Twenty-five
Kenneth followed Clifford’s party for hours. He’d expected them to take the road southwest along the border to Jedburgh, but instead they took a path due west toward the town of Biggar, skirting the dangerous Selkirk Forest, which was controlled by Bruce’s men under the command of Sir James Douglas.
Where the hell were they going? Continuing on this road up the Clydesdale would take them to Bothwell Castle, just south of Glasgow. He stilled. Bothwell Castle, where the English garrison could easily be supplied by Clifford’s border castles of Carlisle and Caerlaverock.
His senses hummed. He was on to something; he knew it. What if the reason there didn’t seem to be enough supplies going north to Edinburgh was because that wasn’t the path they were going to take? What if this was the path? What if Bothwell, Rutherglen, and Renfrew were the English-held castles that would keep the English army supplied and protected on their Scottish campaign?
It felt right, but how was he going to prove it? All he had was his gut to go on.
But Clifford wasn’t accommodating enough to hand him conclusive proof today. When the small party turned around near midday to return to the castle, Kenneth followed. The ride to seemingly nowhere only served to further convince him that it had been a scouting mission in advance of the army.
But he needed proof, damn it. Was it too much to ask for a nice, colorfully drawn map to fall into his hands? If only spying were that easy.
It was nearing dusk by the time Clifford’s party rode through the gate of Berwick Castle. Kenneth waited a short while before following.
He was expecting to have to do some explaining for his absence, but as he neared the gate, he wondered if it was going to take a lot more than that.
He heard the call go up when the men who were keeping watch from the battlements above sighted him. Was it his imagination, or had the air suddenly become more charged? Were the men at the gate nervous? They seemed to purposefully not meet his gaze, and more than one hand was gripping the hilt of a sword. He was beginning to get a bad feeling—a very bad feeling—about this.
Had Mary betrayed him? For one horrible moment, he wondered. But he quickly pushed the thought aside. She wouldn’t. No matter how angry, he refused to believe she’d condemn him to the same fate as Atholl.
But it was clear something was wrong. The moment he rode through the gate, he could feel the men moving into position behind him.
He swore. Catching sight of Percy coming down the stairs of the Great Hall, he knew from the cold fury on the knight’s face that he was in trouble. Whether it was his unexplained absence, Felton giving him up for illegal fighting, or something else, he wasn’t going to stay and find out.
His time in the English camp was over, and he liked his chances of getting out now with only a handful of men behind him better than he did from a pit prison.
He could be completely wrong, but if he’d learned anything in this long war, it was that when in doubt, trust your senses. Sometimes they were the only things that kept you alive.
He didn’t hesitate. Swinging his mount around, he plunged through the men who’d come around to block his exit. The sudden move caught them by surprise, but one man managed to get his sword up in time to take a good swing at him. Kenneth yanked the sword from the scabbard at his back and managed to save his leg—and more importantly, his horse—from the soldier’s blade.
With a fierce cry, he landed another blow at one of the men guarding the portcullis to his right. Reacting quickly, he fended off a blow from the man at his left. He could hear the shouts behind him to lower the gate, to not let him escape, but it was too late. Lowering his head to the neck of his mount, he tore out the gate. He tried not to think about the arrows that were going to start raining on him from above—
He flinched as an arrow found its mark right in his back. But he felt more the impact than pain, and suspected it had only found the steel of his mail. A second arrow grazed his arm as he started to weave, the quick changes of direction making it harder for them to hold a target.
An arrow hit the flank of his horse, but it, too, found armor. The heavily armored warhorses the English favored might not be as maneuverable and quick as the smaller mounts used by the Scots, but at times they had their advantages.
He focused on his destination—the tree line about a hundred yards ahead—and rode as fast as his already tired horse could carry him. He knew he should be out of arrow range soon. The shots didn’t seem to be falling as often or as close. Gritting his teeth he held on, praying that his fortune held out for a few more minutes …
It did. He plunged through the trees and heaved a sigh of relief. He’d made it. But he wasn’t safe yet. They would be hunting him.
His mouth fell in a grim line. This sure as hell wasn’t the exit he had planned from England. His mission had just exploded in his face. He’d lost his chance to find proof for his suspicions, and worse, extracting Mary had just become much more dangerous. Her son would have to wait.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on his failure. All he could think of was Mary. A cold chill permeated his blood. They would come for her, too. He had to reach her first.
