34

When Edward Plantagenet learned of the defeat at Stirling Bridge and the death of his treasurer, Hugh de Cressingham, he immediately returned from France and proceeded to organize his forces for the reconquest of Scotland.

Robert Bruce paid a visit to Dumfries to exchange information. He knew the de Warennes were privy to the king’s plans and he wanted to pass on the dire news that Wallace’s forces were systematically destroying crops and driving off livestock in as many counties as they could.

“Edward is on his way to join the governor in Edinburgh. He has the levies of many earls with him—Bigod, Bohun, and of course the Earl of Ulster’s Irishmen,” Lynx told Robert.

“When the vast army moves north of Edinburgh they will find nothing but blackened fields and burned farms. Wallace’s forces are even moving the inhabitants north so that Edward’s soldiers will be deprived of food or aid of any sort. They are moving into our territory; only nightly vigilance keeps them at bay.”

Lynx looked shocked at such destruction. “We will ride out with you on night patrol, and I’ll inform the governor immediately. Have any other nobles joined Wallace yet?”

The Bruce shook his head. “Not openly at least, only de Moray, Montieth, and Comyn are allied with him.”

“They don’t stand a chance this time.”

“My country is being torn assunder by both the English and the Scots,” Robert Bruce said bitterly. “Never has there been a time in history with more betrayals, treachery, and lies because of pride and greed! The result is mindless destruction. I wish it were otherwise. Our common goal should be unification.”

The ladies who had come to greet the Bruce overheard his words. Seldom before had they heard such bitterness in his voice. “Poor Robert,” Jory said with heartfelt sympathy. “You wish the English out of your country completely, do you not?”

“In truth I do, present company excepted.”

“What about the Irish?” Elizabeth de Burgh asked.

Robert ruffled her dark curls. “The Scots hate only the English, not the Irish; probably because we share Celtic blood.”

“Elizabeth is excited because her father will be accompanying the king,” Jory explained.

“I hope he won’t be too busy to see me,” Elizabeth said longingly.

“We’ll invite him to stay at Dumfries,” Jane suggested, looking to Lynx for approval. “The king will have far too many for John to accommodate in Edinburgh.”

“I suppose I’ll have to offer Edward the hospitality of Lochmaben and Caerlaverock, if I hope to keep them in my possession,” Robert said dryly.

“John will be relieved to know he can count on your support.”

“Did he arrest Fitz-Waren yet?” Robert inquired.

Lynx shook his head. “I have two of my knights watching Torthwald, but the bastard seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Let’s not speak of him,” Jane begged. “Lynx is fully recovered and that’s all that matters, at least to me.”

“Now that you mention it, I think you’ve been feeding him too well, Jane. He’s getting fat.”

“That’s solid muscle!” Lynx argued. “Try not to be envious, Robert.”

Jane’s dimples came out of hiding. “Will you stay the night, my lord?”

“All right, you’ve twisted my arm,” the Bruce replied with a wink, all bitterness gone from his voice.

“Come to the armory, I want to show you a habergeon we’ve been working on. Instead of a shirt of heavy iron rings, we’ve invented a woven metal mesh that’s almost impossible to penetrate.”

The minute the men left, Elizabeth and Jory each sought their chambers to adorn themselves in prettier gowns. Jane followed Marjory up to her tower rooms and sat on the bed as Jory inspected her lavish wardrobe. “I cannot bear the thought of Lynx going into battle again … I’m so afraid for him!”

“Darling, don’t ever let him know you are afraid for him. Let him think he is omnipotent.”

“I love him so much! Why do they keep fighting wars?”

“Jane, wars are fought to be won and they cannot be won by anything but violent measures.”

“Jory, do you love Robert?”

“Of course I love him, and someday he’ll make a bid for the Scottish crown. That frightens me out of my wits, but I wouldn’t dream of stopping him. Robert believes it’s his destiny, so I must too!”

Thinking of her vision, Jane asked gently, “Do you want to be his queen?”

Jory laid the gown she had chosen across the foot of the bed and came to sit beside Jane. “I know that can never be. The Scots would never accept an English queen.”

“Yet still you want him to become king?” “Yes! I would do anything to help him achieve his goal.”

“Do you love him enough to make a great sacrifice?” Jane asked softly.

“I love him enough for anything!” Jory declared passionately.

“I know Robert Bruce has the secret pledge of a few Scottish earls, but if he had the power of Edward de Burgh, Earl of Ulster, behind him, he could gain the throne.”

“You are right, Jane. Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful? If only the Earl of Ulster could be induced to back Robert!”

Jane hesitated only a moment before she rushed on. “If Robert offered a betrothal, making de Burgh’s daughter, Elizabeth, his queen, it would almost certainly induce Ulster to help Robert become king.”

Jory’s eyes widened with shock and the blood drained from her face so quickly, she looked as waxy as a corpse.

