Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

CASTLE MACLACHLAN, ONE MONTH LATER…

“ A messenger with word about our husbands, truly?” Tira felt her heart jump at Cora’s emphatic nod and wide smile, which calmed her fears at once to even hear the word “messenger.”

Cora gestured from the doorway to the nursery for Tira to come out into the hall so they wouldn’t disturb her sleeping bairns, Tira quickly obliging her. She clasped Cora’s trembling hands, her own shaking, too.

“It’s not much news, Tira, but Gavin and Errol are well and with King Robert’s forces and soon tae engage the English army…” Cora fell silent as if realizing the import of what she’d just said, her brow furrowing as she murmured more to herself than Tira, “Och, the messenger left their camp near Stirling several days ago so that means there might have already been a great battle—ah, God. I almost wish he hadna come here at all than tae leave us wondering?—”

“No, we must believe King Robert will triumph no matter when they fight the English,” Tira interjected with as reassuring a tone as she could muster, though she felt a quiver of unease as if some strange intuition had gripped her. “Did the messenger say aught else?”

“Only the name of the place, Bannockburn. South of Stirling Castle, which is still held by the English—och, I need tae walk. I need some air!”

Cora turned and rushed down the hallway and Tira ran after her, her rose-colored gown fluttering around her legs.

A month ago, she would have been hard-pressed to keep up, but she was fully recovered now and a healthy weight again?—

“Dinna worry for me, Tira!” Cora cried out over her shoulder as she hurried down the tower steps so quickly that Tira feared her dear friend might slip and tumble.

She could tell from the hoarseness in Cora’s voice that she was upset, which only made Tira hasten just as fast only a few steps behind her.

Even so, Cora didn’t slow down in the foyer, but fairly flew to the door leading outside into the bailey.

Only when Cora had burst into the bright midday sunshine and paused to take a breath did Tira reach her, looping her arm through Cora’s.

Her lovely face stricken and tears filling her blue eyes, which made Tira swallow hard and draw a deep breath, too, after rushing from the tower.

Had Cora been struck with the same sense of unease? Tira opened her mouth to ask her, but Cora had pulled away and half ran now, a sob breaking from her throat as she made straight for the walled garden.

Tira followed close behind, ignoring questioning glances from guards and other warriors left behind to protect the castle in Gavin’s absence.

She didn’t catch up until Cora had run through the garden gate and paused again to catch her breath beneath an apple tree laden with rosy-skinned fruit, though still she sobbed as if her heart was breaking.

Tira had never seen Cora distraught, and she didn’t know what to do other than to lay a hand upon Cora’s quaking shoulder.

As if Tira’s very touch seemed to calm her, Cora’s sobs quieted and she wiped the tears from her flushed face with a look of some embarrassment.

“F-forgive me, Tira. Hearing that my husband was well…and then realizing like a silly fool that the news was days old—och, I pray that he’s survived the battle a-and Errol, too.”

“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.

“ Dinna be 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 was certain 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.

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 before we 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.