Instead of taking the road to Huntlywood, he steered his mount on the more direct route through the treacherous terrain of the countryside. He needed all the extra time he could make. The English might guess where he was headed, but he had no intention of being there when they arrived.
Mary had thought there could be no worse moment than learning that her husband had deceived her, that he was actually aligned with Bruce and intended to take her back to Scotland.
But that wasn’t the worst moment at all. The worst moment was seeing the ill-concealed smugness on Sir John’s face when he announced that a warrant had been issued for Kenneth’s arrest.
She’d nearly fainted and might have fallen to the ground had Sir Adam not caught her.
“You’d better have a damned good explanation for this, Felton,” Sir Adam demanded, after seeing her safely to a bench.
Mary listened in horror as Sir John explained. The purported charge was for illegal fighting, but Kenneth was also suspected of treason. According to Sir John, Kenneth had failed a test of his loyalty when he’d delivered a missive with a cracked seal. His desertion today only made his situation worse. Where was he?
Mary smothered a sob. The thought of her husband imprisoned and possibly executed …
Her stomach knifed. Every fiber of her being recoiled in absolute horror.
But once the shock faded, Mary knew Sir John had brought a clarity of mind that she might not have reached so quickly on her own. When faced with her husband’s arrest, the truth in her heart could not be denied. She was furious at him for deceiving her, but she still loved him.
“Find him,” Sir John ordered his men.
“I already told you he isn’t here,” Sir Adam said, his normally even temperament giving way to icy fury. “Are you questioning my word?”
Sir John smiled. “I just don’t want there to be any confusion. You have known Sutherland and his wife for many years, haven’t you?”
Sir Adam’s face turned florid. “Have care, Felton. Think carefully before you impugn my loyalty. When you are proved wrong, it will go badly for you. I will make sure of it.”
Felton was instantly contrite. Sir Adam was a powerful man, one of the most influential Scots on the English side, and making an enemy of him could prove costly. “I meant no offense. I was ordered to return the Earl of Atholl to the castle immediately, and to search for Sutherland. I am merely following orders.”
“Then be quick about it,” Sir Adam bit out. “And then get the hell out of here.”
While Sir John oversaw the search, Sir Adam tried to comfort Mary.
“Try not to upset yourself,” he said. “I’m sure it will all be cleared up soon.”
Mary nodded unconvincingly, knowing better.
“Is there truth to the charge of illegal fighting? Felton said you were there.”
She nodded again. “I’m afraid so.”
“The king will be displeased, but if Kenneth has a good explanation, it shouldn’t be too difficult to dismiss. It’s the other charges that worry me. Is it possible … could there be truth to what Felton says? Is there any chance Sutherland is deceiving us?”
Mary was torn. She wanted to protect her husband, but she couldn’t bear the thought of lying to her old friend. She dropped her gaze. “Anything is possible.”
What Sir Adam made of her nonanswer she didn’t know. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Felton talking to Davey on the other side of the Hall, and something about the way Davey’s eyes kept shifting toward her made her take notice.
Following the direction of her gaze, Sir Adam asked, “Could David know something?”
Mary thought back through their previous conversation. Could her son have pieced something together about leaving from what she’d said? “I don’t think so.”
But her hands twisted in her lap, seeing the guilty flush spread over David’s face, when their eyes met for an instant, before he quickly looked away.
David wouldn’t betray her. Her heart squeezed. Would he? Whatever filial devotion he had to her was new and unproven. Could he say something to make it look bad for Kenneth?
She should never have spoken to him of his father and Bruce. The decision whether to return to Scotland was too complex for a boy of thirteen.
For a time, it seemed her fears might have been for nothing. Davey ran off, presumably to gather his belongings, and Sir John returned to overseeing his men. But a short while later, when the search had come to an end, Sir John strode toward her with a look on his face that did not bode well.
His gaze was harder and colder than it had ever been before. “Gather your things. We will be returning to the castle soon.”
Mary blanched.
“What are you talking about, Felton?” Sir Adam said. “Lady Mary is staying here.”
Sir John shot him a glare. “Not anymore. It seems Lady Mary has been contemplating a return to Scotland.”
