzies behind the Bruce at the Battle of Bannockburn five years past, and for the siege on Craigmoor Castle a year ago—not to mention a dozen skirmishes in between. Their victory in the Battle of Myton yesterday had only further proven Reid’s loyalty to the King and his cause.
“I must thank ye yet again for yer clan’s aid yesterday, Laird,” the Bruce said, coming around the desk.
Reid dipped his head in acknowledgement of the praise, but felt his mouth quirk. “If I must call ye Robert, Sire, ye must call me Reid.”
When he lifted his gaze to the King’s face once more, he found the Bruce grinning. “Fair enough. Come,” he said, motioning toward two plain wooden chairs against one of the tent’s walls. “Let us sit and share a drink as friends.”
Reid’s brows itched to lift in surprise, but he schooled his features and lowered himself into one of the chairs. He repressed a grunt of relief as the chainmail’s weight eased. He’d been standing, riding, and fighting in the damned stuff for a full day and night, and at four and thirty years of age, his body protested more than it used to.
The Bruce lifted a pitcher from a small table between the chairs and poured wine into two goblets, then sat.
“To another victory.”
Reid let the sweet warmth of the wine slide down his throat, savoring the way it began to melt the knots in his body. The Bruce, too, took a long draught, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.
The King had already removed his battle armor and washed away the mud and blood, yet he had been with the men for every moment of their fierce siege on York, despite having more than ten years on Reid. The liberal streaks of gray in his russet hair and beard, along with the deeply etched lines in his sun-bronzed face, spoke of the hard-earned victories Scotland’s warrior-King had wrested from the English. Reid could think of no other man more worthy to lead their cause for freedom.
After another deep pull of wine, the Bruce set aside his goblet. “Edward’s Queen Isabella is in the wind. We will return north tomorrow, or the day after if this rain keeps up.”
Reid’s brows shot up. “Ye dinnae mean to pursue her?” He’d been told when the Bruce had called him down from the Highlands that the purpose of laying siege to York was to capture and ransom Isabella, Queen of England, who was rumored to be in the city. The second part of what the Bruce had said sank in. “And ye dinnae mean to remain in York.”
Another wry grin made the edges of the Bruce’s beard lift. “Nay, though I am pleased with today’s outcome. I wouldnae have imagined it possible to penetrate so deeply into the heart of England. The failed siege on Berwick Castle and the obvious weakness of York will be a double blow to Edward.”
“Failed siege? Last I’d heard, Edward’s men were still bombarding Berwick’s walls relentlessly.”
The Bruce chuckled softly. “Just after we claimed victory yesterday, I got word from one of my messengers—Edward has abandoned Berwick and is now rushing to York, leaving Lancaster floundering and my castle safe.”
Reid slowly set his own goblet down and settled back into his chair, awed yet again by the Bruce’s shrewdness. “Let me see if I understand. King Edward’s forces have been laying siege to Berwick Castle for months now.”
“Aye,” the Bruce said placidly. The Bruce had only managed to recapture Berwick from the English last year, and Reid knew how dearly the King cherished the Borderland stronghold.
“Edward wanted to retake the castle badly enough that he reconciled with the Earl of Lancaster, the bastard trying to dethrone him practically right under his nose, to lay siege to Berwick with their combined forces.”
“Aye,” the Bruce repeated.
“But even as the castle’s defenses weakened, ye decided to launch an attack on York under the pretense of kidnapping the King’s wife.”
It was an arrogant and bold plan—and bloody risky. Yet when the Bruce had asked for Reid’s help in sieging York, he’d agreed immediately. It wasn’t Reid’s place to question the King of Scotland, though he’d privately thought it was mad to send men and resources deeper into England rather than use them to defend the Bruce’s prized Berwick Castle.
“Ye have the right of it so far,” the Bruce replied, clearly amused.
“Yet ye never intended to take York. This—our attack on the city, the battle, our victory—was all to scare the shite out of Edward—and force him to choose between taking Berwick and protecting his Queen.”
“That is almost the whole of it.” The Bruce took another swig of wine, his dark eyes glittering with clear pride. “The divide between King Edward and the Earl of Lancaster has served me quite well over the years. There was once a time I even let Lancaster believe he and I were allies.”
Reid stilled. “What?” If Lancaster had indeed tried to ally with the Bruce, it was an act of treason against the Earl’s English King.
“Oh, aye,” the Bruce replied. “And I have the letters to prove it.”
“Why havenae ye exposed Lancaster, then? Surely ye could have put a stop to the siege on Berwick with the information that Edward’s newest ally is actually a traitor.”
The Bruce lifted a brow at Reid. “Ye are a direct sort of man, arenae ye?”
Aye, he was. Reid would rather punch his way out of a bind than plot moves and countermoves, but as the Laird of a large and powerful Highland clan, he’d been forced to learn to control that urge. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the chair’s arms. “Ye are playing some longer game, I take it.”
The King nodded, a pleased smile touching his lips. “Indeed. Lancaster’s reckoning will come soon enough. As it is, chaos and discord are far more valuable to me than exposing the bald truth.”
He spread his hands wide. “Queen Isabella has fled south. Edward is barreling toward York, desperate to save his Queen and a city he no doubt thought too far deep into England to be in any danger from me. And Lancaster is scrambling back to his own lands, once again at odds with his King and obliged to explain himself for his role in all this.”
As Reid worked to digest the King’s words, the Bruce lifted a finger. “Ah, that was the piece ye didnae ken. There are already rumors swirling that Lancaster has betrayed Edward. In fact, many are asking how I learned that Isabella would be in York at all.”