*   *   *

That evening in the hall, the talk was all about warfare. “Edward has told the governor his first priority is the immediate elimination of Wallace. He is offering rewards of money and land to any noble who aids in the fugitive’s capture.”

“The king is an evil genius at dividing and conquering. His favorite tool is bribery, either by gifts of land or remittance of debts,” Robert declared. “I know … he’s bribed me often enough.”

To divert them, Jane brought Lincoln Robert to the hall. She fed him some custard while the onlookers marveled at the child’s appetite.

“He needs something more substantial than custard,” Lynx decided, handing him the crust from a loaf. When Lincoln Robert began to devour it with gusto, covering himself with sticky crumbs, the men couldn’t help laughing.

Jane noticed that throughout the meal, Jory had been unusually pensive. In the candlelight her delicate face was shadowed with dark smudges beneath her beautiful eyes and Jane’s heart ached for her dearest friend. Then Jane’s glance was drawn to her husband, who was so like his sister in coloring. But there the similarity ended. Lynx’s physique now exuded strength. He was more robust than he had ever been and Jane fervently thanked God for his recovery.

She watched with loving eyes as Lynx lifted his baby son onto his shoulders and galloped toward the stairs as Lincoln Robert clutched fistfuls of his father’s hair and crowed his delight. Jory was right, as usual, Jane decided. She must keep her fears to herself and pretend Lynx was omnipotent.

*   *   *

Hours later, high in the Lady Tower of Dumfries, the Bruce lay spent, cradling Jory as she lay sprawled across his muscular body. “You are fierce as a tigress tonight, sweetheart. What prompts such ferocity?”

“Will you answer the call to battle?”

“The thought of losing me makes you insatiable?”

“Yes!” she told him, biting his shoulder.

“I’m needed to patrol Galloway, Annandale, and Lanark, or Wallace’s raiding parties will have all the Lowlands blackened. Likely I won’t be called to battle.”

“I’m not talking about losing you in battle.”

“How else could you lose me?” he asked, unwinding a pale strand of her hair from his forearm.

“You know as well as I, our parting is inevitable.”

He placed strong fingers beneath her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You’ve never had trouble before pushing away the future and embracing the present.”

“Robert, there is a way to speed your bid for the crown,” Jory said intensely. “If the Earl of Ulster backed you—”

“Sweetheart, de Burgh owns half of Ireland; for all intents and purposes he is a king himself. What could I possibly offer him that he doesn’t have?”

“You could offer to make his daughter your queen,” she whispered. “It’s an offer few fathers would refuse.”

“Elizabeth is a child!”

“If you’d stop looking at me, my love, you’d see that Elizabeth is on the brink of womanhood and already mad in love with you.”

“Enough,” he said, covering her mouth with his in a long, silencing kiss.

“Promise me you’ll think about it.” “Jory, my heart, you know me well enough that I will think of little else.”

    In the opposite tower, Jane, who had downed two goblets of wine to bolster her bravado, was in a droll mood where the least word set her off laughing.

“You are very gay tonight and here I expected tears at the thought of my going to war again.”

“Tush, I’m not the least bit afraid for you.” She pushed him down on the bed and ran her hands up his bare legs. “You have muscles of iron, I warrant you could crack walnuts with your thighs. God, just the thought of that makes me weak with need!”

“You’ve been around Jory too long. You are turning into a shallow, selfish little minx who thinks only of pleasure,” he teased.

Jane sat back on her heels, her eyes as round as an owl’s. “You’re wrong, Lynx … you’ll see … Jory is capable of being completely selfless. She’s always been generous to a fault with me and I adore her.” An unbidden tear rolled down her cheek.

“And I adore you,” Lynx vowed, realizing immediately that Jane’s tears were there, just beneath all her laughter. “I know what you need to banish those silly tears.”

“What?”

“A damn good bedding.”

The wine kicked in and Jane began to giggle.

“What’s so amusing?”

“Our first bedding, after the handfasting. I was so pathetically green and ignorant. And you were so formal and stiff!”

“I bet I wasn’t this stiff,” he said, drawing her hand to his groin. Her fingers did wicked things to him and try as he might Lynx could not remember a time when he had not been rampant for her.

“Let’s play stallion and mare,” she invited, threading her fingers through his tawny mane and nipping his ear playfully with her sharp teeth. The bedding went on for hours during which Lynx de Warenne skillfully banished all his wife’s tears.

    At Edinburgh, Edward Plantagenet held a council of war with his generals to discuss strategy. Like John de Warenne, the king was in his sixties and the years had taken their toll.

“Numbers are not as important as weapons. How well equipped are they?”

“The last time I fought the Scots they were bare-arsed savages,” Bigod declared.

“Since then they’ve managed to acquire better equipment, most of it ours,” John de Warenne said dryly.

“How?” Edward demanded.

“Sire, they pick over battlefields like crows, robbing the dead of armor and weapons, they mount raids on armories, and Wallace is famous for spiriting away baggage trains.”