Sir Adam didn’t look to her for confirmation or denial. “And what proof do you have of this?”
“She’s been having some interesting conversations with her son.”
Mary’s heart squeezed. Oh Davey, what have you done?
“I said nothing about leaving for Scotland,” she said.
It was true. But Sir John appeared unmoved. “Under the circumstances, I think it is better to exercise an abundance of caution, don’t you agree, Sir Adam? For her safety, of course.”
“Are you arresting me?”
“Not if I don’t have to.” But his men had gathered around him. She could feel Sir Adam’s men behind her. They would defend her if she asked them to. But what purpose would it serve, other than to put Sir Adam in an even worse position if the truth were discovered?
At that moment Davey burst into the room. Looking back and forth between the two groups of soldiers, he quickly appraised the situation.
“What are you doing?” he asked Sir John, betrayal stark on every inch of his handsome young features.
“Your mother will be coming with us, isn’t that right, Lady Mary?”
“But I didn’t mean … You aren’t supposed to …”
Mary looked at her son’s pale, horror-stricken face and knew he’d misjudged the effect his words to Sir John would have. He hadn’t intended to harm her.
She put her hand on his arm, telling him silently that it was all right. “I will go and gather my things.”
Sir Adam started to argue, but she stopped him. “Please. I don’t want there to be any trouble.” She put her hand on her stomach meaningfully. Anything could happen if violence broke out. “We will straighten this out at Berwick.”
Kenneth would do something. She had to trust him. But the idea of entering one of the most heavily defended castles in the Borders took every ounce of her faith.
Sir Adam held her eyes and nodded.
“I will leave some of my men, just in case Sutherland attempts to return here,” Sir John said.
They understood his meaning: if Sir Adam thought to warn Kenneth, he wasn’t going to be able to do so.
But wherever he was, Mary knew Kenneth would find a way to get them out of this. He would not leave her to face danger alone. She only wished it hadn’t taken this to make her realize it.
Despite the urge to race through the gate to reach Mary, Kenneth forced himself to watch the appropriately named Huntlywood Castle from the safety of the surrounding forest. His atypical caution was rewarded when he saw the increased guard at the gate. Closer inspection of the arms identified at least one of the men as Felton’s.
Damn. He knew Felton couldn’t have beat him here from Berwick, so he must have already been here—which meant Kenneth had just lost whatever advantage he’d had in time.
He thought quickly. Not knowing what awaited him inside, he would have to sneak his way past the guard. He decided to employ one of the Highland Guard’s favorite tactics: diversion and speed.
After removing anything he might need from the bags tied to his saddle, he gave the trusty steed a fond stroke on his muzzle and thanked him for his faithful service. Even though he knew the stallion was spent and would be of no further help to him tonight, it was with much regret that he gave him a smack on the flank and urged him to the castle.
The horse shot off through the trees, heading for the gate. Kenneth circled around to the opposite side of the castle on foot, waiting for the cry to go up when the horse was sighted before making his move.
He had just reached his position when he heard, “Rider approaching.”
He hoped it would cause just long enough of a distraction for him to climb over the palisade wall. He was more than a little grateful for all the times MacLeod had forced him to lift himself up from a dead hang. Still, without a good grip and laden down with weapons and mail, it wasn’t easy to propel himself over in one smooth—and silent—move. He was just fortunate that Sir Adam had yet to build the much higher stone wall that he had planned.
He’d chosen a place in the wall opposite the gate, in a dark corner between the stables and armory. Slipping into the shadows, he drew his sword and waited to see whether anyone had noticed him.
But his ruse had worked. He could still hear the commotion at the gate where the riderless horse had arrived. As he slid around the armory, he could tell that something indeed was wrong. There were too many people around. Too many soldiers. He counted at least a half-dozen of Felton’s men. But interestingly, they weren’t interacting with Sir Adam’s men. Indeed, it seemed as if the two groups were eyeing one another suspiciously.
With his fear for his wife intensifying, he didn’t hesitate a minute longer. As soon as he had an opening he took it, crossing the yard and climbing the stairs to the tower.
Once inside, he took a quick scan of the Hall. Noting Mary’s absence, he headed up the stairwell in front of him. His heart pounded as he raced up the two flights. It was almost as if he sensed even before he opened the door that she wasn’t there. Still, he felt a hard jarring in his chest when only dark silence greeted him.