“Lancaster would act so boldly?” Reid asked.
“Nay,” the Bruce said with a dismissive wave. Yet the mischievous grin lingered on his mouth. “That’s what my spies are for. But those rumors didnae come from thin air, now did they?”
Reid drew in an incredulous breath. “Ye started them.” At the King’s single nod, Reid put the last few pieces in place. “The rumors will cast suspicion on Lancaster. It will drive a wedge between him and Edward. And Berwick is safe now that the siege has dissolved—all from a single victory on the battlefield yesterday.”
At last, the Bruce’s face broke into a full, wide smile. “It willnae help Lancaster’s cause that I have instructed our men to leave his lands untouched as we return to Scotland. When his lands go unplundered, it will look like a reciprocal favor in exchange for the information about Isabella’s location.”
Reid couldn’t help but chuckle at the audacity of the man.
“Did ye ever intend to kidnap the Queen, or was that all part of the ruse?” he asked.
The Bruce’s smile dimmed slightly. “In truth, I dinnae like bringing women and children into warfare.”
Reid sobered. It was well known that the Bruce’s wife, daughter, and two of his sisters had been held captive by King Edward’s father for years. Some of the women had even been held in cages suspended in the air to make their helplessness a humiliatingly public display.
“However,” the Bruce said, forcefully smoothing his features, “times being what they are, we cannae always pick and choose who will bear the cost of war.” He leaned back in his chair. “Ultimately, it didnae matter whether I intended to capture the Queen or no’. The threat of doing so was enough to accomplish my aims.”
Reid shook his head, letting a soft chuckle puff past his lips. “I can say this—I’m grateful to hear that ye werenae planning on lingering overlong in York. Now that this battle is won, I’ll be glad to return to Scottish soil once again. We travel tomorrow, ye say?”
“Most of us will be, aye,” the Bruce said evenly. “Ye willnae, however.”
Reid froze. “What?”
“Dinnae glower so, man,” the Bruce said, holding up a hand. “I’m no’ punishing ye. Since ye are already in England, I simply have an errand for ye to run on my behalf.”
Reid narrowed his gaze on the King. The man had just proven that he had a mind as sharp as a blade and thought a dozen moves ahead like the skilled chess player he was. Where did he plan to place Reid on the ever-shifting board?
“What sort of errand?” he asked cautiously.
“My network of eyes and ears tells me that two lords in Cumbria have arranged an alliance. Edgar de Reymont is sending his only daughter to marry Halbert de Perroy, in part so that they can join forces to protect their borders—against me.”
The Bruce’s smile turned wolfish. Reid shifted, his chainmail scraping against the wood of his chair.
“And ye want me to—what? Join yer men along the western Borderlands to give them hell?”
“Nay, something far simpler than that,” the Bruce replied. “I want ye to kidnap the intended bride and bring her to me.”
Simple? Reid nearly snorted, but he managed to repress the urge. “The lords—de Reymont and de Perroy, ye said—if they truly wish for this alliance, won’t they find another way even if the lass isnae used for the union?”
The Bruce ran a hand over his russet and gray beard. “Mayhap, though there is much to be said for delaying them. The alliance may collapse without the lass to unite them, or better yet, their lands could fall under my control before they have a chance to sort things out. Besides, de Reymont cannae pass the lass’s dowry to de Perroy if they arenae married.”
The reasoning was sound. After all, the Bruce had won victory after victory in the last several years using just such tactics—a swift strike to introduce chaos, then a fierce blow just when his enemy was off balance. Bloody hell, it was why they’d won the battle yesterday.
Reid raked his dark hair back as he considered it. “And ye want me to fetch the lass? That is all?” he asked warily.
“Aye,” the King said with an easy nod. “I’ve gotten word that a small party has just left de Reymont’s holding headed west. Send the majority of yer men back to Eilean Donan, but take a few with ye into Cumbria to capture the lass.”
“And then?”
“I am returning to my camp in Lochmaben. Bring the lass to me there.”
“After which I will return to the Highlands.” Reid had no place making such a flat statement to the King of Scotland. As a loyal Laird, he was the Bruce’s to command. Yet he took his responsibility to his clan just as seriously as his pledge to serve his King.
Though Reid prided himself on keeping a stony countenance, the Bruce seemed to read all his thoughts on his face. “Ye are a man of fierce loyalty, Laird Reid Mackenzie,” he said, watching Reid with keen, assessing eyes. “The welfare of yer clan no doubt weighs on ye.”
“Aye,” Reid said without hesitation.
The Bruce tilted his head pensively. “Ye have never failed to answer my summons when I needed yer help,” he went on. “Yet serving me has taken ye away from yer people. And from yer responsibilities.”
Despite himself, Reid flinched slightly. Aye, the King was all too astute in his assessment. The duties of Lairdship sat like the heavy chainmail around Reid’s shoulders.
Keep the Mackenzies safe.
Build alliances with neighboring clans.
Produce an heir.
Reid’s hands clenched around the chair’s arms. Aye, he needed to get back to the Highlands. He’d neglected his duty to his people and their future for too long.
“See this errand done, and I promise to reward ye for yer dedication to me and the cause—and to yer clan.” The Bruce met Reid’s gaze evenly, yet a prickle of unease left Reid wondering just what the King schemed behind his dark eyes.
But it was not his place to ask. He rose, squaring his shoulders against the weight of his armor.
“I’ll see it done,” he said, dipping his head in a curt bow. “Ye can depend upon it.”