“Whose?” Edward demanded, his piercing blue eyes searching the room for culprits.

Percy looked sheepish; he had lost three. John de Warenne said quickly, “Sire, their main weapon is the twelve-foot spear which is lethal to our cavalry.”

Lynx de Warenne held the opinion that the king relied on his cavalry too much when there were other viable alternatives. But since he was in charge of a large company of heavy cavalry, he risked sounding like a coward if he suggested these alternatives. Nevertheless he spoke up. “Sire, I have found my Welsh bowmen far more effective against the Scots. They sustain fewer casualties since they can fight from a distance. Their longbows discharge arrows three times the speed of crossbows; a most effective weapon against an enemy whose soldiers stuff tow in their tunics for protection.”

Notoriously stubborn, the king argued, “I have always relied on my cavalry. It is a tried and true method of winning wars.”

“In France, yes, but in Scotland, where moss and bog can stretch for miles, heavy cavalry can sink up to its hocks and flounder helplessly.”

“We will put some of the Welsh in the front ranks before the cavalry,” Edward declared.

“Nay, Sire,” Lynx de Warenne objected, “the cavalry would trample them.” De Warenne knew the English king was not above destroying his own troops if he destroyed the Scots as well. “The Welsh must have their own flanks.”

Edward stared at him. “I heard rumors you were killed in battle.”

“They were exaggerated, Sire.”

“Have you read the Bruce’s reports that the countryside has been laid waste to the north, Your Majesty?” John de Warenne inquired.

“Let us hope those too are exaggerated. I’ve ordered supplies sent up from Carlisle in any case, so I see no reason why we cannot press forward.”

    When the king received a message from the Earl of Angus informing him that Wallace’s army was encamped near Falkirk, Edward Plantagenet gave the order to march. Edward and his generals soon realized that the Bruce’s reports were correct. The English saw nothing but blackened fields and burned towns.

By the time they reached Linlithgow, a few miles from Falkirk, the fodder for the horses was all gone. The English made camp in the darkness, rolling themselves in blankets and lying down wherever they could find a bit of dry ground.

Edward Plantagenet did likewise, too proud to order his campaign tent set up when his generals slept on the ground. In the middle of the night, Edward’s restive warhorse stepped on him, breaking his ribs. Panic among his leaders ensued. Some even suggested they should abort the operation and return to Edinburgh.

The king stubbornly refused. His doctors bound him and he then donned his armor and mounted his horse, sitting stiffly in the saddle with John de Warenne at his side. He gave orders to strike camp well before daylight and the army moved forward at a snail’s pace.

When dawn broke, Wallace’s army was spotted ahead of them on a high ridge. The Scottish leader had drawn up his men in circular schiltrons, with spearmen on the outside and reserves in the center to take the place of those who fell. Between the schiltrons were Scottish archers who carried small, outdated bows and arrows. The cavalry, led by John Comyn, was being held in reserve.

The King of England sat his horse in agony, hating Wallace with a vengeance for occupying the high ground, knowing his own forces had an uphill battle ahead of them. To make matters worse, Lynx de Warenne’s words had been prophetic—a wide, dank moss stretched before them. The English forces had to be diverted right and left to avoid it, but the Welsh archers proved their worth. The mighty longbows launched their arrows over the high ground, and they fell like hail on the schiltrons.

As the Scots began to die, Comyn’s cavalry fled the battlefield. The King of England, now gray in the face from pain, ordered his own cavalry to swing far wide of the boggy moss and attack the foot soldiers from the rear.

The beaten Scots fled through the heavily wooded hillsides behind Falkirk, but not before ten thousand of them lay slaughtered on the battlefield. When it was reported to Edward that William Wallace was not among the dead, he swore his army would pursue him until the king’s enemy was taken, but wherever the English army went, they found nothing but wasted lands.

Edward Plantagenet, now suffering ill health, and finding himself with a starving army on his hands, decided to withdraw to Carlisle on the English side of the border. Wallace was declared an outlaw and other warrants of arrest were soon issued from Carlisle, despite the king’s deteriorating condition. Among those Edward wanted were Montieth and Comyn.

It wasn’t long before Comyn sent conciliatory messages to Edward, pointing out the part he had played in the English defeat of Wallace. After due consideration, a shrewd Edward pardoned Comyn, knowing if he was arrested and beheaded, it would leave the way clear for Robert Bruce to claim the throne of Scotland.

The Earl of Montieth had not expected to come out on the losing side. He went into hiding, amazed at the number of Scots nobles, previously opposed to the English king, who now spoke out to blacken William Wallace’s name and ability. Montieth watched Comyn’s every move as he offered to accommodate Edward Plantagenet in return for a pardon.

The wily Earl of Montieth, following Comyn’s example, entered into secret negotiations with Edward Plantagenet. In return for a pardon, reconfirmation of his governorship of Dumbarton, and the earldom of Lennox, the Earl of Montieth promised to deliver William Wallace into the king’s hands.