Where the hell was she?
Holding out hope, he raced up the next flight of stairs, opened the door, and felt an even harder jarring than the first when he found only emptiness.
His heart was pounding even faster now, panic slipping in.
She had to be here. He would find her if he had to tear apart every inch of this castle—Felton’s men or not. The entire English army wouldn’t be enough to keep him from her.
But it would be easier with help. Those pottery jars he’d seen earlier in the trunk would work, but the trunk was gone. Which left Sir Adam. The older knight cared for Mary; Kenneth just hoped he was right about how much.
Retracing his steps down the stairs, Kenneth stopped at the level below Mary’s room. Not bothering to announce himself, he pushed open the door.
Sir Adam stood by the small window staring out into the yard below. Glancing over his shoulder toward the door, his gaze met Kenneth’s. “I wondered how long it would take you to arrive. The horse was a clever distraction.”
Kenneth strode into the room. “Where is she?”
“Felton took her a short while ago.”
Kenneth’s heart dropped. “Took her? Where?”
“To Berwick Castle.” Sir Adam’s eyes narrowed. “He came here looking for you. He has a warrant for your arrest.”
Kenneth swore.
“Aren’t you going to ask the charges?”
“Do they matter?”
Sir Adam shook his head. “I suppose not.”
Kenneth tried to steel himself against the disappointment he saw in the other man’s eyes, but it didn’t work. Betrayal was never easy, and this one was particularly difficult. He hoped one day they would meet again as true allies.
“How long ago did they leave?” he asked.
“Not long. Twenty, maybe thirty minutes.”
“Then I still have time to catch them.”
“What makes you think I won’t have you arrested right now?”
Kenneth stilled, eyeing the other man carefully. “Because I know you love her and want her to be happy.”
“And you think you can make her happy?”
“I know I can.” He paused. “I also don’t think you are as opposed to Bruce as it appears.”
The other man bristled. “My fealty is to King John.”
“Balliol is deposed and living in France. You know he will never be accepted again as king.”
Sir Adam didn’t argue.
“I suspect that is why you have not told the English of your knowledge of the Saracen powder.”
The older knight stiffened. Kenneth could see he was going to deny it and cut him off. “I know about the explosion on the bridge when Mary lost her sister. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Sir Adam paled. “My nephew shared our family secret, it seems. I suspected as much. It was an accident. Does she know?”
Kenneth shook his head. “Not yet.”
“But you will tell her.”
“Aye. But you can make it up to her. I need your help.”
Sir Adam considered him for a long moment. Kenneth could see the warring going on inside him between the fealty he owed his deposed king and the love he had for Mary. Eventually, his shoulders sagged, as if the battle had proved too much. “Tell me what you need.”
The ride to the castle could be done in as little as an hour, but due to Mary’s condition and the darkness, the journey was progressing at a much slower pace.
She could claim to be slowing them down purposefully, but she was genuinely uncomfortable. Her back had started to hurt, and she felt an occasional cramp.
Despite his anger toward her, Sir John was a chivalrous knight, and when quietly reminded of her condition, he slowed the pace considerably.
Her heart jumped at every little sound. She scanned the darkness, half expecting her husband to jump out of the blackness like some avenging apparition. She knew it was silly to think he could take on nearly twenty English soldiers by himself, but part of her knew he would try if he could. The other part feared he would do exactly that.
Where was he?
A short while later, she had her answer. They were a couple of miles from the castle when they neared the bridge over the Tweed.
Riding near the back of the procession, at first all she heard was a shout, followed immediately by a burst of action in the men around her. Sir John shouted orders, and a dozen of his men circled around her and David. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s happening?”
No one answered. She managed to catch a glimpse through the line of mailed soldiers in front of her of a solitary torchlight about twenty yards ahead. A man stood holding it. She didn’t need to see the yellow shield with three red stars to recognize her husband.
Her pulse jumped and a soft cry tore from her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes. She didn’t know whether it was happiness at seeing him alive or fear that he might not be so much longer. It was Kenneth. But what was he doing?
“Release my wife,” his voice rang out clear and strong, cracking the darkness like a whip.
Sir John moved forward a few feet to address him. “You are in no position to be giving orders. You are under arrest.”
“Very well, but Lady Mary has nothing to do with this. My men are on the other side of this bridge. Let her go, and I will put down my sword and come to you.”
Sir John laughed. “Why would I do that?”
She could almost hear her husband’s shrug. “Would you prefer to try to catch me?” He paused. Mary was sure they were both thinking about the last time they’d done battle. “Look,” Kenneth continued. “Your fight is not with Mary. I know you do not wish to see her hurt. Let my men take her, and you will have what you want: me. This could be over quickly—you decide. But don’t take too long; my men are growing restless.”
And just like that, a smattering of torches appeared out of the darkness on the other side of the bridge.
If Sir John thought Kenneth was bluffing about support, he quickly reconsidered. “Fine. Throw down your weapons and surrender.”
“I have your word as a knight that you will let her go?”
Sir John stiffened. “You do.”
“I’ll put down my weapons and walk to that tree. Just in case you are tempted to reconsider before she is across the bridge.”
“Very well,” Sir John spit out, obviously irritated by the slight at his honor.
She heard a few thumps of weapons being tossed to the ground, and then after a few minutes, Sir John motioned for her to come forward. “Go,” he said.
Mary turned to David. They both knew Sir John would never let him go. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
“I am, too.” Not knowing how long it would be before she saw him again, she leaned over and threw her arms around him. “Don’t forget what I told you,” she whispered.
Drawing back, she saw him nod. The venomous glance he cast in Sir John’s direction told her that her son’s admiration of the English knight had taken a beating from which it might not recover. Perhaps, Sir John had done them a favor by taking her. His actions might help sway her son when the time came.
Maneuvering her horse through the wall of English soldiers, she passed by Sir John without a glance. Catching sight of Kenneth, their eyes met for the first time. Her heart lurched. She had to fight the urge to run to him. “Go,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Their eyes held. He seemed to be asking her to trust him.
She did. But she dearly hoped his plan included more than surrendering himself for her.
Nodding, she gave him one long last look and steered her horse toward the bridge. The sound of hooves clopping over the wooden planks brought back memories of the last time she’d tried to flee England.
Her heart squeezed. Please let this turn out differently.
She was surprised to be surrounded not by Kenneth’s men, but by Sir Adam’s.
“Come,” Sir Adam said. “We don’t have much time.”
“Wait,” Mary said. “We can’t just leave him. Where are we going?”
“To the coast. Don’t worry. He will catch up with us.”
It took every ounce of her faith in him to force herself to agree. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for helping us.”
Her old friend nodded. “I hope this time turns out better than the last.”
So did she.
They took off at a much faster pace, her discomfort temporarily pushed aside. The bridge was not yet out of view behind them when Mary heard a sound that shook her to her core: a loud boom, followed by a crack of lightning. The memories came back to her. It was just like before, except this time there was no storm to explain the strange sounds.
She glanced around behind her and cried out when she saw a burst of flames in the distance. The bridge was burning. “Wait! We have to go back. We have to help him.”
Sir Adam reached over to grab her reins, preventing her from doing just that.
“That won’t be necessary.”
She stilled at the sound of the disembodied voice coming from the darkness ahead of them. She looked to Sir Adam, but he seemed just as confused as she did. The half-dozen men he’d brought with him fanned out around her.
She kept her gaze fixed in the direction of the voice. A few moments later, one of the most terrifying-looking warriors she’d ever seen stepped into a beam of moonlight. She shivered, instantly recoiling in fear.
Good God, he was even more heavily muscled than her husband! Four additional impressively tall and muscular warriors came out behind him. All wore blackened nasal helms, black war coats, and oddly fashioned plaids around their shoulders. Even their skin appeared to be darkened with something. They seemed to blend into the night like phantoms. Bruce’s phantoms! she realized. Could these men be the phantom warriors who’d struck terror in the hearts of the English?
She was so scared, it took her a moment to recognize the smile beneath the helm. “My lady,” he said with a bow. “We meet again.”
His face half hidden beneath a ghastly looking steel nasal helm, Mary found herself staring into the eyes of the fearsome warrior Robert had introduced her to last summer: Magnus MacKay, Kenneth’s brother by marriage.